No Time for Death: A Yoshinobu Mystery

by John A. Broussard

  ***

  Believe me, I needed those two big smiles Sid and Kay gave me when I came back to the defense table. My shirt was ringing wet with sweat, my knees just barely got me to my seat, and I could feel my all-bran breakfast sitting like a bale of hay at the bottom of my stomach.

  Judge Raines called an early adjournment just as I sat down. For a second, there, I thought Sid and Kay were going to have to help me to stand up.

  Qual was exuberant when the three of us got to the conference room. I couldn't picture him pounding anyone on the back, but that's what he did to me. “Fabulous,” he said. “You would have convinced me, even if I hadn't been convinced already.”

  I was appreciative, but still weak. “Did I convince the jury, though?”

  I must be a real wet blanket, because all three of them quieted down.

  “Let's get some lunch,” Sid suggested.

  I can't even remember luncheon except I settled for coffee, which I hardly touched.

  The courtroom was full again when we got back. A new guard was at the door. He didn't recognize us, and almost turned us away. “Fine with me,” I said.

  Ikeda fooled all of us with his summation.

  He broke out the blood and gore all right, but he kept it short and moved on to other matters. Craig, who'd been at the morning session, had predicted Ikeda would bring up the half-orphaned children, but he didn't.

  For my money the most effective part of his speech was when he said, “You have heard a trained and respected pathologist testify death occurred at two o'clock that day and that, possibly, just possibly, death might have occurred some ten minutes earlier. The defendant was there at least five minutes before the earliest possible moment that the victim could have been murdered, and was discovered standing over the body of the murdered man with the murder weapon in his hand. How can there be any reasonable doubt or any doubt at all, that this man (he pointed his finger at me) cold-bloodedly killed his employer?”

  He did back-and-fill a couple of times. But all in all, he managed to put the major point across: Ron Crockett was a murderer. It made me uneasy to think if he sounded that convincing to me, he must have sounded even more convincing to the jury. But the most surprising thing about Ikeda's presentation was it lasted just under forty-five minutes. When he sat down, Sid wrote me a note. “That's the shortest ever for him.”

  Kay had planned to summarize our side in thirty minutes. She hit it almost to the minute.

  It was a beautiful job. And it didn't hurt it was a beautiful lady doing the job. Kay's at her very best when she let's her feelings show. She doesn't show them often, but she had them all out there in that half hour. She was convinced I was innocent, and that was one emotion she wore on her sleeve. But along with an emotional presentation was a step by step outline of the case, and all the evidence pointing to the fact I had not committed the murder.

  She briefly reviewed Abang's testimony, showing how logical it was to assume death had occurred around noon while I was drinking coffee in the restaurant. She stressed the fact the golf club must have originally had Dale Matthias's fingerprints all over it since the others in the office were in that condition. She then pointed out the murder weapon had been wiped clean.

  And then she did something which completely threw me—and the jury too, for that matter. I could tell by their startled expressions. Kay paused, then asked the jury to think of me as the murderer. She pointed at me and said, “You’ve heard Ronald Crockett. I think you now know something about what he’s like, so it may be difficult for you to picture him murdering anyone, but I'm asking you to try to do just that. Since it’s a common belief anyone can be a murderer, perhaps you can make yourself believe it. But can you believe the defendant who testified before you, who answered every question asked by the prosecuting attorney clearly and calmly, could have done the following after having killed Dale Matthias? Picture it!

  “Ronald Crockett has just killed Dale Matthias and is standing over his victim while carefully wiping his fingerprints off of the murder weapon. What does he do next? He replaces the golf club and then—listen closely—he then picks up the club again, holds it, and leaves his fingerprints all over it. Surely, that is just too much to believe.

  “So why did Ron have the club in his hands when Reggie came into the room? For the simple reason he wasn't the one who wiped the club clean; he wasn't the one who used it to kill Dale Matthias. He picked up the club because he was concerned about the victim—just as you and I would have been. And he did so because—clearly—he was not the murderer.”

  She then ended on what Qual told me later was an even more unique note. According to Sid, it came as a complete surprise to him, too. Kay had added it at the last minute to the notes she’d memorized, and she kept those last sentences all to herself.

  “In conclusion, I am asking you not only to find Ronald Crockett innocent, as he is, but I am also asking you to think about what finding him guilty would mean. It would mean, very simply, the police will not look for the real murderer. It would mean the person who is the real killer will not only go unpunished, but will be at large in the community and will know there is no danger of punishment. Please think of that before you bring in your verdict.”

  ***

  While Lisa was giving instructions to the jury, Sid wrote a note to Kay and passed it to Ron to pass along to her.

  It said, “You were magnificent. I love you.”

  Ron put ditto marks under each sentence and passed it along to Kay.

  ***

  What followed was pure, unadulterated hell.

  The jury retired to the jury room. Sid, Kay, Qual, Craig (who Qual told the attendant was a consulting attorney) and I went to the conference room.

  Everyone started to speculate.

  “Don't expect a quick decision,” Sid said. “Juries can sometimes take days.”

  Great, I thought.

  “That's ridiculous,” Craig said. “It won't take ten minutes for them to decide Ron's not guilty.”

  I liked that comment.

  “The longer they take, the worse it is,” said Kay.

  “That's for sure,” I commented with considerable feeling.

  “That's not what Kay means,” Sid said. “It's just that guilty verdicts usually take a lot longer than not guilty ones. The longer they take . . .”

  Kay cut in, glaring at Sid. “The only thing you can predict about juries is you can't predict about juries.”

  Sid agreed with her and went on to cite from his own experience a case he'd had where he'd been absolutely certain his client would be found innocent. The jury had stayed out for about half-an-hour and returned with a verdict of guilty.

  “I prefer Craig's view,” I said wryly.

  Kay did more than glare at Sid this time. “Keep your pessimism to yourself, Chu. Ron's got enough to worry about without you adding to it.”

  Amen, I thought.

  I like Sid, but sometimes his personality can be a real downer. And I wasn't exactly in a mood for downers while we were waiting for the verdict.

  After sitting around for an hour or so, I overheard Sid say to Kay Judge Raines had been impartial in her charge to the jury.

  Kay nodded absently.

  It was what Sid said next to Kay that really got to me. “You're going to have a hell of a job finding anything she's done to appeal about.”

  ***

  Craig's comment about the sudden disappearance of the anti-judiciary campaign from the editorial pages of the Chronicle rescued Ron from the depths, which the thought of having to appeal a guilty verdict had driven him to.

  “Leilani's sister is married to the brother of one of the proof readers,” Kay said. “The proofreader says the subscription cancellations have been pouring in. And a representation from the local chapter of NOW showed up at old man Ikeda's home last night. I'm not sure what they said, but I can guess. I know the woman who's president of the chapter. She’s built like an army tank and moves like one. Old man
Ikeda probably had visions of himself ending up as a pancake.”

  “Don't sell Kumiko Ikeda short, though,” said Sid. “Leilani says Kumiko has a mind of her own. She may have given old man Ikeda a full-scale Japanese roasting.”

  “And there may be something else going on,” Qual said. “I've heard the rumble Judge Raines is filing a recommendation to the Disciplinary Council of the Supreme Court. She's suggesting a master be appointed to look into Scott Ikeda's antics. And she's being joined by Judge Wong in the request. They've both recommended Ikeda go back to law school for further instruction. Scott, himself, may have told his uncle to lay off.”

  The rest of the afternoon crept along at a snail's pace. Qual worked on one of his briefs. Sid went out to buy some magazines and came back with the latest Time and Newsweek. Craig tried to figure out what groceries he was going to buy for the menu he was creating for dinner, then retired into a corner with several old issues of Sports Illustrated which had been sitting on one of the tables. Kay paced. Ron kept looking at the clock.

  ***

  I know the clock in the conference room ran backwards when I took my eyes off of it. Sid offered me a magazine, but I wasn't up to even turning the pages. I'd quit smoking when I was twenty, but I suddenly got the urge to go out and buy a pack. I would have too, but I couldn't take my eyes off the clock long enough. The jury had gone out shortly after two. Slowly, slowly, the hands turned to four. They seemed to just hang there.

  “If they don't arrive at a decision, today,” I asked Kay, “how long will it be before they break up for the evening?”

  “Judge Raines likes to get decisions done and over with. She could hold them as late as five-thirty, possibly even later. Most judges would have sent in the clerk by now to ask them if they were making any progress. And if a decision didn't seem imminent, the judge would send them off until ten, tomorrow.”

  “Five-thirty,” I thought. “I'll never make it.” But I did.

  In fact it was almost five-forty when Qual stood up and said, “Looks like we have another day in court ahead of us.”

  He had hardly said the words when the bailiff entered and told us the jury was coming back into the courtroom.

  I wasn't at all happy with what I saw when everyone was finally seated. Judge Raines looked grim, and the jury looked even grimmer. There wasn't a single smile among them. In fact, several of the jurors looked downright angry. That included the pleasant-faced woman in the front row. Her face was a thundercloud. And that shy looking blonde looked like she'd just chewed down on the sourest lemon you can imagine.

  Old Sleepyhead, from the back row, was wide-awake. And, as far as I was concerned, he didn't look much different from an executioner. The foreman was a tall, gaunt haole woman of forty-five or so, the oldest of the women. I tried to read her face. The conclusion I came to was she had hemorrhoids and was distinctly pained at my having made her sit here on a hard bench for four days.

  Wild thoughts kept shooting through my mind. I began to think that, like in an old movie I'd seen, maybe one person had wanted to acquit me. But instead of convincing the others, the way it turned out in the movie, this time the other eleven had browbeaten the holdout into voting against me. But not even one of them looked as though they'd ever been friendly or sympathetic. All I could read in their faces was the conviction all of them had voluntarily agreed on a guilty verdict, only regretting they couldn't send me off to be hanged.

  Fortunately for my peace of mind, Judge Raines seemed to be as anxious to get it over with as I was. She quickly read through the formalities. The foreman stood and answered the judge's question, stating the jury had reached a decision. Judge Raines asked me to rise to hear the verdict. Somehow I managed to struggle to my feet.

  Even though Sid had prepared me for the ritual that followed, I thought it was completely barbaric and aimed entirely at making me as miserable as possible. At the announcement a verdict had been reached, the court clerk walked to the jury box and the foreman handed her a paper. Something went wrong, and the paper fell to the floor. The clerk stooped down and retrieved it. Then she walked up to the bench and handed it up to the judge. Everything had slowed to the slowest of slow motions. The court was completely quiet. I'd stopped breathing.

  Judge Raines read the paper. I tried to read the expression on her face. There was absolutely none. There had been none before she read it; none while she did; none afterwards.

  She handed the paper back to the clerk.

  The clerk turned toward the audience and began to read, “We, the jury, find the defendant, Ronald Crockett . . .”

  And she went on to say the most beautiful words I'd ever heard in my whole life.

  Before the place turned into pandemonium, Judge Raines, who'd been prepared, quickly dismissed me, thanked the jury and adjourned. The next thing I knew the jury foreman had given me a big hug and kiss. Everyone was shaking my hands, congratulating me, patting me on the back, telling me the decision was right on. Kay was even more overwhelmed by well-wishers. The crowd was getting between me and my attorneys. Sid shouted over the hubbub, “Come to the office afterwards. We're going to celebrate.”

  I was still in a daze, but I understood enough of what he was saying to nod.

  Someone was tugging at my sleeve. It was the court clerk. I had to lean down to hear what she was saying.

  “Judge Raines wishes to talk to you. Come with me, and I'll show you to her chambers.”

  Chapter 26

  Craig insisted on buying a bottle of champagne on the way to the office and wanted Sid to go along and help choose.

  As they left the courtroom, they saw Hank and Corky standing by a patrol car, talking.

  “Give my congratulations to Kay,” Corky said. “I was in on the morning session. She did a tremendous job.”

  “Come to the celebration at the office,” Sid said.

  Hank grinned. “Are you sure you want me? Remember, I was the arresting officer.”

  “You keep us in business, Hank. So we can't complain.”

  “Maybe you can't, but how about Ron Crockett?”

  “Now's the time to see him. Believe me. He's in a real forgiving mood right now.”

  The reception room was a large one, but by the time the attorneys and the others had assembled, it was crowded. John Pak, who Leilani had talked into coming with her to the office, was there with her waiting for the others. Hank and Corky arrived shortly afterwards, and then Kay. Selection of the right champagne had required some thought, so Sid and Craig got there after most of the other celebrants.

  “Where's Qual?” Sid asked.

  “Talking to the jury foreman, last I saw,” Kay said. “I told him we'd be here.”

  “But where's the defendant?” Craig asked. “We can't celebrate without him.”

  “He was being mobbed just before I left,” Sid answered, “but I told him to come here afterwards. He said he would, and I'm sure he will.”

  Craig moved on to Kay and was soon plying her with questions.

  “Why didn't you try to prove one of the others guilty? I thought that was why you wanted so much information about them.”

  “I didn't want to try to prove anyone else guilty, I just wanted the jury to be convinced someone else was.”

  “But wouldn't it have been easier if you could have pointed out someone else was guilty?”

  “Sure. But I don't know who is. And since I don't, I wasn't about to push too hard on anyone. If I had, they might have come back with a cast-iron alibi and then there would have been one less suspect for the jury to think about. My main concern was to convince the jury death occurred much sooner than two. But once I pointed out Dale was really sick, maybe to the point where he was unconscious at the time of the attack, and that he had a fever when he was killed, there was no way I could prove the actual time of death since I didn't know what his temperature actually was. That aspirin business really bothered me.

  On the one hand, Dale's use of it that day could have ac
counted for the blood looking so fresh, but on the other hand, aspirin can lower a fever. A smart prosecutor could have argued Dale's temperature was probably down to normal at the time of the killing. Or he could have gone along with my argument and agreed Dale was killed much earlier. Then he could have claimed Ron killed Dale back during the time of the argument at eleven or so. We're just lucky Ikeda has so little imagination.”

  Sid was the one asking the next question. “What really tipped you off Ron wasn't the murderer?”

  “It really wasn't any single thing. I knew, early on, if Ron was innocent, the killing had to have been done well before quarter-of-two, before Ron came back to the office. Now, at least one person for sure knew the real time of the killing. I suspected probably two people were involved, since that would give them a chance to provide alibis for each other for the actual time of Dale's death. I'm almost certain whoever did the killing planned it all very carefully, probably brought a gun along, but used the club because it was handy, and then the weapon didn't have to be disposed of. That's what I meant when I said I was certain the murder was premeditated even though it didn't look like that.”

  “Oh,” said Craig. “I'm beginning to see. Someone had it all planned to kill Dale around twelve o'clock, and they set up an alibi for that time, thinking the autopsy would prove it happened at twelve.”

  “Right. And things fell apart for whoever it was when the word got out the time of death was estimated to be around two o'clock. That's when I got overconfident and figured we could pinpoint the murderer by finding out whoever seemed to have provided themselves with an alibi for earlier but neglected to for later. Ron did a great job of investigating. Too great. It seemed as though just about everyone had a good alibi for eleven on to about one, and then they began to improvise. So I had some guesses about who may have done the killing, but the only thing I knew for sure was Ron hadn't.”

  Qual came in at that moment, followed shortly by Ron. Cheers went up. Craig popped the champagne and started to pour.

  “How do you feel Ron?” Craig asked.