by Nat Williams
“She has a hell of a way of showing it.”
“We’ll get through this. Trust me.”
“Do I have a choice?”
CHAPTER 64
Nine months after the crime
“¿Qué está pasando con David?”
Pedro Gutiérrez was riding shotgun in a pickup truck driven by Obie Lynch. They were headed down a blacktop road that would take them to a turnoff onto a large section of the Purcell orchard planted in apple trees.
Workers were aware of what seemed like a landslide coming down on Purcell Orchards recently. Most didn´t say anything, probably because they didn´t know what to say. Gutiérrez was not shy about expressing himself. He was to Obie what Obie was to David Purcell – his right-hand man.
Obie explained about the bail, how their jefe couldn’t raise enough money to get out of jail, so that’s where he would stay until the trial.
But Gutiérrez wanted more. In other words, did Obie think he was guilty?
“Creo que no,” he responded. He didn’t think he was guilty. What else could he say to these migrants, many of whom were as invested in their employers as they were in their jobs? Obie had suddenly taken on more responsibility. Things were shaky enough, with Janet’s parents being murdered and fire blight threatening their very livelihood. This was no time to stoke the flames of uncertainty. No te preocupes.
He told Gutiérrez that David would probably come back at some point. They all should pray for him. And, of course, for Janet. Meanwhile, it was important that everyone pull together. Keep the business operating like always. Do their very best. After all, their dedication was needed more than ever. And, Obie let Gutiérrez know, their hard work would not be forgotten, no matter what the future held.
Even if it didn´t involve David Purcell, Obie thought. But he didn´t think out loud.
Meanwhile, David Purcell got a jailhouse visit that felt like a ray of sunshine in his depressing cell. Craig Lipscomb, his high school running buddy, had shown up unannounced.
“Good to see you, Lips,” David said, using the nickname that lived on well past the carefree days of adolescence. “I thought the next time we got together would be at a bar, not behind bars. How are you, by the way? Still drink?”
“Yeah, that wasn’t my problem. Anyway, I’m more interested in how you’re doing. I can’t imagine.”
David looked down.
“Never thought I’d be in a situation like this. I’m telling you though, Lips, I’m innocent.”
“I talked to Tonya,” Lipscomb said. “She told me about the cooler and everything.”
“Janet hates me so much she’d rather I rot in jail than get out.”
“I don’t believe that, David.”
“It’s good to have at least one person in my corner. I appreciate your support.”
“I didn’t come here to be a cheerleader, David.”
“But you know I’ve been assigned a public defender.”
“I know. You’ve been hit with a lot of financial misfortune. It happens, brother. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have the best defense available. I’m not bragging, but I’ve had some success in felony trials. I know Tonya. She’s a good lawyer. She may be a great lawyer someday. But she has precious little experience in criminal law, especially in this type of case. Believe me, when you’re facing the shitstorm you’re facing, you don’t want a rookie in your corner. You want someone who’s fought the fight. Someone who isn’t afraid to hit below the belt if necessary. More than anything, you need someone who has passion. Someone who knows you and will fight like hell for you.”
“I’m glad you feel that way. But I have an idea of what it takes to get someone with experience – someone like you – to represent a defendant in a case like this.”
“David, I know about John Skyles.”
“You do?”
“Yes. He’s one of the best around.”
“He comes with a hell of a price tag, too,” David said.
Lipscomb came bearing a hell of a deal.
“I believe in helping a friend when he’s down on his luck. And you’re about as down in the luck department as anyone I’ve ever known. You can pay me when all this is over. I’ll put something together. A contract. I’ll make it flexible. When you get out of here and get back on your feet, you can take care of the bill bit by bit. And, believe me, you’ll get the high-school-beer-drinking-buddy discount.”
It sounded to Purcell like the best he could possibly hope for. He would take care of the bill later. I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.
David probably had as much chance of paying Tuesday or any other day as did Popeye’s buddy J. Wellington Wimpy. Lips knew this. So what? This was a high-profile case. He’d be damned if he was going to pass up an opportunity to pull off a defense strategy that resulted in a high-profile acquittal. His career could use a kick-start following the months-long stint in rehab. He was fortunate that the partners at his St. Louis law firm agreed to let him ease back into practice with this case. He would be on his own, but still getting the maintenance salary from the firm.
Sure, a conviction wouldn’t be great. It’s a loss. You can’t whitewash a loss. Especially if it doesn’t help with the bottom line. But sometimes a great hurler loses a pitcher’s duel. He would float in a changeup once in a while before overpowering the court with the high heater.
If that didn’t work, he would be the lawyer with the microphones pointed at him by desperate reporters, all elbowing their way in, hoping to secure an exclusive interview. Besides, Purcell was his old buddy. He meant what he said about friendship and loyalty. And he believed he could win.
“So, that’s it?” David said.
“Not exactly. Your trial is scheduled to begin in a couple weeks. I’ll need to convince the judge that I can hit the ground running. We may need to get creative.”
“What do you mean, creative?”
“The judge needs to know that continuity won’t be a problem. That could mean working something out with Tonya. Leave it to me.”
Lipscomb picked up his briefcase and stood up.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some work to do.”
“Good luck,” David said. “Oh, Lips?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
“Save your gratitude for those magic words we’re going to hear. Not guilty.”
“That’ll be music to my ears.”
“Just think how good that cold one will taste,” Lips said.
CHAPTER 65
Craig Lipscomb, Tonya Rudnick, Vernon Hilliard and Justin Grimes faced Judge Max Peregrino in his chambers. The personnel gathered on the soft side of the judge’s desk resembled a vulnerable defensive line facing the All-Star quarterback, who looked like a fleet-footed lineman.
Grimes, the assistant state’s attorney, was helping his boss with the trial while taking on much of the heavy lifting of the rest of the caseload in the office.
He was scared shitless.
The fifty-four-year-old judge’s face was as square as a cereal box, topped by a flattop that was an even mix of black and silver hair. He had a solid chassis framed by sharp edges at his shoulders, jaw and hips. His nose was wide and prominent. Remnants of an ancient high school acne outbreak faintly dotted the cheeks of his wide face. Peregrino could be honestly mistaken for a gym teacher who practiced what he preached.
His arms retained evidence of the strength conditioning of his youth and success in the shot put at Castlewood High School. His toss of fifty-seven feet, nine inches in the regional set a school record that remains to this day. He also excelled in the hammer throw, spinning his way to a sectional championship, and received a track scholarship.
His future as an athlete fizzled out in college, thanks to a knee that didn’t behave like it should. But the scholarship set him on the road to a law degree. And eventually to the center of Cherokee Camp’s Crime of the Century.
“OK, lay it on me,” Peregrino said.
Lipscomb and Rudnick looked at one another. They had rehearsed this. Rudnick took the lead.
“Your honor, the defendant has a personal relationship with Mr. Lipscomb, who was not available when the charges in this case were filed. As you know, I was assigned by the state to defend Mr. Purcell.”
“And Mr. Purcell no longer desires your services?”
Tonya Rudnick cocked her head, oh so slightly. This wasn’t her first rodeo. And she wasn’t a pushover.
“He believes Mr. Lipscomb could better serve his interests as the
lead. They have a history.”
Peregrino shook his beefy head with an obvious hint of annoyance.
“Two weeks before opening statements. A murder trial involving a prominent doctor, his prominent wife, and a defendant who happens to be the victims’ son-in-law, who also is a prominent citizen. Who is also destitute, according to his request for a public defender.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Your honor, if I may,” Lipscomb butted in.
“You may.”
Lips glanced at Rudnick. She gave him a nod of approval.
“I realize this is an unusual situation. However, there is a solution that we believe could not only serve to meet the defendant’s wishes, but also please the court.”
“I’m listening.”
“We were thinking that, for continuity’s sake, Ms. Rudnick remain on the defense team, in a supporting role. I would take the lead and Ms. Rudnick would consult. Not in a secondary spot, but as a co-equal.”
Lips had discussed duty sharing with Rudnick over coffee in her office the previous day. With her background work, her interpretation of evidentiary matters and her expertise in trial procedure, she would be an integral component of the defense team. Lipscomb would focus on opening and closing statements, along with direct examination of witnesses. They would jointly decide on trial strategy.
But he knew better than to provide the prosecution with a roadmap on how the defense would go about presenting its case.
The judge looked at Rudnick.
“And you believe you two can work together?”
“I do,” she said. “We have had extensive conversations about this trial, including background information, discovery and trial strategy. I’m convinced that we can effectively work together on Mr. Purcell’s behalf.”
Peregrino nodded, his face giving nothing away, and pointed his stubby index finger at Hilliard.
“You haven’t said anything. You want to weigh in here?”
“The state has no objection, your honor.”
Peregrino shook his head.
“I ... don’t ... like ... this. If this were on the record, I’d say those four words really slow and clear, just like that, to make sure the court reporter got it right. Maybe even repeat them.”
The four lawyers hung their heads slightly, like schoolkids who were caught playing hooky and were awaiting their fate in the principal’s office.
Peregrino pursed his mouth and blew out forcefully, his lips making a flapping sound.
“If I rule that this is OK, I would do so under the expectation that there won’t be any more surprises. Is that a reasonable assumption?”
Lipscomb, Rudnick and Hilliard sat motionless for an awkwardly long moment. Finally, Lipscomb spoke.
“Absolutely, your honor.”
“I don’t have to tell you about the publicity surrounding this trial. There was something on Dateline about it the other day, for Christ’s sake. Producers associated with the ID channel have been lurking around here, like vultures waiting for a redneck necktie party.”
He exhaled. Still, no reply from the three lawyers.
“You realize, if something untoward – yes, that’s a real word - happens because of this … arrangement, we could all end up rolling around in a sty, covered with pig shit.”
Again, not a question. Not even a rhetorical question. Max Peregrino taught junior high English for a couple of years – a piece of trivia that didn’t have much value in this moment. The four lawyers sat, meekly.
“OK, I’ll allow it.”
He glared at the quartet of counselors, together at first, then slowly moving his eyes laterally, meeting the eyes of each individual, as if estimating their dimensions in case he needed to order four coffins.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
There wasn’t an audible gulp, but all the lawyers imagined they heard one. They slowly, deliberately pushed themselves off the chairs on which they were uncomfortably seated, stood up and nodded to Peregrino, like karate students honoring their sensei.
Wax on, wax off, Lipscomb thought. Man who catch fly with chopsticks accomplish anything.
If Lips remembered correctly, Mr. Miagi was never able to catch a fly with chopsticks. That was oddly encouraging. Lips was never good with chopsticks anyway. He preferred a sledge hammer. Not too subtle, but more effective.
CHAPTER 66
It was standing room only in Courtroom B in the Gilbert County Courthouse. Except no one was standing. It’s not allowed. If you weren’t early enough to get a seat at this party, tough. You could hear about it on the News at Five on WLLE.
Fourteen jurors – the 12-member panel that would determine David Purcell’s address for the next few decades, along with two alternates - filed in and took their seats in the jury box. The lawyers plopped down thick stacks of folders on tables.
Members of the media took up positions in the back, armed only with pens and notepads. Cameras and other recording devices are not allowed in Illinois courts.
Friends, relatives, officers of the court and curious onlookers filled the rest of the chairs in the smallish space. Courtrooms always seem larger on television and in the movies. In real life they’re about the size of one of Mark Zuckerberg’s guest bedrooms.
David’s mood was buoyed. Janet was there. She had not visited him in months. He made eye contact. He blew her a kiss and immediately regretted it. She didn’t respond in kind, but she did smile and mouthed something to him. He thought it was “good luck” but it may have been “go to hell.” He wasn’t a lip reader.
He chose to believe it was the former. Maybe the passage of time softened her rage. Maybe knowing that he was sitting in a concrete cell all these months gave her some satisfaction that he was at least paying for a bone-headed move. On the other hand, she had not come up with the evidence that could get him out of this mess. He held out hope that Janet would eventually come to his rescue.
There were the murder charges, the Medicaid fraud case, the fire blight threatening to end his livelihood, the debts piling up. But he was feeling surprisingly optimistic. Just having Lips in his corner was enough to brighten his day. Lips was smart, and he was a fighter. David’s glass of sour milk was half-full.
“All rise,” the bailiff said. Rustling noises echoed off the walls as everyone stood at attention. The brawny judge, holding a thick folder, walked to the bench. “Court in the Second Judicial Circuit is now in session, the honorable Judge Maxwell J. Peregrino presiding.”
He scanned the courtroom.
“The jury shall remain standing for swearing-in. Everyone else may be seated,” he said, as he sat and placed the folder in front of him.
Peregrino opened a heavy file and leafed through a couple of pages. The bailiff proceeded to swear in the 14 members of the jury - seven women and five men, along with two male alternates.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your duty will be to hear the testimony presented here, weigh its veracity, carefully deliberate, and issue a verdict. Your decision will be based on the evidence and only the evidence. In a criminal trial in Illinois the prosecution has the burden of proof. If, after all evidence has been presented you determine that the prosecution did not meet this burden, then you must find the defendant not guilty.
“Everyone in this courtroom is aware of the publicity this case has generated. You may have read accounts in the newspapers or heard about this mat
ter on television. In cases like this, rumors will circulate, opinions are formed. However, as duly sworn members of the jury, you are obligated to consider only the evidence presented here in forming your decision.
“Bailiff, please call today’s case.”
“The state of Illinois versus David Edward Purcell. The charges are two counts of first-degree murder.”
Peregrino motioned to Vernon Hilliard. “Is the prosecution ready?”
Hilliard rose. “Yes, your honor,” he said, sitting back down.
“Is the defense ready?”
“Yes, your honor,” Lipscomb said.
The trial had finally begun.
“Does the state wish to present an opening statement?”
“Yes, your honor.”
Vernon Hilliard stood up, holding a single sheet of paper. He had spent countless hours practicing for this moment that would set the stage for what was expected to be a two-week trial. He turned toward the jury.
“My name is Vernon J. Hilliard and I am Gilbert County State’s Attorney. Among other duties, I must determine whether, after a crime is committed, there is sufficient evidence against a suspect to pursue charges.
“As you are aware, this case is about the murders of Dr. Elmer Van Okin and his wife, Norma Van Okin, in the early morning hours of August third last year. The evidence will show that they were killed while sitting in the living room of their home, just outside Cherokee Camp. Their deaths came as the result of the discharge of several rounds from a handgun.
“The evidence will show that neither Dr. Van Okin nor his wife, who was suffering from dementia, had an opportunity to defend themselves from their attacker. The evidence will show that there was no forced entry at their residence, indicating that their attacker either had a key or was familiar with the means to enter the home without causing any damage.
“The state will prove that David Purcell had the means, motive and opportunity to commit that brutal crime. And that he did, indeed, commit that crime. We will show that the defendant was at the murder scene around the time of the crime and that he lied to police about his whereabouts. We will present forensic evidence establishing his presence. We will present witness testimony proving he was there.”