by David Walton
“Did you recognize the man who killed your family?” Haviland asked.
I was getting irritated. “No. I said I don’t know who he was. I wasn’t there when it happened. When I arrived at the house, there was a man there, and I believe it was him who killed them.”
“Did the police apprehend this man?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you tell police upon your arrest that the bodies of your wife and two of your children were in the house?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Did the police find those bodies when they went inside?”
“No, they did not.”
“Wouldn’t it be more accurate to say that your family is missing, Mr. Kelley? After all, it’s been months, and neither your family nor their bodies have been found, isn’t that right?”
“Missing may be an appropriate description,” I said.
“Did you and your wife have a fight the night before she went missing?” Haviland asked.
“No!”
“Did you hit her?”
“I didn’t hit her. I have never hit her.”
Haviland turned a page of his notes. He stacked the pages and rapped them against the lectern to even the edges. I thought he was probably giving the jury a chance to consider why a wife might take her children and leave home without a trace.
“I see,” he said finally. “Mr. Kelley, have you ever struck someone in anger?”
I paused. I knew exactly what incident Haviland was referring to, and I really didn’t want to talk about it.
“Answer the question, please,” Haviland said. “Have you ever struck someone in anger?”
“I was protecting my wife.”
“I’ll ask again. Have you ever struck—”
“Yes. We were at the health club, and this guy was harassing my—”
“Yes or no will do.” Haviland gave me a patronizing smile. “Who was the man you struck?”
“His name was Martin Slosser.”
“Where did this incident take place?”
“At the Granite Run Health and Fitness Club.”
“How many times did you hit him?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Four or five times?”
“Something like that. I’m not sure.”
“You weren’t counting?”
“Of course not.”
“Is it safe to say you were out of control, Mr. Kelley?”
“He attacked my wife!”
“Did he attack her physically?”
“Not exactly. He was saying crude things to her, sexually suggestive things, with an implied threat.”
“So you made sure he knew what would happen if he harmed your wife.”
“I was angry. I hit him.”
“Just a little? Did you bloody his lip and send him off?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“What were the man’s injuries, Mr. Kelley?”
“He lost consciousness for a short while.”
“Was he not taken to Riddle Hospital by ambulance and treated for a concussion and contusion of the brain?”
“He was taken to the hospital, yes. I don’t know what he was treated for.”
“You told the jury a moment ago that you had never committed a crime. Wouldn’t this be considered assault?”
“No charges were pressed,” I said. “I don’t know what it would be considered.”
“So you knocked a man unconscious for speaking rudely. What would you have done if he actually touched your wife?”
“I can’t say what would have happened.”
“Is it safe to assume you would have reacted even more strongly?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t—”
“What if he threatened her with a loaded gun? What if he fired that gun at her head?”
I nearly lashed out with an angry response, but I caught myself just in time. I saw Terry at the defense table, making frantic, tiny shakes of his head. He had told me a dozen times not to fall prey to the rhythm of the prosecutor’s questions. Take your time. Breathe. Answer at your own pace.
I took a deep breath. I counted to five. “Your questions are hypothetical,” I said calmly. “I can’t possibly tell you what I would have done in a situation that never occurred.”
“I have another one for you. Think back to your time as a competitive boxer in Philadelphia. Do you remember a man named Vinny Russo?”
My muscles clenched. I knew he was baiting me, trying to goad me into a violent reaction. “I remember him,” I said through clenched teeth. “It was a long time ago.”
“He was in a sexual relationship with your mother?”
“Yes.”
“According to the police report, you found him and your mother engaged in intimate relations in your South Philadelphia home.”
“Yes.”
“You walked in on them while they were copulating on the couch?”
“Yes.”
“Did you hurt Mr. Russo?”
He had the police report. There was no point trying to color the truth. “I hit him as hard as I could.”
“Which, as a competitive boxer, was pretty hard.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hit him just once?”
“He got up, so I hit him again.”
“According to the police report, you broke his nose and knocked out three teeth?”
“If they say so.”
“They also say Mr. Russo was so frightened for his safety that he ran outside without his clothes.”
I stifled the sudden smile that came with the memory. “That’s right, he did.”
“But, according to you, you’ve never committed a violent crime.”
“I’ve never been convicted of a crime, no.”
“That’s not quite the same thing, is it, Mr. Kelley?”
“When I need to, I can protect those I love. That’s not the same thing as being violent.”
“Was your mother an unwilling participant? Did she want you to rescue her from this man?” Haviland asked.
“We all knew Vinny,” I said. “He was a jerk. He was taking advantage of her. If either of her brothers had found him instead of me, it would have been worse.”
“It’s safe to say, though, that you take a violent, protective stance about the sexuality of the women in your life.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if you feel the sexuality of your mother or wife or daughters is threatened, you react violently.”
“It’s not a crime to protect the people you love,” I said. “It doesn’t mean I killed anyone.”
“How would you describe Mr. Vanderhall’s romantic relationships?”
The sudden change of topic threw me off. “I’m sorry?”
“His relationships with women. His sex life, if you will. How would you describe them?”
“Varied and short-lived. He always had a woman he was with, sometimes more than one. He liked the excitement of the chase, but didn’t have the patience for an actual relationship. Somehow, women were attracted to him despite this.”
“Did he ever have relationships with married women?”
“Pretty commonly, yes.”
“Were their husbands aware of these relationships?”
“Not usually, no. At least at first. He got into some trouble that way.”
“Did you always know which woman he was with?”
“No. Not even when I was working with him, and certainly not for the past few years.”
“So you wouldn’t necessarily know it if Mr. Vanderhall was conducting an affair with someone you knew. Such as, for instance, Elena, your wife.”
I probably should have seen it coming, but I didn’t. He caught me blindsided, and I stood up in the witness box, seething.
“Mr. Kelley, you must sit down,” Judge Roswell said sternly.
It took me a moment to respond. I was drowning in a sea of rage, not just at Haviland, but at the whole impossible situation
: at Brian Vanderhall, at the justice system, at the other Jacob, at the unreasonable absurdity of quantum physics, even at myself. It poured through me, half-blinding me, a torrent in my ears. Finally, I got control and took my seat.
Terry had been objecting loudly, and now that I was seated, the judge listened to his objection that the prosecution was harassing the witness. Roswell agreed. “Unless you are prepared to bring actual evidence that Mrs. Kelley was sleeping with the victim, then you will abandon this line of questioning. I will not tolerate fishing or baiting in my courtroom.”
Haviland apologized, but he didn’t seem sorry. I realized he had gotten just what he wanted out of me: an angry reaction in front of the jury. “Have you ever sought professional help to control violent tendencies, Mr. Kelley?”
“I don’t have violent tendencies.”
“Answer the question, please. Do you need me to repeat it?”
“No,” I said.
“No, you don’t need me to repeat the question, or no, you—”
“No, I’ve never seen a shrink about violence,” I growled. He was intentionally irritating me, and I knew it, but I still couldn’t help being annoyed. He was playing games with my life. I didn’t like his games.
“So just to review,” Haviland said. “You claim that, despite the fact that you were the only person able to enter and leave Mr. Vanderhall’s office, and despite the fact that you were found in possession of the gun that killed him and with his blood on your shoes, you had no involvement whatsoever in his death.”
I put as much honest certainty as I could into my voice. “Yes. I did not kill him.”
“Instead, you expect the jury to believe this fantastic tale of photocopied physicists?”
“It’s the truth.”
“That Mr. Vanderhall was both dead and alive at the same time?”
“Yes.”
“Well, perhaps you know what you’re talking about—you’re a scientist, after all.” This drew a few chuckles. “Tell me, from your experience, have you ever been dead and then walked around the next day?”
“No.”
“Have you ever read a peer-reviewed scientific paper that suggests that it is possible to do so?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been in two places at once?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have even one scrap of evidence that . . . what did you say?”
I smiled. “Yes, I have been two places at once.”
Haviland glanced at the judge and then back at me, unsure how to proceed. “Mr. Kelley,” Judge Roswell began in a stern tone, but I spoke up quickly.
“Your Honor,” I said, making sure everyone in the courtroom could hear me. “This is what I’ve been testifying to all along. Not only is it possible for a person to be in two places at once, I am doing so at this moment.” I glanced at Terry, who nodded. It was time. I pointed to the courtroom doors, which were just now opening to reveal a man dressed exactly as I was, in a simple black suit and tie. It was the other Jacob, my double. “In fact,” I said, “here I am now.”
There was a noise of shifting seats as everyone in the courtroom turned to look. Heads swiveled back and forth as they compared the other Jacob’s appearance to mine. I sat up straight, offering everyone a clear view of my face. My double walked confidently toward the front.
The showmanship was a risk, but it certainly captured everyone’s attention, and I knew the moment would be played on every feed in the country. Haviland was floored. He stared at Jacob and then back at me, for once at a loss for words. The jury looked back and forth as if they were viewing a tennis match.
Judge Roswell stood, her kindly face now rigid with fury. “Mr. Sheppard!” she barked. Terry stood, almost snapping to attention. “Is it your intention to turn my courtroom into a circus?”
“No, Your Honor. I apologize.”
“Bailiff, will you please remove this man from the building.”
“But Your Honor, this is one of my witnesses,” Terry said.
Her eyes narrowed. “You told the court that Mr. Jacob Kelley would be your last witness.”
“Yes. This is Jacob Kelley.”
“Which one, Mr. Sheppard?”
“Both of them, Your Honor. This is the defense’s case, and the whole point of Mr. Kelley’s testimony. This is no circus trick or identical twin—Mr. Kelley has no siblings. He is actually in two places at once, just as Brian Vanderhall was on the night of his death.”
“Your Honor, this is ludicrous,” Haviland said. He was red in the face and puffing. “I demand a mistrial.”
Judge Roswell used her gavel for the second time that day. “The jury will return to the deliberation room and await instructions,” she said, her voice cutting through the buzz in the courtroom. “Mr. Sheppard, Mr. Haviland, Mr. Kelley, and . . . the other Mr. Kelley. Come back to my chambers without saying another word.”
She left her dais with a swirl of black robes. The four of us followed her meekly through the doors and into a paneled office filled with the requisite shelves of law journals and mahogany furniture. There were only two chairs besides the judge’s. The lawyers took these, leaving Jacob and I to stand.
Roswell gave an exasperated sigh. “Terry, what’s come over you?” she asked, dropping the formality of address she used in the courtroom. “It was a tough case, but I didn’t think you were this desperate. I’m strongly considering a mistrial and slapping you with a heavy fine for wasting the court’s time and money.”
Terry laid a document on her desk, a few pages folded back to show a highlighted section. “It’s all true, Ann. I have the DNA results right here. These two are the same man.”
Roswell didn’t even look at the document. “Rubbish. Identical twins have the same DNA; you know that.”
“Look at them. Really look at them.”
Jacob and I moved so we were shoulder to shoulder and stood up straight. She looked. I knew the most remarkable thing wasn’t how identical we appeared, but the fact that, standing like this, you could see that we were mirror images. Our faces, side by side, were symmetrical in a way that neither twins nor any clever makeup could duplicate. She studied us carefully, but showed no sign of what she thought.
“David?” she said finally.
“It’s all nonsense, of course,” Haviland said.
“Don’t talk,” Judge Roswell said. “Look.”
He turned in his chair and studied us for a long moment. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “Really?”
We nodded in unison. “Really.”
CHAPTER 27
UP-SPIN
I thought if Judge Roswell could be convinced, we would be home free, but it wasn’t so easy. She believed we were who we said, but she still wasn’t pleased. The worst of her glare was focused on Terry Sheppard.
“This is a miscarriage of justice,” she said.
“Why?” I asked. “We’re innocent.”
Her eyes swiveled toward me like Gatling guns looking for a target. “I don’t know that. Seems to me you had twice as much opportunity to kill him if there were two of you. What I do know is that this is going to play havoc with the court system. Your little stunt went out on the national feeds. That means that by tomorrow every convict in the pen is going to have his lawyer filing appeals that it wasn’t him who did the crime, it was the other guy who looked just like him. How will any charge stick if there could be a doppelganger out there doing things in your name? It’s a disaster.”
“But we are the same person,” Jacob said. “One passport, one driver’s license, one social security number. If we did something wrong, we’re equally culpable. Eventually the waveform will collapse, and we’ll be in one place again, too.”
The judge’s eyes pinned Jacob for a moment, then turned back toward Sheppard. “A disaster,” she repeated. “Terry, I thought you had better sense.”
“I can’t help the legal precedent,” he tried. “It’s the truth. These two are the same man. And if
they can be the same man, then their story that Brian Vanderhall was split in two is equally plausible.”
“Don’t give me your rationalizations. I don’t want to hear it.” Judge Roswell actually pointed a scolding finger at Sheppard like a mother might a naughty child. “You hid the truth from me and the prosecution to get an edge. You put up a gigantic smokescreen that will turn everyone’s attention away from the matter at hand: whether your client actually killed Brian Vanderhall. I’ve never been as disappointed in a former clerk than at this moment. When I hired you, you had principle. Promise. I never thought to see you resorting to cheap theatrics to win a case.”
“It’s not a smokescreen,” Terry said doggedly. “It demonstrates that Vanderhall shooting himself is a plausible story.”
“It was a vaudeville show, and it has drastic implications for the trial system, as you would know if you thought beyond this one case. It violated the spirit of the discovery process, if not the letter of it. It was cheating, Terry.”
“But, Ann . . .”
“Call me, ‘Your Honor,’” she snapped. “Or better yet, don’t talk at all. You could have brought this to me weeks ago. Both parties could have made arguments in private, and we could have decided how to proceed to ensure fairness. How can we have a fair hearing now? I’m tempted to declare a mistrial, but thanks to you, I don’t see how we can select another jury that will be any less biased than the one we have.” She considered for a moment. “I will instruct the jury that they are to consider the evidence as presented without reference to whom they may or may not have thought they saw coming through the doors. The other Mr. Kelley will not testify. Mr. Haviland, you will complete your cross-examination, and then we will move to closing arguments. Neither of you are to refer to this incident in the courtroom again.”
“Your Honor, Mr. Sheppard has made a mockery of you and this court with this charade. He should be removed from the case,” Haviland said.
Judge Roswell narrowed her eyes at him. I thought he had gone too far by implying Terry had made a fool of her. “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “However, Mr. Kelley”—and now she looked at me—“if I see you within a hundred yards of my courtroom again, or appearing on the news before this trial is over, I will have you arrested for murder as well. Don’t think I can’t. Is everyone clear?”