"Jurors, you can confine yourselves to this one journey, the journey Mr. Burke has outlined for you. If you decide to do that, it'll take you no time at all to become convinced of Samara's guilt, and you'll come out of this trial thinking that this was the strongest case there ever was. And in a sense, you'll be right. Strong? The word doesn't begin to do it justice. Try overwhelming. Airtight. Perfect. So perfect, in fact, that it should scare the living daylights out of you and make you ask yourselves if things are ever, ever, so perfect in real life.
"Because, jurors, there's another journey you can take, if you're up to it. If you dare. A second journey through the very same evidence outlined by Mr. Burke. A second journey I beg you to take, implore you to take. This journey begins with a proposition, a proposition that flows from the rule of law that asks you, requires you, demands of you, that you presume Samara innocent. It's a proposition that, if you give it a chance, may explain why this case seems so in credibly strong, so utterly convincing, so absolutely perfect, when almost nothing ever is in this world we inhabit.
"And here—" dropping his voice again now, forcing them to lean forward once more "—is the proposition. Samara Tannenbaum is being framed."
The collective gasp is so audible that Jaywalker fears he's gone over the top and lost them. But there's no turning back. All he can do now is repeat himself, dig in, and hope that one or two of them will stay with him.
"That's right," he says, "framed. As you listen to the evidence, jurors, try not to be dazzled by it. Shield your eyes from the blinding light, protect yourselves from the blast of heat, and try to see through to the core of it, the essence, the part that truly makes sense. The damning items found in Samara's home, for example. Was that really where she would have hidden them, if indeed she'd mur dered her husband? In a place where they were absolutely sure to be found? The life insurance policy. Did she really expect to collect twenty-five million dollars on a policy taken out a month before murdering her husband? Did she think nobody would notice? This woman who lives in the glare of publicity? Come on, she's smarter than that, and so are you. The clumsy, obvious lies to the detectives. Proof that Samara's a murderer? Or that she's simply someone who doesn't particularly like cops, especially cops who seem to be prying into the details of her mar riage? The fact that she argued with her husband. Earth shaking? Or a pretty common thing? The list goes on and on. What you'll find is that every single piece of evidence against Samara has a flip side to it, if only you'll allow it to reveal itself.
"So, jurors, there's an easy way to look at this case, and a hard way. Mr. Burke makes it all sound easy. In fact, he's already told you that at the end of the trial he'll be asking you to convict Samara. He's told you that, as a matter of fact, before you've had a chance to hear one single word of testimony. Think about that for a minute. Me? I'm not asking you to acquit Samara. I have no right to do that at this point, not before you've heard the evidence. What I'm asking you to do instead—all I'm asking you to do, in fact—is to take both journeys, the obvious one and the notso-obvious one, the easy one and the hard one. I'm asking you to listen with both ears, to watch with both eyes, and, if you detect something a little foul in the air, to smell with both nostrils.
"Who's framing Samara? I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Maybe the evidence will yield a clue or two. Maybe not. But remember this—I have no burden of proof in this trial. I don't have to identify the framer. Nor do you. At the end of the day, it will be enough if you walk back into this courtroom, look us squarely in the eye and tell us that, having taken both journeys through the evidence, you are unable to say that you are convinced that my client is guilty of murder, and that you are certainly unable to say you are convinced beyond all reasonable doubt."
He turned from them, walked back to the defense table and sat down. He'd spoken for almost half an hour. He had no idea if he had them or not. At very least, though, he'd presented them with a theory—a proposition, he'd called it—and none of them had laughed. That itself he counted as a victory of sorts.
The bad news, of course, was that the evidence was about to begin.
19
A GRUESOME DEATH
"The People call Stacy Harrington."
A lot of prosecutors like to start off with a bang, calling a key witness first. While this practice makes for exciting TV drama, it often accomplishes little more than confusing jurors.
Tom Burke was anything but a showman, and drama was the last thing he was interested in. In the choice of his leadoff first witness, he made it clear that it wasn't ratings he was after, but chronology and clarity.
Stacy Harrington, small, black and attractive, was employed as an executive assistant—a new title for the old job Jaywalker had grown up calling a secretary—in the offices of Tannenbaum International, Barry Tannenbaum's flagship company. She'd been among the first to notice Barry's lateness in showing up one August morning, a year and a half ago. And the thing about Barry, at least one of the many things about Barry, was that he was never late for anything.
MR. BURKE: What did you do, when he
didn't show up?
MS. HARRINGTON: I called his home, both
homes.
MR. BURKE: And?
MS. HARRINGTON: He didn't answer.
MR. BURKE: At either place?
MS. HARRINGTON: At either place.
MR. BURKE: What did you do then?
MS. HARRINGTON: I called the police.
MR. BURKE: Which police?
MS. HARRINGTON: The New York City police. It
was my understanding that
Barry, that Mr. Tannenbaum,
was staying in the city. And
that way was easier. I just di
aled 9-1-1.
MR. BURKE: And what, if anything, did
the police tell you?
MS. HARRINGTON: They recognized the name.
They said they'd send some
one over, and would contact
the Scarsdale police and
have them do the same up
there.
Jaywalker asked no questions of Ms. Harrington. His rule of thumb was that less was better, and none was even better than less. Too many cross-examiners insisted on making a show of questioning every witness called by an adversary. To Jaywalker, that made no sense at all. If a witness hadn't said anything to hurt his client, why disguise that fact by asking questions? Why not instead highlight it by shrugging and saying that you had no questions?
Burke called Anthony Mazzini. Mazzini was the super intendent of the building in which Barry Tannenbaum had a penthouse apartment. Around midday, two uni formed police officers had arrived at the building. They'd explained that Mr. Tannenbaum hadn't shown up for work that morning, and that people at his office were con cerned for his welfare. After unsuccessfully trying to reach Tannenbaum by intercom and telephone, Mazzini had taken the officers up to the penthouse. There he'd rung the doorbell and knocked on the door, getting no response. Eventually he'd unlocked it with a passkey. The door hadn't been chained or bolted from the inside, and the alarm had been off. Mazzini had followed the officers inside.
MR. BURKE: Did you find anything unusual?
MR. MAZZINI: Unusual? Yeah, plenty.
There was a ripple of nervous laughter from the jury box.
MR. BURKE: What was it?
MR. MAZZINI: We found Mr. Tannenbaum lay
ing on the kitchen floor in a mess
of blood.
Once again, Jaywalker had no questions. Mazzini was actually on his short list of suspects, but he knew that now was no time to go after him. For one thing, the rules of evidence limited cross-examination to those topics covered in direct examination. If Jaywalker wanted to attack the super, he would have to call him later, during the defense case, and, if need be, have him declared a hostile witness. But even beyond that technical consideration, what was he going to do? Come right out and ask Mazzini if he'd murdered Barry and framed Samara?
Burke called Susan Connolly, one of the two "first officers" to arrive at the scene. Officer Connolly had quickly determined that Tannenbaum was dead, and had probably been dead for a number of hours. She and her partner had established a crime scene, prohibiting any un authorized personnel from entering, and seeing to it that nothing was moved or otherwise disturbed. Then they'd called their precinct commander, who'd told them to wait there until the detectives arrived.
MR. BURKE: Which way was the body facing?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Excuse me?
MR. BURKE: Was the body lying faceup or
facedown?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Facedown, mostly.
MR. BURKE: Did either you or your partner
ever turn it over?
P.O. CONNOLLY: No, sir.
MR. BURKE: Thank you. No further questions.
At that point Jaywalker decided he might as well take
a shot and see if he could raise some questions about the
previous witness.
MR. JAYWALKER: What about Mr. Mazzini, the
super? What did he do?
P.O. CONNOLLY: He didn't touch him, neither.
MR. JAYWALKER: No, not what he didn't do,
what he did do.
P.O. CONNOLLY: When?
MR. JAYWALKER: The entire time he was in the
apartment.
P.O. CONNOLLY: I don't know. Stood around,
mostly. Looked around.
MR. JAYWALKER: Looked around in various
rooms?
P.O. CONNOLLY: I guess so.
MR. JAYWALKER: You yourself stayed with the
body, though. Right?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Right, once we'd secured the
area and made sure that there
was no one else in the apart
ment.
MR. JAYWALKER: I see. How long did it take be fore the detectives arrived?
P.O. CONNOLLY: (Refers to memo book)
Twenty-five minutes.
MR. JAYWALKER: When they arrived at the apart
ment, did they have much con
versation with Mr. Mazzini?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Some. I wouldn't say much.
MR. JAYWALKER: So he was still there?
P.O. CONNOLLY: I'm not sure.
MR. JAYWALKER: Didn't you just tell us the de tectives had some conversation with him when they arrived at the apartment?
(No response)
MR. JAYWALKER: Was Mr. Mazzini still there?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Yes.
MR. JAYWALKER: So by that time, he'd been there
a good half an hour, right?
P.O. CONNOLLY: I guess so, right.
MR. JAYWALKER: Like you said, standing around,
looking around in various
rooms?
P.O. CONNOLLY: Right.
If it wasn't much, at least it was a start. It showed that the super, who had a passkey, had also had full access to the apartment the day after the murder. And that the integ rity of the crime scene had been compromised, a fact that jurors raised on a diet of O.J. and CSI might find troubling.
Then again, what was Jaywalker really doing here? Hoping for the cops to screw up? Waiting for manna to fall from the heavens? It seemed so.
They broke for lunch.
That afternoon Burke led off with Detective Anne Maloney. Maloney was assigned to the Crime Scene Unit, a fact that immediately grabbed the attention of the jury. Having labored for years in almost total obscurity, CSU had almost overnight become the darlings of the department. The agent of change, of course, had been the television set. Programs like CSI, along with myriad spinoffs and com petitors, had thrust the unit into the forefront of police work. These days, if you were to canvas a roomful of twelve- to fourteen-year-olds, you'd likely find that of all the careers the youngsters aspired to, crime scene technician outpolled its nearest competitor by a margin of twenty to thirty per centage points. Kids no longer wanted to be doctors, movie stars, shortstops, firemen or forest rangers; they wanted to be David Caruso or Marg Helgenberger. (Assuming, of course, that they couldn't be the next Fantasia.)
Detective Maloney was no American Idol. Plain and a bit on the stocky side, with a pageboy haircut straight out of the fifties, she was all business. She and fellow members of her unit had arrived at the scene at, as she put it, "fourteen forty-five hours." Translated for the jury, that was a quarter of three in the afternoon. She'd found that the apartment had been secured by two uniformed patrol officers, who'd es tablished a crime scene, indicated by the presence of familiar yellow-and-black tape at the door to the apartment.
Inside, things had seemed quite orderly, with two excep tions, both in the kitchen. First, there were a half-dozen half-empty cartons of Chinese food spread out on the coun tertop. And then there was the floor. On it was a body, sub sequently identified as that of Barry Tannenbaum.
MR. BURKE: Can you describe the condition
of the body for us?
DET. MALONEY: It was dead.
Her understatement drew a few nervous snickers from
the jury box.
MR. BURKE: I was actually hoping you could
give us a little more detail.
The snickers erupted into laughter. Burke had a nice
way of putting jurors at ease. That said, Jaywalker had no
doubt that he'd planted that little bit of comic relief, even
if he hadn't bothered telling his witness what he was doing.
Jaywalker knew that because, from time to time, he did the
same thing with his own witnesses.
DET. MALONEY: The body was lying facedown, bent into a sort of fetal position. A significant amount of dried blood was visible underneath it.
MR. BURKE: Did you check for a pulse, or
other vital signs?
DET. MALONEY: No. That had already been done,
with negative results.
MR. BURKE: Did there come a time when you
turned the body over?
DET. MALONEY: Yes. After photographing the
body in the exact position we
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