by Al Macy
Bridget breathed deeply.
“Ms. Dundon?”
“She said, ‘I’m going to push him off a fucking cliff.’”
The translator hesitated and then translated, using the word “fucking” instead of something like “expletive.”
The gasps from the spectators, and the jurors, hit me like a punch to the gut. It was the reaction I’d feared, only worse. I didn’t let on, and neither did Jen. There’s a saying: The best trial lawyers are never caught off guard even when they're caught off guard. Never let them see you sweat.
Carly did a good job of hiding her emotions as well, although at close range her jaw muscle twitches were clear to me.
Finn nodded. “I’m going to repeat that so we can be sure that the translator—”
“Objection!” This time I was the one popping to my feet like a jack-in-the-box. “Asked and answered. The translator did fine. There is no need to repeat anything.”
“Sustained.”
Finn spent more time on it, trying to milk it for everything it was worth. It was a mistake. I would have sat down, allowing the phrase to sit in the minds of the jurors for as long as possible. Time and again, when jurors fill out questionnaires, one of the top complaints is that lawyers repeat themselves trying to hammer their points home. We got it the first time! they write.
Finally, Finn sat down.
My turn. “Ms. Dundon, when Carly said that, did you think she was serious? That she really wanted to kill her husband?”
“Objection! Calls for speculation.”
“Okay. Have you ever been mad at someone and said something that you didn’t mean? Like ‘I’m gonna strangle him’?”
Bridget knew where I was going and was happy to help. “Yes. Many times.”
“But you didn’t really want to strangle anyone, did you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“It was just a figure of speech, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Did you call the police when Carly said that?”
She frowned, genuinely puzzled. “No. Of course not.”
“Is that because you knew Carly didn’t really want to kill her husband?” I asked.
“Objection. Calls for speculation.”
“Not at all, Your Honor. I’m not asking Ms. Dundon to speculate about what Carly was thinking. I’m just asking about her own state of mind. Why she didn’t call the police.”
“I’ll allow it. Overruled.”
It was a little confusing with the translation going back and forth. Bridget said, “What was the question?”
“I asked why you didn’t call the police. Was it because you knew Carly didn’t really want to kill her husband?”
“Yes. Yes, exactly.”
“You knew that what she said was just a figure of speech. She didn’t mean it.”
“Objection as to form. Compound question.”
“Sustained.”
Fine with me. I got to drive home the point some more. “You knew that what she said was just a figure of speech.”
“Yes.”
“You knew that she didn’t really mean it.”
“Yes, yes! I knew she didn’t mean it.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” That was the way to leave your important point in the jurors’ minds. I had to resist the impulse to high-five with Jen. I saw the admiration in her eyes. Way to go, boss!
I glanced over at Finn. Nothing like kicking a little ass to relieve depression.
Not little. A nicely sized ass.
Chapter Seventeen
The heating system was still in overachiever mode, and I guessed the temperature in the courtroom was getting up toward the eighties. With the court staff, jurors, and spectators all sweating, it felt as if we were holding the trial in a locker room.
“Can’t they just switch it off?” Jen asked.
I shrugged. “This is the government.”
Finn stood. “The People call Ms. Jackie Rice to the stand.”
Ms. Rice had one of the strangest hairstyles I’ve seen. It was helmet hair, but not in the sense of being treated with so much hairspray that it could protect your head in case of a fall. Her hair resembled a black motorcycle helmet, with straight-across bangs and sides that came down and hugged the lines of her jaw. If she’d lifted it off and placed it on the railing, it wouldn’t have surprised me.
Finn ran through Ms. Rice’s background, probably expecting me to stipulate as to her experience. I kept my eyes on my pad. Finn tended to bore the jury, and I wasn’t going to help her speed things up. Next, she had the witness explain how modern computer browsers maintain a history of sites visited and searches made. She introduced People’s Exhibit 1, a printout of Carly’s browser history and Exhibit 2, a list of the files in the documents folder.
“Can you tell us, Ms. Rice, what struck you when you went through the browsing history?”
“Well, yes. She was obviously looking for ways to murder her—”
I stood. “Move to strike.”
The judge turned to the witness. “Ms. Rice, please report only what you saw and not any conclusions you reached. Is that clear?” She then instructed the jury to ignore the witness’s response.
Finn repeated the question.
“Well, she was—there were a lot of searches concerning how to kill someone. And how to get away with it.”
“I’ve highlighted some of those searches in yellow. Could you read them out to the court?”
“Yes, I can. Let’s see … ‘Best way to kill someone,’ ‘How to get away with murder,’ ‘Can you poison someone with a transdermal patch?’ ‘Undetectable poisons.’” Rice read about six more before Finn stopped her.
“Would those types of searches be consistent with someone who wanted to—”
“Objection. Leading. Calls for speculation.”
“Sustained. Ms. Finn, you’ve been warned.”
She’d made her point and continued to guide the witness through the different searches Carly’d performed and the websites she’d visited. Did she not notice the fidgeting going on in the jury box?
Finally, Finn sat.
I stood and moved to the lectern. “Ms. Rice, did you find any searches for how to push someone off a cliff?”
“No.”
“Anything on how far someone had to fall to die?”
“No, but maybe she—”
“Thank you. How about any research on the heights of cliffs along the Pacific? Tepona Point, for example?”
“Objection. Compound question.”
I looked at Finn. Really?
“Sustained.”
It wasn’t really worth objecting to, but it disrupted my rhythm. I asked the two questions separately and got a negative answer for each.
“Ms. Rice, what did you think of how Ms. Romero organized her computer?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re an expert on computers. You’ve seen the information on a lot of computers. Was Carly Romero’s well organized?”
“Objection as to relevance. Where is this going?”
“Your Honor, the relevance will become apparent very soon.”
“I’ll allow it,” Stevens said.
“It was very well organized. The files were where they should be, the desktop was neat, the Gmail in-box wasn’t stuffed with emails like I see with most people’s computers.”
“We’ve heard testimony that Ms. Romero graduated at the top of her class in college, would you say that her intelligence level is reflected in the organization of her computer?”
Finn stood again. “Your Honor, please. What possible relevance—”
“Let’s get to the point, Mr. Goodlove.”
“I will, Your Honor.”
“Yes,” Rice said, “I had the impression Ms. Romero was a smart person.”
“Thank you. Referring to People’s Exhibit 1, could you turn to page twelve?”
She picked up the sheaf of papers and paged through them.
; “Please read the second line on that page.”
“Uh … it says, ‘If you kill someone, don’t Google how to do it first.’”
The sigh of frustration that came from behind me suggested that Finn had just figured out where I was going.
I said, “That’s the title of a web page Ms. Romero visited, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me how long she spent on that website?”
“It was visible for eight minutes, although of course I can’t say how long she looked at it.”
“Fair enough. At this time, I’d like to introduce Defense Exhibit 1.” I took three copies of the printout and handed one each to Finn, the judge, and the witness. “Can you please read the title of the web page for the court?”
Rice cleared her throat. “‘If you kill someone, don’t Google how to do it first.’”
“Thank you. Could you read the text I’ve highlighted?”
“‘The defendant Googled “chemicals to passout a person,” “make someone pass out,” “how to suffocate someone,” “most reliable poisons,” and over fifty other searches related to murder. At trial, the defendant’s search history was used to not only convict her but also show that the murder was premeditated.’”
“Thank you. To be clear, this is a website talking about someone else’s trial. So when it talks about ‘the defendant,’ it’s talking about the defendant in that trial, does that sound right?”
“Yes.”
“And in that trial, someone was convicted based on his Google searches. Is that how you understand it?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Now, you’ve testified that Ms. Romero seemed smart and that she knew her way around a computer. If she were using her computer to search for ways to kill someone and she read that article, wouldn’t she delete her browsing history?”
“If she knew how to do it.”
“It’s pretty simple isn’t it?”
Rice looked at the prosecution table. “I guess it is.”
“Even if Ms. Romero didn’t know how to do it, she was probably smart enough to find out how.”
“Yes.”
“Could you speak up please?”
“Yes. But why else would she be researching methods of killing someone?”
I laughed. “That’s a good question. An excellent question. Let’s see if we can answer that, shall we?” God, I was having fun. Walking to the exhibit cart, I picked up People’s Exhibit 2, the list of Carly’s files, and asked to approach the witness. I gave it to her. “On page fifteen, tenth line down, could you read us the name of the file you see?”
“‘SJ.docx’?”
“Yes, that’s the one. Did you have a chance to examine that file?”
“Uh … not that I remember. Do you know how many files are on a computer?”
“Very many, I understand. It’s not at all surprising that you couldn’t examine them all. I have printed out the contents of that file, and I am introducing it as Defense Exhibit 2.”
Finn stood. “Your Honor, this is the first we’ve heard of … never mind.” She sat down again. She’d had the file in her possession, so she couldn’t complain.
I handed out the copies. “Could you read the top two lines?”
“‘Silent Justice. By Carly Goodlove Romero.’”
“Thank you. Please read the first four paragraphs out loud.” Normally, I’d avoid having a witness read such a long selection, but this one would keep them entertained.
Rice started reading. This is how Carly’s thriller began:
Gary Goodson only had a few minutes to live. The long string of days extending back to the day he was born was about to come to an end.
His plans for the night included only getting very drunk and getting very laid. This was his third date with Kathy, and she’d shown all the signs of being ready to go to bed with him. Hadn’t she? He probably should have been more insistent during their last date, but it didn’t matter. Tonight was the night.
Following his shower, he pulled the box of “Party Time” transdermal patches from the bathroom cabinet and took out the last one. He didn’t see the tiny hole in the foil casing, but he did notice that when he tore it open some liquid squirted onto the bathroom floor. That hadn’t happened with the other ones. He shook his head. So much for quality control. He removed the backing that covered the patch’s adhesive and applied the thing to his upper arm. No hangover for me. Googling told him the patches were just snake oil, but he didn’t care. They worked for him. They weren’t perfect, but his hangovers hadn’t been as bad since he got the patches.
It was when he pulled up his pants that he first noticed the weakness. They seemed to weigh twenty pounds. All his clothes seemed heavy, in fact, and breathing seemed to take a conscious effort, as if someone had strapped a belt around his chest. While contemplating this, he collapsed to the floor, knocking his head on the corner of his dresser and landing in a heap. What the hell is going on?
“That’s enough, thank you,” I said. “What do you think that was?”
“It seems to be the start of a book. Or some kind of a story.” The witness glanced at Finn.
Jen and I had read the first several chapters of the book. That’s all Carly had written so far. After Gary Goodson died, we were introduced to the book’s main character, an LA police detective who was strong, good looking, and deaf. She was called to the crime scene and made sure the techs collected the small spot of yellow goo on the bathroom floor.
“You think the name is significant?” Jen had asked me.
“What do you mean?”
“Gary Goodson, Garrett Goodlove. I zink maybe vee have here some unconscious hostility, ya?”
I’d smiled. “Maybe, Sigmund.”
In court, I thanked Ms. Rice for her reading. She actually had a flair for drama and a pleasing voice. She could probably make a living narrating audiobooks. “Ms. Rice, what would you say is happening in the beginning of that scene, perhaps drawing on your expertise as a crime investigator?”
“It’s obviously some kind of a thriller. It starts by saying a man only has a few minutes to live. Then he puts on some kind of transdermal patch, but it seems that someone has tampered with the patch. Then he collapses.”
“Very good. Why do you think he collapsed?”
She had a Duh! expression on her face. Like I’m a professional. Of course I get it. “It’s obvious that someone put some kind of poison in the patch that he put on his arm.”
“Thank you. Now, can you reread line … forty-seven in People’s Exhibit 1?”
It took her a bit to find the relevant page. “Uh … ‘Can you poison someone with a transdermal patch?’”
“That was something Ms. Romero searched for?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. I guess we know now why Carly was searching all those terms.”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“No further questions.”
Jen and I had argued about what to do with that evidence. Often, when you have some exculpatory information, the first impulse is to bring it to the attention of the DA’s office, hoping they won’t want to proceed with the case. That is, they’ll dismiss the charges. However, that impulse can be misguided. The danger is that it will just tip them off to your strategy and give them an advantage at trial.
But Finn’s team had the laptop, and we’d gambled they wouldn’t look at the file containing her work in progress. They hadn’t, giving us a chance to detonate an unsuspected improvised explosive device in the heart of their case.
* * *
Judge Stevens was melting, her thin, old-lady hair now wilted like waterlogged angel hair pasta. It was time for her to announce the lunch break. A man in blue coveralls bustled up the aisle and went straight to the bench. He whispered something to the judge then turned and left.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Stevens said, “due to a problem with the heating system, we will stand a
djourned until tomorrow morning at nine.” She cracked the gavel.
Another good break for our team. The jurors would have all night to think about how the prosecution had overreached, trying to make mountains out of what turned out to be molehills.
Once the prosecution rests, the defense usually makes a motion to dismiss the charges, arguing that the state has failed to prove its case. If this is all they have, this nightmare could be over in a day or two.
I started second-guessing my decision not to disclose the reason for the web searches earlier. Maybe they would have dropped the charges then. On the other hand, they might have gone ahead anyway, relying on the testimony from the eyewitness and Bridget Dundon. They would have avoided the day’s crippling setback that made them look like incompetent clowns.
I expected dejected looks at the prosecution table, and Crawford indeed sat slouched, scowling at the floor. Finn, however, looked fresh as a shamrock and wore a Mona Lisa smile. She’d tied her hair up into a bun, less hot than having it insulate the back of her neck, I guessed. She caught me looking and gave a little flick of her head: Come and see me.
I nodded.
Carly wrote, What does she want?
I scribbled, Probably wants a plea deal.
“No!”
I signed back, “Okay.”
I hung back after Carly, Jen, and most everyone else had left the courtroom then went over to Finn’s table. She was standing, putting her papers in the briefcase.
She smiled. “How about dinner tonight?”
“We’re not interested in a plea deal.”
She looked around as if she’d heard voices and couldn’t tell where they were coming from. “Did someone say, ‘plea deal’? I sure didn’t.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”
“So, how about dinner? My treat. And I promise there will be no pleas, at least none related to the case.” She winked.
What the hell did that mean? “Are you about to wrap up your case?”
“Pretty soon.”
“Yeah, I better take a rain check. For after the trial.”
She shook her finger at me. “Garrett, didn’t your mother tell you never to delay gratification?”
“Uh … no, actually.” I laughed. “That’s the opposite of something she might have said. I’m pretty sure no mothers say that.”