“Sustained,” Connors said while making a note in his trial notebook. “Move along Ms. Hart,” he continued without bothering to look up.
Williams then began to testify about her internet search of Brittany and her friends’ social media sites. Before he had a chance to stand, Connors turned his head away from the witness to look at Marc.
“Objection, your Honor,” Marc said as he again stood up. “What they’re about to show the jury is highly prejudicial and offers no probative value.” What this particular objection means is that the testimony about to be given is being offered to inflame the juror’s emotions and offers nothing in the way of proving the defendant committed the crime charged. What Hart and Williams were about to present were the results of Williams’ internet search. They had been the focus of a significant and, at times, heated argument in chambers several weeks ago. Connors had already ruled he would allow it. Marc, as Connors expected, was renewing his objection to get it on the trial record and let the jury know the material they were to be shown proved nothing.
Connors looked at Hart, who had also stood up, waiting for her response.
“It goes to motive, your Honor and is central to our theory of the case,” she said.
“Overruled,” Connors said. He then gestured the lawyers to come up to the bench.
“How long is this going to be?” he asked Hart.
“At least an hour and a half,” she replied.
Connors looked at the clock again and the fidgeting, semi-bored jurors and said, “I’m going to call it a day. The weather being what it is it’s going to be a slow ride home. We’ll pick it up here in the morning.”
Melinda and Robbie were meeting in Melinda’s office with defense attorney Andrea Briscomb. It was almost 6:00 P.M. and they had to wrap up their pre-production meeting. Of the day’s testimony they would show for the defense the thirty seconds worth of film when Kadella objected to what would be shown in court the next day. The three of them were reviewing it so Briscomb would have an explanation ready to tell the audience what was going on. Melinda and Robbie had already been over this with Briscomb’s counterpart, Steven Farben. It would be easier if the two of them didn’t despise each other so much that they could be in the same room at the same time to do it.
Farben would have two segments of film to explain. One was slightly more than a minute long and the other almost two minutes. Both were segments of testimony from one of the women investigators that any fool could see made Brittany look like a liar.
They nailed down Briscomb’s response to the film she was to explain and then took a few minutes to go over a few “spontaneous” questions. When they finished, satisfied that their guest was prepared, Robbie packed up everything to go to the booth to oversee the show.
“Just between us,” Melinda said, “you’re right about Farben. He is an arrogant ass.”
Robby heard Melinda say this to Briscomb and was able to get out of the room without laughing. Melinda had said the exact same words to Farben referring to Briscomb less than half an hour ago.
“You should’ve tried a case against him,” Briscomb almost sneered. “This is pleasant compared to that.”
“I just want you to know how much I appreciate your input and professionalism. It balances Farben and makes the show look fairer.”
The show itself went smoothly except for one small, not quite heated exchange between the two lawyers. Briscomb was supposedly taking the defense side. Even so, she was forced to admit Brittany was obviously lying, especially during the ten days when her daughter was missing and she did not report it.
The show wrapped up with all three of them agreeing it would be difficult for her to get out from under her lies. And both lawyers agreed her attorney looked completely over his head.
The phones at the station did not stop ringing until almost an hour after the show aired. Over ninety-five percent of the callers agreeing with Melinda and her guests and thanking her for putting on an objective, balanced commentary about the trial.
Later that night, relaxing on the couch in the living room of his sparse, one bedroom apartment, Bob Olson watched Melinda’s show for the third time. He had his stockinged feet on his cheap wooden coffee table enjoying the show and the results. After the third viewing, he decided he wanted to risk attending the trial; at least for one day. Maybe one day next week if he could get some time off from work.
The next day almost every paper in the country ran a story about the previous day’s testimony. It was also prominent on all of the morning TV Talk shows and cable news throughout the day. Of course, they all used the word “alleged” a lot but it was evident they believed Brittany was going to be caught in her web of lies.
Marc had been seated at his desk for over three hours going over his trial book. His door stood open and the office was dark, silent and empty. He was just about done reviewing and editing his cross exam of Detective Williams to be done first thing tomorrow. Earlier, while going over his and Madeline’s interview notes of the next batch of witnesses, he had taken a call from Margaret Tennant.
Margaret called to check up on him to see how he was doing. Being a trial judge and before that a trial lawyer herself, she understood the burden and stress he was under. Concerned about him, she called just to let him know she was thinking about him.
Tired after another long day, Marc gathered up what he needed for court in the morning.
“How’s your trial going?” a voice came from his doorway breaking the silence.
Marc jumped two inches off his chair and almost fell over backward when he bounced down. His breathing stopped and he placed a hand over his chest in a futile effort to slow down his heart.
“Jesus Christ, Connie! You just took ten years off my life,” Marc shouted. “Make some noise when you come in!”
Connie Mickelson, his good friend, colleague and landlord was standing in his doorway. She had one hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh and an embarrassed look in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said laughing a little bit.
“It’s not funny,” he calmly replied as his breathing and heart returned to normal.
“Depends on where you’re standing,” Connie said as she sat in one of his client chairs. “I drove by and saw the light on. Figured you were here. How’s it going?”
“So far, okay,” he shrugged.
“Are you eating and getting some sleep?” his friend asked.
“Doing my best, Mom,” he smiled.
“Kiss my ass, smartass. You know what I mean.” Connie could out cuss most sailors.
“Yeah, I do. Vivian Donahue and Tony showed up today. She pretty much chased Anne Peterson away. It was pretty funny.”
“You don’t seem too stressed yet.”
“It’s there,” Marc conceded. “She’s innocent and if I screw this up she’s going to prison for the rest of her life. Life without possibility of parole. It’s hard to sleep well.”
“We’ve been over your case. It’s solid. You’re going to win. Okay?”
“We’ll see. I hope you’re right.”
“Get out of here. Go see Margaret. Get laid. Get a good night’s sleep.”
“I’ll see Margaret this weekend. I hate driving all the way to Hastings from her place in the morning. Too much traffic,” he answered as they both stood to leave.
“Anything you need, anything any of us can do to help…”
“I know, thanks Connie.”
FIFTY TWO
The next morning, the snowstorm had moved into Wisconsin, the streets were clear, the sun was out and the weather geeks were forecasting several days of pleasant weather. Marc began his trek from the already almost full far parking lot. He looked at the building and saw the mob. As he got closer he could see Sheriff Cale and at least a dozen deputies trying to herd them away from the doors.
To Marc’s left was the jail, euphemistically called the adult detention center. To his right were the county government offices and between them w
as the courthouse. All three sections were connected to form one large building. In front of the court section is a circular drive that people can use as a drop off and pick up area. In front of the jail and county offices are sidewalks. The problem Cale was having was that there simply is not enough area or a convenient place for this crowd of protesters to go. Especially with the snow piled up.
The protestors wanted to be admitted into the building but that was not going to happen. Cale finally decided to cordon off a section of the sidewalk by the jail. There would not be enough room for all of them on the sidewalk itself which meant a large number would have to leave or stand in almost knee deep snow.
Cale stood watching his deputies line up and slowly began moving the crowd away from the front of the building. Marc tried to make his way past along side of them to get to the door where another deputy stood inside watching and waiting for him. When he was about halfway there, someone in the crowd recognized him and began yelling, “There he is! That’s her lawyer! Get him!” The mass of moving people, later estimated at almost five hundred, stopped, went completely silent for two to three seconds then all hell broke loose.
When he heard the man yell, Marc stopped and turned his head to the crowd. Just as he did, at least fifty of them broke through the thin cordon of deputies and charged after him screaming and yelling obscenities knocking four or five of the deputies to the ground. Marc stood frozen in disbelief for two seconds then his survival instincts took over and he sprinted toward the door.
The deputy standing inside the door waiting for him immediately opened it and stepped out to help. Just as Marc was about to reach the safety of the doorway, a young man, faster than the others, caught him and grabbed his left sleeve and stopped him. Instinctively Marc spun around, brought his hard leather briefcase up and smashed it into the face of his attacker. The young man’s nose exploded, his hands went to his face and he staggered back into the crowd.
The deputy reached for Marc to pull him in but was a fraction of a second too late. A woman, in her mid-forties, swung her purse, the size of a small suitcase and drilled Marc across the side of his head. Marc staggered back and the deputy grabbed him by the front of his overcoat and almost tossed him through the door to safety.
By now, there was absolute chaos on the steps in front of the building. Another twenty five to thirty protestors decided to join in and at least twenty more deputies rushed from the jail and the court building to quell the mini-riot.
The entire uprising lasted less than fifteen minutes. At the sight of the deputies charging from the buildings, most of the idiots began to scatter. By the time it was completely over, there were a dozen arrests and another fifteen people needed minor medical care for small cuts, bruises and abrasions, including three deputies, one of whom was going to have a serious black eye the next day.
Of those arrested, the woman who had drilled Marc with her purse was included. The deputy who had rescued Marc went after her himself and made sure the handcuffs were nice and tight.
Much to their delight, the camera crews, including CNN, were already filming when the melee broke out. The entire disturbance would be on the internet within minutes. To say it went viral would be a gross understatement. Within a week, three hundred million viewers worldwide would see it. Even the President would get in on it apologizing to the world, once again, for America’s shortcomings.
Marc, seated in the mostly empty courtroom, had just swallowed two Aleve provided by the judge’s clerk, when Connors came through the door. The judge was wearing slacks, a white shirt and tie and without his robe, walked over to Marc.
“You okay?” he asked sincerely.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marc replied.
“We can postpone if you need to see a doctor.”
“No, let’s keep going. I’m embarrassed as much as anything.”
“Why?”
“A woman hit me with her purse,” he answered looking a bit embarrassed. “Although just between you and me, I did drill one of them pretty good with my briefcase.”
“Did you really?” the judge smiled. “Well, keep it quiet. I’ll talk to Cale and get you parking in back. We should have done it right away.”
“Thanks, judge.”
Kristin Williams was reminded she was still under oath when she took the stand at 9:00 o’clock. A large, flat screen TV on a portable stand had been wheeled in and positioned on the opposite side of the room facing the jury. Williams was going to testify about what she had found on the internet social media sites and the prosecution was going to put it up on a TV screen for the jury to see.
Marc knew this was coming and believed that Connors allowing it to be admitted as evidence could very easily be reversible error. That was the reason he had objected, again, to allowing it. If he did not put an objection on the record, in the event of an appeal, the appellate court could not even consider it.
Marc knew that Brittany was about to take a beating. What Williams was about to testify to might be the worst testimony about her for the entire trial. He had been over this with her and made it very clear she was not to show any emotional response. She was to keep a neutral expression and act as if everything coming out was exactly what they expected. Brittany promised to do it no matter what.
Williams started out by informing the jury about the decision to begin investigating Brittany. The longer they searched for the elusive Bob Olson the less credible Brittany’s story became. Even though Shannon Keenan had already testified to these things, it wasn’t worth the bother to object.
Williams, with Hart tossing her easy questions, told the jury what she found on the internet. She first went to obvious sites beginning with Facebook. At this point, one of the younger lawyers with the state used a laptop to put Brittany’s Facebook page on the TV screen.
What Williams found, and what was put up on the TV, was entry after entry of Brittany writing about the difficulties of being a young single mother. She wrote about how much having a young child weighed her down and disrupted her life. That sometimes when her friends were out partying and having fun, she was stuck at home with a kid. Every one of these ended with Brittany admitting that Becky was the joy of her life and the sun rises and sets with her. That last part was quickly and conveniently glossed over.
Williams then moved on to a couple of dating sites that Brittany was signed up on, Match.com and Zoosk and went over her entry for each, one at a time, with the profile on the TV screen. While the laptop operator used a highlight marker on the screen, Williams went over each item. She pointed out inconsistencies, exaggerations and outright lies Brittany had used. And, on the profiles of both sites, in answer to the question: Do you have any children? Brittany had answered “no”.
After the morning break, Hart started in on the most damning testimony. Williams had gone over the Facebook pages of Brittany’s best friends. What she found was the usual kind of drivel that young people, especially young women, liked to share. Mostly gossipy nonsense if not outright lies about themselves, their friends and especially boyfriends. And, of course, their social lives.
For some reason they seemed to enjoy bragging about how drunk they could get and how many guys they hooked up with. Brittany had assured Marc that it was mostly exaggeration but it was up on the screen for the world to see. The worst of it were the pictures. The prosecution, after much discussion with the judge, were allowed to put into evidence and show on the TV eight pictures from each site of Brittany’s three best friends. Most of them were silly, even mildly humorous selfies, taken at parties and bars. The problem was all of them had Brittany in the picture showing her having a grand old time and obviously drinking too much. A few of them were shots of her sitting on the laps of different young men making out in public with them.
The worst of them were the ones saved until the end. The pictures taken at the bars during the time Becky was missing. The last one, the one that was left up on the screen and the jury would have in their memory, was the one of Brittany
standing on the bar, braless in her soaking wet T-shirt, proudly holding her trophy for winning the contest. Brittany would later tell Marc it took more self-control than she believed she had not to crawl under the table and hide.
As bad as it was, Marc knew it could have been worse. If it had been him using that picture, he would have timed it so it was the last thing the jury saw on Friday so they would have the image in their minds all weekend. He just hoped some of the men on the jury would not be as appalled as the women.
FIFTY THREE
The courtroom audience was filing back into their seats following lunch. Marc was giving a quick read to his notes to cross examine Kristin Williams. He felt a tug on his left coat sleeve and lifted his head to look at Brittany. She turned her head toward the gallery, specifically the row directly behind them. Marc looked and saw Tony Carvelli and Vivian Donahue seated next to Butch and Andy.
Over the lunch hour, Marc had spoken by phone with Barbara Riley. She informed him that the refinance of their house was done and that money would be available soon. Also, someone had donated one hundred thousand dollars, anonymously, to Brittany’s online defense fund. The news had significantly boosted Marc’s spirits with the knowledge the case probably would not bankrupt him.
Marc stood up, stepped to the bar between the well of the court and the gallery to speak to his friends. He shook hands with Tony and Vivian then leaned over to whisper to Vivian.
“Do we have you to thank for the anonymous donation to Brittany’s defense fund?”
With a faux innocent look on her face, Vivian looked directly at Marc and said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
Marc, with a skeptical expression said, “Uh, huh. Okay.”
Vivian motioned for him to lean closer so she could whisper in his ear. “But, if you need more, let Anthony know.”
Media Justice Page 32