Blind Conviction (Nate Shepherd Legal Thriller Series Book 3)

by Michael Stagg

  “Then you need to go light about any of this having to do with Hamish.”

  I shook my head. “Archie, I can't promise to do that at all. My job is to beat this case.”

  “Your job is to not kill my parents.”

  I thought. “I promise not to say anything I can't prove.”

  “Nate.”

  “Archie. If I can prove something about Hamish, then it’s his fault. Not mine.”

  Archie seemed satisfied with that as he sipped his coffee. “So what are our chances?”

  “Better than even.”

  “That's all?”

  “Parts of their case are pretty solid.”

  “I heard that this prosecutor has never lost a case.”

  “That's true. But he’s never tried this case before.”

  Archie looked skeptical.

  “Just because you have rain on June 23rd every year for ten years doesn't mean it will happen next year, does it?”

  Archie blew on his coffee. “No, I don't suppose it does.”

  “It's a new year, Archie.”

  He stared out the window. “I want to be here next June, Nate.”

  “I know.”

  “I don’t know that I can live a life without farming in it.”

  “I understand.”

  He nodded. “I wanted you to know.”

  “I do.”

  Archie didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to get me out of the house and I realized that, besides Bonnie and his mother, he probably wasn’t in contact with anyone. So I took my time and I finished my coffee while the two of us stared out the window.

  When I was about done, he drained his cup and said, “I’ll be ready.”

  I finished my own. “Good. I'll see you Monday.”

  He walked out with me to my Jeep and we exchanged small talk about him finishing the harvest in time for the trial, which had not at all been a sure thing. I heard the faint commotion of pigs and caught a strong waft of their smell as I left.

  I hoped that Archie could do the same after next week.

  33

  Judge Wesley didn't mess around. We started promptly at 8:30 a.m. on Monday and by 10:45 a.m., we had twelve jurors seated and ready to go. She ran through the jury questionnaires herself, asking all the basic questions like marital status, job, kids, and whether anyone had ever been accused of, or the victim of, an assault themselves. By the time she was done, we didn’t have much left to ask and she wasn't interested in letting us repeat any of her questions just so we could build a rapport with the jury. In the end, we wound up with seven women and five men, which I thought was just about as good as we could do.

  For the most part, I didn't have any objections. There were three that really stood out. One was a farmer who managed two hundred acres of corn, soybeans, and a decent number of cows in the far southern part of the county. I thought that he would have to know the Macks, but he claimed that he had a tendency to associate with farmers in Ohio and Indiana more than those in the northern part of Ash County. I found it hard to believe that he didn't know the farmers of six hundred and forty acres in his own county, but he was adamant.

  The second was a woman who was a crisis counselor for our local hospital system. As part of her job, she helped women who were the victims of domestic and sexual assault when they came to the hospital and supported them when the police were gathering evidence. She stayed with the women, counseled them, and helped them through what was a traumatizing, and sometimes invasive, process. Abby hadn’t been taken to her hospital, so that wasn’t enough to eliminate her from the jury, but I was concerned that she might be so empathetic to Abby's assault that she’d drop the hammer on Archie just to make sure.

  The third was a homebuilder on the east side of the county, which normally wouldn't raise my antenna at all. The problem was that he had been about to start construction on a neighborhood when he was approached by an oil company about drilling a well. The well had hit and now, instead of building a subdivision of houses, he was collecting oil royalties. I was able to determine that his contract was with Peninsula Petroleum, a competitor of Hillside Oil’s, but I couldn't delve too far into that without tipping my hand. I was concerned though that, if I did have to go there, he might be predisposed favorably toward Wellington and the oil company.

  I consoled myself with the fact that I only needed to convince one juror that Archie didn't do it. One juror to convince of reasonable doubt. In theory, I didn't need those three, but I worried about the dynamic in the room and their influence on others more than their individual vote. We would have to see.

  It was approaching eleven o'clock when Judge Wesley said, “Counsel, are you prepared for opening statements?”

  T. Marvin Stritch looked at the clock. “Is there enough time, Your Honor?”

  Judge Wesley straightened and made a show of looking at the clock. “You have thirty minutes, Mr. Stritch.”

  “I have been coming in around forty minutes, Your Honor.”

  “We’ve already met you,” Judge Wesley said as she pulled out a brief and started marking it up. “Skip the greeting and speak faster.”

  T. Marvin Stritch didn’t blink. He made his way up to the lectern and turned on a PowerPoint projector. A minute later, he was ready to go. “May it please the Court?” he said.

  Judge Wesley didn't look up. “Twenty-eight minutes, Mr. Stritch.”

  T. Marvin Stritch wore a brown suit that had the same practical functionality as his neatly cut brown hair. His face looked even more drawn than it had two weeks ago, but his eyes gleamed with enthusiasm as he faced the jury and said, “Members of the jury. That man, Archibald Mack, tried to kill a woman named Abby Ackerman. He knocked her down an old stairway at Century Quarry, then went down the stairs and smashed her in the head with a rock before leaving her there to die. Thankfully, Ms. Ackerman didn't die from her injuries or from exposure or drowning. No, the good lifeguards at the Quarry and our own Ash County paramedics found her the next morning, unconscious, bleeding, and alone, with a shattered hip and a broken eye socket and saved her by fortunate chance and the grace of God. Because she survived his heinous acts, Mr. Mack has been charged with attempted murder.”

  T. Marvin stood in front of the jury like a veteran history teacher delivering the same lecture to students year after year. “Now, we aren't going to just ask you to believe us or make our points with clever tricks. We’re going to provide you with evidence, evidence that's going to prove every bit of what we say. We're going to prove to you that Archibald Mack went to the Century Quarry last August for the Big Luke concert and that he parked his truck in the front lot. We're going to prove that to you with video that shows him doing just that.”

  “We’re also going to prove to you that Abby Ackerman went to the concert that night with a group of girlfriends. We’re going to show that they had a grand time and that, after the concert, they gathered for a little while in the courtyard. And then Abby left the courtyard and walked toward the back of the Quarry. We’re going to show you video of that too.”

  Stritch paused, making eye contact with each of them.

  “And then we’re going to show you that Archibald Mack followed her, that he went to the back of the Quarry right after her. We’re going to show you the video of it so that you can see it for yourselves.”

  “Now why is that suspicious? Because we already know that Mr. Mack had parked his car in the front lot. There was no reason for him to walk toward the back, toward the abandoned stairway. No reason at all. Unless Abby was that reason.”

  He let it hang out there for a few seconds before he continued.

  “Then, with that same video, we’re going to prove to you that Archibald Mack came back to the courtyard. And that Abby Ackerman never did.”

  He shook his head.

  “No, poor Abby didn’t. Instead, we’ll show you that Abby Ackerman was found the next morning on the rocks at the foot of an abandoned stairway, unconscious and near death.”


  Stritch sped up.

  “Now you’re going to hear from Ms. Ackerman. She’s going to tell you how she was grabbed and thrown down the stairs. She’s going to tell you how she lay at the bottom in the rocks, unable to move, her hip shattered. She’s going to tell you how she heard someone come down the stairs, and how she cried out for help. And then she’s going to tell you that that person, that monster, raised a rock and smashed her in the face.”

  Stritch raised one hand for effect and then drove it down with his words.

  He paused, straightened his glasses, and said, “Now, it was dark and she was in horrible pain so Ms. Ackerman won’t be able to identify her attacker. But the evidence does. The evidence will prove to you that Archibald Mack was right there at the top of the stairs. How are we going to do that? We're going to do that with his blood.”

  T. Marvin Stritch straightened then and pointed at Archie.

  “With his blood that we found on the railing at the top of the stairs. And how do we know it's his? Because we tested it and it matches his DNA. And we’re going to show you video of him, with his hand bandaged and bleeding, leaving the Quarry after this incident, just walking out bold as you please while behind him…Well, while behind him he left this.”

  T. Marvin Stritch shook his head and turned his back to the jury, walking slowly toward the projection screen, head bowed. He clicked a button and a picture flashed up on the screen for the first time. It was Abby—her body twisted among the rocks, her face bleeding, her fingers trailing in the water.

  “This is how the Quarry staff found her,” T. Marvin Stritch said. “Alone. Unconscious. Shattered. With nothing to keep her from slipping into the water except the sharp rocks gouging her skin.”

  He pointed.

  “You’ll notice it’s light in this picture. That's because it was taken in the morning. We're going to prove to you that Abby Ackerman lay like this all night, until the sun came up. Until Quarry lifeguards found her the next day.”

  T. Marvin Stritch circled back around to the jury.

  “And do you know the final thing we’re going to prove to you? That Ms. Ackerman was the fiancée of Hamish Mack, Archibald Mack’s own brother, who she’d been with for four years. And we’re going to show you that Archibald Mack called his brother, angry, right before this attack. He called his brother and mentioned Ms. Ackerman in anger by name.”

  I kept my face straight. That was not how the call had been described to me. I didn’t jot a note and I didn’t move as T. Marvin Stritch shook his head. More than one of them shook their heads right back.

  “We’re going to prove all of this to you—that Archibald Mack followed his brother’s fiancée, pushed her down a flight of stairs, and then intentionally tried to kill her before leaving her to die. And after we prove all of that, we’re going to ask you to find Archibald Mack guilty of the attempted murder of Abby Ackerman. Thank you.”

  Stritch turned off the projector and returned to his seat in crisp, functional movements. As he sat, Judge Wesley said, “You may proceed, Mr. Shepherd. Same time limit.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  I walked over to the jury. “Good morning.” I got a couple of smiles and ten stony stares. “Mr. Stritch just told you that he's going to prove that my client, Archibald Mack, attempted to kill Abby Ackerman. He says he's going to prove that Mr. Mack pushed Ms. Ackerman down the abandoned quarry stairs, hit her with a rock, and then left her there to die.”

  I paused.

  “Hold him to it. Hold him to every word of it.”

  I paced a little to the right.

  “Mr. Stritch just spent a lot of time telling you what he was going to prove. What he didn't say was just as important. He didn't say he had an eyewitness who will testify that Mr. Mack pushed Ms. Ackerman down the stairs. That’s because there isn’t one.”

  “He didn’t say he has video of Mr. Mack assaulting Ms. Ackerman. That’s because there isn’t any.”

  “He didn’t say that he had a witness or video or any other evidence that Mr. Mack was ever at the bottom of those stairs with a rock and he certainly didn’t say that he had any evidence that Mr. Mack lifted a rock and struck her and left her there to die. That’s because he doesn’t have any. Not a shred. He doesn’t have evidence that Archie was ever at the bottom of the stairs, he doesn’t have any evidence that he touched a rock. In fact, he doesn’t even have the rock.”

  I made eye contact from juror to juror. I wasn’t getting a lot back.

  “Mr. Stritch also didn’t say that Ms. Ackerman will identify Mr. Mack as her attacker. That’s because she won’t. Despite the fact that she saw her attacker, she will not identify that person as Mr. Mack.”

  “In fact, Mr. Stritch didn’t even say that he has any evidence that specifically links Mr. Mack to Ms. Ackerman’s body in any way. No, what he has is video at the concert, video of my client leaving the Quarry, and blood on a stairway railing, blood which you will learn came, not from an attack, but from a cut Mr. Mack sustained working on the farm earlier in the day with Hamish Mack, Ms. Ackerman’s fiancé and his own brother.”

  I shook my head.

  “Mr. Stritch knows all this. He knows he doesn’t have any direct evidence of the crime he’s accusing my client of. So I challenge him, right now, to provide you with evidence that Archibald Mack laid hands on Abby Ackerman and threw her down a stairway. I challenge him, right now, to provide you with evidence that Archibald Mack hit her in the head with a blunt instrument of any kind. I challenge him, right now, to provide you with evidence that Archibald Mack saw Abby Ackerman on the rocks by the water and left her to die.”

  I shrugged.

  “So far he hasn't provided any such evidence to me. I would think that he would provide it to you. When he doesn't, we're going to ask that you return a verdict of not guilty.”

  I turned as if to return to my seat then said, “Oh, and he hasn’t mentioned why in the world my client would do such a thing to his own brother’s fiancée. Listen for that too. Thank you.”

  As I returned to my seat, I saw Judge Wesley out of the corner of my eye. She was staring at me.

  “Bold,” whispered Danny.

  “Members of the jury,” said Judge Wesley. “We will break for lunch and begin hearing witness testimony after.” Then she gaveled us out and the jury left.

  “What if he has that evidence?” whispered Danny.

  “Then we’re screwed anyway. Why don't you take Archie somewhere for a sandwich.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Get ready.”

  I glanced at Stritch. As the judge left, he just took his legal pad and started reviewing it, flipping through from page to page. It was clear he wasn't going anywhere.

  Exactly what I would expect.

  I gathered my trial notebook, my brown bag with the turkey sandwich, orange, and a bottle of water in it, and went to find a quiet corner to prepare for the afternoon.

  T. Marvin Stritch was scribbling as I left.

  34

  Judge Wesley had us back from lunch at exactly one o'clock. Within minutes, the jury was seated and she said, “Mr. Stritch, you may call your first witness.”

  Stritch stood. “Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Kirby Granger.”

  Kirby walked up awkwardly from the back of the courtroom. He was wearing khaki pants and a golf shirt that was having trouble staying tucked in around the edges of his stomach. He got hung up for a moment on the swinging gate that separated the gallery from the counsel tables but then made his way between us. He gave me a nervous smile and a little wave and sat down in the witness chair, clearing his throat.

  After he’d been sworn in, Stritch said, “Could you introduce yourself to the jury, please?”

  Kirby turned to the jury. “Hi. My name is Kirby Granger. Nice to meet you.”

  Stritch smiled. A couple of the jurors did too.

  “And what do you do for a living, Mr. Granger?”

  “I run
Century Quarry.”

  “And how long have you run the Quarry?”

  “Well, I started working there, I don't know seventeen, no eighteen, no, I think it was seventeen years ago…yes, it was definitely seventeen years ago, but that was just as a lifeguard. I started running the concession stand three, no four years later, so that would be thirteen years ago, so that means I would’ve started as the second manager another two years after that and then there was the time that I was co-manager with Ricky Johnson but that didn't work out so it would've been maybe eleven years now. Yes, eleven years. I think. But I wouldn't want to swear to it.”

  Stritch stiffened as Kirby's answer went on. “That's fine, Mr. Granger. But you know you have sworn to tell the truth, so I need you to tell the truth as much as you know it. And if you don't know it, just say so.”

  Kirby nodded. “Sure. I would say somewhere between ten and twelve years then. Just to be safe.”

  “That's just fine,” said Stitch. “And as the manager of the Century Quarry, were you at the Big Luke concert last August?”

  “I sure was. It was one of the biggest gates we've ever had. Acts that size usually don’t come to the Quarry.” Kirby's eyes grew wide. “Oh, I didn't mean it like that. I mean Luke is big, they call him Big Luke for a reason, but I wasn't talking about him. I was talking about the gate.”

  The jurors’ smiles grew, and I lowered my head.

  Stritch shifted his weight, his smile plastered on. “I don't think anyone took it that way, Mr. Granger.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Did you see Abby Ackerman the night of the concert?”

  Kirby nodded. “I did. She worked at the Quarry years ago, so I always save a ticket for her if she wants to go.”

  “And did she in fact go to the Big Luke concert?”

  Kirby looked around, as if he were worried he was missing something. “Well, yes. Isn't that what this is all about?”

  Stitch’s smile didn’t falter as he nodded and said, “It is, Mr. Granger. I'm just trying to establish for the jury that Ms. Ackerman was there and that you saw her. Is that true?”