In Defense of Guilt

by Benjamin Berkley

  As flawed as the law could sometimes be, Bradley believed the American justice system was the fairest in the world. Granted, he realized the evidence in the present case was somewhat sketchy; however, he honestly believed he had enough to sway a jury and get a conviction.

  For Lauren, on the other hand, it was all about winning. She never took a case based on whether she believed in her client’s innocence. She didn’t take one because she was defending a tarnished honor. That was irrelevant to her. She took it based solely on the evidence provided. If she believed the prosecution would not be able to prove beyond reasonable doubt the accused’s guilt, the system worked. All must, by law, be represented and offered a fair trial, and since that was the case, Lauren Hill gave it everything she had. Getting paid handsomely to do so sweetened the deal.

  Lauren saw her performance in court as a game of strategy, a chess match. She dressed the king, the defendant, putting him or her in the best possible light, and then stood like a knight in front of him, defending the accused to the very best of her ability. She had a perfect record to uphold. Was it realistic to think it would remain perfect throughout her entire career? Certainly not. It was her job to put off the inevitable as long as she could. And right or wrong, it was her feeling that she wasn’t going to lose this one, either. But she had to admit her opponent was formidable. Could she beat Bradley yet again?

  Bradley crossed the floor, carrying a large timeline graph. He handed it to Osterman to set it up, but not before complimenting the young protégé on the fine job he had done. While Jack set up the chart, Bradley told the court to strike Osterman’s previous question.

  Lauren sat tensed, ready to pounce.

  Bradley began, “Your Honor, I would like to submit into evidence this chart: a timeline of sunrises and sunsets for the latitudes and longitudes of the week of the fateful cruise, specifically, the last day Mrs. Amanda Maze was seen alive.”

  “I will allow. Please, continue.”

  Lauren leaned over to Ryan and mockingly mouthed yippee to him. He chuckled. She glanced at Maze. He was still fidgety but silent. Out of the corner of her eye, she could swear God was sitting at the bench giving her a stern look, but when she turned, it was only Judge Howell staring at her, eyebrows raised in stern warning. Lauren sat up and faced forward.

  Turning to the deputy security chief, Bradley asked, “Mr. Ross, can you see this chart well enough?”

  Ross answered in the affirmative.

  “It’s a graph that marks the times of sunrises and sunsets the week of the cruise. The time of the sunrise on the day Mrs. Maze was last seen is in red. Can you see this?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time does it say the sun rose the morning you spoke to Mr. Maze?”

  Squinting, Ross answered, “Six twenty-three.”

  “Six twenty-three, yes, thank you. So, it must have been somewhere within forty-five minutes to an hour, at the latest, between the time Mr. Maze, by witness account, left the casino and the time you spoke with him on deck, correct?”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “And did you ask him to account for the time?”

  “Yes, yes, I did.”

  “Where did the defendant say he was for that short duration?”

  Maze, under his breath, said, “Lost on deck during the fog.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “He didn’t? What do you mean, he didn’t? He must have said he was somewhere.”

  “Just that he was lost on the ship.”

  “Lost?” Bradley chuckled. “Isn’t it rather difficult for one to get lost on a ship?”

  Everyone—reporters, spectators, lawyers—snickered. All, that is, except the parents of the deceased. Unable to bear the mocking laughter, Maze jumped up.

  “It was foggy. I was lost in it trying to find the cabin. I loved my wife. I loved her. You don’t kill what you love!”

  Judge Howell stood, furiously banging her gavel, as Ryan practically tackled him.

  “ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT! MR. THOMPSON AND MS. HILL—PLEASE—” Judge Howell paused.

  Ryan assertively ushered Maze to the back of the courtroom and the exit. Bradley folded his arms, exceptionally pleased with himself.

  “—CONTROL YOUR CLIENT!” Judge Howell bellowed.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Lauren offered.

  Amused by the way Ryan was holding onto the back of Maze’s jacket, as if he were throwing outside a dog that had snuck into the house and soiled the carpet, the armed deputies at the rear of the courtroom opened the doors ahead of them. Once Ryan and Maze were outside, the guards, grinning widely, quickly closed the doors. Lauren was now alone and in her comfort zone. For a few moments anyway, she was in her element and could focus her attention solely on the proceedings.

  Bradley’s Cheshire cat smile didn’t amuse the judge. “If you’re through grinning, Mr. Prosecutor, you may continue any time you are ready.”

  Ryan Thompson was furious with Maze, and as he talked to him in a barely controlled voice, his face was flushed and his forehead wrinkled. Had he not been in a professional setting and his job not depended upon him keeping his cool, Ryan would likely have decked the guy. Maze’s untimely explosion had not only made him look foolish in the eyes of the court and jury, but it had also put the defense team fighting for him in a poor light. Now Lauren was going to have to scramble. Bad enough she was obviously under a great deal of stress as it was. Maze’s only job was to sit quietly and remain composed. If he could not do so on his own, it was up to his defense team to make sure he obeyed all guidelines. Maze’s frustrated tirade had done him no favors. The only things Maze had accomplished were to anger Judge Howell, make the jury believe he was unstable, and give Prosecutor Bradley an upper hand.

  “We’ve told you before, you cannot spout off like that. What don’t you understand? The only logical conclusion a jury can make when you pull a stunt like that is you’re uncontrollably angry, a loose cannon. You don’t want them to believe you killed your wife.”

  Maybe it was just the way he had phrased it, but to Maze, it sure sounded an awful lot like Ryan believed he did kill Amanda.

  “I didn’t kill my wife,” Maze repeated, grabbing Ryan by the collar. “Listen, I’ve been in and out of that room for days, and I’m being dissected like a rat in a science lab.”

  “Look!” Ryan ripped Maze’s sweaty hands away from his shirt. He straightened his jacket and gave Maze a death stare.

  Immediately, Maze transformed into an ashamed puppy who soiled the rug. He even whimpered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, man.”

  Unrelenting, Ryan continued to pour it on. “Pull yourself together, NOW! You hear me? Let me tell you something, buddy. Lauren Hill is in there fighting her ass off for you. She has never lost a case, NOT ONE, and she has no intention of losing this one. But you’re doing a good job all by yourself. You know the drill. This is a lengthy process. As unfair as you or I or anyone else might think it is, this is the system of law.”

  “This isn’t what I call law. It’s an inquisition. That’s what it is. They—”

  “Hey—HEY. What the hell is your problem? Is it those pills?” Ryan pointed to Maze’s jacket pocket. “Gimme those!”

  Quickly, Ryan reached into Maze’s coat pocket as Maze tried to wriggle away. Like an old Abbott and Costello skit, the two comically wrestled for the prescription bottle. Only no one was laughing. After a short tussle, Ryan rattled the bottle of pills in front of Maze.

  “These new pills?” Ryan held Maze at arm’s length while he carefully read the label. Maze didn’t fight him. Seeing all he needed to, Ryan tossed them back to him.

  “I want to testify,” Maze said, juggling the pill bottle with his unsteady hands. As if addicted, he carefully tucked it away inside his pocket and patted it.

  “Yeah, and say what, huh? What could you say that they don’t already know from the police interrogations and the physical evidence? Ms. Hill has already had this conversation with you several times.
Unless there’s something else we should know?”

  Maze clammed up. He didn’t like what the hotshot attorney was insinuating. He didn’t like it at all. It was the second time in about as many minutes he had seemed to imply that Maze had something to confess. He stood silently staring back at Ryan. For the first time, it appeared Maze had absolutely nothing to say.

  Ryan looked deep into Maze’s eyes. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but something didn’t seem right to him.

  “Well, are we good? Are we clear? You’re not testifying, got it? It’s not the best play.”

  “But Ms. Hill said—”

  Ryan blurted, “That was just to get you to shut the hell up about it in court!”

  Not happy, Maze saw he had only two options, and one of them would not produce the results he wanted. He had no other recourse but to agree.

  Ryan toned down, trying to calm his client. “Now, look, let’s get back in there and sit quietly. Okay?” He gently shook him. They were pals for the moment.

  Maze looked him in the eye and nodded. The two started to make their way into the courtroom.

  “Ryan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Thanks, it’s been really tough, you know. Really tough.”

  “I’m sure it has.” Ryan clasped Maze on the shoulder, much less forcefully going in than coming out. He walked his client through the door and back to his seat.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dillon Bradley rubbed the laughter away from his tired eyes. Naturally, Lauren hadn’t found it amusing in the least and scowled at him. Just get on with it, shall we, Mr. Prosecutor? she thought.

  Jury members leaned into one another, conversing amongst themselves. Ravenous reporters made entries in their portable tape recorders or jotted detailed notes as fast as their fingers could fly across the pages. Few in the room had no opinion one way or the other on what had taken place. Some saw an innocent man fighting for his life, while others saw instability.

  Not letting things get too far out of hand, Judge Howell banged her gavel repeatedly. Murmurings from the gallery of stunned courtroom observers slowly died down. Once the room was entirely quiet, Bradley continued questioning the witness for the state.

  “Where was I? Oh, yes—Mr. Ross, did Mr. Maze know where his wife was?”

  “Objection!”

  The judge was quick to overrule. Turning to the witness, she told the deputy security chief he needed to answer the question.

  “He said he didn’t know.”

  “So, let me get this straight, by the time you reached Mr. Maze on the bridge, he claimed he had been lost, wandering around aimlessly in the fog, and didn’t know where his wife was. However, according to the defendant, he last saw her in their cabin, where he admitted they had an awful fight, just before he left for the casino and gambled for the next five hours or so. At this point, on deck all these hours later, Mr. Maze coolly claimed that he believed his wife had gone overboard. And yet he came to this conclusion without having taken the time to look for her.”

  Lauren jumped from her chair, slapping her hand on the table for effect. “Objection!”

  “Overruled.”

  “Does this summarize what the defendant told you?”

  “Yes. Yes, it does.”

  At just this crucial moment, Maze reentered the courtroom, followed closely by Ryan. Light murmuring commenced as everyone stared, scrutinizing his every move while taking mental notes. Judge Howell banged her gavel three times in rapid succession but said nothing. The courtroom quieted. All watched in silence as Maze took his seat.

  Bradley continued. “Mr. Ross, did the defendant say if he bothered to look for her, or not?”

  Angered, Lauren bolted out of her seat.

  “Objection! Is this a circus? Should we bring in the clowns?” A wisp of hair floated down in front of her eyes, and she purposely shook her head and blew it aside.

  The courtroom immediately ruptured in laughter. Enraged by Laurel’s inappropriate outburst, Judge Howell banged her gavel. “Reluctantly sustained. Ms. Hill, I’m warning you.”

  Although he had lost that battle, Bradley thanked the judge and continued. “Mr. Ross, did you at any time ask Mr. Maze if he had looked for his wife?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said he did.”

  “Were you able to verify that claim?”

  “Objection.”

  “Overruled.”

  Lauren was piqued, but not frustrated to a great extent. Her every move was calculated, a theatrical masterpiece. She sat glaring intently across the room at Judge Howell. So far, so good. The judge hadn’t morphed into God, or anything else, for that matter. She still had her sanity—for the time being, anyway. Judge Howell felt Lauren’s eyes burning into her and curiously stared back.

  “So then, are we to conclude that no one—no one—confirmed his assertion of searching for her?”

  “No, not to my knowledge, but it was quite early in the morning. Most if not all of the passengers on board were asleep at that time.”

  “And what was the defendant’s demeanor? Upset? Scared? Anxious?”

  “OB-JEC-TION!” Lauren shouted. Now she was fuming, drumming her fingers impatiently upon the edge of the table and tapping her foot, loudly.

  Before the judge could offer a ruling, Prosecutor Bradley was on top of it. He instantly rephrased the question.

  “In your opinion, Mr. Ross.”

  “Fairly calm.”

  “Calm,” his star witness said.

  “Calm. As calm as the defendant appears to be now?”

  “Much calmer.”

  The son-of-a-bitch killed his wife, Bradley thought, and he was calm about it—calm! And it’s not like he just has a naturally calm disposition, if the last few damn days are any indication! I wasn’t sure before, but I am now. I want this guy to fry, but since that can’t happen in this state, I want him to never again see the light of day. Not this time, Lauren. I’m gonna get him.

  Bradley turned to smirk at Mr. Maze. Maze knew the crafty prosecutor wanted him to react. With everything he had, Maze averted his eyes.

  Then Bradley looked at Ross and gazed deep into him. For a moment, they fixed their eyes on each other like two grappling rams, until . . .

  Speaking aloud his previous thought, Bradley turned to the court and said, “Calm? Calm? He believes his wife had taken the plunge and yet . . . he’s calm?”

  Maze spoke to himself, poignantly, staring blankly through Mr. Ross. But in the quiet of the interior courtroom, many heard, “Not true. Not true. You told me not to panic, to remain calm. You made me remain calm.”

  The defense, the jury, the prosecution, the witness, and, most importantly, Judge Howell heard Maze’s comment. She briefly went for her gavel, raised it, and then, deciding not to stir up even greater mockery, silently lowered it to the bench. Much to Bradley’s chagrin, the judge opted to take the high road and let the unsuitable remark slide for the time being.

  Ross nervously adjusted himself in his seat. Suddenly, he felt warm. He placed a forefinger under his tight-fitting collar and slid it down to the first button of his shirt. It felt as if it were digging into his Adam’s apple.

  “Well, to answer your question, the captain and I did in fact reassure Mr. Maze and recommended he remain calm, that we would perform a sweep of the entire vessel. In most cases, we do find the lost somewhere on board.”

  Bradley was clearly frustrated with the deputy chief’s answer and looked over to the defense table. Lauren leaned back in her chair and folded her arms, noticeably pleased. Bradley quickly turned to attempt a different approach.

  “Would you please tell the court what Mr. Maze uttered when you asked him why he thought his wife went overboard instead of still being on the ship?”

  “Certainly. He kept repeating he loved her, many, many times.”

  “Is that all the defendant said?”

  “No, no. He followed those assertions wit
h something about her being bipolar and that they had had a very heated argument. He said she had threatened to jump.”

  “So, Mr. Maze said he loved her, but didn’t check on her all night, and—”

  Lauren jumped from her seat. Maze’s instinct was to do the same, but Ryan was ready. He responded to the first sign of movement and quickly gripped the man’s arm. Ryan squeezed tight. Maze settled in his chair.

  “Objection!”

  Maze leaned over to Ryan and began to speak. “I did love—” but Ryan held up his hand, in warning, to prevent him from finishing his sentence. Lauren was already on top of it and didn’t need the judge banging the bench for her to contain her unstable client. Lauren harshly objected a second time.

  Although far from pleased with the defendant’s unruly behavior, Judge Howell had no choice but to sustain the request and tell the jury to disregard the unfinished question and any drawn inferences.

  Bradley was momentarily flummoxed but, looking down at his notes, quickly recovered and moved on to his next question.

  “Isn’t it true, Mr. Ross, that in your initial investigation, you found a partial bloody palmprint on a pane of glass on the balcony, blood which was later analyzed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And whose was it?”

  “It was found to be that of Amanda Maze.”

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  Lauren stood, ready to seize the moment. She turned to briefly give Maze a reassuring pat on the back for all to see. He smiled. Clearly, the kind gesture meant a great deal to her weary and befuddled client. He looked up and seemed to relax, knowing it was her turn to go on the offensive.

  Judge Howell looked at the witness. “You may step—” she began.

  “Wait! I’m sorry,” Bradley interrupted. “Mr. Ross, would you please remind us how the balcony door looked to you when you first saw it.”

  “Yes. It was broken, shattered into hundreds, if not, thousands of fragments.”

  “That’s right. I almost forgot. That’s all, thank you.”

  “If that is everything,” Judge Howell gazed toward a retreating prosecutor. Bradley glanced up and acknowledged it was. “You may step down, Mr. Ross.”