Wilson frowned. “Sixty degrees.”
“Sixty? Now that’s pretty cold, especially in a small room with all the doors and windows shut. Wouldn’t have taken long to cool to that temperature.”
Wilson tossed down the photo. “I will admit that it is an abnormally low temperature, but it’s hardly a refrigerator.”
“So how much effect do you think that low a temperature would have on the body’s decomposition?”
“I couldn’t say exactly. Not much.”
“I might have to argue with you there, Doctor.” Vicki passed Christina a large and heavy leather-bound book. “This is called Principles of Forensic Science and Criminology and was written by the late Dr. T. S. Koregai. It’s generally considered one of the definitive works on the subject. In fact, I think you have one in your office, don’t you, Doctor?”
“You know I do.”
“Dr. Koregai provides a chart in which he sets down the effect of increasingly low temperatures on postmortem decomposition. According to him, if the temperature is sixty degrees, you can expect decomposition-get this-to happen a third as fast as normal. He says the entire process would be slowed.” She pondered a moment. “You know, I’m no math whiz, but I think that means that instead of the time of death being an hour before you arrived, it was more like 9:30 or 10:00-when Johnny Christensen was in the company of several friends.”
“I suppose it’s theoretically possible-”
“Thank you, Doctor. No more questions.”
There was quite a stir in the courtroom after she finished. Half the reporters in the gallery ran out the back doors clutching their cell phones; the others were scribbling furiously in their notebooks. They seemed to think this was a breakthrough. And it had been a good cross-if she did say so herself.
But Christina didn’t kid herself. She might have established that Johnny could be telling the truth-but not that he was telling the truth. Unless she could come up with an explanation of who killed Tony Barovick and why, it was all too likely that the jury would conclude that the beating Johnny admitted to caused the death. Or that anyone capable of doing such a horrible thing to another human being deserved to die whether he delivered the killing stroke or not.
One observer who was not a reporter nonetheless headed out the back doors as soon as the judge called for a recess, thinking this was not supposed to happen. Johnny Christensen had to be convicted. If these two shysters kept doing what they were doing-well-this case might never be put to rest.
Should’ve killed them before, back when they were pinned down in front of their office. Before they had a chance to stir up more trouble than they could possibly imagine.
Never mind. There were many more cheap, readily accessible handguns in the world. If the case continued to progress in this manner-and there was any chance at all of Johnny Christensen escaping punishment-the sniper scene would be reenacted. With more positive results.
Warning had been given-and ignored. There would be no more warning shots. Now it was time to shoot to kill.
36
Outside the courtroom window, four stories down, Christina could hear chanting. Some of the gay rights protesters were getting rowdy, it seemed. “Don’t wait-punish hate!” they chanted, over and over again. Probably heard about what just happened in court today, Christina mused. Just hope they didn’t bring their snipers this time.
“Christina?” It was Ellen Christensen, standing just behind the rail. She saw Ben flinch the instant the woman spoke. “That was wonderful, what you did up there.”
“Well, thank you.”
“Will the jury believe Johnny now?”
“We still have a lot of work to do. But we’re off to a good start.”
A new voice barked in her ear. “You should be ashamed of yourself, you cheap little hustler!”
Christina instinctively ducked. She froze. Then, not hearing any gunfire, stood back up. Was she getting jumpy? Considering all that had happened, she thought she had good cause.
It was Mario Roma, the owner of Remote Control. “Tony was a good boy!” he bellowed. “He deserves better than to have some two-bit lawyers playing tricks to put his killer back on the street!”
Ben ran to her side. She was aware that her knees were knocking. All this turmoil was really starting to get to her. “Sir, all we’re trying to do is bring the truth to light.”
“Bullshit!” From the corners of the room, the bailiffs were advancing. “I know exactly what you’re trying to do. You should be ashamed of yourself!”
One of the bailiffs-Boxer Johnson-tapped Roma on the shoulder. He did not stop.
“There’s a word for a woman who will do anything for money. You’re nothing but a cheap, two-bit whore!”
The bailiffs took one arm each and forcibly removed him from the courtroom, still screaming. “Remember this, lady, everyone gets theirs in the end. What goes around, comes around. Count on it!”
“That was bizarre,” Ben said. “Talk about coming out of nowhere. Why would that guy want to-” He turned and saw that Christina was trembling.
“Hey.” He took her by the arms without even thinking about it, then did and let them go. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” she said, with a tremor in her voice. “I’m just… tired of all these threats.” She put a hand on the gallery railing to steady herself. “I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this case. This whole mess. Like something horrible is going to happen.”
“Buck up, Chris. We’ve still got a long way to go.”
“I know,” she said, her voice grim. “That’s what worries me.”
Ben had handled psychiatrists in the past, so Christina asked him to take this one. He wasn’t sure he was the best choice; he might have a slight edge on Christina in the psychojargon department, but she had it all over him when it came to understanding people. But it was her case and her call, and he knew that for whatever reason she was feeling a bit on edge. He could do it this time for her.
Drabble’s decision to call a psychiatrist to the stand during his case-in-chief was an interesting and somewhat unusual choice born of one central reality of trial practice: The prosecution never knows what the defense is going to do. They can guess, but they can’t be certain. The prosecution is supposed to tell the defense every detail of their case, their evidence, witnesses, everything. But the defense doesn’t have to reveal anything. Often the prosecution has no idea what the defense case will be till they hear it live and in person in the courtroom. Prosecutors have many other advantages-most notably the tight connection with law enforcement, the institutional resources, and usually, the judge. But in the department of foreknowledge, they were vulnerable.
Which led to the psychiatrist. Drabble couldn’t be certain Christina wouldn’t try some sort of insanity defense. The violence of the beating would certainly support it. She could argue that Johnny had been temporarily insane, or that he had been brainwashed by peer groups. Not their best shot, in Ben’s view, but a definite possibility. And Drabble couldn’t count on being able to call the psychiatrist later in rebuttal. Kevin Mahoney had advised Ben that Judge Lacayo adhered to the “heart attack” standard-he allowed the prosecution to call additional rebuttal witnesses only if some surprise development in the defense case had been of such magnitude as to induce a heart attack. Suggesting that a man who mercilessly beat a homosexual to a pulp was crazy wouldn’t qualify. Thus, the psychiatrist-now. The fact that he was also an expert in hate groups was a bonus.
Ben didn’t know the doctor, didn’t know if he was the type who’d say anything, and frankly, didn’t care. If Drabble wanted to put him on, it couldn’t be good for their case, so he did his best to keep him off the stand.
“Your honor, this is not relevant,” Ben argued in chambers.
“It is rather unorthodox,” Lacayo said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressed against his lips.
“Yeah,” Ben said. “Especially when we’re not running an insanity defense.”
“I don’t know that,” Drabble said calmly. “But even if they don’t use the word insanity, they will no doubt argue that this nice boy from a pleasant middle-class family couldn’t possibly commit this awful crime. We’re entitled to rebut that.”
“That is not what he’s doing,” Ben insisted. “He’s suggesting that because a man is a member of a certain organization-”
“Two, actually.”
Ben grimaced. “That his association with these groups incriminates him. It’s a First Amendment issue.”
Drabble waved his hands in the air. “All the witness will say is that the fact that the defendant was in antigay groups demonstrates that he was predisposed to harbor hatred toward gay people. Duh.”
“You know it won’t stop there,” Ben said. “The witness’ll be suggesting that because he went to some meetings where the use of violence was espoused, that meant he acted in conformity on the night in question. A clear evidentiary violation.”
“I will not argue that,” Drabble said, getting a little hot. “I don’t have to. Your client has confessed, remember?”
“Not to the murder.”
“Close enough.”
“This is like the O. J. Simpson prosecutors suggesting that because O. J. dreamed about hurting his wife that meant he did.”
“As I recall,” Drabble said, “the prosecutors lost that case big time. Maybe you shouldn’t protest so much.”
“You’ll go beyond that,” Ben said. “You’ll turn it into a-”
Lacayo held up his hands. “Quiet! I’ve heard enough. I’m going to allow the testimony.”
“Your honor!” Ben started.
“I said, quiet! I’m ruling. I’ll allow the testimony, but only for the purpose of showing that the defendant was psychologically capable of the crime. I want no assumptions that he did anything more than what he has confessed to doing.”
“Understood,” Drabble said.
“And I don’t want a lot of psycho mumbo jumbo that will only confuse the jury, either.” He peered across the desk at Drabble, and Ben felt certain a pointed message was being communicated. “I don’t think this is a complicated case. Let’s not turn it into one.”
“Dr. Pitney,” Drabble said, after exhaustively establishing the man’s professional credentials and that he had spent ten hours examining Johnny Christensen, “would you call the Christian Minutemen a hate group?”
“Absolutely.” The man had a bushy red beard which he seemed to have a hard time keeping his hands off of. “They deny it, of course. They justify all their beliefs in terms of carefully chosen scriptures. But by my standard, and that of most of my colleagues, an organization that opposes people based on who they are, based on being members of a discrete group, is a hate group.”
“Is there any documentation backing up your view on this point?”
“Of course. You’ve already admitted the group’s printed principles and tenets into evidence. I would invite the jury to read it when they have a chance. Pay particular attention to the passages about ‘the plague of homosexuality,’ the equation of ‘consensual sodomy’ with child abuse, the suggestions that homosexuality is a mental disease adopted by choice by the ungodly. Homophobia is all over the document-and this is something that is handed out to all prospective and new members of the organization.”
“Is this… unusual?”
Pitney shifted around in his seat. He was doing a good job, Ben noted, of making eye contact with the jury, but not in such a direct and obvious manner that it made them uncomfortable or feel they were watching a performance. “Depends on what you mean. When this organization was first created, about sixty years ago, its principles also included equally vehement passages about people of other races. That has fallen away, of course. In our modern world, that wouldn’t be tenable; they’d be perceived as a KKK-another supposedly Christian group. And the principles still have many incredibly sexist antifemale passages. As with many fundamentalist groups, they are very fond of the New Testament scriptures about a wife cleaving to her husband and being subservient to him. That, too, is falling out of favor, even with extremists. Homosexuality is another matter, however. Although times are changing, prejudice against homosexuals is still acceptable in many quarters, particularly with some religious groups. From the standpoint of an organization, it’s still a viable basis for hate.”
“And the Christian Minutemen have been involved in hate crimes against gays?”
“Its members have. More than thirty in the past five years. Of course, the organization always disavows any responsibility for the crimes, just as it has in the present case. But it still happens. Repeatedly. You draw you own conclusions.”
“Where do these people come from? How do they become the way they are?”
“It’s hard to explain. Because it’s always a combination of factors. Almost never a single linear event. I’ve yet to meet a member of one of these groups who was actually harmed in some way by a homosexual. But there is a great appeal in some psyches to having someone to hate. Some cause to rally around, some mission. And in some cases, an excuse for violence.”
“In your experience, Dr. Pitney, is this an example of failed parenting?” A pointed question, Ben knew, because Johnny’s mother was listed as a witness for the defense.
“Sometimes. But you know, I’ve examined large families where one of the parents-usually the father-promoted prejudices to his children. Some of the offspring adopted it lock, stock, and barrel, and even as adults engaged in the same racist slurs and attitudes. And some of the children reject the hate education while still in their teens. By the same token, I’ve interviewed young people who grew up in good homes with well-educated, non-prejudicial parents who ended up joining radical militia groups. That’s not the most common scenario, but it does happen.”
“What makes the difference?”
“I don’t know.” Ben looked up; that was something he didn’t hear often from an expert witness. “It’s a combination of nature and nurture. Sometimes it’s a part of teen rebellion, either to adopt or to refuse to adopt these prejudices. Sometimes it’s personality-some people, happily, are just not predisposed to hate, no matter what the situation. Some young people are exposed to a forceful personality at a critical juncture who transforms their way of thinking. Education is obviously a factor, as is wealth. But you know what I really think makes the difference? And I’ll admit up front I have no way of proving this. But I think in the long run it has to do with the subject’s… how to say it?… exposure to ideas. Never once have I encountered a well-read man who was also a hatemonger. There are no Ph.D.s in the KKK. I truly believe that people who expose themselves to the arts-fine arts, visual arts, poetry, literature-people who expose themselves to good ideas will not end up adopting bad ones. It’s the guys who don’t come into contact with new and better thoughts-who do their work and pay the bills but aren’t exposed to new ideas in any way that influences them-who are most likely to hang on to the old bad ideas they learned as a child.” He paused. “Or in a keenly bigoted fraternity house.”
Drabble nodded, turning a page in his notebook. “Now, Dr. Pitney, you’ve had a chance to examine the defendant, Jonathan Christensen, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” Pitney detailed the hours he spent, the tests he performed, records he reviewed, laying the foundation for the testimony to come.
“Did you reach any conclusions regarding the man’s sanity?”
Pitney nodded. “John Christensen is all too sane. Plagued by hate. More than ready to act upon it. But unfortunately, that does not make him insane. Not even temporarily.”
“Based upon your time with him, why do you believe he committed this horrible crime?”
“Objection,” Ben said, grateful to have an excuse to interrupt. “It has not been established that Johnny committed any crime.”
Drabble smiled. “I’m so sorry. I’ll rephrase. Why do you believe he committed the horrible beating to which he has confessed?�
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“It all comes down to the one word: hate. I believe he nurtured these antigay sentiments for some time. He attended an ultrafundamentalist church and no doubt heard some of it there. But it really mushroomed when he joined the fraternity and started going to the Minutemen meetings. He was totally indoctrinated.”
“How so?”
“Historically, Jonathan has not been an especially bright student, nor has he been good at sports, nor has he been very popular. He was one of the kids who slip through the cracks. Till he joined the Minutemen. I believe he was so glad for the companionship, so pleased to feel a part of something larger than himself, that he was particularly susceptible to hate teachings. Fraternity houses have historically been hotbeds of sexism-guys playing macho for their friends by talking trash about women. That sort of language, of course, has become politically incorrect in recent years. In many respects, homophobia has filled the gap.”
Drabble looked puzzled. “The problem is, Doctor… it’s one thing to privately harbor some prejudices. But to snatch someone from a public place and quite literally beat him to a pulp-that’s something else again.”
“True, this was an extreme case-but that’s not all that uncommon, unfortunately. These things start small-just some guys sitting around talking. The tension builds, the need to act upon their words becomes more urgent. And the next thing you know-someone’s swinging from a rope. In this case, Johnny has admitted he was in the company of a like-minded friend who had performed violent acts in the past, and he claims that the victim made sexual advances to them. For two people in this mind-set, that could be more than sufficient provocation to trigger a violent episode.”
“In his statement, the defendant has always claimed that his friend, Brett Mathers, was the principal actor.”
“And that may well be. But what difference does it make? I wouldn’t have done what he did, or permitted it to happen, no matter what a friend did. Neither would you. But John Christensen did. Not out of insanity. Out of cold-blooded hate.” He shook his head, at once moved and disgusted. “John Christensen isn’t crazy. But he is evil.”
Hate Crime Page 24