One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2)

by James Chandler

  The State began by calling Corporal Jensen, who was sworn by Daniels and took the stand. Cathy first had him explain his training, qualifications, and general duties.

  “Corporal Jensen, were you employed by the department back on November 20?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, on that date, did you respond to an area on the south end of Custer College campus?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Dispatch got ahold of me. Told me a couple walking their dog had reported finding a body.”

  “So, the area you responded to, is that in Custer County?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you drive to the area where you were called?” Cathy asked.

  “Not legally. There’s a walking path, but I suppose it’s maybe two or three hundred yards from College Drive. North of College Drive.”

  “So you drove up College Drive?”

  “Yes. Then I walked—well, jogged, really,” Jensen said.

  “What did you observe?”

  “As I got close to, well, I guess you’d call it ‘the scene,’ I saw a man, a woman, and a dog.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Watching me.”

  “Did you speak with them?” Cathy asked.

  “Just him. He said, ‘Over there,’ and pointed toward the creek.”

  “Meaning Cavalry Creek?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “I walked in the direction of Cavalry Creek until I saw the body.”

  “And then what?” Sam noted Cathy was watching the jury closely. It was early and they were focused.

  “Then I got on my radio and told dispatch about the body and that we would need the crime scene folks. Then I called Punch, er, Detective Polson, too.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I went back to the couple and asked them to stand by. I told them that I needed to ask them some questions, but that I had to protect the crime scene until I could get some other officers on scene to take over for me,” Jensen explained.

  “Did you check to make sure it was a body?”

  “No. I knew it was.”

  “Did you check to see if that person was alive?” Cathy asked.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “The guy who called 911 is a doctor at Custer General. I figured if the victim—”

  Sam stood. “Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence.”

  “Sustained,” Daniels said.

  “The person,” Cathy hinted. “What was your assumption regarding the person?”

  “That the person was dead,” Jensen replied.

  “Why did you assume that?”

  “Uh, because the reporting party was a doctor. I figured if the person was alive, the doctor would’ve been helping.”

  “Now, the person you saw. Can you describe what you saw initially?”

  “Well, at first, like I said, I didn’t get too close. But I got close enough to see a person’s body. The body was on its front side, with its head toward the creek and its feet up the bank. The feet were splayed, and the body looked kind of . . . flat.”

  “When you looked at the body, did you know the body was that of a man?” Cathy asked.

  The question was probably vague, but Sam let it go. “No. You couldn’t tell at first,” Jensen said.

  “Did you see anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?”

  “Like a watch cap. A beanie or a stocking cap. Not sure what to call it.”

  “You mean a hat like this?” She showed him a hat in a clear plastic bag that Sam expected would be introduced later.

  “Yeah.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Uh, not really?”

  Jensen was thinking about something, Sam could tell. Cathy stood quietly, trying to decide whether to follow up.

  “See any footprints?” she asked, staying on script.

  “Some.”

  “So you were the first on the scene?”

  “First officer, yeah.”

  “And what did you do when the other officers arrived?”

  “I briefed each of them as they showed up, then Officer Goodrich and I taped off the surrounding area. I had him take pictures and I had other officers create a crime scene log.”

  “What’s a crime scene log?”

  “It’s a list that tells who all walked around in the scene.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “Then I helped Detective Polson investigate,” Jensen said. “Took notes, made calls. Whatever he needed me to do.”

  “Now, what other involvement did you have in the investigation?”

  “Mainly helped do a neighborhood canvass,” Jensen said. “I went into the dorms and the neighborhood that was nearest the crime scene and knocked on doors to ask people if they had seen anything. And I got the video from the college’s cameras.”

  “So . . . at some point during the investigation you were kind of backtracking, trying to find out the whereabouts of Mr. Miles before his death?”

  “Yes,” Jensen said.

  “Now prior to November 20, had you ever been to the spot where the body was found?”

  “Maybe not that exact spot. But I’ve run by the general area when I’ve been jogging.”

  “Now, did you conduct the interview with the couple and their dog?”

  “Not the dog,” Jensen said. The audience laughed. Sam smiled with everyone else.

  “And how did they seem?” Cathy asked.

  “He was okay. He’s a doctor. She was kind of freaked out.”

  “Did either or both eventually provide you with a statement?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you record your interview with either or both?”

  “Well. . . yeah.”

  “Let me ask it this way: were you wearing a camera that day?”

  “Objection,” Sam said. “Vague.”

  “Sustained,” Daniels said.

  “Were you wearing a vest camera during the interview with either the man, woman, or dog on the day you discovered the body?” Cathy asked with a glance at Sam.

  Again, the audience tittered; again, Sam smiled along.

  “Yes.”

  “Now,” she continued, changing the subject. “Did you take any pictures that day?”

  “Same objection,” Sam said.

  “Sustained,” Daniels said.

  “Did you take any pictures on the day the body was discovered?” Cathy asked.

  “A few.”

  “Your Honor, may I approach?”

  “You may.”

  Cathy walked up to Jensen and handed him several eight-by-ten photographs. “Corporal Jensen, take a look at those photos, and let me know when you are ready to answer some questions about them.”

  Jensen looked through them quickly and then nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Have you seen those before?”

  “Yeah, these are pictures I took of the crime scene before anyone else arrived.”

  “Do they accurately reflect what you saw and the condition of the crime scene at the time you took them?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your Honor, move for the admission of State’s Exhibits 1 through 8,” Cathy said.

  “Mr. Johnstone?” Daniels asked.

  “No objection,” Sam said.

  “Exhibits 1 through 8 will be received,” Daniels said.

  “Your Honor, at this time I’d seek permission to publish these photos to the jury using the large screen.”

  “Very well.”

  Cathy then had Jensen leave the witness box and stand next to the screen to describe the contents of each picture. When she had finished leading Jensen through the pictures, she indicated that she wanted him to return to the witness box.

  “No more questions, Your Honor,” she said, and sat down. “Tender the witness.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Schmidt,” Dan
iels said. “Mr. Johnstone?”

  “Thank you, Judge,” Sam said, and stepped to the podium. “Good afternoon, Corporal.”

  “Good afternoon,” Jensen said warily.

  “Do you have a photograph of the body we are talking about?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” Sam asked.

  “I wasn’t responsible for picture taking. I just . . . did. On those,” Jensen said.

  “Okay,” Sam said. “What time did you get called?”

  “I can’t remember, sir. Could I look at my report?” Jensen asked.

  “Would it refresh your memory?”

  “I think so.”

  “Judge, may I approach the witness and hand him his report?”

  “You may,” Daniels said. Jensen looked at the report for a few seconds, then handed it back to Sam. “It took me about seven minutes from the time I was called until I reported arriving on scene,” Jensen said.

  “Was there anyone other than the man and wife on scene when you got there?”

  “Well, not really.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not really?’” Sam asked.

  “People were walking by and riding by on the trail.”

  “Did you include them on the crime scene log?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I hadn’t started one,” Jensen explained, shrugging. “I was waiting for Goodrich.”

  “So, we don’t know exactly how many people were in the vicinity of the body even after you were there until Goodrich started keeping a log, do we?”

  “No.”

  “And we obviously have absolutely no idea how many hundreds or thousands of people might have been on the scene before the body was discovered, right?” Sam asked.

  “True.”

  “And you didn’t really look at or photograph the body?”

  “No.”

  “So, you don’t know what it looked like before it was found, or if it was somehow moved or disturbed after it was found, do you?”

  “Well, definitely not before,” Jensen admitted. “After we got things taped off I can say no one moved the body.”

  “But you didn’t take any pictures of the body, so we don’t know that the crime scene photos of the body represent exactly how it was positioned before it was found, do we?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  “You don’t know when the footprints near the body were made?”

  “No.”

  “So they could have been made after the couple called, but before you got there?”

  “Well, I don’t think so. They were kind of—”

  “But you don’t know, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Same with the watch cap,” Sam pressed. “You don’t know how long it had been there or how or when it got there, right?”

  “Well, I am assuming it, er…” Jensen stopped, realizing his mistake and looking at Sam expectantly.

  “Are assumptions an acceptable part of the investigative process?”

  “Not at my level,” Jensen said.

  Sam left it there. “Did you take the fingerprints of the couple who found the body?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know if anyone else did?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Did you get samples of their DNA?” Sam asked, knowing there was absolutely no reason to do so but wanting to plant a seed.

  “No.”

  “Do you know whether anyone else did?”

  “No.”

  “No, meaning what? No, meaning you don’t know, or no, meaning no one else did?” Might as well keep the seed watered.

  “No, I don’t know whether anyone else did.”

  “Thank you, Corporal Jenkins. No more questions, Your Honor,” Sam said, and sat down.

  “Ms. Schmidt? Redirect?”

  “No, Judge.”

  “Thank you,” Daniels said. “Is this witness subject to a subpoena?”

  “He is,” Cathy said. “We’d ask that he be released.”

  “No objection,” Sam said.

  After warning Jensen against talking about his testimony, Daniels released him. “Ms. Schmidt, please call your next witness.”

  Cathy spent the remainder of that afternoon calling a series of effective and professional witnesses, experts in crime scene examination and analysis, who combined to paint a picture of a calculated killing of the deceased by none other than Davonte. Sam asked a few perfunctory questions, but Cathy had done a good job in preparing her witnesses. None colored outside the lines, and there was little Sam could do aside from sit there and attempt to portray what he was not: confident of his client’s eventual acquittal.

  Sam was in his office several hours later, polishing up his cross-examination of the State’s DNA expert. His back was getting stiff, so he stood and stretched. He was rehearsing his first few questions to ensure he’d make good eye contact with the jurors when a story about the trial came across his favored national news website’s feed. Sitting back in his chair, he un-muted the site and watched. This time, the host was a forty-something white male with a pencil neck and thick glasses. He too was talking with Arick Jordan, who was apparently following the trial on video for several television outlets. “What I saw, Bruce, well, frankly it disturbs me,” Jordan said.

  “And why is that, Mr. Jordan?”

  “Just look around that courtroom. It looked like a Klan meeting. Judge is white, reporter was white, clerks all white, attorneys all white, jurors all white, court security all white. Only black thing in that courtroom was that prosecutor’s heart,” he said. “And all of them arrayed against Davonte. It was 1890s Mississippi all over again. It’s emblematic of the problems with the justice system not only in Montana but in the United States as a whole.”

  “Wyoming,” the host corrected.

  “What?”

  “They are in Wyoming, not Montana,” the host said.

  “Whatever. The point is the same,” Jordan sniffed.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Sam said aloud. “Call the jurors racist trash. Always a winning strategy.”

  “Mr. Blair’s attorney has said he believes the jury can reach a proper verdict,” the host said.

  “Did you see that guy?” Jordan asked, referencing Sam. “Talk about your deer in the headlights. That man lacks courage. And what did he do when that chanting started? Nothing. Not a damned thing. I would have been calling for a mistrial. I mean it. That lawyer is on his way to a lawsuit for malpractice!”

  “You’da made that motion against the wishes of your client,” Sam observed. “He wants this over so he can get drafted! And the motion would have been denied. If you granted a mistrial every time someone squawked, we’d never get a trial in.”

  Jordan looked at the camera as it pulled in for a tight shot. “We want Davonte to know that we stand with him. We think his choice of an attorney—an inexperienced white man—was unfortunate. Notwithstanding, we support Davonte and want to see justice for him,” Jordan said. “The legal battlefield is slanted against defendants like him, and toward wealthy, connected individuals like Kaiden Miles.”

  Knowing that Miles’s mother cooked lunch at one of the town’s elementary schools while Davonte’s mother had recently posted a one-million-dollar cash bond, Sam took a sip from a cup of tepid coffee and continued to watch, feeling his stomach tighten.

  “I have personally called Davonte and told him that when and if he seeks our assistance, we will be there to assist him in appealing and in seeking redress through civil rights lawsuits,” Jordan said. “Until then, we ask everyone to sound off, to let your feelings be known.”

  Sam stood, crumpled the paper cup, and fired it in the general direction of the face on the television. “You have got to be kidding me!”

  19

  The next morning, Paul marched into Sam’s office. “Have you seen this?” Paul asked, tossing the morning’s Bugle on Sam’s desk. Sam looked at the headline: “TENSION IN BLAIR CAMP.”

&nbs
p; Sam scanned the article and put the newspaper back down. He looked at his red-faced partner. “Short version?” Sam asked.

  “Davonte thinks we’re a couple of red-neck, hick lawyers,” Paul said. “He says he retained us not because we’re worth a damn but because he felt like only a couple of mopes like us could communicate in mope-speak to the mouth-breathers who comprise the members of the jury. He’s got some black lawyers group backing him, that essentially says we—you, really—have no business representing a black man charged with killing Miles. They’re already lining up their appellate team!”

  “No grounds to appeal.” Sam shrugged. “No civil rights claim. It’s bogus.”

  Paul closed the door to Sam’s office and sat down. “I think we have cause to move Daniels to allow us to withdraw,” he said. “What better cause than a client who has no confidence in us, a client with whom we are obviously not communicating, a client who is not helping in his own defense?”

  Sam shook his head. “Daniels won’t go for it. We’re on the third day of trial. He’s empaneled a jury. Huge costs to the taxpayer already. I can’t see him buying off on it unless Davonte himself makes the motion.”

  “Will he?”

  “I don’t know, Paul. I’ll call Davonte and have him meet us at the courthouse a little bit early.” Sam picked up his phone. “I’ll find out what the hell is going on here.”

  “I just think if there is any way we can abort this, we should do it,” Paul urged. “Let’s take our fee for what we’ve done to date and refund the rest to his mom. Short of an acquittal, we’re going to be defending ourselves on an ineffective assistance of counsel claim. Our malpractice insurance is going to go through the freaking roof!”

  “Paul, someone is whispering in his ear,” Sam said. “He’s nineteen years old. Not surprising that he’s going to talk with them.”

  “Yeah, well, when the jury reads that—”

  “The jury isn’t supposed to read that.”

  “Sam, don’t be naïve.”

  “Paul, that’s the rule. The judge has instructed the jurors to not read anything.”