I’d done the best preparation I possibly could, but it still might not be enough. Vince would go to prison, and the world would be less colorful because of it. As for me, I’d lose my best chance at happiness.
Even the selection of judge was against us and it seemed as if Fate hated us: Judge Herschel had been given the job—the woman who’d already been inflicted with a dose of Vince at his arraignment and his most inept. It would be harder to convince her that he was a sober, upstanding and useful member of society than someone who’d never met him.
I stared in the mirror, thin-lipped and haggard, with more makeup than I’d normally wear in court, trying to mask the dark circles under my eyes. But nothing could hide the six pounds in weight I’d dropped this week, leaving me looking ill and drawn. I’d barely eaten at all until Cady and Rick had come over and force-fed me a nutritious veggie omelet yesterday, before my first day in court, and again today.
Jury selection had been a grisly affair. DA Randolph Barclay and his deputy, Judge Herschel and myself had spent four, miserable hours questioning potential jurors, hoping to detect bias either in our favor or not. Both Barclay and I knew that getting the right jurors during voir dire could increase one’s chances in predicting individual verdicts by as much as 78%. But instead of the pet-friendly, animal-loving jurors I’d hoped for, it seemed we’d gotten Cruella De Vil’s meaner, extended family—all the tree-hugging Vince fans had been rooted out and sent home. I wanted to cry. But everyone was counting on me, most especially Tap, Zeus and Tyson.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to woman-up for the first day of trial.
Today would be the opening statements, giving a general overview of the case. The prosecution always went first, so I’d have to sit and listen to Barclay grandstanding, but it was my chance to analyze how the DA was planning to play this. It also meant that I’d have a brief chance to alter my plan of defense accordingly.
I’d been given a list of the prosecution’s witnesses in discovery, and had practiced the questions I’d be asking them. Vince had been determined to speak in his own defense, although I still wasn’t sure that was a good idea, given his history of going off-script, but he’d promised me that he wouldn’t. So, reluctantly, I’d be calling him as a witness. My last witness. The very last. God help us.
The bailiff, clerk and court reporter were already seated when I entered Courtroom Five of the Supreme Court with Vince, and the jury were lined up on one side.
Ten men in well-pressed clothes, only two elderly women. That wasn’t the odds I’d wanted. I’d hoped for lots of straight women and gay men, all with memberships to the ASPCA.
Fascinating factoid: the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals began in 1866 in New York City. It is the oldest animal welfare organization in the United States, and inspired by the RSPCA which was set up in the UK in 1824.
Cady, Rick, Erik the plumber and a number of Vince’s supporters were sitting in the public seating area, along with what looked like several members of the press who were busy scribbling notes.
Vince grinned and was about to wave at his friends when I gripped his sleeve.
“Don’t!” I hissed.
“Sorry,” Vince muttered. “Fookin’ forgot.”
“Well, don’t forget again!” I shot back. “You only have one chance to make a good first impression. Serious, sober, sensible—remember?”
“The judge isn’t here yet,” he said.
“You have to impress the jury, too. Don’t forget that either.”
“Fook,” he sighed.
Randolph Barclay overheard us and smirked, stroking his tie the way a Bond villain would stroke his cat. He looked poised, polished and unbearably smug.
I ushered Vince into his seat and plopped down beside him, trying to look cool, calm and collected instead of hot, sweaty and flustered.
The Bailiff stood and instructed us all to rise as Judge Herschel entered the room. If anything, she looked even more severe than when I’d seen her ten weeks previously.
She arranged her robes and sat, frowning at the shuffling of feet as everyone else took their places.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Calling the case of the People of the State of New York versus Vincent Alexander Azzo on charges of burglary and larceny. Mr. Azzo is represented by Grace Cooper, and the State of New York is represented by District Attorney Randolph Barclay. Are both sides ready?”
DA Barclay gave her a blinding smile as he stood, looking as if he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial, bowing his head slightly in deference. “Ready for the People, your Honor.”
Taking a deep breath and giving a small, professional smile, I stood and spoke clearly. “Ready for the defense, your Honor.”
Judge Herschel gazed at me over her half-moon spectacles, then flicked those all-seeing eyes across her courtroom.
“Will the clerk please swear in the jury.”
The clerk leapt to his feet obediently. “Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand? Do each of you swear that you will fairly try the case before this court, and that you will return a true verdict according to the evidence and the instructions of the court, so help you, God? Please say ‘I do’.”
They all spoke, some mumbling, some clearer, and the clerk nodded.
“You may be seated.”
As they re-took their places, I leaned closer to Vince, speaking out of the corner of my mouth.
“Whatever Barclay says, don’t say a word, don’t respond at all. You’ll hear things you won’t like or that you’ll disagree with. But Vince, keep it zipped.”
He mimed zipping his lips and my heart sank. Could he really keep his mouth shut? It seemed unlikely.
Barclay rose to his feet and faced the jury, the smugness gone from his face, replaced by a sincere and earnest expression.
“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury: the defendant has been charged with two serious crimes…” Barclay swept his arm towards Vince, his face stern and lawyerly, punctuating each charge for emphasis. “Burglary of a charitable institution…” he paused dramatically. “Larceny, theft. The evidence will show that the defendant deliberately, calculatingly and violently broke into a charitable institution, a charity, ladies and gentlemen! Breaking two doors, two sets of locks, and damaging a third—a charity that can ill afford to pay for repairs; a charity that is supported by tax payer donations—that’s your donations and, of course, the generosity of strangers. Further, on the night of January 4th, the defendant attempted to steal 17 valuable animals and was arrested with six of the animals about his person, with a clear intent to remove another 11 without the owner’s permission. The defendant’s fingerprints were on all three doors, the two locks and 11 leashes, and as I must reiterate—he was arrested at the scene of the crime, red-handed. The evidence I present will prove to you that the defendant is guilty as charged.
“And I must add, the defendant’s grossly negligent and self-aggrandizing behavior since his arrest, his utter disrespect for the law, has led to a significant increase of copycat crimes—a crime wave across the whole State and beyond—that must not be condoned, and indeed must be punished to the full extent permitted by law.”
Barclay adjusted his tie, staring at Vince, who watched him with a slight frown, then turned to the jury.
“Notoriety, celebrity, it’s a curious thing in the modern world—curious that they can be so closely linked as to appear to be inseparable, but ladies and gentlemen, they are not the same thing. The defendant has sought to sway opinions on his crimes by his antics, but imagine for one moment that a young person was swayed to attempt a similar stunt—to climb a high wall, trespassing and risking serious injury, for example. That would be unforgiveable. But the truth is much worse—all across New York State and, in fact, the whole eastern seaboard, other criminals have sought to copy these dangerous crimes along with the use of violence to emulate the man you see before you, the man arrested at the scene of his crimes.
“This is a court of law, not a popularity contest. I will bring witnesses to bear testimony against him, and you will hear indisputable evidence from experts in their field to prove the defendant’s guilt, and I fully expect you to do your duty as responsible citizens and find Mr. Azzo guilty as charged. Thank you.”
It sounded bad and Barclay was doing exactly what he’d accused Vince of—inciting a popularity contest between himself and Vince. He was seeking to influence the jury’s opinion against Vince because of the so-called copycat ‘crimes’ of rescuing more animals from shelters, when he knew full well that it would be impossible to bring that to Vince’s door. He was playing to the audience, and I’d expected nothing less. I’d prepared for nothing less.
I gave Vince an encouraging smile as I rose to my feet.
“Your Honor, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: under the law the defendant is presumed innocent until proven guilty. Counsel is correct: this is a court of law, and yet you will hear no real evidence against the defendant. You will come to know the truth: that Vincent Azzo is a man of strong principles and unassailable ethics. The so-called ‘crime’ that he is being accused of is that of having a kind heart; he is a man who loves animals, a man who cares for those who cannot care for themselves, for those creatures who have no voice. He simply wished to save the lives of innocent animals who had been listed to be euthanized; in his eyes, to be murdered for being homeless. He wished to save them.”
I glared theatrically at Barclay.
“And since Counselor Barclay has claimed that the defendant has courted publicity, I would remind him that this passionate animal-lover has worked tirelessly to raise over half a million dollars for animal shelters in the State.” I turned to the jury. “Half a million dollars to…”
“Objection!” Barclay snapped, leaping to his feet. “Repetition and relevance. Fundraising efforts undertaken to make himself look good after the fact, does not erase the original crime and furthermore…”
“Objection sustained. Please continue carefully, Ms. Cooper.”
Two spots of color flared in my cheeks. It was traditional for opening statements to be delivered without interruption. Barclay had seriously pissed me off—and Judge Herschel had seemingly condoned his rudeness.
Barclay gave a small, pleased smile as he sat down.
“I will prove,” I said, speaking as calmly as possible, as if his interruption meant nothing, “through evidence and witness testimony that the defendant is innocent of all charges, and I’m confident that you will find him so.”
I returned to my seat next to Vince.
“The guy’s a twat,” he whispered. “And you were fook hot.”
I suppressed my smile and nodded sagely. It was all about the performance.
Judge Herschel glared at Vince. “The prosecution may call its first witness.”
Barclay rose smoothly to his feet. “The People call Benson Luft.”
The bailiff took the witness to the witness stand, and the clerk spoke next.
“Raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do,” said Benson Luft in a squeaky, nervous voice.
Barclay strode toward his witness with a reassuring smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Luft. Please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury your job title and role.”
“I, um, I’m the director of Barkalaureate Animal Shelter. We take in upwards of 6,000 stray and homeless animals every year that have been found or brought to us. On any single day, we can have between 20 and 40 animals waiting to be re-homed. I have one full-time and two part-time staff, but we rely on our team of volunteers to feed and exercise our animals. We do our best for each and every one of them, but the truth is that there’s never enough time or money, especially for veterinary bills. Every penny is spent on making the animals’ lives better. We have no budget for marketing. A volunteer runs our website. Every penny counts.”
“A very worthwhile, interesting and difficult task, no doubt,” said Barclay, patting Benson Luft on his shoulder in a warm and fraternal way.
Barf.
“Please tell the court, Mr. Luft, what happened the night of January 4th.”
“I’d had dinner with my wife, and was putting our son, Oscar, to bed. He likes a bedtime story. Um…”
“And you were interrupted in this homey scene, were you not?”
“Yes, the phone rang and Sylvia, my wife, said it was the police.”
“And when you talked to the officer, what did he say?”
“That someone had broken into the shelter and was stealing our dogs!”
“Stealing your dogs,” repeated Barclay, staring significantly at the jury.
“Yes! It was him! The Canine Crusader!”
“You mean the defendant, Mr. Vincent Azzo,” Barclay chastised gently, a flare of irritation in his eyes.
“Yes, him.”
“I see. And when you arrived at the shelter, can you tell me what you found?”
“The place was a mess! There was police tape everywhere, and two of the doors looked like they’d been kicked in, the locks were hanging off. The dogs were barking and all out of their cages. There was shi—, um, dog feces and urine everywhere. Someone had stepped in it and trodden it into the carpet. My office chair had been chewed!”
He looked like he was about to cry.
“And what were your feelings on seeing the extensive damage?”
“I felt hopeless,” said Luft. “I didn’t know where we’d find the money to make the repairs.”
Vince hung his head, and I had to give him a nudge to remind him to look positive at all times.
“And have you since had a bill for the repairs required?”
“Yes, around $500.”
“A substantial amount of money for your charitable shelter.”
“Yes.”
Barclay looked at the jury significantly before continuing.
“And could you tell the court what happened the following morning?”
“I didn’t get home until 3am because I had to call an emergency repair service to secure the shelter. I returned at 8am and…”
“And?”
“Later that morning, I started receiving death threats from animal rights people! As if I’d wanted to euthanize those stray dogs. I didn’t! I hate that part, but we had no room, and elderly or sick dogs—no one wants to re-home those. Even the larger ones can be difficult to re-home, waiting months and months for their forever families. We do our best.”
“Death threats for a hard-working family man running an animal shelter,” Barclay sighed, shaking his head, more in pity than anger. “No further questions.”
“Cross-examine?” Judge Herschel asked me.
“Yes, your Honor,” I said, standing up and walking towards the witness, summoning the confidence I needed. “Mr. Luft, on the night of January 4th you had three dogs that were planned for euthanasia the following day, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And how long had those dogs been with you?”
“I … I don’t remember exactly. I’d have to look at our records and…”
“Well, let me refresh your memory since I appear to have studied those records more recently than you.” Judge Herschel gave me a warning look but I carried on. “A nine year-old chocolate Labrador named Peanut had been with you ten days; a one year-old Akita-Alsatian-cross named Monty had been with you 14 days; and Bronco, a seven year-old Bull Terrier had been with you three weeks. Does that sound right?”
Luft nodded his head unhappily.
“Please speak clearly for the court reporter,” Judge Herschel intoned.
“Yes, that sounds right,” Luft coughed.
“Thank you,” I said coolly. “Is it usual to euthanize dogs who’ve been with you for such a short space of time?”
Luft flushed a dirty red as he tugged
at his tie. “Older dogs and bigger dogs are really hard to re-home; Akitas are banned in five states and…”
“Mr. Luft,” I interrupted. “The question is whether it was usual to euthanize dogs after such a short time.”
He cleared his throat nervously, glancing at Barclay repeatedly. “It’s a question of room and knowing which dogs we can best help…”
“Please answer the question, Mr. Luft,” Judge Herschel instructed.
“No,” said Luft at last. “It’s not unusual.”
“Thank you,” I said crisply. “And since Mr. Azzo’s intervention, how many of those dogs are still waiting to be re-homed?”
I paused in what I hoped was a dramatic fashion, waiting for the answer.
“None,” he said quietly.
“None!” I repeated loudly. “Isn’t it true that in the ten weeks since Mr. Azzo’s help, you don’t have a single animal waiting to be re-homed?”
“Objection!” snorted Barclay, leaping to his feet. “The defendant is accused of a serious crime, not ‘helping’!”
“Please re-phrase your question, Ms. Cooper,” Judge Herschel ordered.
“Of course, your Honor. Mr. Luft, how many animals are currently waiting to be re-homed in your shelter?”
“None.”
“None! Good gracious! When was the last time that happened?” Luft was silent. “Is it true, Mr. Luft, this is the first time in your four years’ tenure that you don’t have a single animal to re-home?”
“Objection!” Barclay said, standing once again. “Relevance! Mr. Luft is not on trial. Mr. Azzo is the one who was arrested for burglary and larceny.”
“Sustained,” intoned Judge Herschel, cutting off my best line of questioning.
And so it went for the rest of the day. Every time I tried to bring up the good that Vince had done, Barclay was after me faster than Tyson after a bacon sandwich. Judge Herschel sided with him every single time.
The World According to Vince - A romantic comedy (Gym or Chocolate Book 2) Page 20