DB01 - Presumption of Innocence

by Stephen Penner

  And she hadn’t even once used the phrase ‘fucked from behind.’

  “No further questions, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  The judge thanked and excused Faust. As she walked by Brunelle, she offered the smallest wink. Brunelle ignored it, save his racing heart.

  “Any more witnesses, Mr. Brunelle?” The judge asked.

  Brunelle stood. “No, Your Honor. The State rests.”

  Judge Quinn nodded, then looked to the jury. “Ladies and Gentleman, that concludes the State’s evidence. You are adjourned until tomorrow morning. The attorneys and I will stay in session to discuss scheduling. Thank you.”

  The bailiff escorted the jurors into the jury room. When the door closed, the judge looked down to Welles. “Motion denied,” she said. “Any reason you can’t give your opening statement first thing tomorrow morning?”

  Welles forced an apparently gracious smile. “None, Your Honor. Thank you.”

  “Will you be ready to call witnesses as well?”

  “Not only will we be ready, Your Honor, we will relish it.”

  This time it was Quinn who forced the gracious smile. “Wonderful, Mr. Welles. Then if there’s nothing else, court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”

  The judge left the bench and Brunelle exhaled a huge sigh of relief.

  “That was lucky,” Yamata whispered to him as they gathered their pads and papers.

  “Sure was,” Brunelle replied. “But we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “No, Brunelle,” Welles interrupted, “you certainly aren’t. See you tomorrow.”

  Chapter 39

  “Thank you.” Brunelle was leaning against the alley wall when Faust stepped through the backdoor at closing time.

  If she was startled, she didn’t show it. “I told you not to thank me for something I wanted to do.”

  “You didn’t want to do that.”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to not do it, and him walk. I don’t need that guilt.”

  Brunelle nodded and they started walking toward Faust’s apartment.

  “I really do think he’ll hurt someone if he gets out again,” Brunelle said.

  “I know he will,” Faust answered. “He’s a psycho. No, if he’s out, someone dies. Some young girl. And if I could have prevented that and didn’t…?”

  She stopped and looked at Brunelle, her soft features half-lit by a nearby streetlight. “You can be pretty convincing, Mr. Prosecutor.”

  Brunelle glanced down and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t help the smile creeping onto his mouth. He looked up. “Let me walk you home.”

  Faust smiled too, but more with her mouth than her eyes. “I don’t think so.” She stepped close to him. “I’m not the one for you.”

  Then she leaned up and kissed him. A deep, probing kiss with her hands in his hair. When she finished, she pulled away and looked in his eyes.

  “The one you thought of just now,” she whispered. “Go home and call her.”

  Brunelle didn’t know what to say. Faust held his gaze and stepped back.

  “She’s asleep right now,” he finally croaked.

  Faust nodded. “The good ones are. Call her in the morning.” She turned to walk away. “Good bye, old man.”

  Brunelle raised his hand as she walked away.

  “Goodnight, beautiful,” he whispered.

  ***

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Brunelle practically sang into the phone.

  There was a pause before Kat responded. “David?” she confirmed. “Are you drunk?”

  Brunelle laughed. “It’s only nine in the morning.”

  Kat paused again. “You know that’s a non-answer, right?”

  “I’m not drunk,” Brunelle assured. “I just wanted to call to say hi.”

  “Oh,” Kat said. “Well then, hi.”

  “So we’re still on for tonight?” Brunelle asked.

  “Absolutely. Unless there’s a last-second, emergency autopsy. But honestly those can usually wait. It’s not like they’re gonna get better.”

  “Charming,” answered Brunelle. “Maybe let’s not talk shop tonight.”

  “What are we gonna talk about then?” Kat asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brunelle said. “Maybe us.”

  “‘Us’?” Kat laughed. “David, it’s our first date.”

  “It’s our second,” Brunelle corrected. “Don’t forget coffee.”

  “I’m not sure that was a date exactly,” Kat argued.

  “Technically, I think it was,” Brunelle replied.

  “‘Technically?” Kat asked. “You’re going to go legal on me?”

  “See? We’re already talking about us.”

  Kat laughed. “Well done, Mr. Lawyer.”

  Brunelle laughed too, then got quiet for a few seconds.

  “You okay?” Kat asked.

  “Yeah,” he sighed. “It’s been a long trial.”

  “Almost done?”

  “I think so. I don’t think Welles is going to call many witnesses. We may even finish evidence today. Closing arguments on Monday.”

  “Well, then,” said Kat. “It sounds like you could use a night out.”

  Brunelle smiled. “I guess so.”

  “Good luck today, David,” Kat said. “Knock ‘em dead.”

  “Ha ha,” Brunelle groaned. “Medical examiner humor.”

  “You gotta have a sense of humor to do my job,” Kat defended. “Yours too, I think.”

  “I suppose so,” Brunelle said after a moment. “Anyway, I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight.

  “Me too,” agreed Kat.

  “Bye, Kat.”

  “Goodbye, David.”

  Brunelle held the phone against his forehead for a few seconds. He looked at the clock. Quarter to nine. Time to head down for Welles’ opening.

  Brunelle hoped it would suck. He knew it wouldn’t.

  Chapter 40

  “Justice,” Welles began. He stood in the well before the jury box, palms spread. “Perhaps the highest human ideal. Love and kindness and charity—we all aspire to those, or at least we agree that we should. But justice, and the pursuit of justice, is such a high cause, such a high ideal, that it’s what we expect the very Creator to deliver at the end of days. We here on Earth do our best to try to bring some justice to a world so absent of it sometimes. Justice is what we look to, to get us through the hardest times, when the worst possible things happen to the best possible people.”

  Welles paused and looked down at his feet solemnly.

  “Emily Montgomery is dead. Murdered. In a terrible, almost unimaginable way. And we want justice. Her parents want it. The prosecutor wants it. You want it.

  “And ladies and gentleman,” he looked up, “believe it or not, I want it too.

  “However, the State is seeking something other than justice here. The State to seeking revenge. Emily Montgomery is dead. And now the State wants to kill Arpad Karpati. Not because of what he did, but because they can’t kill Holly Sandholm.”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Brunelle didn’t like objecting—especially during an opening statement—but that went too far.

  “Sustained.”

  “Holly Sandholm admitted to this murder,” Welles continued. “Holly Sandholm is guilty of this murder. But Holly Sandholm is a juvenile, and the United States Supreme Court has said that juveniles cannot be executed.”

  “Objection again, Your Honor.” Even when you don’t want to object, Brunelle knew, sometimes not objecting signals you’re admitting the other side’s allegations against you.

  “It’s an accurate statement of the law, Your Honor,” Welles defended.

  “It’s argumentative, Mr. Welles,” Judge Quinn replied. “This is opening statement, not closing argument.”

  “Understood, Your Honor.” Welles offered a slight bow. “I’ll move on to the facts.”

  Of course he’ll move on, Brunelle thought. He’d gotten to say what he wanted. Twice. />
  “The facts,” Welles continued, “are these: Emily Montgomery was murdered. Holly Sandholm confessed. And the only shred of evidence the State gave you that my client was in any way involved was a desperate, last-minute witness—a bartender, no less—to whom we are supposed to believe Mr. Karpati confided in because, of course, all murderers tell their bartenders everything.

  “The fact that this is the only witness to connect my client to the crime, and that she was called at the last possible second, shows just how weak and desperate the State’s case truly is.

  “Justice isn’t just about avenging the victim. It’s also about protecting the accused. Justice cries out that no one be punished for a crime unless the State, with all of its resources, can prove that crime beyond any and all reasonable doubt.”

  Welles stopped and pretended to think, as if his next point hadn’t been rehearsed over and over in his bathroom mirror. “Actually I misspoke. They don’t have to prove the crime beyond a reasonable doubt. They’ve done that here. There is no doubt Emily Montgomery was murdered. But before a man can be strapped to a gurney and heart-stopping poison injected into his veins, the State also must prove beyond any and all doubt that it was that man who was responsible for the crime.

  “And that, ladies and gentleman, the State has utterly failed to do.”

  Brunelle considered objecting again at the appeal to emotion with the gurney crack, he even figured his objection would be sustained, but that ‘ouch’ goes both ways. And so does failing to produce evidence. So far Welles had attacked the State’s case. Brunelle was curious if he’d ever explain what evidence the defense planned to put on.

  “And to make matters worse,” Welles continued after a dramatically thoughtful pause, “the State wants you to believe this murder was committed because Mr. Karpati is a vampire.

  “Now, quite honestly, ladies and gentleman, I find that incredibly disrespectful to the memory of Emily Montgomery. She was murdered by a human being, not some imaginary monster. And again the only witness for this outlandish assertion is the attractive bartender to whom everyone tells their secrets.

  “Ladies and gentleman, a criminal trial is not like a conversation in the dining room, trying to figure out which child broke the cookie jar. There are rules and there are burdens and they are there for a good reason. Indeed, the highest possible reason.

  “Justice.

  “The State wants you to believe that the only way Emily Montgomery receives justice is by killing Mr. Karpati.”

  Again Brunelle choked back an objection.

  “But I tell you, the only way justice is done in this case is to hold the State to their burden and acquit a man against whom there is no evidence. In fact, ladies and gentlemen, I submit to you that there are only two possible conclusions from the State’s evidence. The first is that they did not prove the charge and my client must be found not guilty. The other possibility, the only other possibility, is that my client believes he is a vampire, in which case he is clearly insane and must be found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  A murmur of shock rippled through the courtroom. Brunelle looked at Yamata, eyebrow raised. She raised both of hers in return.

  “I will tell you now, Mr. Karpati will not testify. He doesn’t have to and he doesn’t need to.” Welles raised a hand and pointed at all the jurors. “And shame on every one of you who just thought that must mean he’s guilty. The judge has told you before and she will tell you again: you may not hold my client’s right to remain silent against him in any way. Now I know, it’s human nature. We expect someone to deny the charges against him. But when the burden is on the State to prove the charges and they fail to do so, then a defendant not only may stand mute, he should. He must. And so he will.

  “But you will hear from a witness. A witness who will respond to this allegation that Mr. Karpati is a vampire—or thinks he’s one. Dr. Russell Orbst. He will explain, quite simply and without any doubt, that if you believe Ms. Thompson, the bartender, then you will also be required to return a verdict of not guilty.”

  Brunelle looked over at Yamata to offer a ‘can you believe this?’ eye roll, but she avoided his gaze. Instead she was looking at Welles, smiling. A big smile.

  “For you see, ladies and gentleman, gone are the days when friends and family of crime victims banded together to bring vigilante justice to suspected wrongdoers. How many innocent lives were destroyed by such barbaric practices? No, we have a system now. A system with checks and balances. A system designed to vindicate the victim and protect the accused. A system designed, ultimately, to effectuate that highest of human ideals. And so, ladies and gentleman, after you hear all the evidence, you will not be convinced beyond any and all reasonable doubt that my client committed this murder. And you will acquit him, as you are supposed to.

  “And when you do, it will mean one thing: Justice.

  “Thank you.”

  Welles returned to his seat. Karpati clasped his arm and nodded an obvious thanks. Then the judge excused the jury for a brief recess before starting testimony. Once they were safely inside their sound proof room, Brunelle looked over at Welles.

  “NGI?” he asked. “Really? You want your guy to go the mental hospital instead of prison?”

  Welles smiled. “No, I want him to walk out the door tonight. But short of that, I’ll take the mental hospital. Their goal will be to cure him as quickly as possible, upon which event he shall be released. And,” Welles’ grin darkened, “I expect a speedy recovery.”

  Brunelle’s own half-smile faded fully. He nodded with begrudging understanding, then turned back to his trial partner. While his smile was gone, hers was still in full blossom.

  “What are you smiling at?” Brunelle asked.

  “Russell Orbst,” she answered in a low voice. “I know him from my days in civil practice. He’s a total whore. He’ll say whatever Welles tells him to say.”

  “That hardly seems like something to smile about,” Brunelle observed.

  Yamata’s eyes twinkled. “It’s not. But I know why he’s doing criminal cases now. The civil bar figured him out.”

  “Figured him out?” Brunelle cocked his head.

  “Yep,” Yamata practically laughed. “You’re gonna have fun with him on cross.”

  Brunelle looked over at Welles, all smug and glad-handling his murderous client.

  He looked back to Yamata, his smile returning. “Well, good. I could use a little fun right about now.”

  Chapter 41

  “Russell Orbst, Ph.D.”

  He looked every bit the expert professor. Neatly trimmed beard, and eyeglasses that Brunelle suspected had a prescription of zero. And he was clearly comfortable testifying. He responded to the questions from the lawyer by turning to the jury to deliver the answers.

  “Could you please tell the jury your qualifications?” Welles invited.

  Brunelle sat back and listened to the list of universities, degrees, and awards.

  “Approximately how many times have you testified as an expert witness?”

  “More than I can count,” was the smug reply.

  “But less than you used to,” Yamata whispered to Brunelle.

  The introductions out of the way, Welles moved directly to the heart of the matter. “Doctor, have you had a chance to review this case?”

  “Yes,” he looked to the jurors. “I have.”

  “And was that done at my request?” Welles clarified.

  “Yes, it was.”

  “Specifically,” Welles continued, “did I ask you to form an opinion regarding vampires?”

  Russell laughed casually at the obvious ridiculousness of the question. “Yes, you did.”

  “Now, doctor,” Welles became more serious in response to Orbst’s laugh, “are you familiar with any cases of individuals actually believing they are vampires?”

  Orbst nodded thoughtfully, trading his bemused smile for a clinical scowl. “Yes, I’m afraid I am. Such cases or more common than one
might think. In fact, there is actually a clinical diagnosis for it.”

  “Is that right?” Welles asked as if he didn’t already know.

  “Yes,” replied Orbst. “It’s called, appropriately enough, vampirism.”

  “And what are the symptoms of vampirism?”

  “There are several symptoms,” Orbst began, “but not all of them need to be present for the diagnosis to apply. The main symptoms are delusions, paranoia, narcissism, and often insomnia. There are also documented cases of auditory and visual hallucinations. One also often sees a deep sense of persecution.”

  “Are you referring to individuals who want to be vampires?” Welles clarified, “Or who already believe they are vampires?”

  “Well, both types exist of course,” Orbst turned to direct his response to the jurors, “but the diagnosis I was referring to applies to those who actually believe they are in fact vampires.”

  “Do such people ever act upon this belief?” Welles asked.

  “Do you mean do they bite people in the neck?” Again a comfortable look at the jury.

  “Perhaps not the neck,” Welles replied, “but yes, is there an attempt to drink human blood?”

  Orbst frowned at the jurors. “Unfortunately, yes. Believe it or not, there are actually advocacy group for vampires. They fight what they consider misinformation about vampires. But even they claim a need for human blood. They just assert that the blood is obtained consensually by people who understand and support these true vampires.”

  “I imagine,” Welles posited, “that such understanding blood-donors are rare.”

  “I would think so,” chuckled Orbst. “Hence the neck-biting.”

  “Now these people who believe they are vampires,” Welles steered the topic slightly, “they aren’t really vampires, are they?”

  “Umm, no.” Orbst smiled at the jurors. “There are no such things as vampires.”

  “And believing yourself to be a vampire doesn’t make you a vampire?”

  “Believing yourself to be a vampire makes you mentally ill.”

  Welles smiled. “Would you go as far as to say that it would make you insane?”