“It’s time you learn to shoot.”
“Shoot? Why would I learn to shoot?” he asked. But he already knew. In a way, he was surprised it had taken her this long. Maybe she had heard the cops were about to turn their attention elsewhere, he thought.
“So you know how in case you ever need to protect yourself.”
He looked hard at her. “Do you know something I don’t?”
“The cops are going to move on just about any time. And the mob already tried to murder you once. You should know something about combat shooting. Keep one around the house. Keep one up here at the office. Keep one under your coat.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, did you think we were negotiating? Come with me.”
He was flustered, thrown off by her demand. “Where?”
“Thayer’s Sporting Goods,” she said, referring to the low shingle-sided retail outlet on the west end of town. “They’ve got a three station shooting range. Buddy and I shoot there lots. C’mon.”
Thaddeus followed her out the door. He took the stairs by use of the bannisters, his crutches under each arm. They took her car. She drove them out to Thayer’s and she asked to try a .40 caliber Glock. Mr. Thayer included two boxes of ammo when he handed her the gun. “And muffs,” she said.
They went into the range and found no one else around. “All right, let me show you the basics of a semi-auto pistol. Here we go.”
An hour later they were back at the office. Several times that afternoon, he eyed the pistol-sized box that now occupied the side of his desk. He was officially the owner of a .40 caliber Glock semi-automatic pistol. What’s more, he knew how to operate it. He knew how to take it apart, how to clean it, how to load it, how to work the trigger safety, and he knew the two-handed grip and pointing style of aiming along your arms. From twenty feet he could put a three tap group into the bull’s-eye every time. From thirty paces he was almost as accurate. “Mostly,” she had taught him, “you’ll be shooting your assailant at five to ten feet. That’s where most of your practice rounds should be fired.” Then she had turned him loose. Four boxes of shells later they had returned to the office, munching Big Macs and slurping shakes. All in all he liked the lesson. They were going to meet again Saturday morning and Buddy was going to shoot with them. It would be crowded on Saturday, so they reserved an eight a.m. start time. Thaddeus was fascinated. He had really never known anything about guns before. Now he was armed. He was trying out a brand new shoulder-carry holster. The gun was on the table, the holster was strapped across his back. But tonight—he would probably wear it home, with the gun, under his jacket. But would he really have the courage and willingness to shoot someone if the time ever came for that? He could only wonder.
26
There were very few pre-trial motions filed. There hadn’t been a confession, so there was no motion to suppress. The search warrant had contained enough probable cause so the court denied suppression of the gun and knife. Thaddeus make the presentation, and argued violently and loudly, but the court denied it immediately upon Thaddeus’ concluding. After all, Judge Prelate had signed the search warrant himself and he wasn’t about to overturn it now. No, the search and seizure of the gun and knife were all legal and would be admitted before the jury.
The motion to suppress the crime lab reports was summarily denied. Thaddeus hadn’t had enough money to have his own workup done and so his motion to suppress was based mostly on guesswork and supposition and the court gave it the weight it deserved: Zero. Thaddeus had considered filing a motion for change of venue, but the more he thought about it the more he realized Ermeline’s reputation in the community would only work to her good. So he decided he wouldn’t want the trial in a different county even if they offered.
27
Trial began on Monday, the first week of April, on a wind-swept day that alternated between blowing snow and freezing rain. The snow was light and seemed more a protest than a serious event. The freezing rain came and went but never did form ice on the windows or windshields. Thaddeus was getting around with only a cane now, but he still wore the holstered gun under his coat. Morning until night. He kept it beside his recliner while he watched TV and read at night. He kept it on his bedside table. It was always loaded and ready to be fired in an instant. The deputies at the courthouse knew all about the arrangement, so they waved him through security without a question. Judge Prelate had made it very clear to them: Thaddeus could come and go at will with his gun under his coat. It was an exception to the general rule that no civilian could enter the courthouse while possessing a firearm.
The weather reminded Thaddeus of what he was up against: Snow or freezing rain, guilty or not guilty? With his cane he made it to the courtroom. Christine was close behind. She pulled a wheeled briefcase jammed with papers and pads and books on evidence. His stomach was cramped and he needed to urinate. There was a constant feeling in his bowels of an impending explosion, but so far nothing. He knew from law school exams and the bar exam the feeling of helpless fear, and that’s what he was feeling now. It was a feeling that you had done all you could to prepare, but you knew going in that even your best efforts weren’t going to be good enough. Happily enough he had made it through law school and had only had to sit for the bar exam one time, but this was his first jury trial and this time there were no study groups, no cram courses, no memorization techniques, no hints from others who had been there before. Plus he knew they could prove Ermeline guilty beyond a reasonable doubt without breaking much of a sweat on their side. He felt totally isolated from the world and would have traded everything he had at that moment to be waiting patiently beside a cash register for the first customer of the day in his office supply store, never knowing the feelings he was having just now. This was a terror they didn’t tell you about in law school, and how could they, really? He imagined that it was the same sort of terror soldiers must feel before a battle. You had done all you could to prepare, but there was always the possibility you weren’t going to make it out alive. That was exactly how he was feeling when a sudden still fell over the courtroom. The air was filled with expectancy. Someone had seen something.
At just that moment, at nine a.m., Judge Prelate’s court reporter entered the courtroom from the Judge’s chambers. By now the small-auditorium was filled to overflowing with jury candidates, bystanders, and press. Several deputies milled around up front, inside the bar where only the attorneys and court officials were allowed, like they owned the place. When the court reporter entered they scattered, most of them exiting the courtroom altogether. But their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed: they had been telling the crowd, “This place belongs to us, belongs to law and order.” Thaddeus furiously limped into the fenced area and made a big show of claiming the defense table. He irately laid out books and papers from one side of the table to the other and made a big production of walking around the table and claiming that space as his and his alone. At 9:05 deputy Harshman accompanied Ermeline to the table and she took her seat beside him. Behind counsel table but in front of the bar was a wide row of upholstered captain’s chairs for the attorneys while they waited their turn at the tables. Deputy Harshman helped himself to one of those chairs, directly behind Ermeline. He was letting everyone know that he was in charge of her, that she was in his custody even though she was sitting up front with her lawyer. Rulanda Barre entered moments later with Sheriff Altiman at her side. The Sheriff was the chief investigator and would represent the law enforcement arm of the State. Thus he would be sitting beside SAAG Barre at counsel table. She had very few books with her, just a laptop and an Illinois Evidence manual. Three legal pads were scattered on the table before her. Then the Judge entered and all eyes looked his way. With a flourish of robes and his large stride he took the bench, overlooking the sea of faces. “Thank you,” said Judge Prelate, as total quiet settled over the full house. “Please be seated.” The Judge nodded to the bailiff Don Helzinger, who called court to order. “Oyez, oyez, oy
ez, the circuit court for the judicial circuit is now in session, the honorable Nathan R. Prelate, Judge, Presiding.”
“Thank you,” said Judge Prelate. He surveyed counsel table and appeared satisfied with the arrangements. “Counsel,” he began slowly, “are there any pre-trial matters you need to have the court take up before we begin jury selection?”
“No, your Honor,” said Rulanda Ware, quickly on her feet and looking as serious as one might look just before an execution.
“No, your Honor,” said Thaddeus, who gamely pulled himself upright and stood, one shoulder higher than the other. He wished there was something he had to bring up that might change this terrible downhill slope he was looking at. But he knew there was nothing and he could think of no last minute tactic to spring, so he took his seat. Ermeline exhaled beside him and he could feel her counting on him every minute they sat there.
“Very well. Ladies and Gentlemen, I will now ask the Clerk to select a jury panel by lot.”
The Clerk proceeded to draw names by chance and as those names were called the prospective jurors took their seats in the jury box according to the number they were called.
Then the judge continued, “Those of you who are appearing today pursuant to a jury summons, you have been summoned as a prospective juror in the circuit court to render interesting and important service. Your name was drawn by lot from the combined lists of registered voters, unemployment claimants, licensed drivers, holders of Illinois Identification Cards and Illinois Disabled Person Identification Cards who reside in this county. All of those so drawn constitute the group from which jurors will be selected to hear particular cases.”
Thaddeus looked at the faces in the jury box. Some he knew; most he didn’t know. But counsel had been provided with background sheets on the entire jury panel, consisting of several sentences on each person who had to appear that day. He had gone over the list with Christine before court. He had gone over the list with Killen. Last night he had gone over the list with Ilene. He felt he knew more about the panel than SAAG Barre would ever know. Some of what he knew was very helpful, most was not. He began comparing names in the jury box to names on the information sheets. Ermeline read along with him as he underlined certain factual information with his finger. “Interesting,” he whispered to her, as they went quickly through the names.
The court then launched into the standard jury questions: Name, age, address, marital status, business, occupation, or profession, children, know any of the parties, know any law enforcement officials, and on and on. Then came the moment both attorneys had been pawing the ground and waiting for: the chance to ask the jurors questions themselves.
Rulanda Barre went first. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, and an elderly gentleman in the back row immediately waved his hand.
“Present,” he said weakly.
“Have any of you heard anything about this case?” she asked, ignoring the elderly man.
He sat up. “Can’t say I have. Course I don’t keep up much anymore.”
She let her eyes rest on him. “Did any of you know Victor Harrow?”
“Who?” the gentleman asked, as if she were speaking to him and him alone.
“Victor Harrow, the decedent.”
“I don’t know any decedent, no.”
“The man who was murdered—did you know him?”
“No, I don’t know anyone who’s been murdered.”
She looked frustrated and was working hard to maintain patience. “Let me ask something and I want you to know I’m not prying here. Mister—“ she found his name on her jury map. “—Mister Botticus. Do you have difficulty hearing me?”
“Not a bit. I can hear a pin drop.”
“It just seemed like you weren’t following my questions, that’s all.”
“I don’t follow your questions all that well. I’m not a well man.”
“And, without being specific, what is the nature of your illness?”
“Well, they tell me it’s called early onset senile dementia.”
Judge Prelate extended both hands across the high desk and motioned the attorneys to approach him. He whispered, “Counsel, I’m going to excuse Mr. Botticus for cause. Any objection?”
“No,” your honor, both attorneys said in unison.
After Mister Botticus had stepped down his seat was taken by a young woman with freckles. She looked to be early thirties and was alert.
SAAG Barre continued with her questions. She asked about feelings about jury service, whether anyone had any opinions about the case, whether anyone had any strong feelings about homicide cases, whether anyone had any strong feelings or opinions about the death penalty. A few hands went up now and then but on this last question she got six responses, three of them waving dramatically to be heard. “All right,” she said, “I’m going to ask each one of you individually. If you sat as a juror in this case and heard all the evidence and you believed the defendant was guilty beyond a reasonable doubt would you have any hesitation in voting guilty only because you knew the death chamber was a possible result for this defendant?”
“Objection,” said Thaddeus, taking his feet. “Attempting to pre-qualify the jury.”
Judge Prelate appeared thoughtful. “I don’t believe it’s wholly inappropriate, Mister Murfee, and I don’t believe it’s prejudicial. You may continue, Miss Barre.”
“Would the clerk please read back the question?”
The clerk read the question again and all eyes fastened on the juror who first had raised her hand. “All right,” said SAAG Barre, “Your name is Mathilde Henna and you’re the mother of three teenage boys. How would you answer my question? Any hesitation in voting guilty simply because this might be a death penalty case?”
“I don’t believe the Lord wants us to judge other people,” she said, and looked at the other jurors and at the gallery for support. Very few heads nodded agreement. She looked down. “I just don’t think we have the right to take anyone’s life for any reason. ‘Judge not that ye not be judged,’ and all.”
“So your religious conviction would prevent you from voting guilty even if you believed the State had proved the defendant’s guilty beyond a reasonable doubt?”
“I wouldn’t say it would prevent me,” Mathilde Henna said. “I just meant it would be difficult.”
Great, thought Thaddeus. She’s going to have to use one of her peremptory challenges to get rid of this lady. Inside his heart lifted for joy and he made a silent prayer of thanksgiving, though he wasn’t sure he believed all that much himself.
SAAG Barre persisted, coming at it from another direction. “So you could vote guilty even if you knew it might result in this defendant being sent to the execution chamber?”
“Objection,” said Thaddeus, again taking his feet. “Counsel is attempting to get this witness to commit, to promise. That’s improper voir dire.”
“Agree,” said the Judge. “Miss Henna,” sometimes counsel will ask you questions and I’ll allow it. Sometimes I won’t. This doesn’t mean you’ve done anything wrong. But right now I’m going to instruct you that you don’t have to answer counsel’s last question.”
Mathilde Henna shook her head. “But I want to answer. I would need to seek guidance in prayer to make my vote. I can’t just decide on my own.”
Great, thought Thaddeus. You just made my jury.
SAAG Barre looked down at her notes. She moved along. “Ladies and gentlemen, only the person charged with the crime knows what happened to Victor Harrow. She might not even testify. Therefore the State has no eyewitness testimony to offer. Knowing that this is a first degree murder case, do you feel like you have to say to yourself, well the case is just too serious to decide based upon circumstantial evidence to a return a verdict of first degree murder?”
Thaddeus felt he ought to object to this question but he couldn’t formulate exactly what his objection would be. So, he decided to keep still. Along with the others in the courtroom he waited for any hands to g
o up. None did, so SAAG Barre finally nodded and made her notes. Thaddeus made a note himself. He might like to come back to this when it was his turn.
She went again. “Is there anyone who just can’t sit on a capital murder case—meaning a case that might result in the death penalty?”
Thaddeus shot to his feet. “Objection, asked and answered.”
Judge Prelate nodded. “Counsel,” he said to Attorney Barre, “You’ve heard from the jury on the issue of willingness to convict on a capital case. Please move along.”
She tried again, but this time slightly different. “Now, everyone on the jury is in favor of capital punishment for this offense. Is there anyone on the jury, because the nature of the offense, feels like you might be a little bit biased or prejudiced, either consciously or unconsciously, because of the type or the nature of the offense involved; is there anyone on the jury who feels that they would be in favor of a sentence other than death for homicide?”
A hand went up in back. “Ms. Henna?”
Great, thought Thaddeus, her again. Just please don’t get yourself kicked off for cause. He hoped and prayed she would remain on the jury. She was totally against the death penalty and he knew that and, while it was enough to get her kicked off by the court itself, she hadn’t, so far, actually come right out and said she couldn’t vote guilty on a death case. Please don’t say anymore, he silently begged.
“I’ve thought it over some more,” Mathilde Henna said. “I could vote guilty on a death case.”
Gotcha! Thought Thaddeus. Thank you!
“All right, thank you Ms. Henna. Anyone who feels like they might be in favor of a sentence other than death on a homicide case?”
Everyone looked at everyone else. No one else was going to bite. By now the jurors had grown more than a little curious and more were interested in making it on the jury to see what it was all about. Plus it appeared to be an important case and, who knows? Maybe books would be written. Maybe even by one of them. Anymore, juries in the U.S. might as well have their own literary agents when they get selected to serve. They would need to be told about note taking and keeping notes separate from the books the court passed out for notes, because those books were always collected and destroyed at the end of trials. It was important to know these things.
The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1) Page 19