Injustice

by Lee Goodman

  CHAPTER 52

  The trial is over by noon. Judge Ballard announces we’ll resume for closing arguments at three. I call Tina to tell her all about Monica’s tactic and Philbin’s testimony.

  “What do you think?” she asks. “Is it all strategy, or is it really possible?”

  “Possible that Henry is innocent, you mean?”

  “Yes. That Henry is innocent and Philbin is a dirty cop.”

  I’m surprised by the question. I hadn’t believed for a second that Monica’s tall tale could be true. I don’t answer her. I just say, “Why don’t you come to closing arguments with me, Tina?”

  “I can’t, Nick. I just can’t.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It’s not because of you, though. You know that?”

  “Sure, Tina.”

  “Maybe, um, let’s have dinner tomorrow night. You want to? Come over here?”

  I agree. We say good-bye. I call Lizzy. We talk about the trial, and I try to rope her into dinner tonight. She says she can’t make it because she’s meeting with Calvin Dunbar again to ask him for some clarification on parliamentary procedure. She wants to know how Representative Porter was able to add those amendments onto the gas tax legislation.

  “Yes, good idea,” I say. I’m not really listening. My mind is on the trial. “Would you like to come for closing arguments?”

  “Maybe, Dad. I don’t know. Probably not. I’m pretty freaked out by the whole thing.”

  “I’m sure you are, sweetie.”

  “Did I tell you I did a bunch of background research on Porter?”

  This is what Lizzy does. She deflects things. Henry’s trial is difficult for her to talk about, so she fills the conversation, and her mind, with unrelated minutiae to fend it off. “He’s a Democrat in a Republican district, so he keeps getting almost voted out,” she says.

  “I can’t wait to hear what Monica comes up with for a closing,” I say.

  “He stays in office by bringing a lot of pork projects to his district,” Lizzy says.

  “I’ll get you a seat up front with me,” I say.

  “Some huge ones,” she says. “He’s kind of the pork master.”

  “That’s good, Lizzy. I have to go.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you, Lizzy.”

  Gregory Nations argues first. He speaks in bullets: The defendant, Henry Tatlock, was living in Orchard City working as an intern at a family-law clinic—a job that, naturally, would bring him into contact with young children. The defendant left Orchard City just when Kyle disappeared. The defendant returned here to the city to resume law school. Kyle’s remains were ultimately found just west of here at the reservoir. The evidence from Kyle’s remains was tested specifically because doubts had arisen about Devaney’s guilt. Testing revealed the defendant’s DNA, from both hairs and semen, among the evidence in Kyle’s burial site; Philbin is a respected detective; Monica’s version of events requires too many leaps of logic. It is a desperate defense that Henry and Monica Brill concocted in response to the absolute, definitive, and scientific proof of Henry Tatlock’s guilt.

  Gregory sits. It was a workmanlike closing: facts; conclusion; summary. The way he organized it, characterized the testimony of the witnesses, and built fact upon fact, and the way he juxtaposed the incontrovertible proof of Henry’s DNA against Monica’s desperate fantasy, I know the jurors are ready and eager to deliver a guilty verdict. I also know that Monica will deliver a formidable closing.

  Monica stands. “Make no mistake,” she says, “the DNA comes from Henry Tatlock. The fact is undisputed. The only question is how it got into the evidence from Kyle Runion’s remains. But before we talk about the evidence, let’s talk about Henry Tatlock himself. Recall that in my opening statement, I asked you to overlook Henry’s disfigurement. You’ve all probably heard or read the atrocious names the press gave Henry. ‘The Freddy Krueger Killer.’ ‘The Mark of Cain Killer.’ Now think back to when you were picked for the jury. The questions Mr. Nations asked, the questions Judge Ballard asked. And the questions I asked. Do you remember that many of the prospective jurors were released for mysterious reasons? Let me tell you a secret: I used a jury consultant for this case. That’s a person whose job is to advise the lawyer on which jurors will be most receptive to that lawyer’s argument. Depending on the facts, maybe we want a more conservative or more liberal jury, or a jury with lots of book learning, or more OJT kind of smarts. Maybe we want more analytical thinkers or more emotional thinkers. Et cetera. But I told my jury consultant I don’t care about how much education you all have, or your economic circumstances, or your ethnic origin or work history or marital status or where you go on vacation or any of that. I just wanted jurors who are capable of not judging a man by his appearance. I told the consultant, ‘Henry Tatlock is innocent, and I can prove it. So I just need men and women who can hear the evidence instead of ones who would walk into the courtroom on day one and, maybe without even realizing it, decide he’s guilty because of the way he looks.’ I told the jury consultant I wanted jurors who understood in their bones that the tragic accident this man experienced in his early childhood has absolutely nothing to do with the facts of this case. I said I wanted jurors who are free of that kind of prejudice.”

  Monica walks the length of the jury box looking at each one of them with a knowing smile. “And you know what?” she says. “I really do believe that I got the jury I asked for.”

  This is brilliant. Monica has made these jurors feel special for having been selected, and she’s turned Henry’s disfigurement into an advantage: the only way for the jury to reward her confidence in them, and to prove they weren’t motivated by small-minded prejudice, is to acquit.

  “Let’s talk facts,” Monica says, and she reminds us of every positive thing said about Henry: He’s hardworking and dedicated; he overcame an inauspicious home life and excelled in school and put himself through law school.

  I realize that most of these flattering things, she got from my testimony. I tried too hard to sound fair-minded as I proceeded to condemn him to hell.

  I’m impressed with Monica. I wonder if her case has a chance. I wonder if even I have been snowed by her salesmanship. She stands in front of the jury box, butt poking out because of the heels she’s wearing, skirt too tight, nails too long, lips too red, hair too perfect. She is exactly the kind of woman I never did and never would ask out. Worst of all, she is the advocate for my evil enemy. But I find myself sitting here feeling fond of her, almost smiling at the idea that I, along with the jury, am the kind of guy who, prior to the DNA results, saw Henry for his inner self and his good points instead of prejudging him for his disfigurement.

  She gets into the meat of her argument. It is a simple story, and it makes perfect sense. Daryl Devaney killed Kyle Runion. He confessed. He is, even at this very moment, doing life in prison for the crime.

  She lets this sink in, then continues: “And now Devaney, this killer, is trying to get out of jail on a technicality.”

  (I’m glad Tina isn’t here. I doubt she could keep her mouth shut at hearing Monica refer to Daryl’s vindication by DNA evidence “a technicality.”)

  Monica continues: “Enter Detective Patrick Philbin, a man so tortured by his sister’s murder at the hands of her fiancé that he made it his mission in life to avenge her death.”

  Monica goes on to say that Philbin became obsessed with convicting Henry for Lydia’s murder even though there was no evidence. “You heard Nick Davis—head of the criminal division of the U.S. Attorney’s Office here, husband to Lydia Trevor’s sister, Tina—tell you he believed Philbin was on a fool’s errand. And if that’s not enough, as further proof of the wrongheadedness of Philbin’s investigation, when my client was finally charged with Lydia’s murder, the district attoney himself, Mr. Nations, whom you see right here at this table”—Monica walks over to Gregory and points right at him—“he realized there was no basis for prosecuting Henry Tatloc
k for Lydia’s death and dismissed the charges.”

  Monica goes back to counsel table and takes a drink of water. Then she’s back at it: “You heard Dr. Farquar testify that, yes, it is perfectly, scientifically reasonable to believe that DNA-bearing substances could have been introduced into the Runion evidence from other sources. You heard testimony that Detective Philbin had the run of Henry Tatlock’s house during a warrantless search for which Henry himself granted permission. And keep in mind that this search was conducted when it had become obvious to everyone else that Philbin’s case against Henry was ridiculous. Most important, you heard testimony of how Detective Philbin himself was coincidentally available to transport the box of evidence from the FBI back to the state lab.”

  Now Monica wraps up: Philbin obviously opened the box of evidence and introduced a few of Henry’s hairs into the evidence from Kyle’s remains. Philbin further contaminated the evidence with minuscule smears of rehydrated semen salvaged from the underwear or bedsheets or discarded tissues in the home of this lonely and heartbroken man. Monica paused, then said in a tone of blunt honesty, “Without going into too much detail, I’ll just ask you to consider for a second how a shattered man might comfort himself at night in the wake of his fiancée’s murder.”

  She lets that thought sink in, then continues: “Detective Philbin wasn’t able to save or avenge his sister, and the way he saw it, he wasn’t able to do anything about Lydia Trevor, either. So he decided to take matters into his own hands. He’d get Henry convicted of something else. He planted DNA from Henry Tatlock in Kyle Runion’s remains. He had the motive and the opportunity, so he took it. There is absolutely no evidence that Henry killed his fiancée, and other than this vicious and pathological frame-up, there is no evidence that he had anything whatsoever to do with Kyle Runion.”

  Monica talks a few minutes about the presumption of innocence and reasonable doubt. When she sits down, our minds are muddled with the question of whether this version of reality is possible. Is it just clever advocacy, or could this be a nightmarish frame-up by a psycho cop with a vendetta? I have resisted Monica all through this trial, but as she ties everything together into this logical package, even I—I who have been wanting more than anyone to snuff Henry from memory and existence—have a moment of doubt.

  Is it a reasonable doubt? Is it rooted in honest possibility or merely the momentary disorientation of Monica’s eloquent bullshit? If I were a juror at this very moment, I can’t say for certain how I’d vote.

  Trial is over. I hurry out of the courthouse. I don’t want to be interviewed, and I don’t want to have to talk to Kyle’s family or Peggy Devaney or Monica or Gregory or Philbin. I feel off balance by that moment of doubt. I’m afraid it will come back.

  I go to my office and sit at the desk, wondering if there’s really a chance the jury could find Henry not guilty.

  Upton knocks and comes in. I knew he’d be here. I was waiting for him.

  “Quite a show,” he says.

  I nod. Upton settles deep into one of my chairs.

  “She made a horse race out of it,” I say.

  “Indeed she did. Do you have a prediction?”

  “Toss-up,” I say. “Gregory was able to right the listing ship. He has science and logic on his side. Monica has fantasy.”

  “Not a toss-up,” he says. “It’s a done deal. They’ll convict.”

  “So confident?”

  “There was a huge hole in Monica’s case,” he says. “Lydia’s murder. Monica told us how Henry’s DNA got into Kyle Runion’s remains, and she told us how Daryl Devaney really did murder Kyle, but she needed to offer a better alternative for who killed Lydia. She tried to resurrect the Tony Smeltzer theory, but that’s a loser because the Bureau debunked it. So the jury is left asking themselves, if Henry didn’t kill Lydia, who did? She didn’t need a bulletproof theory, just some alternative to Henry as killer.”

  Upton and I exchange a look. We both know that it now looks like Lydia was somehow connected to the Subsurface mess, and that she was in a liaison with whoever killed Jimmy Mailing. Does this mean Monica’s theory might have had legs that she didn’t even know about?

  CHAPTER 53

  Day over. I head “home” to Friendly City, and by the time I get there, I have to piss so bad from all that coffee that I’m in danger of embarrassing myself.

  “Nick,” someone says as I hurry across the dark parking lot. He’s hurrying toward me, but I can’t see who it is. “It’s Calvin,” he says. “Calvin Dunbar.”

  “Amigo,” I say. “What brings you to this dreary outpost of abandoned husbands?”

  He laughs. “I like the lounge,” he says. “It’s quiet, and I can sit with a martini and get some work done.”

  “Wish I’d known. We could have been having nightcaps these past few months,” I say. I’m just being friendly. I like the guy, but realistically, I’m not sure how appropriate it would be for me to get too involved with him. Of course, a drink now and then wouldn’t really hurt.

  “Listen,” he says, “I was going to call you. I found a bunch of documents that might help your investigation. I’ve got them in the car.” He turns for the parking lot and tries to pull me in his wake.

  “Let me just run in and piss,” I say. “My back teeth are floating.” I start jogging for the building. “Bring them inside,” I yell over my shoulder, “we’ll have a drink.”

  I scoot into the fishbowl lobby of Friendly City. It’ll be nice to have a drink with Calvin. He’s interesting; he knows a lot about the political workings of the state and who’s who. And he’s humble, though I don’t know whether that’s an actual personality trait, or it results from his having gotten caught accepting money from Subsurface. The more I think about it all, the more forgivable the Subsurface stuff is. The line between legitimate political contributions and bribes can be pretty damn fuzzy. The guy was on the ropes financially. He didn’t actually do anything for Subsurface; he merely allowed them to show their support and gratitude for his position on gas tax policy.

  Tina calls while I’m in the men’s room. I let it go to voicemail but call her back as soon as I’m done.

  “So we’re on for dinner tomorrow?” she says.

  I confirm that we are. She asks about the trial, and I give her a quick summary as I walk out into the lobby and around the lounge, looking for Calvin. He’s not there, so I go back out toward the parking lot.

  “Is there really a chance they’ll acquit?” Tina asks.

  “Upton doesn’t think so. I’m less certain.”

  I see Calvin coming from his car. It’s a small blue Audi TT. I can almost envision driving something like that myself.

  “I should have been there,” Tina says. “But it was all just too . . . you know?”

  “I understand, babe.”

  “But you know what, Nick?”

  “What?”

  “I’m feeling better,” she says. “A bit. Kind of.”

  She means she is working on coming out of her seclusion, which means opening up to me again. “I’m glad to hear it, sweetie,” I say.

  “Just don’t . . . okay? Don’t.”

  Don’t hurry her, she means. Don’t come on too strong. Don’t create any stress.

  “Noted,” I say.

  We end the call. Calvin is standing waiting. “Sorry,” I tell him. “My wife.”

  “No problem,” he says. “How is Lydia, anyway?”

  “Wrong sister,” I say. “I’m married to Tina.” I don’t bother getting into the whole thing about Lydia.

  “Of course,” Calvin says. “Tina. I knew that.”

  “So about those documents,” I say.

  “What an idiot I am,” he says. “I thought they were in my car. Wrong. They’re at home. I’ll try to get them to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “But tell me what you’ve got. Is it significant? I can send someone over to get them.”

  “Oh, no,” he says. “It’s just some old notes and files. I mean,
I’m not a lawyer, but I doubt there’s anything important there. I just thought you guys should have them.”

  “Okay. I’ll get them tomorrow. Now, about that nightcap?”

  “You hurried inside too quick,” he says. “I called after you. Can’t tonight. The wife is expecting me.”

  “Too bad. ’Nother time?”

  “For sure.”

  He gives me an affectionate two-handed handshake and heads to his car. I go inside.

  I forgot to thank him for helping Lizzy with her research. Darn.

  Morning. No word from the jury, so I try to call Calvin to tell him I’d like to get the documents he spoke of. He doesn’t answer. I remember that Lizzy is going to see him soon, so I call her to have her pass a message. She doesn’t answer, either, so I leave a voicemail and get busy on other work.

  People often confused Lydia’s and Tina’s names the way Calvin did last night. Maybe it’s because they looked so similar, or because they were both beautiful and lively and smart, or because both names end in “A.” I like that it still happens sometimes, as though something of Lydia lives on through Tina.

  I wonder how Dunbar knows of Lydia, though. I’m sure I never mentioned her to him. But her murder was big news, and since Calvin and I were already entangled through Subsurface, it might have caught his attention when she was killed.

  And Tina’s name: I don’t remember ever mentioning Tina to him, either. Of course, Calvin is a politician and an insurance agent, so maybe remembering names and sending regards to people’s spouses is his stock in trade.

  But no. Something in the way he said their names was too familiar: How is Lydia? And then the goofy forehead smack when I corrected him: Of course. Tina. I knew that! It sounded like he actually knew at least one of them. Something’s odd.

  Upton is in trial, so I try calling Chip and Isler, but they’re both unavailable, which may be just as well. I’ll think my way through this Tina/Lydia/Calvin issue, then I’ll go to my colleagues with ideas instead of bewilderment. The question I ask myself is how Calvin and Lydia could be connected. As soon as I form the question in my mind, I’ve answered it, and it’s an answer I should have thought of months ago: Lydia worked for the state legislature several years back. I never put it together before because these two investigations—Subsurface corruption and Lydia’s murder—were entirely separate. Lydia’s murder was under state jurisdiction and we assumed it was about violence or jealousy or rage. It was about Henry Tatlock or Tony Smeltzer. No way could it be about white-collar crime and greed.