by Neil Turner
My question is met with nods and a few sheepish smiles.
“Sometimes I watch, too,” I tell them with as much of a smile as I can muster. “Starting with the first cops and robbers shows I saw, I’ve heard the same mantra over and over again, as if it’s the key to solving all crimes. Means. Motive. Opportunity. Have we all heard that?”
Once again, heads nod in the jury box.
“Let’s apply that mantra here,” I say as I wander over to stand beside the pictures of the screen door. “What has the prosecutor told us so far? He talked about law and order. He insinuated that Francesco Valenti is a stone-cold killer who threatens the fabric of civilized society. He told us that Sheriff’s Deputy Andrew O’Reilly was a conscientious cop who was just performing his duty when Francesco Valenti suddenly attacked him without provocation or warning.” I shoot a pointed look at the pictures and let the absurdity of that claim hang in the air while I return to the defense table and glance at our notes.
“Did Francesco have the means to shoot Deputy O’Reilly?” I ask when I turn back to the jury. “Yes he did. He kept a gun in the house to protect himself and his wife from the criminal elements that had recently moved into their neighborhood. Did Francesco have the opportunity to shoot Deputy O’Reilly? Yes, he did—he had that opportunity for several minutes before he felt compelled to protect himself with deadly force. Finally, did Francesco Valenti have a motive to attack Deputy O’Reilly? Mr. Dempsey would have you believe Francesco acted out of rage over a tax bill. The truth, of course, is that when Deputy O’Reilly rang the doorbell at the Valenti home, Francesco had absolutely no motive to harm his visitor. So, what happened, ladies and gentlemen? Why did Francesco end up having to shoot Deputy O’Reilly some five minutes or more after he answered his door? Did our prosecutor answer that question for you?”
He sure as hell didn’t! I want to shout.
“We’ve told you a more nuanced story that fills in a great many blanks that the prosecution’s narrative conveniently skips over,” I continue. “The drama that culminated in the death of Deputy O’Reilly played out over several years—even longer if we consider O’Reilly’s police and steroid abuse history. The real story is a complex puzzle that conspired to create a tragic confluence of people and events. The prosecutor has glossed over those complexities in an effort to sell you a formulaic law and order script that should end with the death of the mythical bad guy at the hands of the good guys representing law and order.”
I pause to shoot the prosecution table a wondering look, then turn back to the jury. “What happened in Cedar Heights wasn’t some high noon shoot-out in a western, folks. We’ve tried to get at the objective truth of what happened, or at least as close to it as all of the available evidence can take us. The evidence shows that Deputy O’Reilly’s personal demons sometimes turned him into a violent, steroid-fueled monster. The evidence is equally clear that this is who Francesco Valenti was confronted with that evening.”
I break again to read our notes and take a needed drink of water. The jury has been listening attentively. That’s good, but I’m still nervous and scared.
“You’re doing great,” Mike assures me quietly when I turn my questioning eyes on his. “Much better than the corporate weenie lawyer you were only short months ago.”
His gambit to relax me works. I keep my head down to hide the ghost of a smile that comes to my face.
“It’s important to understand what was really going on in the lead up to September seventeenth,” I tell the jury as I walk back toward them. “The Valentis were victimized by a predatory corporation and the Valentis’ very own civic government. You heard Village Manager Peter Zaluski admit in this courtroom that he and the mayor singled out the Valentis for some particularly vicious persecution. It’s interesting to me that Francesco knew all along exactly who was behind the misery he and his late wife suffered through. It’s interesting because it seems to me that if Francesco were really the homicidal loose cannon of the prosecutor’s imagination, he would have acted on that knowledge long ago. He didn’t, ladies and gentlemen. He didn’t because he has been a peaceful, honest, and productive member of our community for many, many years. Violence is not the way of Francesco Valenti, nor has it ever been—which makes the mystery of what happened that night all the more unfathomable.”
I pause to see if a bolt from heaven will strike me down after I make that statement. Then I take a minute to recap the underhanded effort to hand our neighborhood over to Titan, emphasizing the toll it took on Mama and Papa. “Given the emotional trauma Francesco experienced over those two years, who among us would have blamed him for striking back by going to the media or by taking to the courts to defend his home? It was Maria Valenti, Francesco’s dearly departed wife, who took up the legal challenge until she passed away several months ago. Francesco placed his faith in the American legal system, assuming that the forces of law and order would eventually prevail and save his home. The reality, of course, is that those supposed forces of law and order had conspired against him to steal his home. They conspire now to take his very life.”
I take another stroll back to our table for a drink of water and a peek at our notes. Then I begin another trek to stand before the jury. “The story of how Deputy O’Reilly destroyed his life and the lives of those closest to him is a tragedy in and of itself. The fact that law enforcement agencies enabled and tolerated his rampages and excesses should outrage us all. If his employers had refused to tolerate his abuse of citizens, none of us would be here today.”
I begin a slow walk along the length of the jury box as I continue, meeting the eyes of every juror as I go. “I’m going to talk a little more about the tactics of the prosecution in this case, but first, let me assure you that my comments are in no way a personal attack on the prosecutors,” I say reasonably, somehow escaping a thunderbolt from on high for spewing a second whopper. Of course I’m attacking the bastards!
“It’s simply my duty to prevent the travesty of justice that the State seeks to perpetrate here today,” I continue. “In a few minutes, the prosecutor will talk to you about law and order. He’s going to urge you to send a message with your verdict, a message to deter others who would shoot a police officer. That’s not why we have trials, ladies and gentlemen. The state’s attorney’s office has a pretty big PR department. They can get their messages out without your help.”
I hope that message resonates with the jury while I walk right up to the rail at the edge of the jury box. “Whenever I hear prosecutors talk about sending messages, I suspect those impassioned sound bites are targeted at voters. ‘I’m tough on crime! I’ll keep you safe from the bad people! Vote for me!’ But maybe I’m just being a little cynical,” I add with a shrug before carrying on. “Prosecutors like to suggest that defense attorneys bewitch juries into believing outrageous fairy tale versions of events. They are particularly fond of this tactic when they can’t explain away evidence and facts that undermine their case.”
I resist leaping up to click my heels together when two jurors nod thoughtfully.
“I expect Mr. Dempsey to work himself into a lather while suggesting that we’ve put the victim on trial. He’ll talk of how morally reprehensible it is to attack the victim—especially a victim who cannot defend himself.” I pause and lift my shoulders in a little shrug. “Heck, who wouldn’t get a little outraged by such a claim? I would… were it true. But it isn’t true in this case, ladies and gentlemen. It’s not true at all.”
I make a final pilgrimage back to our table for another drink and gather my thoughts. My stomach is digesting itself as I prepare to launch the finale of our closing argument, the last words that will be spoken in this courtroom on Papa’s behalf.
“They’re eating out of your hand,” Mike whispers.
My eyes settle on Papa. The calm veneer he’s worn throughout the trial is beginning to fray. I can sense the tension emanating off him like heat baking off a stretch of asphalt boiling under a blazing desert
sun. After taking a deep breath, I force myself to relax on the exhale and turn back to face the jury, making a point to look each of them in the eye as I approach. Try as I might to get a sense of which way any of them are leaning, I don’t have a clue. I’ll never play poker with a single one of these people.
“Have we put Andrew O’Reilly on trial here?” I ask. “Yes, we have. We did so because that’s where the evidence led us. We did it because the sad truth is that the actions of Deputy O’Reilly on that night deserve to be put on trial. We did it because our search for the truth about the evening of September seventeenth yielded a set of facts that left us no alternative. The prosecution had the same facts available to them and tried to hide them from this court. They tried to hide them from you, ladies and gentlemen. The state’s attorney and law enforcement have an obligation to seek the truth in criminal matters, no matter where the evidence leads. It’s incumbent upon prosecutors not to abuse the considerable tools and advantages the criminal justice system gives them when they try a case. Yet, all too often, their goal is to win at all costs—justice and fairness and the constitution itself be damned. I submit to you that the prosecution of Francesco Valenti for murder is such an instance. How else can we explain the State’s efforts to keep the truth out of this courtroom?”
I let the jurors ponder that question for several seconds, then reposition myself in front of a new set of jurors before continuing, “Recall, if you will, the efforts of the prosecution to suppress key evidence in this trial. They attempted to keep Officer O’Reilly’s unsavory history as a law enforcement officer out of court by suppressing his personnel records. They did not want you to see the photograph of the screen door at the Valenti residence before Deputy O’Reilly arrived. In fact, the state’s attorney appealed Judge Mitton’s decision to let you see that evidence. What possible motive could the prosecutors have for that action other than to deny you the truth? The police and prosecutors even attempted to hide Sandy Russo from you, ladies and gentlemen. They violated the rules of discovery in our criminal statutes by attempting to hide the fact that they had even spoken with Mrs. Russo. They certainly did not do their duty to provide you with all of the available evidence. Time and time again they have attempted to hamper your ability to come to a just decision in this case. For that, ladies and gentlemen, perhaps a message should be sent via the verdict of this case. I will not make that argument.” A cynic might claim that I just did. Still, no thunderbolt from Heaven. I must be golden today.
I pause for effect and reposition myself again before launching into our final roll of the dice. “Judge Mitton will speak to you about the law before he sends you to deliberate on all you’ve seen and heard here. Before he does, I would like to discuss a point of law that will be pertinent to your deliberations. Article Seven of the Illinois Criminal Code is a self-defense statute that specifies when it is legally permissible to use force against another person. This law permits the use of force—even deadly force—if you reasonably believe it is necessary to protect yourself and/or others from imminent bodily harm or death. Put simply, the law says Francesco was within his rights when he used deadly force to prevent Deputy O’Reilly from breaking into his home. Note that there is no exception allowing a law enforcement officer to illegally force his or her way into a home. Don’t allow anyone to tell you otherwise.”
In case my point isn’t clear enough, I go a step further. “This point of law is central to this case. The fact that O’Reilly was attempting to serve an eviction notice in no way permitted him to force his way into the Valenti home. He had absolutely no legal standing to do what he did that evening. Mr. Valenti was under no obligation to permit Deputy O’Reilly to break into his home and assault him. Without an arrest warrant or a warrant granting him entry to the Valenti residence, O’Reilly violated the law by breaking into Francesco’s home. O’Reilly was guilty of several crimes in those five minutes: he was guilty of criminal trespass, attempted assault, and uttering death threats, to name a few. According to the laws of Illinois, Francesco had every right to defend himself and his home using lethal force if he believed himself to be in imminent danger.”
Having given the jury the dry facts of the law, I’m on the fence as to whether or not they’re fully engaged in my narrative. I decide on the spur of the moment to go off script in an effort to bring the law to life. “Allow me, if you will, to recreate the scene at the Valenti home on September seventeenth.”
The jurors inch forward almost as one while I take a few steps back and plant myself directly in front of them. The enormity of the moment threatens to overwhelm me. I freeze for a moment that feels like an hour, then take a deep breath to steady my nerves.
“Imagine if you will,” I continue, “Francesco sitting at his kitchen table after dinner while he reads about his beloved Cubbies in the evening paper. He’s enjoying his nightly bottle of beer. The doorbell rings. He sets the paper down beside his beer, folded open to the sports section he’s been absorbed in. When Francesco opens his front door a moment later, Deputy O’Reilly confronts him. The deputy is on the type of steroid induced rampage that caused even his family to flee. Just how out of his mind was O’Reilly? The before and after photos of the Valentis’ screen door bear testament to the unfathomable rage that consumed O’Reilly in the final minutes of his life. But I’m getting ahead of myself.”
I pause to study the jury. “Imagine yourself in the position Francesco finds himself in. Sandy Russo told us that Deputy O’Reilly literally terrorized Mr. Valenti for at least five minutes and maybe more—however long it took O’Reilly to destroy the screen door. That door was all that shielded Mr. Valenti from an enraged man nearly twice his size and half his age. Sandy Russo told us that O’Reilly kept up a steady stream of invective while he battered down the screen door. O’Reilly insulted Mr. Valenti personally, hurled ethnic slurs and insults, even gloated about the village finally ridding itself of Francesco Valenti. O’Reilly threatened physical harm again and again. Mr. Valenti demonstrated remarkable restraint in the face of incredible provocation, ladies and gentlemen. He maintained an almost superhuman control over his fear for five minutes or more. It was only when Deputy O’Reilly began hurling vulgarities directed at the memory of Francesco’s recently deceased wife of over forty years that Mr. Valenti reacted with a measure of annoyance.”
God, how I wish I could tell the jury that O’Reilly clubbed Papa with his nightstick, I think while I let the jury ponder Papa’s forbearance while the bastard broke into our home.
I continue, “Ladies and gentlemen, to understand how truly remarkable this exercise of restraint was, let’s ponder how long five minutes is. In five minutes, we might prepare and cook an omelet, sew a button or two, wash the supper dishes, or take the dog for a walk around the block. Imagine yourself being under assault for that period of time, beseeching your attacker for calm… all the while watching your last line of defense being shredded before your eyes. Imagine the terror Francesco must have felt as the door finally gave way and nothing stood between him and his attacker.”
I ease closer and pause to let the scenario play out in the jurors’ imaginations. “Mrs. Russo related O’Reilly’s chillingly triumphant cry when he finally battered his way inside: ‘I’ve got you now, you little prick!’” I thunder. It’s the first time I’ve raised my voice. The jurors appear shaken; Papa looks like he’s just seen a ghost. I want the jury to sense the menace of O’Reilly’s triumphant shout when he ripped the screen door out of his way in a final mighty heave and stood face-to-face with Papa. I hope I didn’t overdo it.
I back off a foot or two while the jurors recover, then push the narrative forward. “It was only then, in that terrifying moment when he justifiably feared for his well-being, that Francesco Valenti finally reached for his only means of self-defense—a gun that had been within arm’s length ever since O’Reilly’s assault began. Deputy O’Reilly’s response to Mr. Valenti’s final desperate warning to leave him alone was, and here again I quo
te Mrs. Russo: ‘That’s it you little fuck! You’re dead!’ In his panicked effort to save himself, Francesco fired his gun five times. Contrary to the prosecution’s depiction of this as a cold-blooded execution, Mr. Valenti managed to hit his target only once from a range of no more than two or three feet as O’Reilly burst into his home. Unfortunately for Deputy O’Reilly, that bullet struck a carotid artery in his neck. The prosecutor’s coroner suggested that the downward angle of the entry wound from O’Reilly’s neck and then down to his shoulder was best explained by Mr. Valenti walking to the top of the steps and firing down. You’ll recall that Dr. Jones didn’t buy into that theory. Everything we’ve heard today also strongly argues against it. The shots that missed O’Reilly lodged in the door frame and the porch near the door. How could that happen if the door and porch were behind Mr. Valenti? Not a single one of the stray bullets struck the sidewalk or yard.”
I allow the jury enough time to absorb the implications of what they’ve just heard, then step right up to the edge of the jury box and mimic a person leaning forward and reaching for something in front of him. I use my free hand to draw a line down from an imaginary gun to my neck and then to my shoulder. “It seems much more likely that the angle of the entry wound is explained by O’Reilly lunging toward Mr. Valenti as the shots were fired. Coroner Jones seems to be sure that this is how the shooting happened. It’s absolutely clear from Sandy Russo’s testimony that the shots were fired in the midst of an altercation. The notion that Mr. Valenti walked out of his house and executed an unsuspecting police officer has been thoroughly debunked.”
I pause while the jurors assess my assertion, confident they can come to no conclusion other than the one I just presented. “By any reasonable standard and certainly in the eyes of the law as it is written in Article Seven of the Illinois Criminal Code, it’s clear Francesco Valenti shot Deputy O’Reilly in an act of justifiable self-defense. Given the evidence you’ve seen and heard in this courtroom, there is simply no other reasonable conclusion to be reached. The prosecutor is going to get up in a moment and try to tell you otherwise, but he can’t use the evidence to assemble a credible case proving Francesco Valenti set out to shoot Officer O’Reilly that night. He can’t even demonstrate that Francesco seized the first opportunity he had to do so… or the second, or the third, or however many opportunities he had to do so in a period of five minutes or more. It just didn’t happen that way. I know it. The prosecution knows it. Most importantly, I believe you now know it, as well.”