“But the really fascinating part is why Willie Miller stands before you at all. Because there has been no accident here, no case of mistaken identity. Nothing in this case has happened by chance. Willie Miller has been framed … cleverly, diabolically, and ruthlessly. It is a frame-up that began the night of the murder, in fact well before that night, and which has continued to this very moment.
“Denise McGregor died tragically that night, but Willie Miller is a second victim, and the extent to which he has been victimized will astonish you.”
I take a drink of water from my glass at the defense table, and nod very slightly to Kevin's cousin, sitting in the first row behind the defense table, right where we planted him. The word “astonish” was the trigger, so he gets up and walks the few feet to me, leaning in and pretending to whisper something in my ear. I nod, and he leaves the courtroom through the rear doors.
I turn again and face the jury. “When I finish, the prosecution is going to be presenting their case. I already know what it consists of, and take my word for it, the most significant part of that case is an eyewitness.”
I stop, as if seriously considering the import of such a witness.
“An eyewitness. Sounds pretty momentous, doesn't it? The word almost sounds as if a drumroll should precede it. The average person thinks, well, he might as well plead guilty, because they've got an …”
I beat a drumroll with my hands on the railing of the jury box.
“… eyewitness.”
The jury laughs, which is what I'm looking for.
“Every moment of every day, we are eyewitnesses to what happens before us. Moments ago, a man got up from that chair, spoke to me, and left the court. Since there's not much else to do around here, I assume most of you watched him. You were eyewitnesses to it.”
There is a slight murmuring among the jury, as Kevin reaches under the defense table and picks up a large piece of paperboard. He hands it to me, and I bring it over to the jury, after first registering it as a defense exhibit.
The board has six photos on it of six different men. They all look vaguely similar and are all dressed alike. Any one of them could be Kevin's cousin, as long as no one was watching closely.
“One of these pictures is of the man that just spoke to me. I wonder if any of you could identify him. And if you were to try, would you also be willing to say, ‘I am so sure that was him, that I would send someone to be put to death, based on my certainty.’ ”
The look on their faces clearly reflects the fact that they have no idea which photo is the correct one, and they are afraid that they will actually be called upon to try and pick it out.
“I think not. And remember, there was no shock or excitement connected with this. You were paying attention, but nobody had a knife, no one was bleeding to death in front of you, and you weren't afraid for your lives. Do you think that would have made your job easier, or harder?”
A pause for effect. “I'd guess a lot harder.”
Many of the jurors are nodding along with me.
“Tough, huh? And just think, you were all …”
Again I beat a drumroll on the jury railing.
“… eyewitnesses.”
I don't go on much longer, mainly because I don't want to screw up a good thing. Also, Wallace hasn't gotten deeply into the specifics of the evidence to be presented, so I don't have to go into how I will refute it. If I will refute it.
When I walk back to the defense table and sit down, Willie looks positively giddy. I'm afraid he's going to give me a high five and a chest bump, but he manages to stifle the impulse. I'm going to have to talk to him about looking impassive. My guess, however, is that Lee Strasberg couldn't teach Willie to look impassive.
Hatchet decides that it's too late in the day to start calling witnesses, so he adjourns. As we are filling our briefcases, with the jury already dismissed for the day, Wallace comes up to me, a slight smile on his face.
“Upper right,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
He points to the board with the six pictures on it. “The guy who was in the courtroom is the photo in the upper right hand corner.”
The truth is, I have no idea which is the correct picture. I look to Kevin, who has heard Wallace and who obviously knows which one his cousin is. Kevin nods. Wallace is correct.
I smile. “Lucky for me you're not on the jury.”
He returns the smile. “You got that right.”
MY WAY OF WORKINGWHILE A TRIAL IS in progress is to have nightly meetings with the rest of the defense team, so that we can prepare for the next day's court session. I sometimes have these sessions at my house, but in deference to the Nicole/Laurie situation, we're meeting at the office.
I have to assume that I am still in danger; the people that broke into our house and who attacked me in the office may well strike again, perhaps with more deadly results. I probably should get a bodyguard, but the stubborn side of me is resisting it.
The ironic thing about the threats is that I'm not sure what they are warning me against. It might well be the Miller case, except for the fact that it is illogical to think a lawyer would just give up a case in mid-trial, especially since he would just be replaced by another lawyer.
Besides, if I were someone looking to get Willie reconvicted, I would want this to move along as fast as possible. The more delay, the more attention that is brought to the trial, the more chance to find exculpatory evidence.
The other possibility, of course, is the photograph. I haven't exactly been relentless in hunting this down; all we have done is ask Markham and Brownfield if they are in the picture. If that is enough to trigger this violent reaction, the secret behind the picture must truly be incendiary. Then why is the picture so bland?
I'm still not positive that there's a connection between the picture and the Miller case; but I feel in my gut that there is. If I'm right, it means I have to step up my investigation into the picture before it's too late and Willie is back on death row. And if I do that, I'll likely be in more danger and more in need of a bodyguard. And round and round, “Like the circles that you find, in the windmills of your mind.”
The meeting is short and to the point. Kevin and Laurie give me their impressions of the opening arguments (mostly positive). Kevin correctly believes that we have an uphill struggle ahead of us, and that we should be shooting for a hung jury. Therefore, with Marjorie's help he has isolated two jurors who are most likely to be on our side. One, a twenty-four-year-old African-American woman, is a college teaching assistant. The other, a thirty-four-year-old Hispanic, is an account executive at a direct mail advertising agency. Kevin feels that whenever possible I should speak directly to them, and I agree that, within limits, I'll do it.
Laurie tells me that she has located Betty Anthony, the widow of Mike Anthony, the newspaperman who we believe is the fourth person in the photograph. I had requested that she not make contact with Betty, since I want to do that myself. All I have to do is find the time.
The next morning, Wallace calls his first witness, Detective Steven Prentice. The prosecution always builds their case from the bottom up, establishing all the facts in a way that is incontrovertible. Prentice was a young patrolman at the time of the murder, and he was the first one to respond to the 911 call that Edward made.
“Can you describe the scene when you first arrived?” asks Wallace.
Prentice nods. “Ms. McGregor's body was lying facedown in the alley behind the bar. There was a significant amount of blood surrounding her.”
Wallace introduces some horrific pictures of Denise and the murder scene to buttress what Prentice had said. “And what was the first thing that you did?”
“I cordoned off the area. There were people around, curiosity seekers, and I wanted to make sure that they did not tamper with anything before the detectives arrived.”
“Did you see a murder weapon anywhere?”
Prentice shakes his head. “No.”
“Was there anyone present that you considered a suspect?”
“No, but there was an eyewitness there. She was pretty shaken up. I put her in a room upstairs from the bar to wait for the detectives, so that she could give them a statement.”
“How long did it take for the first detective to arrive?” Wallace asks.
“About ten minutes.”
“And who was that?”