He shook his head, tears in his eyes. “When I think about how Ryan suffered at the hands of that monster…how my father just up and left our family, leaving our mother to try to handle everything on her own…how my brother went to prison for manslaughter because he was so messed up by Ryan’s death and our family disintegrating that he turned to drugs…” He crossed his arms again. “And Father Kennedy could have stopped that. He could have stopped that. He could have ended it right away.”
He looked away and I started to have a bit of sympathy for him. I could see his point of view, really – if it weren’t for the fact that confessionals are strictly confidential, and that breaking that confidentiality would be grounds for ex-communication for the priest that breaks it, then, yes, Father Kennedy could have gone to the police and turned Steven in.
But Father Kennedy couldn't have gone to the authorities. Confessional privilege was that inviolate. That was difficult for most people to understand, and, in this case, it had tragic, tragic consequences.
I decided to back off just a bit. I didn’t want to have the jury see me hammering away at a clearly broken man. Because that was what Raymond Mathews was – a broken, broken man.
I didn’t know how Raymond found out about Father Kennedy – I could only assume that Father Mathews told him about it, probably recently. Father Mathews wasn’t supposed to divulge this information, either. He was going to risk ex-communication for telling his brother about this.
Not that I was going to be the one who could go to the church authorities and reveal to them what had happened. Better to leave well enough alone there.
“Mr. Mathews,” I said softly. I leaned down on the railing in front of him and I looked him in the eye. “Isn’t it true that you were very angry with Father Kennedy?”
“Yes,” he said, biting his lower lip. “But I didn’t kill him. I would never do that.”
I stood up and walked over to the jury and looked at them. They were looking at Raymond with a mixture of skepticism and sympathy. I hoped that the skepticism would win out in the jury room.
I walked back over to Raymond. “Isn’t it true that you were also made aware that my client, Jack Calhoun, was also involved in the murder of your twin brother?”
Raymond shifted uncomfortably and looked away.
“Yes,” he said, and then glared at Jack. “I did find out about that.”
“Isn’t it true that you were very angry at my client, too?”
“Listen, your client is legally insane. Legally insane. I don’t even know how this case has gotten this far.” He crossed his arms in front of him and glared at Mick. “My brother knew him as Mick. But that day, that day…” He shook his head. “I met him one day at this basketball game, and he said that his name was Sam. But I knew the truth about him, because I had him investigated. I knew that he was really Jack Calhoun. Ever since my brother was murdered, I needed to know who Jack Calhoun was, and I found out. I found out. So, yeah, my brother knew him as Mick, I met him one day and he said that his name was Sam, but I really knew that he was Jack - the guy who was responsible for my brother being killed.” He shook his head. “He’s going by three different names. He’s nuttier than a damned fruitcake.”
The cleared up the mystery on how Mick found himself at that basketball game - Sam went there. Sam went there and ran into Raymond. Apparently Sam was also attracted to Father Mathews. Mick came out later at that game, apparently after Raymond had left, presumably to go and coach the game.
I got my answer to a nagging mystery. Nevertheless, that answer was non-responsive. “That didn’t answer my question,” I said. “Isn’t it true that you were angry with my client?”
He crossed his arms again and looked away. “What kind of a person would do what he did? He was a kid, and he started playing kickball with my brother and some other kids. And then he told my brother that he wanted to take him to see the ice cream man, but it wasn’t the ice cream man, it was Steven Heaney. What kind of a person would do something like that? I don’t care if he was a kid at the time. That’s seriously messed up, and my brother would be alive today if it weren't for your client.”
I was going to come back on him, because I wanted to know something else. I wanted to know how he knew about Jack’s multiple personalities. He met all of them? He met Eli in the rectory, but how did he meet the others?
I looked back at Jack and I saw a change in him. I closed my eyes, wondering who it was that had taken over. I smiled, though, when I saw the familiar bored expression, the one leg crossed femininely over the other and I saw him pick up his glasses off the table and put them on.
Mick was back in the house.
I bit my lower lip. “Isn’t it true that, on the afternoon of April 19, 2017, you went in Father Kennedy’s rectory, where you knew my client was speaking with Father Kennedy, and you stabbed Father Kennedy in the heart, and then you hypnotized my client so that he would lose consciousness and wouldn’t remember anything?”
Raymond screwed up his face. “No.”
I pressed on. “Isn’t it true that you knew that my client has severe mental illness, therefore you assumed that you could get away with framing him for the murder of Father Kennedy? After all, nobody would believe my client’s story because he’s insane, right?”
He furrowed his brow and crossed his arms in front of him. “No,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “I wouldn’t take advantage of a disabled person like that. That’s not my nature.”
I looked over at the jury, saw their faces, saw the doubt that had crept up on every single one of their expressions, and decided that I did my job. I had put doubt into their heads, and that was what I needed to do.
Hopefully it was reasonable doubt.
I then asked some unusual questions. He was probably wondering why I would ask them, but I had my reasons. “I notice that your forearms do not have any hair of them. Is that a genetic trait?”
He furrowed his brows. His expression said what the hell? He shook his head. “Yes, that is. My grandfather was from the Philippines and we inherited our hairless arms from him.”
“I have nothing further.”
I sat down and Mick smiled at me. “I’m back, doll,” he whispered. “Eli had to get out. Something about seeing Steven Heaney in the audience.” He then looked over at the on-lookers, saw Steven and waved. “Oh, yes, there he is.” He waved again. “Why didn’t you tell me he was back in town?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I whispered.
“Mr. Malloy, do you have any questions for this witness?”
“No, your honor,” Vince said, standing up.
I guessed that he figured that the damage was done. Which it was.
“Ms. Ross, call your next witness.”
“Your honor, the defense rests.”
“Very well then.” He addressed the jury.
“Mr. Malloy, do you have any rebuttal evidence for the jury?”
“No, your honor.”
Judge Greene nodded. “We will take a short recess of 15 minutes, after which Ms. Ross and Mr. Malloy shall present the jury with their closing arguments.” He banged the gavel and then stood up and went back into his chambers.
The jury filed out of the courtroom and I sat down next to Mick. “So, you’re back,” I said. “How did you come back so soon?”
He shrugged. “I decided to let Eli out for a limited time,” he said. “So you could get your testimony on the stand. I didn’t want Jack to have to go to prison, doll.”
“I don’t understand. Why now? Why didn’t you do this a long time ago?”
“Because, well…” He shook his head. “Actually, I lied. Eli came out when Steven showed up. That brought him out. I…” He shook his head. “I became weak when I saw him. Something happened. I just wasn’t ready to see him again. I guess I went into shock, doll, and that was enough for Eli to come on out. He’s been dying to tell his story.”
“And how did you get back so quickly?”
&nbs
p; He shrugged. “I think that Eli felt that his purpose was finished. He told his story, and that was that. At any rate, I was able to take over again. I’m here now.” He whispered. “But if this jury comes back with a not guilty verdict, I have a feeling that you’re going to get Jack back. He’s here. He doesn’t know what’s going on, but I might just step aside and let him live his life if the jury comes back with an acquittal.”
I looked over at Vince, who was staring at his files and shaking his head. I wondered what was going through his head. Did he believe Eli’s story? Did he see the way that Raymond reacted to my questions and started to believe it then? Or was he simply off his game?
I might never know.
CHAPTER FORTY
The judge showed back up in 15 minutes, and so did the jury. They filed back into their seats, one by one. When they all were seated, the judge addressed Vince and me.
“Mr. Malloy, please present your closing argument,” he said.
“Thank you, your honor,” Vince said.
He walked over to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began. “Father Kennedy was brutally murdered on April 19, 2017, by this man sitting here in front of you.” He pointed at Jack. “Mr. Jack Calhoun. The evidence is overwhelmingly incontrovertible. He was found at the scene of the murder with his hand on the murder weapon, which was a hunting knife. His fingerprints, and only his fingerprints, was on the murder weapon. His hair, and only his hair, with the exception of the hair of Father Kennedy, was found in the rectory. You heard evidence that Mr. Calhoun was stalking Father Kennedy.”
I stood up. “I object to that characterization. That assumes facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained,” Judge Greene said. “Be careful, Mr. Malloy.”
Vince nodded his head and pressed on. “You heard evidence that Mr. Calhoun was seeing Father Kennedy every single day. You can draw your own conclusions about that. In short, ladies and gentlemen, this case is open and shut. You have the crime scene, you have the victim at the crime scene and you have the defendant sitting there holding the murder weapon. What more do you need? That wild story about Raymond Mathews killing Father Kennedy is nothing but a tall tale. A red herring. Don’t fall for that, ladies and gentlemen. Mr. Jack Calhoun is guilty of murder in the first degree, and, for that, I ask you to find him guilty of this crime. Thank you.”
He sat down and I stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “I admit, it looks bad for my client. He’s there at the murder scene with the murder weapon in his hand and the body of the victim at his feet. Yes, that looks bad. But don’t you think that it all looks just a bit too perfect? Like somebody staged it? Who would do something like that? Go in there, kill Father Kennedy and then pass out? And why didn’t that knife fall out of his hand if he went unconscious after the murder? Does that make any sense to you?” I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense to me, either. It doesn’t make sense at all. There are just too many holes in this story, holes big enough to drive a truck through.”
I paced from one end of the jury box to the other, looking every juror in the eye. “Holes big enough to drive a truck through. Enter Raymond Mathews. You heard that he was angry that Father Kennedy was aware that Steven Heaney was murdering children. Yet Father Kennedy did nothing about that. He couldn’t do anything about that, because he was a priest and priests are bound by their oath not to divulge anything said in confession. You heard that Raymond Mathews blamed Father Kennedy for the death of his identical twin brother. You heard that he was also angry at Mr. Calhoun because Mr. Calhoun, when he was a young boy and he, too, was abducted by Steven Heaney, found young victims for Mr. Heaney. He was a young boy trying desperately to stay alive, which is why he did that. Raymond Mathews blamed Father Kennedy for the death of his twin brother, but he also blamed Mr. Calhoun. You heard that testimony.”
“Finally, you heard the testimony of Mr. Calhoun himself. You heard him state that he was in the rectory with Father Kennedy, speaking with him about an issue, when Raymond Mathews came through the door unexpectedly. You heard him testify that Raymond Mathews stabbed Father Kennedy in the heart while he watched. You heard him testify that Raymond Mathews then hypnotized him and that was the reason why Mr. Calhoun lost consciousness.”
I decided to go ahead and use Jack’s background to make him sympathetic. “Raymond Mathews also alluded to what Jack did when he was a small child – he helped the serial killer, Steven Heaney, find victims. He did do that. He was 11 years old and was abducted by a monster. He had one thought, one prayer – to stay alive. He had the instinct that all of us do, that of self-preservation. Raymond Mathews doesn’t understand that. You heard that he was very angry with my client. His anger is understandable, of course. I think that any one of us might feel the same as Raymond did in this case – rage and anger at the two people who were partially responsible for our loved ones being murdered. Any one of us might let that rage and anger overtake us, consume us, and cause us to murder the person who is the brunt of our rage and anger. In this way, Raymond Mathews alleged action in killing Father Kennedy and framing my client seem almost understandable.”
I continued on. “Nevertheless, my client’s testimony, coupled with Raymond Mathews’ testimony, adds up to one thing – reasonable doubt. It adds up to reasonable doubt that my client had anything to do with Father Kennedy’s murder. You might not completely believe my client’s testimony. You might not completely believe that Raymond Mathews was responsible for the murder of Father Kennedy. But under the law, you don’t have to completely believe my client’s testimony. You don’t have to completely believe that Raymond Mathews was responsible for the murder of Father Kennedy. That’s not required.”
I paced back and forth, looking every juror in the eye. “No, you don’t have to believe my client 100% in order to acquit. You simply need to have reasonable doubt that my client did it. Reasonable doubt – consider it like this. If you are 60% sure that my client is telling the truth, then that’s reasonable doubt. If you’re thinking in your mind ‘Mr. Calhoun might have did it, but, then again, he might not have.’ That’s reasonable doubt.”
I walked back to my table and put my hands on Jack’s shoulders. “My client’s testimony was partially corroborated by Raymond Mathews’ testimony – Mr. Mathews, after all, admitted that he was extremely angry with Father Kennedy and with my client. When you combine what you heard from my client, combined with what you heard from Raymond Mathews…that adds up to reasonable doubt.”
I walked back to the jury box. “I ask you to acquit my client. I ask for a verdict of not guilty. The evidence in this case demands such a verdict.”
“Thank you very much for your thoughtful deliberation on this matter. Thank you very much for your service. And thank you in advance for finding my client not guilty.”
I sat down and Mick held out his hand. “You did good,” he said. “I think we might have this.”
“We’ll see.”
Judge Greene gave the jury instructions about what they must find in order to find Jack guilty and then he excused them to deliberate.
After the jury left the jury box to go back and deliberate, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was relieved because this trial was over. I was nervous, though. I had no idea what the verdict was going to be. But it was liberating that I left nothing on the field. That, come what may, I would know that I did all I could to have Jack acquitted.
I just hoped that it would be enough.
THREE HOURS LATER, the jury foreman came back and said that they had reached a verdict.
My heart pounded. I didn’t think that the verdict would come in so soon. I had no idea what that meant – I never knew that a short deliberation meant.
I prayed that this was good news.
The jury filed back into their seats.
“I understand that you have reached a verdict,” Judge Greene said.
“We have your honor.”
“And your verdict is unanimous?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, your honor.”
Judge Greene nodded. “Will the defendant please rise.”
I stood up with Jack and held his hand tightly. This moment, right before the verdict, was always the scariest moment of my life.
“On the count of murder in the first degree, how does the jury find?”
“Not guilty, your honor,” the jury foreman said.
“On the count of assault with a deadly weapon, how does the jury find?”
“Not guilty, your honor.”
I felt Jack’s hand squeeze mine and I bowed my head. I felt tears coming to my eyes, and I was surprised at how I felt like I was going to break down and sob. Every bit of emotion, every second of worry, every second of doubt…I felt every emotion so acutely right at that moment that I had to hold it in.
More than anything, I felt a profound sense of relief.
“Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your service,” Judge Greene said. “I understand that every one of you have obligations to your work and to your family, and you have to set these obligations aside to do your civic duty. Without your being willing to do this civic duty, we wouldn’t have a judicial system. Your service is really at the heart of justice and it makes justice possible. You may be excused.”
The jury filed back out and I looked over at Mick, and I saw it. I saw the change. He was blinking his eyes, and he took off his glasses and hung his head. “June Bug,” he said softly. “I think you did it. I think you did it.”
I gave him a hug, relieved to have Jack back. I hoped and prayed that he was back for good. “We did it,” I said. “You’re free, Uncle Jack. You won’t have to be locked up anywhere.”
Jack nodded his head and we went back to the audience, where my mother was standing up, bawling her eyes out. Mom hugged Jack tightly, both of them crying. Albany was standing by, as was Emma and Brad. They were all waiting to hug Jack, too, but they were going to have to wait awhile, because it didn’t seem that mom was ever going to let go.
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