First degree (15 page)

Hatchet asks me if I want to make my opening statement now or reserve it for the conclusion of the prosecution's case. It's a no-brainer; it's time the jury came to understand this is not going to be a walk in the park for Dylan.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," I begin, "that was a heck of a speech, wasn't it? That Mr. Campbell can really turn a phrase."

I look directly at Dylan. "I'm such an admirer of his words, in fact, that I'd like to read some more, if I may. I'll make sure I quote him directly so I don't mess things up."

I walk over to the defense table, and Kevin hands me a piece of paper. "Here goes ... these are words that Mr. Campbell said about this case," I say, as I start to read. "'Your Honor, the State of New Jersey will prove that on May thirteenth of this year, in the City of Paterson, New Jersey, the defendant did, with malice aforethought, will-fully murder Mr. Alex Dorsey, a lieutenant in the Paterson Police Department.'"

I hand the paper back to Kevin and turn to the jury. "A little drier than his speech today, but it summed things up pretty nicely, wouldn't you say? The defendant murdered Alex Dorsey. Very simple."

I walk over and point to Laurie. "The only problem is, this wasn't the defendant he was talking about. He was talking about a man named Oscar Garcia, and Mr. Campbell at that time said that Oscar Garcia was guilty, beyond a reasonable doubt, of the murder of Alex Dorsey. Now he says that Oscar Garcia is innocent and that Laurie Collins is guilty of that same murder, also beyond a reasonable doubt.

"So here's a riddle: How many people, not working together, can be guilty beyond a reasonable doubt of the same crime before those doubts become totally reasonable?"

I look at Dylan and shake my head, as if saddened by his transgressions. "In our justice system, a prosecutor should be certain before he brings charges like these, and Mr. Campbell claimed to be certain that Oscar Garcia was guilty. He was totally wrong then, but he asks you to believe he's right now. And he wants you to send somebody to prison for the rest of her life based on that belief.

"I said he was wrong then, which makes me one for one. I'm telling you he's wrong now, which you will soon see makes me two for two.

"But when the State of New Jersey brings a charge of murder, however unfounded, it must be vigorously defended. So let's look at what Mr. Campbell would have you believe. He claims that Ms. Collins carried a grudge against Mr. Dorsey for two long years, never once during that time attempting to cause him physical harm. Then the police discover that she was right about him all along, and he is forced to go on the run. So according to Mr. Campbell, this was the time she chose to make her move. She found him when the entire police department could not, and then she brutally murdered him, even though she could have gotten total vindication and revenge just by turning him over to the department.

"In other words, when he was free and clear, she didn't go after him. When she had won, when he was a destroyed man, that's when she chose to put her own life in jeopardy by committing murder.

"Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"

I go on a while longer, extolling Laurie's record as a public servant and her extraordinary character as a human being. Kevin and I have debated whether to introduce in the opening statement our belief that Dorsey is alive. He is opposed, and I'm on the fence, but I decide to go ahead.

"I talked to you a little while ago about reasonable doubt. I told you that before long, you will be knee-deep in reasonable doubt about the charge that Ms. Collins murdered Alex Dorsey. But I'll take it one step further. You will have reasonable doubt that Alex Dorsey was murdered at all.

"Because, ladies and gentlemen, it is very possible that the murder victim in this case is alive and laughing at all of us."

EVERY MINUTE IS
CRUCIAL DURING A TRIAL. I TRY
to avoid spending any time at all on anything not directly related to our defense. It requires self-discipline, not something I have in abundance, but I'm able to summon it when I need it.

What I do most often is read. I read and then reread every scrap of paper we have, no matter how obscure. I sometimes find that it can be on the third or fourth reading that the significance of an item becomes clear.

I file things according to subject matter, and then I keep shuffling the files and going through them whenever I get the time. Tonight I take the file labeled "Tomorrow's Witnesses," which Kevin will update daily during the trial, into the den to go through. I also bring the Stynes file, since I haven't been through it in a while.

Dylan will be calling foundational witnesses tomorrow, none of whom will directly implicate Laurie, but who will "set the table" for the later witnesses to do just that. I go through the discovery related to their testimony and roughly plan out my cross-examination. I won't be able to do significant damage to them, but it's important that I make my points so that the jury does not see the prosecution's case as an uninterrupted juggernaut.

The Stynes file is short and depressing. We have all the police reports on Barry Leiter's murder and on their fruitless efforts to determine Stynes's real identity. I feel the now-familiar stab of pain that the real culprits, the people who sent Stynes to kill Barry, are likely never to be discovered.

The reports written by the individual officers on the scene at Barry's house that night basically echo Pete Stanton's statements to me. Stynes essentially ensured his own death by raising his gun when he was completely surrounded by gun-pointing officers. The problem is that no one, certainly including myself, can say why.

The autopsy report on Stynes is interesting but ultimately unenlightening. He was shot eleven times, six of which could have by themselves been fatal. The coroner describes Stynes as being in outstanding physical shape, with almost no body fat. However, at the same time, he writes that Stynes's body was "worn beyond his apparent chronological age." There was significant joint damage in his knees, elbows, and shoulders and an inordinately large amount of old scarring and scar tissue. This is not a guy who spent much time behind a desk. The coroner wryly noted that Stynes had a single tattoo on his right arm in just about the only area on his body that had not been previously damaged.

I'm just finishing the file when Laurie enters along with her traitor companion, Tara. "How are we doing?" Laurie asks.

It's probably the thousandth time she's asked me that question since this nightmare started, and my insides cringe when I hear it. She wants me to tell her that I've just come up with something, a breakthrough, that is going to bring us a quick, decisive, and startling victory.

"We're getting there," I say without much enthusiasm, and then I try not to listen to the sound of her heart hitting the floor. "It's a process."

"I know, Andy, I know it's a process," she says, partially venting her frustration. "You've told me a hundred times that it's a process, and I've got it down pat. It's a process."

I can get annoyed, start an argument, and we can add "hurt" and "miserable" to our mental state, which alphabetically would follow smoothly after "depressed" and "frustrated." Instead, I put my arm around her shoulder and draw her to me.

"I can say two things with certainty. Number one, this is not a process. Never has been, never will be. In law school that's the first thing they tell you: If you want a process, go to business school."

She smiles, and I can see the anger melting away. "You said you know two things with certainty. What's the other one?"

"That we are going to win. I'd be lying to you if I said I knew exactly how, but we are going to win."

She starts to formulate a question, then changes her mind and rests her head on my shoulder. I know she doesn't fully believe in what I'm saying, but I hope she's getting there. It's a process.

Dylan's first witness is a fourteen-year-old boy, one of a group that saw the smoke coming out of the warehouse that night and called the fire department. Dylan takes twenty minutes when he could have taken two, and since the kid never even saw the body, I don't bother to cross-examine.

Next up is a rookie police officer, Ricky Spencer, who was the first to realize it was a body that was smoldering.

"Did you immediately realize it was a body?" Dylan asks.

"Well, it was dark, and I wasn't really sure. I couldn't see a head ... a face." He seems shaken by the recollection, which most people would be. "When I shined a light on it, there was no doubt what it was."

"Other than the fact that there was a body, was there anything else unusual that you noticed about this fire?"

Spencer nods. "Yes. The fire seemed localized around the body, and there was a mostly empty gas can about ten feet away. It appeared to be arson, with the body the only target."

"If you know, did subsequent tests show that the same material that was in the can was involved in the fire?"

"Yes, it was. I saw the reports."

I could object to this as hearsay, but the facts are true, and Dylan could bring the same information in with other, more polished witnesses.

I rise to cross-examine. "Officer Spencer, that night at the warehouse must have been an upsetting experience for you."

He nods hesitantly. Dylan has told him to be wary of the evil defense counsel, but this seems harmless enough. "It was. I've never ..." He catches himself. "It was."

"You said, 'I've never.' Did you mean you've never seen anything like it before?"

He's caught, and he nods sheepishly. "I never have."

"But you weren't so upset that your recollections might be incorrect, were you?" I ask.

"No, sir. I remember everything very clearly."

I nod. "Good. Now, before you knew it was a body that was burning, what did you think it might be? Any ideas?"

He considers this. "Well, I thought it might be a mattress. Or maybe an old sofa. It sounds pretty awful to say that now, but ..." He lets his answer trail off.

"No, it's okay. I'm sure everybody understands." I look at the jury, and they are clearly joining me in sympathy for what this young man went through. "Now," I continue, "you say it seemed like a mattress, or a sofa ... so whatever was on fire seemed fairly large?"

"Yes. He was a big man."

"Right. Now, the gasoline can ... was that near the wheelbarrow?"

"I didn't see any wheelbarrow," he says.

"Really? Then where was the gurney?"

"There wasn't any gurney."

Now my surprise is showing through. "How about a cart or wagon of any kind?"

"No."

"Let me see if I understand this. Mr. Campbell said in his opening statement that the murder was committed behind Hinchcliffe Stadium, and then the body was brought to the warehouse. If that's true, are you saying that somebody carried it into the warehouse?"

"It's possible."

"How far was the body from the nearest door?"

"About forty feet," he says.

I back him further into the corner. "So the murderer is somebody strong enough to carry dead weight the size of an old couch more than forty feet?" I walk toward Laurie, to make it seem even more absurd that someone her size could have done this.

"I assume the murderer had a cart of some kind and then took it with him when he left. Or when she left."

"Then why would
he
leave the gas can?" I ask.

Dylan objects that the witness couldn't possibly know the murderer's internal reasoning, and Hatchet sustains.

"Did you see any wheel marks, or any tracks made by anything other than human feet?"

"No, but you should ask the forensic people that."

I smile, knowing that there were no such tracks. "Oh, I will. Believe me, I will."

Dylan has a couple of questions on redirect, trying to repair whatever damage I may have caused.

"Officer Spencer, do you know what kind of flooring there is in this particular warehouse?"

"I believe it is cement."

"So you wouldn't expect a gurney or a cart to leave tracks?"

"I wouldn't think so, no."

Dylan lets him off, and after Hatchet adjourns court for the day, I head home for what will become a nightly routine. Kevin, Laurie, and I have dinner, discussing the events of the day in court. Marcus will join us when he has something to add, which I hope will be soon. After dinner we move to the den, where we discuss our plans and strategies, and then they both leave me alone with my reading and preparations for the next day's witnesses. It's a grind, but experience has shown that it works for me.

It's eleven o'clock, and I'm sitting on the couch surrounded by paperwork, when Tara comes into the room. She walks over to me and stands a couple of feet away, as if waiting for me to call her over.

"It's obvious you're here only because Laurie's asleep," I say.

She responds by jumping up on the couch, but sitting about six inches away from me. "I need two hands to read, so there's no way I'm petting you," I say.

She tilts her head, as if puzzled by what I'm saying. It should be noted here that Tara has the cutest head tilt I have ever seen. If "head tilting" had been an Olympic sport in the eighties, even the East German judge would have given her a ten.

Tara's next move is to come closer and snuggle up against me, her head resting on my thigh. It's a blatant attempt to receive pleasure, and I can see through it from a mile away. "Nice try," I say, "but I'm not buying it."

She licks my hand, so I spend the next hour reading and petting her until we both fall asleep.

I meet Kevin at the courthouse at nine in the morning, and we again go over how we're going to handle Nick Sabonis, the first witness to tie Laurie to the crime. It's important that we make a real dent in him.

Dylan takes him through his being called to the warehouse the night of the murder, and the actions that he took. They're standard and proper, which is fine, because it has nothing to do with Laurie.

Dylan then moves to the meat of the testimony, which covers the afternoon when Laurie, at my request, went to check out the evidence Stynes had said he left behind Hinchcliffe Stadium.

"She was only there a few seconds before she went toward the clothing and the knife," Nick says.

"So it seemed as if she knew where it was?" Dylan asks.

Nick nods. "Seemed like it to me."

"Have you determined whose clothing it was?"

"It was the defendant's clothing. Ms. Collins." I could argue this point, but the prosecution has fiber evidence and sales receipts, so it would seem like a losing battle to attempt to disprove that these were Laurie's clothes, especially since they were.

"And the bloodstains? Were they the defendant's blood?"

"No, the DNA report showed the bloodstains to be Alex Dorsey's."

Dylan covers the gas can found in Laurie's garage, then starts to introduce the Oscar Garcia side of the equation, getting Nick to talk about the grudge Laurie had against Oscar. He will supplement this later with witnesses to confirm the grudge and to speak about Laurie being spotted near Oscar's apartment.

Dylan, and Kevin for that matter, seem surprised that I'm not objecting more, since a good portion of this is hearsay, but my feeling is that this is all information that the jury will come to realize is true. I don't want to be seen as trying to bury the truth, especially since I can't.

Dylan finally finishes with Sabonis and turns him over to me. I've always believed that a trial doesn't begin until there's a contentious cross-examination. If that's the case, the curtain's about to go up.

"Lieutenant Sabonis, you knew Alex Dorsey fairly well, didn't you?"

"We worked together."

"That would be a really good answer if the question were, 'How did you and Alex Dorsey work?' You could say, 'We worked together,' and then we could move on. The problem, and I do hope it's not a recurring one, is that wasn't the question." I pause. "Am I going too fast for you?"

Dylan objects to my tone, but Sabonis lets the insult roll off his back. He's an experienced witness; he's not going to be drawn into a fight with me. "I knew him fairly well, yes," he says.

"So when you saw the body that night, you were upset that this person you worked with and knew so well was dead?"

"I didn't realize it was him. He had been decapitated and his body badly burned."

I nod. "So he couldn't be identified from the condition of the body?"

"Not by me. It took the DNA tests." I can tell by Sabonis's self-satisfied expression that he's pleased to have gotten in the mention of the DNA. He no doubt thinks it makes my questioning about the body seem unimportant.

"Yes," I say, "we'll get to that. So if there were no subsequent scientific tests, you still wouldn't know who that poor soul was?"

"He was wearing that distinctive ring, which I noticed at the morgue. I've seen Alex wear that ring before."

"You're not saying that you can identify a man's body by the ring on his finger, are you?"

"I'm saying it makes it much more likely that it was him."

I take the ring, which Dylan had introduced into evidence, and hand it to Nick. "Do you recognize this as the ring he had on that night?"

He nods. "I believe so, yes."

"Would you try it on, please?"

Nick puts the ring on his finger and looks up at me, as if waiting for the next command.

"Alex, we were so worried about you," I say, wiping my brow in mock relief. "They said you were dead."

Hatchet admonishes me even before Dylan objects.

"I'm sorry, Your Honor," I say, then I turn back to Sabonis. "You
are
Alex Dorsey, aren't you?" I ask.

Dylan jumps up. "Objection, Your Honor, this is frivolous. Counsel knows who the witness is."

"Sustained," says Hatchet, staring a hole through my forehead. "Be very careful, Mr. Carpenter."

Undaunted, or at least only partially daunted, I try again. "Does it make it more likely that you are Alex Dorsey because you're wearing that ring?"