Thirteen_The serial killer isn’t on trial. He’s on the jury

by Steve Cavanagh

  There was too much at stake for Kane. He couldn’t take the chance that everything might fall apart in the jury room. He had to deal with his problem before it got that far.

  And Kane knew exactly what to do with Spencer and Manuel.

  CARP LAW

  * * *

  Suite 421, Condé Nast Building, 4 Times Square, New York, NY.

  Strictly Confidential,

  Attorney Client Work Product

  Juror Memo

  The People -v- Robert Solomon

  Manhattan Criminal Court

  Elizabeth (Betsy) Muller

  Age: 35

  Housewife. Five children under ten years of age. Husband is construction engineer. Karate instructor on weekends. Republican. Old parking ticket violations (not exclusionary to jury service). Finances tight. Refurbs furniture and sells on eBay. Social media – Facebook and Instagram – mainly martial arts and MMA related.

  Probability of Not Guilty vote: 45%

  Arnold L. Novoselic

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I left Bobby in the medical bay and headed back to the courtroom. A clerk had called and told the medic Harry wanted to see me and the prosecutor in his chambers.

  When I returned to the courtroom I found a single laptop sitting on the defense table. My own, with a zip file sitting ready to be opened: the case papers. At least I still had the files.

  “Hey, mind if I stick around?” said a voice.

  Arnold Novoselic took a seat at the table, and slammed a big paper file down next to my computer.

  “I thought you’d be out the door with Carp,” I said.

  Pushing back his chair, Arnold faced me and said, “My fee has been paid in advance. I can walk anytime. But a jury consultant is only as good as his last case. You know that. I have to see this one through. Maybe I can help, I don’t know. I’ve never walked out of a case before. I’m tempted with this one.”

  “I’m tempted to fire you, but it’s not like I don’t have an opening on the defense team. Plus, you were the first guy to help Bobby when he had his attack just now,” I said.

  “I have my moments of weakness,” said Arnold. He opened up his file and handed me a document.

  “This is our revised juror list. There are bios for each juror. I adjusted it this morning after we got the news,” he said.

  “What news?”

  “Well, I had to add in the name of the alternate juror. See, one of the original jurors, Brenda Kowolski, got run over last night. She’s dead. The cops are suspicious about it. I saw a lieutenant go and see the judge this morning.”

  “Shit.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Arnold. “The clerk’s looking for you. Pryor’s already in there, waiting. Do your best to persuade the judge not to sequester.”

  “You trying to tell me how to do my job?” I said.

  “No, but I don’t trust you. And you don’t like me. Let’s start with honesty and go from there,” he said.

  I nodded, and let Arnold spread out his papers and files on the desk. Arnold and I didn’t get along. Jury consultants were a necessary evil in big trials. They cost a fortune, and it was never clear how much they affected the outcome anyway.

  However, Arnold was right about one thing. Sequestration of a jury was the worst thing that could happen in a trial and neither side wanted it. You take weeks, months, scoping out your ideal jurors. Usually, the defense looked for creative types. People who could show some imagination. The prosecution wanted drone bees. People who did what they were told for a living and didn’t complain about it. And each side tried to fill the jury with their kind of people.

  The defense wants thinkers.

  The DA wants soldiers.

  But what each side really wants is a juror who makes up their own damn mind by listening to the lawyers and witnesses. A jury is meant to be a collection of free minds, diverse and representative of the people of that area.

  When a jury becomes closeted up, cut off from the outside world under sequestration – their minds change. They spend so much time together in a situation which isn’t part of their normal lives. The jury comes together as a whole. They form a pack. Us against them. And the “them” is usually the judicial system which says they can’t watch TV, or read a newspaper, or go home while the trial is running. The jury cease to be individuals and turn into a hive mind.

  And that didn’t suit either the defense or the DA, because no one ever knew which way a sequestered jury would go. Wherever they went, it would likely be fast. They’re normally so bored, and fed up with the trial and the isolation that they give their verdict swiftly just to end the ordeal. Guilty or not guilty doesn’t matter. Whatever is quickest to get the thing finished so they can go home.

  The clerk signaled to me as she stood at the door leading to the back corridor. I walked up through the witness stand, past the judge’s chair and followed her out of the courtroom and along a cold hallway to a room. Pryor leaned against the wall outside Harry’s office. The clerk knocked on the door once, then let us both in.

  Pryor said nothing until the door opened to Harry’s chambers.

  “How’s your client?” he said.

  “He’ll be fine,” I said.

  “Come in and sit down,” said Harry, before Pryor could speak again.

  Judges’ chambers were a reflection of their personality, but it was also a formal venue for proceedings so there was a limit on how much they were allowed to make it their own. Apart from a few pictures of Harry in uniform in Vietnam, and a framed, signed picture of him with Mick Jagger, there were no other personal items on display.

  The clerk took a seat at a small desk in the corner. Pryor and I sat down in leather chairs in front of Harry’s desk. We waited while Harry poured coffee for all of us, including the clerk. He sat down behind his desk and made room for his elbows by shifting some papers to the side. Harry leaned forward and took the coffee cup in both hands.

  “Carp has left the building, that’s our first problem. Eddie, I take it you need a continuance,” he said.

  “Maybe not,” I said. “I’ve prepped for most of the police witnesses, and some of the experts. I was always going to handle those witnesses. As long as Mr. Pryor doesn’t give me any surprises today I should be good to go. If we deal with police witnesses and experts up until Friday, that gives me time to prep for the civilian witnesses over the weekend.”

  “Speaking of witnesses, I’ve read both of your witness lists. Art, you’ve got thirty-five witnesses here. Eddie, twenty-seven. I take it you’re bullshitting each other. I’ve read the trial bundle and I’d say, Art, you could prosecute this case on five, six witnesses at most. Eddie, I have no idea who half of the people are on your list. I appreciate Rudy drew up the list. But come on, seriously, who the hell is Gary Cheeseman?”

  With trial witness lists – it was a game. You put everybody you could possibly think of on the list just in case you might need them. Plus, you put down some extra bodies just to mess with your opponents and get them to waste time chasing their tails.

  “Look, Harry, I’m not going through my list and discussing the merits of each witness. If Art cuts back on his list, great. I will too. I know what you mean, look, we’re grandstanding here with these lists. If we cut the bullshit we can get through this trial in a week and a half,” I said.

  “No. We’re cutting the list and we’re going to aim to finish this trial by Friday,” said Harry.

  “Friday? Well, that is ambitious,” said Pryor.

  We all took a moment. Drank coffee. Harry put down his cup and interlaced his fingers, elbows on the desk. He leaned his chin softly on the arch made by his hands and said, “I’ve sequestered the jury. It’s within my judicial discretion to do so, and I don’t want any arguments about it because I won’t change my mind. I’m worried.”

  “Because of Ms. Kowolski? Surely that was just an unfortunate, tragic accident,” said Pryor.

  “I had NYPD in here this morning and they’re
pretty sure Ms. Kowolski was targeted. She was a librarian, she was well known in the community and well respected. No apparent motive. Other than the fact that she was sitting on this jury.”

  “That’s a reach, in my opinion, Judge,” said Pryor.

  “In here, it’s Harry. And maybe it is a reach. But if I don’t sequester this jury and something happens to another juror …”

  “Do what you think is right, Harry. Did the police say why they think she was targeted?” I said.

  “No, but they’re working on it. So, gentlemen, go check your witness lists. Cut it down. If you call a witness that I don’t believe is essential, you’ll get it in the neck from me. The longer this trial goes on, the more this jury is in the spotlight. Who are you calling first, Art?” said Harry.

  “Lead detective. With opening statements, we’d do well to finish his testimony today,” he said.

  Harry nodded and said, “I heard your client had some kind of epileptic fit. Is he okay?”

  “I think so. The sooner this trial is over, the better.”

  We left Harry’s chambers together. The clerk stayed behind to prep the judge’s files. We knew our way out and didn’t need an escort.

  “Just out of curiosity, who is Gary Cheeseman? My ADAs have been searching the internet, we just can’t find any experts or anyone remotely connected to this crime with that name. Surprisingly, there’s quite a few Gary Cheesemans in the US. I’d love to know why he just popped up on the list yesterday,” said Pryor.

  “I may not need to call him. That’s all I can say for now.”

  “Well, I knew I’d get a good game from Rudy. Shame he’s pulled out. I sure hope you don’t disappoint.”

  I shook my head. Guys like Pryor sickened me. He was in this trial for the juice, and a check. Everyone eventually gets desensitized to dead bodies, tragedies, and the horrible things people did to one another. This was different. This wasn’t cynicism, or anything close to it. It was just plain sick. Years ago, before I became a lawyer, I’d sworn that if I ever got used to looking at murder scenes without feeling anything for the victims – that was the time to quit.

  “Look, I get it. You want to win. Fine. This isn’t a pissing contest Pryor, two people are dead.”

  “And when this trial is over they’ll still be dead,” said Pryor.

  I opened the door at the end of the corridor and stepped inside the courtroom. It was filled. Packed to the rafters with reporters, channel news anchors, and fans of Ariella Bloom and even a few of Bobby’s fans. It was a Goddamn circus.

  Pryor followed me into the courtroom, looked around at the full gallery and said, “You’re wrong about one thing. This is a pissing contest. When it’s all said and done, it comes down to who has the best lawyer. Your breeches are long enough for you to understand that, son. And come Friday, it’s going to be me standing in front of those cameras, proclaiming justice for those victims. I haven’t lost a case in twenty years. I’m not going to lose this one.”

  He beamed at the gallery with those pearly whites and stood in the well of the court, hands clasped above his head, already preparing for his victory. The crowd applauded. There were some whistles and hissing from Bobby’s fans – but not many. Arnold had brought Bobby into court, and both of them sat patiently at the defense table. Bobby looked pale, and a fine sheen of sweat sat on his forehead. I took a seat next to him.

  “Looks like everyone is against me,” said Bobby.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “By the time we’re done today, things will have turned around. Forget these people. The only people who matter in this court are the jury. As long as they’re fair, we’ll be okay.”

  “Speaking of the jury, have you read the up-to-date list?” said Arnold.

  I unfolded the list he’d given to me and started reading. Time to get to know this jury. Twelve jurors. Twelve minds. Not the best jury I could’ve hoped for. Certainly not the worst. Three days to make them mine. My cell phone buzzed. Text message from Harper.

  Meet me and Delaney at recess. We’ve found more victims.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  As Kane took his seat in the jury stand, he jostled for position with Rita. She moved along, let him take a seat. He was the last juror in the back row. Closest to the exit. Spencer sat in front of him, in a lowered seat, slightly to his right. If Kane looked directly at the witness stand in front of him, he could easily gaze over Spencer’s shoulder.

  Perfect.

  The jury were given a trial bundle in a red lever-arch file together with some pens and a notebook. Judge Ford instructed the jury to place the bundles at their feet and that they would be directed to the relevant page by him or counsel, as and when required. They were free to take notes.

  Most of the women, with the exception of Cassandra, held their notebooks open and pens at the ready. Spencer too. Only Manuel held his notebook on his lap and put his new pen between his teeth. The other men placed everything on the floor, spread their legs as wide as politely permissible, and folded their arms.

  The voices of the people in the public seats rose to a clatter. There was excitement in the room. Courtroom junkies, true-crime novelists, journalists, and TV reporters all yakking to each other. Little details had been given out about the murder. Just the basics. It proved enough to set the dailies on fire. They had just enough information to run and rerun a story – but no real details. Kane already knew it had been dubbed “The Trial Of The Century” by the Washington Post. Most agreed. That is, until the next big celebrity murder trial came along. Until then, as far as New York and the rest of the country were concerned, this was big news. Nightly news.

  The judge called for silence, and the noise from the crowd abated. Kane scanned the crowd – plenty of Ariella’s family were in attendance. Kane glanced over toward the defense table. No Rudy Carp. Just Flynn, the defendant and Arnold Novoselic, the jury consultant.

  Something was going on. Maybe Solomon had fired his other lawyers, and just hired Flynn. That would be a bad mistake, thought Kane.

  The prosecution went first. Kane liked this part the most.

  Pryor rose to his feet and placed himself in the center of the courtroom, facing the jury. Kane could smell his aftershave from way back. It was a strong odor, but not unpleasant. Before he spoke, Kane could see the prosecutor enjoying the silence. Every set of eyes in the room fell upon him.

  With one step toward the jury, like a dancer moving with the first beat of the song, Pryor began his opening statement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’ve had the pleasure of speaking to some of you yesterday, during voir dire, but I thought I should introduce myself. My momma always told me that was polite. So, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Art Pryor. I want you to remember my name, because I’m here to make you three promises.”

  Kane sat up straight and noticed others on the jury did likewise. He watched Pryor hold up his index finger.

  “One, I promise I will present facts to you which prove that Robert Solomon murdered Ariella Bloom and Carl Tozer in cold blood. I’m not going to speculate, I’m not going to theorize, I’m going to show you the truth.”

  Pryor held up two fingers.

  “Two, I promise to show you that Robert Solomon lied to the police about his movements on the night of the murders. He told police he got home around midnight. We will prove he lied about that crucial piece of evidence to hide his involvement in these murders.”

  Three fingers.

  “Three, I promise to show you hard, forensic evidence which places Robert Solomon at the scene of the murder. I will show you his fingerprints and DNA on an object that was inserted into Carl Tozer’s throat after he was murdered.”

  A shiver of pleasure rippled through Kane. Pryor was giving a mesmerizing performance. The best he’d ever seen. When Pryor eventually let his arm fall to his side, Kane resisted the urge to applaud. Pryor’s voice was filled with empathy and compassion for the victims, and righteous anger when he mentioned
Solomon’s name.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I will keep my promises. My dear old momma would turn in her grave if I failed in that duty. This case is about sex, money and revenge. Robert Solomon found his wife in bed with their head of security, Carl Tozer. He knew they’d been having an affair and that the marriage was over. He caved in Carl Tozer’s head with a baseball bat, and then took a knife and plunged it into his wife’s body, over and over and over again. He folded a dollar bill, and placed it in Tozer’s throat. Maybe he believed Tozer wanted Ariella’s money? And he was not about to let that happen. If Ariella died, the defendant would inherit all of her money. All thirty-two million.

  “I will show you he lied to the police. I will give you forensics which prove he is the killer. After that, it’s over to you. You and only you have the power to give these victims the justice that they so richly deserve. You can’t bring them back, but you can give them peace. You can find Robert Solomon guilty.”

  Pryor walked back to the prosecution table, and Kane watched him the whole way. He saw him remove his handkerchief and wipe his mouth. As if he was taking the anger from his lips. Most of the public gallery applauded. The judge silenced them.

  Leaning forward, ever so slightly, Kane saw the notes that Spencer had written on his pad. He took a long look, noting the style, the size, and the key features of certain letters. When he returned his back to the upright seat, Kane looked around the jury stand. His fellow jurors were letting that wave of emotion sink in. Some nodded, probably without knowing it.

  Damn, this guy was good, thought Kane.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Harry had been right. Pryor was a real courtroom pro. I listened to his opening statement and watched the jury carefully.

  When he’d finished, I looked at Bobby. He was shivering. He leaned over and said, “This is all lies. If Carl and Ari were sleeping together, I didn’t know. I swear to God, Eddie. This is bullshit.”