“We will prove to you, beyond a reasonable doubt, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Martha Boyer killed these three people. That is my solemn duty and that of my colleagues. And then you have a solemn duty to perform, and I know you will do so with intelligence and impartiality. Thank you for listening, and thank you for your service.”
As Tressel talks, I can see Pups getting angry. I have two worries. One, that the jury will see the same thing and decide she has a temper. And, two, that she will jump up and grab Tressel by the throat. That would be what we lawyers call prejudicial.
Hopefully, my opening statement will calm her somewhat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to do a role reversal here, at least up to a point. Traditionally, the prosecutor will get up and extol the police for having done a wonderful job in finding the guilty party, using brilliant detecting techniques to bring him or her to justice. That is because the prosecutor and police are always on the same side, and their shared goal is to convict the accused.
“The defense, which in this case is me, usually argues the opposite. We point to errors that the police made, crucial errors that ultimately led them to accuse the wrong person while the actual guilty party goes free.
“But this time it’s different: the process is turned on its head, and I’m going to be honest with you about it. Mr. Tressel is telling you that in the investigation of the murders of Jake Boyer and Raymond Parker, the police were hapless blunderers. They completely missed the real killer, he says, even though he admits that the spouse is the first person they always look to.
“He will have you believe that they just missed it entirely; in fact, they couldn’t even get the target right, never mind the killer. They messed up badly, he said, but great news: this time, the same dopes got it right.”
I shake my head in wonder at the ridiculousness of it all.
“And now I’m on the other side. And forgive me if I stumble a bit, because I’m not used to praising police work.” I smile, and the jury smiles with me.
“But you know what? There’s one thing the police got right eighteen months ago. They nailed it. They investigated Martha Boyer thoroughly, ticked off every box, and they came up with nothing. And you know why? It’s because there was nothing to be found.
“The police were right back then, after as intensive an investigation as this city has ever seen. They were right in saying that Martha Boyer was innocent, and no amount of revisionist history can change that.
“I was not going to bring up Martha Boyer’s terrible illness; I felt she deserved more privacy than that. But Mr. Tressel felt otherwise, so I now have to discuss it. All I want to say is that there are better ways to spend your last days than listening to the state of New Jersey say you are a murderer and that among the people you murdered was the man you loved more than anyone in the world.
“But Martha Boyer wants her own justice, and she wants her reputation, and she wants to lay claim to her own memory. That is why she did not plead guilty in order to avoid the emotional horror of this trial. She has dedicated her life to helping the helpless, in her case unwanted young animals, and she wants to be remembered for that. Not for horrible crimes that she did not commit.
“Thank you.”
I’m feeling pretty good about my statement as I return to the defense table, and then Judge Chambers has to go and kill the mood with six frightening and depressing words.
“Mr. Tressel, call your first witness.”
Detective Curtis Hayslett was in charge of the double-murder investigation at the Bonfire Restaurant.
I’m sure Tressel would rather focus on the Hennessey murder, but he can’t look like he’s hiding from the restaurant killings, so he wants to get it out and behind him as soon as he can. It’s not terrible ground for him, but the rest of his case is stronger.
He starts out by having Hayslett literally set the scene, describing what he saw when he pulled up to the restaurant that night. Hayslett says that there were two dead males on the street and a number of witnesses, including a man who had just had dinner with one of the deceased.
“That was David Barnett?” Tressel asks.
“Yes, he had dinner with Mr. Boyer. He was with him when he died but was fortunately unhit by the gunfire.”
“Did you recognize either of the victims before you were told who they were?”
“Yes, I knew Mr. Parker by reputation because of his alleged gang involvement.”
“Was it your initial assumption that he was the target of the shooting?”
Hayslett shakes his head; he’s not going to go down without a fight. “I don’t make initial assumptions; I follow the facts.”
“But independent of these events. If someone had told you before they happened that Mr. Parker might be involved in a shooting, you would not have been shocked?”
“I think that’s fair to say.”
“You ultimately settled on Mr. Parker as the likely target, did you not?”
“Ultimately.”
“Are you aware that the police commissioner, Mr. Wentz, publicly referred to this as a gang shooting three days after it took place?”
“I don’t recall that. But I can tell you that I would not have been ready to say that then. I was just beginning my investigation. Nor did the commissioner ever discuss the case with me or direct me to follow a certain theory.”
Hayslett is not showing political courage by disagreeing with the commissioner, since he was replaced in the job a year ago when a new administration came in.
Tressel gets him to admit that it wasn’t too long before the primary focus was on Parker as the target, but it’s a grudging admission. Hayslett is not going to let himself be seen as the cop who blew it. Blowing it would mean his incompetence kept Pups out of jail, which led to Hennessey’s death.
It’s a very tough position for him to be in, because while he doesn’t want to admit he screwed up back then, he certainly doesn’t want to jeopardize the current prosecution.
My first question on cross-examination is, “Looking back on those two murders, do you think you rushed to judgment?”
He shakes his head. “I do not.”
“Was Mr. Tressel right in his opening statement when he said that the spouse is the first person the police look at? He said that’s how they do it on Law and Order.” The jury and gallery laugh at my making fun of Tressel, though his face remains impassive.
“We certainly carefully check into the motivations of those who knew and were close to the victim, and that obviously includes the spouse.”
“So that’s a yes?” I ask.
“It’s a qualified yes.”
“Did Ms. Boyer have what is commonly referred to as an alibi?”
He nods. “She did. She said that she was playing bridge with friends at the time of the shooting.”
“And you confirmed that with her bridge partners?”
“Of course. They all supported her story.”
“So you saw no way she could have been the actual shooter?”
“That’s correct,” he says.
“Has your view on that changed over time, or do you feel the same way today?”
“I feel the same way today. She could not have personally been there.”
“What about other evidence that might have pointed toward her guilt? Any signs of marital discord? Arguments over money? Either of them having an affair? Anything at all?”
Tressel objects that I need to ask one question at a time, and Chambers sustains, so I ask it in a more concise fashion, and Hayslett admits that there was no such evidence.
“So even in light of recent events, is it fair to say that you don’t know how Ms. Boyer might have done it, or why?”
“That’s fair. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t do it.”
“Thanks for sharing that, Detective. Did you also investigate Mr. Boyer, independent of his wife’s possible involvement? Did you consider that he could have been the target, but the killer could have been so
meone else?”
“I considered everything.”
“Including the possibility that while Mr. Boyer might have been the target, it could have been business-related?
He nods. “Yes.”
“What business was Mr. Boyer in?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Does that mean you didn’t focus on that aspect?”
“It doesn’t mean that at all,” he says.
“It just means you don’t remember,” I say, more as a hopefully revealing commentary than a question. My goal here is to open up the possibility that the killing was related to Jake Boyer’s business without presenting evidence to that effect.
“Yes,” he says.
“Detective, in your entire investigation, other than the fact that Mr. Parker had gang connections, did you find any other evidence which confirmed that he was the target that night?”
“No.”
I have to be careful here, because Tressel is likely unaware that I am also going to contend that Jake Boyer was the target, though of course for different reasons, and by a different killer than he will accuse. So I can’t push it further right now.
“Thank you, Detective. No further questions.”
I am in a ridiculous, frustrating position.
I know that Pups is innocent, and it’s not simply because of my basic trust in her. The connection, through Calderone, between Barnett, who was there the night Jake Boyer was murdered, and Hennessey, a subsequent victim himself, convinces me beyond a reasonable doubt.
But the jury? Since we cannot get the Barnett-Hennessey connection before them in a way that is particularly credible, the jury will have enough doubt of my theory to overflow the jury box.
Our contention will appear ludicrous on its face. We are saying that someone killed Jake Boyer, then waited almost two years to frame Pups for a subsequent murder. If that’s the case, then why didn’t they just frame Pups for Jake’s murder in the first place and cut out the middle victim?
And why wait until Pups is dying, which is not exactly a secret, to frame her? Why would anybody go to the trouble and risk of committing a murder to incarcerate her, only to have her die in jail in a few months?
It doesn’t even make sense to me, and I know it’s true.
During the afternoon court break, I get a message from Sam to come to his office later so he and Hike can update me on their progress going through Jake’s land-related papers. He doesn’t say they’ve found anything particularly exciting, which is a shame, because our case could use a truckload of exciting.
Tressel’s next witness is Walter Tillman. I lodge an objection because, as their attorney, anything Jake and Pups may have said to him is privileged. That’s true even after the death of a client.
Chambers correctly overrules my objection once Tressel says that Tillman is merely there to discuss the contents of Jake’s will. That will, once admitted to probate, became part of the public record, so Tillman would not be breaking privilege by describing it.
Tillman is certainly friendly toward Pups, but he’s still Tressel’s best choice to accomplish this task, because he’s there merely to state the facts. He’s ideal to do that, since he wrote the will in the first place.
As Tillman takes the stand, he gives me a small smile and shrug, as if to say he wishes he didn’t have to be here. What he doesn’t realize is that I’m glad he is.
Once Tressel gets Tillman to confirm his legal relationship to both Boyers, he asks him if he prepared Jake Boyer’s will.
“I did,” Tillman says.
“Who was the beneficiary of that will?”
“His wife, Martha Boyer.”
“The sole beneficiary?”
“Yes.”
“And when Mr. Boyer was murdered, did she receive the contents of the estate as directed in the document?”
“She did.”
“In general terms, what was in the estate?” Tressel asks.
“Close to fifteen million dollars in investments and liquid assets and a great deal of real estate scattered around the country.”
“What kind of real estate?”
“A small amount of commercial property, but mostly large parcels of unused land.”
“Can you estimate the value of that property?”
“Not accurately, but quite substantial,” Tillman says.
“Seven figures?” Tressel prods.
“No, I’m quite certain it’s eight figures.”
Tillman was called simply to provide a financial motive for Pups to have murdered Jake, and he’s done that, so Tressel turns him over to me.
I stand up as Hike hands me a piece of paper. “Your Honor, with the permission of the court, I would like to present this document to Mr. Tillman. It is a waiver of privilege for all communications between Martha Boyer and Mr. Tillman, regarding all matters.”
Judge Chambers looks at it and allows it, and I give it to Tillman. “Mr. Tillman, you are now free to relate any conversation and business you’ve had with your client, Martha Boyer. She specifically requests that you not respect the privilege.”
He nods. “I understand.”
“Mr. Tillman, you’ve testified that you prepared and executed Jake Boyer’s will, which left his entire estate to his wife, Martha. He did so freely?”
“Of course.”
“You were his friend as well?”
“Definitely. I considered Jake a close friend.”
“In your capacity as friend, would you say that the Boyers had a good marriage?”
“Yes.”
“No talk of splitting up, no violence, no unusual anger?”
“I never saw anything like that, and Jake never even hinted at anything like that.”
“And he was perfectly happy to leave everything to Martha,” I point out.
He nods. “He was.”
“You testified about the large amount of money and real estate inherited by Martha Boyer. You’ve now prepared her will; how much of that is left?”
“All of it.”
I shake my head as if he didn’t understand. “No, I mean how much has she burned through in a wild spending spree?”
He smiles. “None of it. She lives a very frugal life. Basically, the only substantial money she spends is for taking care of the dogs and medical bills for herself.”
“So her financial life has been the same before and after her husband’s death?”
“Very much so, yes.”
Just in case the jury hasn’t gotten the point, I say, “So just to be clear: you see no way she benefited financially from her husband’s death?”
“Correct.”
“And who is the beneficiary of Martha Boyer’s will?”
“A large collection of animal rescue groups.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
Hike and I get to Sam’s office at four thirty.
He’s there with the computer crew: Hilda, Eli, Morris, and Leon. They would have left already, but they’ve waited for me so they could say hello. They start their day by six AM, so by this time they’re fading fast.
They’re an amazing group, as enthusiastic as any people I have ever met. Even Hike seems to perk up when they’re around. They’re in their eighties; I hope I’m that active when I’m in my fifties.
Hilda tells me that I’m looking thin, which would tend to indicate that, while her mind and body are healthy and vibrant, her eyes are deteriorating. She promises to make and bring rugelach, a Jewish pastry, with her tomorrow. I have had Hilda’s rugelach, and if I were about to be executed, it would be my choice for last meal.
When they leave, we sit at Sam’s small conference table so they can take me through what they’ve learned. Sam acts as the spokesman, simply because he’s done much more work on this than Hike has, since Hike’s been in court with me. Hike is probably going to hear much of this for the first time.
“So, to start, I’ve prepared a map which shows the land holdings that now belong to our cl
ient,” Sam says. He hands out sheets with a color map of the United States, clearly marked to show where the land is. Most of it is in the middle of the country, but there are pieces as far west as Arizona, and as far east as North Carolina.
“As you can see,” he continues, “it’s very spread out, but the largest parcels, in terms of acreage, are in South Dakota and Iowa. This piece in South Dakota is almost ten thousand acres, and the one in Iowa is maybe 30 percent smaller than that. The land is essentially uninhabited, though I’d have to drive it to know that for sure. There could be squatters on it.”
He goes on. “There are records of twenty-eight concrete offers, plus fifteen of what I would call interested feelers, on the properties. Of these, seven were for the South Dakota land, and four for the Iowa land. By far, the most money was offered for these parcels. The highest offer in South Dakota was four and a half million dollars, and in Iowa the top offer was three million four.
“David Barnett represented the potential buyers in three of the South Dakota offers and two of the Iowa offers.”
“On whose behalf was he making the offers?” I ask.
“That’s where it gets interesting. The offers were made by an outfit that calls itself Imperial Real Estate Partners. It’s incorporated in the Cayman Islands.”
“So you can’t tell who the main players are,” I say.
He nods. “Right. They’re shielded down there.”
“Do you have any idea why they wanted this land?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “We’re not there yet. We’re just starting to dig into that now.”
“OK. For the time being, limit your focus to the South Dakota and Iowa properties that Barnett conveyed offers on. Is there anything in the papers to indicate that Jake had specific reasons for declining the offers? Might he have been aware of some hidden value?”
“Nothing like that at all, Andy. Obviously, there might have been some verbal communications going on, but there’s no evidence that Jake responded at all. He may just have had no interest.”
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