Talon shook her head. “What should they have done?”
“They should have sent the bullet to one analyst, with a control bullet,” St. Julian answered. “They should have sent the casings to another analyst, again with known control casings from a different handgun. And they never should have told either of them why they were asking, or what case it was for, or whether it was even for a case rather than just a random quality control check for the lab to keep its accreditation.”
“They could have done all that, couldn’t they?” Talon asked.
“Of course they could have,” St. Julian answered.
“Why didn’t they?”
St. Julian paused. “I can’t say for certain, but I have an opinion.”
Talon suppressed a smile. “What is your opinion based on?”
“My years of experience as a forensics ballistics examiner, including my time as the supervisor for the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab.”
“Anything else?”
“And my personal examination of the evidence in this case,” St. Julian added.
“And what is your opinion?”
St. Julian turned to the jury. This needed to have its full force. “The crime lab was created to solve crimes. Detectives send evidence there to solve crimes. Analysts draw conclusions to solve crimes. In this case, Mr. Langston gave the detectives what they wanted. He solved the crime.”
“But?” Talon prodded.
“But he was wrong.”
Talon closed her binder. The script was finished. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
She returned to her seat and St. Julian squared her shoulders to the prosecution table. Kirchner looked there as well. “Cross-examination?”
Quinlan hesitated, then stood up. “Uh, could we have a brief recess, Your Honor?”
Wow, thought Talon. Did it go that well? Objecting was like saying ‘ouch’ in front of the jury, even if it sometimes had to be done. But asking for a recess before cross-examining a witness? That was like holding up a severed limb and asking if it was noticeable.
But it was smart, maybe. It would give Quinlan a few minutes to gather his thoughts and plan an attack. After all, prosecutors were way more used to directing witnesses they called than crossing defense witnesses. A lot of criminal defendants never called any witnesses. And good cross-examination was difficult even with practice. Plus, it would provide an opportunity for St. Julian’s testimony to fade a bit from the jury’s mind.
At least it would have, if Judge Kirchner had granted the recess.
“No recess, counsel,” she responded. “The witness is on the stand and the jury is in the box. Do you have any questions?”
“Uh, yes,” Quinlan replied weakly. “Yes, Your Honor.”
He could hardly let that testimony stand. But he didn’t seem to know how to attack it either.
“You’re getting paid by the defense, isn’t that true, Ms. St. Julian?”
That was weak, but predictable. Make her look like she’s a paid mouthpiece. Or, in less polite terms, a whore.
“I’m paid for my time, not my opinions,” St. Julian replied. “Just as part of Mr. Langston’s job duties are to testify when called by the State. That doesn’t mean he provides a particular opinion in exchange for money. And neither do I.”
Quinlan thought for a moment. “And now that you’re retired from the crime lab, you testify only for the defense, is that right?”
“Now that I’m retired?” St. Julian confirmed. “Well, yes. The prosecution gives its work to the crime lab and calls those analysts as witnesses. I have been consulted by the State, but when I am, and when I provide an opinion such as the one I provided here, the prosecution doesn’t usually proceed.”
Talon had to keep herself from clapping. Quinlan needed to watch himself or he was going to lose another limb.
He seemed to sense it.
“Uh, so you disagree with Mr. Langston?” he tried, a bit softer.
“I do,” St, Julian answered, not softer at all.
“But experts can disagree, correct?” Quinlan tried. “That’s not completely uncommon, is it?”
St. Julian thought for a moment. “No, it’s not uncommon. In fact, it’s part of science for experts to disagree and then try to figure out why.”
“And a jury is free to choose which expert to believe,” Quinlan said, “isn’t that true?”
Talon started to rise to object. It was inappropriate to ask a witness to tell the jury how they should deliberate. Jury deliberations were sacrosanct. Lawyers weren’t even supposed to suggest how to deliberate in their closing arguments. But she sat down again. Anastasia St. Julian had it.
“A jury is supposed to decide whether the prosecution proved each and every element of the charge beyond a reasonable doubt,” she answered. “They should keep that in mind when deciding whether to believe an analyst employed by law enforcement whose conclusions are demonstrably inaccurate.”
Quinlan blinked at the answer. He turned to McDaniels. She had nothing.
“No further questions,” he conceded.
Kirchner looked to Talon. “Any re-direct examination?”
Oh, hell, no, Talon thought. But she stood up. “No, Your Honor. Thank you.”
Kirchner looked to St. Julian. “You’re excused.” Then back to Talon. “Any further witnesses?”
Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Michael Jameson to say he didn’t do it.
Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Ricky Jameson to say he was the shooter.
Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls …
“No, Your Honor. The defense rests.”
Now it was time for that release.
Chapter 41
Closing arguments were scheduled for the next morning. Again, a professional courtesy to allow the attorneys time to collect their thoughts, prepare their comments, organize their exhibits.
And work off their anxiety.
In that order. Roughly.
Talon sent Michael and Alicia home to spend time with each other. If there was a quick verdict, and if it was a conviction, Michael would be arrested in the courtroom, his bail revoked by the verdict. He wouldn’t get out again.
She thanked St. Julian in the hallway. Profusely. If she was only going to call one witness, she couldn’t have asked for a better one.
She ignored Quinlan and McDaniels. Screw them. They were the enemy. She wasn’t going to shake hands. Not unless it was an acquittal and she made them shake hers.
And she told Curt to be at her office at 6:00 p.m. sharp. He didn’t ask why. Good boy.
It was a sort of ritual of hers when she was in trial. The night before, she needed the edge off. In the past, she had always been dating someone or another, so there had never been an issue. But since she was fired from Gardelli High, her life had been turned upside down. She’d been so busy with Michael’s case, and her own, she hadn’t even tried to date, Kyle the barista notwithstanding.
But Curt would do.
In fact, he would more than do.
That was the part that scared her.
He arrived at exactly 6:00. Everyone else had already gone home for the night. Even Olson, although Talon had to shoo him out of the office for fear he might linger after hours as he was wont to do.
Curt walked directly into her office. He didn’t ask why he was there. He didn’t say anything at all. He wasn’t stupid. But he was gorgeous. Dressed for business in a tight T-shirt and perfect jeans.
He closed the door behind him. She got out of her chair and sat on the edge of her desk, spreading her skirt and her legs to him. He stepped up to her and put his arms around her waist. But when he leaned in to kiss her, she turned her face away. Instead, she grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his face into her neck.
A few deft moves later, her skirt was above her hips and his pants were around his ankles. It was quick and it was rough. Talon looked at herself in that mirror on the wall. She looked at them both. They looked good.
/> He finished first. But he didn’t stop. He pulled his face from her neck and looked into her eyes. She wanted to look away, but didn’t. He lowered his hand and made sure she finished too, their eyes locked the entire time.
When her body stopped wracking, he pulled himself away from her, his eyes the last thing to let go. He pulled up his pants, then leaned in again to kiss her.
She let him.
He stopped at the door and smiled. It lit up his entire face. And hers. “I’ll see you in court, Ms. Winter.”
Chapter 42
The next morning the courtroom was packed. Alicia had been there every day. Curt had come a few times. St. Julian had watched Langston’s testimony. But otherwise, the courtroom had been mostly empty throughout the trial, save the participants. Not every murder case caught the public interest. But most of them did catch the attention of the prosecutor’s office, and the local defense bar, and the police. So it was only natural they would show up for the big show at the end: closing arguments.
Junior prosecutors and senior detectives came to watch Quinlan and McDaniels. Curious defense attorneys came to see the new defense attorney doing that cold case murder trial. A few others probably just followed the crowd in. Either way, every seat in the courtroom was taken.
Quinlan and McDaniels seemed nonplussed. Talon wasn’t about to let it affect her either. Michael seemed a bit disquieted. But it was the jurors who were truly surprised when they walked out from the jury room to a sea of expectant faces, all standing when they entered.
If they had perhaps concluded from the heretofore empty courtroom that no one cared about this case after all, that notion was dispatched immediately. It was evident on their faces. There was a human tendency to normalize things and try to get comfortable. Photos of murdered teenagers gave way to bonding with fellow jurors, stories about weekend activities, and jokes with the bailiff about the morning’s donut selection. But that time was over. It was back to work.
Judge Kirchner bade the jurors to sit, then explained what was about to happen.
Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the point in the trial where the parties are ready to deliver their closing arguments. Prior to that happening, I am going to instruct you on the law. The bailiff will hand you each a copy of the jury instructions. I want you to read along as I read these out loud to you.”
There were 34 different instructions, Talon knew. She and Michael had copies too. So did Quinlan and McDaniels. They were taken from the Washington Pattern Instructions for Criminal cases. What the lawyers called ‘the Whi-Picks.’ They were the statements of the law that governed every type of case, from driving on a suspended license to murder in the first degree. The language had been proposed by a committee of prosecutors and defense attorneys and approved by the State Supreme Court. Judge Kirchner wouldn’t deviate a single word from the pattern instructions.
But there were 34 of them that applied to Michael Jameson’s case. It would take almost an hour for the judge to read them all out loud. The jurors would follow along, but the lawyers wouldn’t. They would be going over their notes, readying themselves one last time before they stood up to speak to the jurors one last time. Talon was only half-aware of the some of the more important phrases and sentences the judge was reading:
“A defendant is presumed innocent. This presumption continues throughout the entire trial unless, during your deliberations, you find it has been overcome beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“A reasonable doubt may arise from the evidence or lack of evidence.”
“The defendant is not required to testify. You may not use the fact that the defendant has not testified to infer guilt or to prejudice him in any way.”
“You are the sole judges of the credibility of each witness.”
“The law does not distinguish between direct and circumstantial evidence. One is not necessarily more or less valuable than the other.”
“A person commits the crime of murder in the first degree when, with a premeditated intent to cause the death of another person, he or she causes the death of such person, or any third person.”
“A person also commits the crime of murder in the first degree when, under circumstances manifesting an extreme indifference to human life, he or she engages in conduct which creates a grave risk of death to any person and thereby cause the death of any person.”
“You have nothing whatever to do with any punishment that may be imposed in case of a violation of the law. You may not consider the fact that punishment may follow conviction, except insofar as it may tend to make you careful.”
“As jurors, you are officers of the court. You must act impartially, with an earnest desire to reach a proper verdict.”
“Because this is a criminal case, each of you must agree for you to return a verdict. When all of you have so agreed, fill in the verdict form to express your decision and notify the bailiff. The bailiff will bring you into court to declare your verdict.”
Judge Kirchner paused upon completing the reading of the instructions. She set aside her copy of the instructions and took a sip of water. Then she looked up to address the jurors again.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, now please give your attention to Mr. Quinlan who will deliver the closing argument on behalf of the prosecution.”
Chapter 43
“Justice delayed. Or justice denied.” Quinlan began. “Those are your choices.”
He stood directly in front of the jury box. His hands folded in front of him. Navy suit, white shirt, red tie. He looked every bit the part of dedicated District Attorney. People trusted their D.A. At least, they wanted to.
“Twenty-five years ago, the defendant,” he turned and pointed, “Michael Jameson shot and killed Jordan McCabe. Did he do it intentionally, wanting to leave Jordy to bleed to death in the middle of Cushman Avenue? Or did he not care what happened, just firing into a crowd of kids standing there that night, indifferent—extremely indifferent—to whether he hit anyone? Actually, it doesn’t matter. Either way he’s guilty of murder in the first degree. Either way, he needs to be held responsible. He needs to be brought to justice.”
Quinlan moved from his starting spot, centered before the jury, and began a slow, thoughtful pace.
“Let’s go over what the witnesses said,” he continued.
Talon breathed a little sigh of relief. His beginning had been strong. Catchy, direct, memorable. But now Quinlan was going to do what so many mediocre trial attorneys did: go over the evidence, witness by witness. As if the jurors hadn’t been there, too, the whole trial.
“Remember what Joanne McCabe-Johnson told you,” he began his summary. “Her son Jordy was a good kid, who liked computers and hanging out with his friends. And she identified his body the night he was murdered.”
Quinlan reached the end of the jury box and turned back to pace in the other direction. “Remember what Detective Halcomb told you,” he said. “They ran out of suspects and the case went cold.”
Quinlan stopped again at his original starting point. “Remember what Detective Jefferson told you. Twenty-five years later, a handgun was recovered from the defendant’s home.”
Talon frowned slightly. That wasn’t exactly accurate.
“And remember,” Quinlan finished, “what Arnold Langston told you. The weapon from the defendant’s home was the same one that killed Jordy McCabe.”
Yep, Talon thought. That was the State’s case in a nutshell. If the jury believed it, Michael was sunk. So the question wasn’t whether the witnesses said that—they did. It was whether the witnesses were compelling. Whether the jury believed the witnesses. And whether they believed them enough.
So Quinlan, wisely, addressed the weaknesses in his case.
“Now, there may be some questions you still have,” he said. “Most importantly, why did this happen? What was the motive?”
He nodded. “We always want to know the motive. Heck, that’s one of the ways detectives identify suspects. Who had a motive? But the one thin
g we actually don’t have to prove is motive. We have to prove what happened, and who did it, but we don’t have to prove why. Put another way, if you know what happened and who did it, you don’t need to know why. You still vote guilty.
“Why was Jordy McCabe murdered that night so many years ago?” Quinlan shook his head. “We might never know. But we don’t have to. Because we know who did it. The defendant, Michael Jameson.”
Talon knew why it happened. But the jury didn’t. Quinlan didn’t want them to know his victim was a drug dealer. Fine with Talon. They didn’t know Michael was either. He might not have to prove motive, but if the lack of motive left a reasonable doubt…
Quinlan continued. “There was also a disagreement between the experts in this case. But really it was only an apparent disagreement. When you really look at their testimony, they actually agreed where it really mattered.”
Talon raised an eyebrow. Oh, really?
“Both of them agreed the defendant’s weapon was exactly the type of weapon that shot the bullets that killed Jordy McCabe,” Quinlan said. “The only difference was that Ms. St. Julian said she couldn’t find enough evidence to link that particular gun to those particular ballistics. But Arnold Langston could. And that only makes sense. Ms. St. Julian retired several years ago. Science marches on and technologies improve. Of course, the person who’s still doing this every day and who’s completely up-to-date on all the latest advancements is going to be able to see more. And he told you, Michael Jameson’s gun fired the shot that killed Jordy McCabe.”
Talon had to hand it to Quinlan. That was about the best possible way to spin the experts’ testimony. But prosecutors weren’t really supposed to ‘spin’ evidence. She determined to make him pay for it when she got her chance to stand up.
“Finally, one thing you may struggle with,” Quinlan said, “is the fact that you don’t know exactly what happened out there that night. This is a very important decision. In fact, it’s hard to imagine a more important decision than the one you’re facing. It’s only natural you would want to know every last answer to every last question. But you know what? You won’t have that. And you don’t need it.”
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