Capitol Offense

by William Bernhardt

  He sat at the blond library table that would be his home away from home for the next many days, probably weeks. As usual, Christina had everything so well organized a blind man could find his way through it, which was good, because once the trial began, a blind man is exactly what Ben felt like.

  To his right, he saw the prosecutor assembling his team and his materials. For all he had heard about the financial disadvantage the state supposedly had when mounting a trial, it looked to Ben as if they had far more geegaws than he did. Each of the three attorneys sitting at the table—Guillerman, Patterson, and another guy Ben didn’t know—all had laptops in front of them, ready to pull up a piece of evidence or testimony with a click. He also knew they had spared no expense assembling witnesses and evidence.

  “You think Guillerman will do the opening himself?” he asked Christina quietly.

  “I don’t think he has any choice, after so much publicity. Besides, it never hurts to get media attention just before an election.” She paused. “Well, in this case, it will probably hurt you.”

  “I’d feel better if he had passed this off to an underling.”

  “Me too. When the DA himself is on the job, you can be certain of one thing: he doesn’t expect to lose. And he will do everything in his power to make sure he’s not mistaken.”

  To their right, Ben saw the all-important jury box, empty for the moment, but soon to be filled with the most important people in the whole drama. Their chairs were rudimentary, and by all accounts uncomfortable, as they were packed shoulder to shoulder in a varnished plywood box. There they would sit in judgment, trying to make sense of conflicting testimony and facts, not to mention complex psychiatric testimony, without even the benefit of being able to take notes. It was a daunting duty, but one, in Ben’s experience, that most jurors took very seriously.

  Behind them was the gallery, two sections of twelve rows of churchlike pews. They were completely filled, and Ben knew there were many outside who had not been seated but who would be allowed to watch the proceedings on closed-circuit television in the vacant courtroom next door. There were a few people Ben recognized as prosecution witnesses, but not many. Most would come when they were needed. In many cases, they were not allowed to hear the testimony of other witnesses. Most of the people in the gallery were media professionals. They had the know-how to secure a seat, and the people running the court system wanted to keep them happy. Media coverage tended to be pro-prosecution, if only because they heightened the drama by assuming anyone arrested was probably guilty but might not be convicted. They could say the word allegedly all they wanted; it was like white noise in the background, a sound barely registered and usually ignored.

  The players were all assembled, except the one who would be sitting atop the raised bench, front and center. Ben wondered if he had time to run to the bathroom. No, better to tough it out. Although intestinal distress was an unwanted companion to an opening statement, as he knew from experience.

  The door from the deliberation room opened and the jurors entered the room. Most of them glanced at Dennis but did not stare. That might be a good sign. Or it could just mean that, given the enormous media coverage, they had no need to stare at a face they already knew quite well. Ben would be watching them carefully once the prosecution started offering its testimony. That could be supremely telling.

  The door from Judge McPartland’s chambers opened. The bailiff came in, which for a trial was the equivalent of a raised curtain. The show was about to begin.

  “All rise.” The instant the bailiff said the words, McPartland entered and headed toward his chair. He was seated by the time the spiel was over. “The District Court of Tulsa County is now in session, the Honorable Judge Leland McPartland presiding. Please turn off all cell phones and pagers immediately or be held in contempt. This court will now come to order.”

  “Please be seated,” the judge said. He gazed out into the gallery, then frowned. This was a charade judges always went through, in Ben’s experience, whenever there was a packed crowd. The judge evinced disapproval, as if somehow the presence of all these people might disrupt the serious business they had to conduct. In reality, Ben suspected, like most showmen, McPartland did not mind having an audience.

  The judge nodded at the clerk, who nodded back. Then he did the same with the court reporter. Everyone was ready to roll. He read the case name and number, then read the indictment in short form. He noted that a jury had been selected, then gave the jurors a few preliminary instructions, mostly about the importance of arriving on time each day and not talking to the press. He was not going to sequester them; he expected them to use their own judgment and to stay away from anything pertaining to the case. And with that …

  Ben gripped Dennis’s wrist and squeezed it.

  Here we go.

  15

  Ben knew that District Attorney Guillerman was a man who had earned his job. He hadn’t achieved his current lofty position through connections or privileged birth. He’d made his own way through hard work, smarts, and determination.

  Guillerman interned at the DA’s office when he was still at TU law school. With a successful solo practice, he’d managed to generate the support he needed to run for office successfully. Twice. He had a fine record, was an excellent attorney and, perhaps even more important, could efficiently and effectively manage a large office. Although there had been talk about him running for governor, Ben knew he planned to run for reelection and didn’t doubt he would succeed.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Guillerman began, “first of all, I want to thank you for being here. I know you have already spent many days in this courtroom and mostly likely will spend many more before we are done. Your seats are not comfortable and the food here is keenly mediocre, so for that and many other reasons, I thank you for your service.” He smiled a little, something the jurors would not see again for some time.

  “Sadly, we are here today on a very serious matter, perhaps the most serious offense in all of the criminal justice system. A blatant case of first-degree murder. The evidence we present in this trial will show that the defendant, Dennis Thomas, did in fact with premeditation shoot with the intent to kill Detective Christopher Sentz, a distinguished officer on the Tulsa police force with an excellent record. He was a husband and the father of two daughters. The evidence will show that the defendant believed Sentz should have acted more quickly to investigate the disappearance of the defendant’s wife, who unfortunately perished after a traffic accident. Although the evidence will show that Detective Sentz followed standard procedure at all times, that did not satisfy the defendant. And so on April twelfth of this year, he killed Officer Sentz in cold blood.”

  Guillerman pressed his hand against his mouth, then blinked rapidly, as if fighting back tears. After a few moments, he stopped, took a glass of water from his table, and sipped slowly. He was doing a good job and Ben knew it. He was showing emotion, showing he was moved by the tragic loss of Detective Sentz, as he should be. At the same time, he was not going too far. Oklahoma juries, for the most part, were a practical, sensible lot. They could sense a phony a mile away. Guillerman was reminding them of the central horror—a good man dead—without engaging in any obvious playacting.

  “The evidence will show that on April twelfth, the defendant took a gun—his gun—to shoot Detective Sentz. He learned that Sentz was in a hotel room at the Tulsa Marriott engaged in an ongoing sting operation. The defendant followed him there, entered his room carrying the gun, and shot him at point-blank range. When the police apprehended him, he was lying on the gun and his prints were all over it. Detective Sentz was dead. Witnesses will testify that they saw the defendant enter the hotel looking angry, determined, and cold-blooded, but entirely in possession of his faculties. He knew what he was doing. And he killed a valuable member of our police department—just as he had planned.”

  Ben couldn’t help but admire the flat but effective manner in which the DA had laid out the facts, m
entioning everything that helped his case and ignoring everything that did not. He engaged in some speculation, but resisted the temptation to be argumentative, which at this early stage was likely to put the jurors off. He would save that for closing. Ben also noticed that he avoided the potential minefield of the blackout, the hardest aspect of the case for Guillerman to manage. Even if he didn’t accept temporary insanity, he could not deny that something had made Dennis unconscious, unable to be revived for nearly two hours. No doubt he would have some answers. But he knew this was not his strength, so he waited to talk about it until he had no choice. For now, he would present his case as if it were perfectly simple and obvious.

  “One final matter I would like to touch upon before I yield to my worthy colleague,” Guillerman said. “There will undoubtedly be testimony on both sides regarding the defendant’s mental state. That is sadly inevitable when a person has been through the undoubtedly traumatic experience of losing a spouse. It is all too easy to get lost in the hugger-mugger of psychiatric jargon. I will not tell you what to think. But I will suggest that you listen to the evidence and decide for yourself. Don’t be swayed by long words or impressive credentials. You’re Oklahomans. You’re as smart as anyone and, more to the point, you’re the jurors. Don’t be confused by a smokescreen of babble. Use your heads.”

  He stepped closer to the jurors and looked at them with an expression that Ben noted was, among other things, extremely sincere. “Dennis Thomas bought a gun. He found out where Detective Sentz was. He went there. He pulled the trigger. These systematic, calculated actions were not accidental, and they were not the product of an unbalanced mind. They evidence planning, deliberation, and stone-cold execution. What more is there to say? Don’t let yourselves be misled. See the truth for what it is. This was murder in the first degree, deserving the ultimate sanction. And that is exactly what I will be asking for at the conclusion of this case. Thank you.”

  With that he sat down, never once having used the phrase “temporary insanity,” but effectively dismissing it just the same.

  And perhaps in that instant Ben realized just how impossible this case really was.

  As always, Ben had the option of delivering his opening statement immediately, or waiting until the prosecution’s case had closed and giving it at the start of the defense’s case. And as always, he chose to do it now. He never liked to let the jury go too long without hearing from him, especially after such an effective opening. He knew he had to get their side of the story in the jury’s heads immediately, to let them know what the points of contention were, so they could be thinking about them while the prosecutor presented his case. They could say anything they wanted; the smart jurors would always remember what points were in doubt. And for the defense, doubt was what it was all about.

  “The prosecutor has done an admirable job of summing up some of the facts of the case,” Ben began, doing his best to seem agreeable and not argumentative. “There are, however, a few things he got wrong and, more important, many things he left out. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where the entire case lies.

  “Mr. Guillerman would have you believe he has an airtight case, but that is far from the truth. Consider, if you will, everything he told you the prosecution would be presenting at trial. Dennis Thomas believed Detective Sentz was responsible for the horrible death of his wife. That much is true. As the evidence will show, she suffered the most unimaginable agony, unbelievable pain, for seven days. Seven days. The police had the ability to locate her in a few hours. Imagine how that would make any loving husband feel. After you hear what happened, you may well think the police are ultimately responsible for her death, too.

  “It is also true that Dennis sought Detective Sentz out. Wanted to confront him, to talk to him, to get some explanations. Who would not want to confront the man you thought killed your wife? I don’t doubt that there are many people who saw Dennis at the hotel. He made no attempt to hide it—and that in itself is telling.

  “But that’s where the prosecution case falls apart. Because once Dennis was inside that hotel room, they have no idea what happened. Do they have any eyewitnesses to this alleged crime? No. Do they have any proof Dennis fired the gun? No. They seem to think that if they can just put Dennis in the room, that will be enough. But it isn’t. They have to prove his guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. And that means, at the very least, two things: the prosecution has to prove that he pulled the trigger, and you have to believe he was not insane at the time.”

  Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw Guillerman twitch. He was undoubtedly tempted to object, but he didn’t, probably because he knew jurors didn’t like objections during opening and closing and he didn’t want to irritate them this early in the game. Ben had chosen his words carefully. He hadn’t actually said that the prosecution had to prove Dennis was sane when he shot Sentz, because temporary insanity was their affirmative defense and the burden of proving it was on them. At the same time, Ben had put a critical idea into their heads: they didn’t have to find Dennis guilty even if they thought he pulled the trigger.

  Ben strolled back to his table as he began the next section of his opening. Dennis looked good, respectable, honorable. Ben wanted the jury looking at him while he talked about him. “There is one important detail the evidence will reveal that you have not yet been told. The district attorney does not dispute it, but still, oddly enough, he failed to mention it. When the police found Dennis in that hotel room, he was unconscious. In fact, he did not regain consciousness for over two hours. Why? The prosecution has no explanation. Did someone hit him over the head before shooting Detective Sentz? It’s possible. Did Dennis experience some kind of mental breakdown? Possible. The evidence will show that Dennis experienced extreme trauma after losing his wife in such a horrific way, trauma that would have driven the best of us to unimaginable extremes. Trauma that prevented him from understanding what he was doing, that literally unraveled his fundamental understanding of what is right and what is wrong.”

  Ben casually moved from one end of the jury box to the other, never for a moment relinquishing his hold on the eyes of the jurors.

  “I know that some of you may be dubious, perhaps even cynical about the science of psychiatry, or the idea of temporary insanity. It’s understandable. We’re Oklahomans. Good, honest, commonsense people. All I ask is that you listen to the testimony presented and view it with an open mind. Try to imagine for a moment what this man was going through, what his wife had gone through, and how that would have affected him. What that must have done to his powers of reason. To his sanity. The defense will show that, regardless of what took place that day, the circumstances rendered Dennis temporarily insane, and under the law, a man who is temporarily insane cannot be held accountable for his actions. And then ask yourself—what if it had been you? What if it had been your spouse? Wouldn’t you have reacted the same? Wouldn’t anyone?

  “And most important …” Ben leaned against the rail, getting as close to them as possible. “Most important, I ask that you remember the oath you took when you were sworn into your current position. You swore to uphold the law. The law says that you must presume that Dennis Thomas is innocent. You must presume his innocence and continue presuming it unless and until the prosecution proves otherwise—beyond a reasonable doubt. That’s what matters most. That is the single most important part of your duty.”

  He took a few steps back, making sure they could see District Attorney Guillerman. “No amount of political ambition is a substitute for the truth. No desire to win a highly publicized trial is a substitute for the evidence. If the prosecution does not prove their case, regardless of what you think, you must find Dennis not guilty. That is the oath you swore. And I’m counting on you to abide by it.”

  Ben slowly walked back to his seat. Just under the table, he could see Christina giving him a subtle thumbs-up. That was a good sign. But he didn’t fool himself. This was a tough case. And he had no way of knowing whether he was getting acros
s to them until they rendered their verdict. When it would be too late for him to do anything about it.

  “Thank you, counsel,” Judge McPartland said, without the slightest trace of inflection or comment. “Mr. Guillerman, you may call your first witness.”

  16

  The first witness was Bob Barkley, the county medical examiner.

  Barkley had been the lead witness in every case of murder or serious injury Ben had tried in Tulsa county for many years, ever since the supremely distinguished—and impossible to work with—Dr. Koregai had passed away. Barkley apparently had the Dick Clark gene: he didn’t seem to age at all. He had a full shock of blond hair and a trim figure. One could almost see the abs rippling through his bright blue shirt. Ben still had a hard time convincing himself there hadn’t been confusion back at headquarters and someone switched a surfer dude for a coroner.

  Barkley had nothing controversial to say. His job was simply to establish that a murder had occurred. This was not in dispute; nonetheless, if the prosecution didn’t establish it, the whole case could be dismissed on the technicality that no crime had been proven. This was the sort of potential technical gaffe that kept lawyers awake at nights.

  Patterson, Guillerman’s assistant, competently established his credentials and that he had examined the remains after Sentz’s body was brought to the coroner’s office. He conducted the autopsy and filed his report. Death was caused by a gunshot wound to the frontal lobe. There was not much more to say about it. Ben normally didn’t even bother cross-examining this sort of witness, but today he thought he saw an opportunity to score a few points, or at least to plant a few seeds of doubt in the minds of the jurors.

  After Patterson rested, Christina began her cross-examination. To some it would probably appear that, since Guillerman used his assistant on this witness, Ben would do the same, rather than let it appear that he was concerned about a witness Guillerman thought so unimportant that he passed him off to an underling. But Ben had a much better secret motive. He knew Barkley had a crush on Christina, and he doubted her recent marriage had changed that. He would be easy for her to lead around.