by J J Miller
The court monitor came to life, and Jessica maneuvered the touchpad of her laptop to bring the clip up before she hit play. Jessica paused the video as Connors approached the car and asked Detective Bayer to explain what reason Mr. Connors had to attempt a “hood prank”. At the end of the video, Jessica resumed her direct examination.
“Detective Bayer, why is this video relevant to this case?”
“Several reasons. We believe this video post cost Toby Connors his life.”
“How so?”
“The person in that clip who put a gun to Mr. Connors’ head is a member of the Sintown Crips. After Mr. Connors posted this clip to his YouTube channel, he received death threats from people who wanted him to take it down.”
“We have some of those threats on the screen now. Jurors please look at the monitor. These are the comments or threats that you investigated, aren’t they Detective Bayer?”
“Yes.”
“Can you please read them for the court?”
“Certainly. ‘Your choice bro—take it down or die’ that has a gun emoji there. The second reads: ‘Yr dumb white ass gonna pay for this shit. U dead’ the third reads: ‘U fuck with the Crips gonna cost you your life.’”
“Were you able to determine whether these threats were real or not?”
“Some were very real. We identified two users making these threats as associates of the Sintown Crips. That line of inquiry is part of the ongoing investigation I mentioned earlier. But there were a few social media platforms on which Mr. Connors was threatened.”
“Did he take these threats seriously?”
“We interviewed his girlfriend. She told us he thought they were genuine, but he didn’t want to take the video down until it had gone viral and drove up his subscribers.”
“Is this video still live on Mr. Connors channel?”
“No, it is not. It was taken down.”
“It was deleted from his channel?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The day he was murdered.”
“Detective Bayer, do you think it’s possible more than one person was responsible for both murders?”
“It is possible but for that to be true, they would have had to exchange the gun at some point. Now that could be a sale in which the defendant purchased the gun off someone else. Or perhaps another member of the gang shot Mr. Connors and then delivered the gun to the defendant. But, given the facts we have at hand, the eye-witness accounts, and the background to these murders, it is highly unlikely anyone other than the defendant played a role in the fatal shootings of Mr. Connors and Mr. Jameson.”
“You’re saying the defendant Demarco Torrell killed them both?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” I called. “This calls for speculation.”
“Sustained,” said Judge Garner.
“Okay, I’ll rephrase,” Jessica said. “Is there any evidence the defendant killed both men to avenge the honor of a criminal street gang?
“Yes, there is. We heard the defendant confess to his crime.”
“Who did he confess to?”
“A fellow member of the Sintown Crips.”
“But the defendant claims he had left the Sintown Crips.”
“Yes, I know. But we secretly recorded a telephone call he made to a member of the Sintown Crips while being detained in Juvenile Hall. In that telephone call, he laughs off the murders and seeks assurance that he will be looked after in prison.”
“Let’s play the tape—exhibit number two-zero-nine.”
I watched the jury’s reaction to the video carefully. It was as bad as I’d expected. After the clip was finished, many of the jurors looked at Demarco in a way I hadn’t yet seen. I could see their impression of him had hardened. It was now not only plausible; it was almost irresistible for them to regard this seventeen-year-old black boy as a cold-blooded killer. Jessica had driven a nail into Demarco’s coffin that I feared could not be pulled out.
“No further questions, Your Honor,” she said.
The jury now had a clear story in their heads as to how and why Demarco Torrell killed two men. They may still have been wondering why would he commit murder in a place where he was almost certain to be caught. But it was likely that pure imagination was providing them with an acceptable answer to that question. None of the jurors had ever set foot in a troubled black neighborhood plagued with gang violence. A diet of TV movies and news would have them think Demarco’s alleged behavior was all very logical—that a young black man would naturally decide to throw away his life to avenge the honor of his gang. Hell, they could remind themselves of the stories they’d heard about Tupac or 50 Cent. To them, this was just what life was like in America’s black concrete jungles—all a senseless blur of drugs, crime, guns and rap music.
If I had any hope of winning this case, I had to, with all my power, dispel these myths—starting right now with my cross-examination of Detective Michael Harrison Bayer. A chink of doubt in Bayer’s armor—that’s what I needed to expose. And I knew he was fully prepared not to give me an inch.
“Detective Bayer, where was the body of Mr. Connors found?”
“In a vacant lot a few blocks away from the convention center.”
“What are we talking in distance? A mile?”
“Yes, about a mile.”
“And Mr. Connors was found dead in the trunk of his car?”
“Yes.”
“And it is your belief that my client Demarco Torrell was the person who shot him?”
“Yes.”
“And you posit that Mr. Connors deleted the video featuring the former Crips gang member under duress, at the point of a gun while in the car park, yes?”
“Yes.”
“And you believe that Mr. Connor’s phone was used to delete the video post from his YouTube channel?”
“Yes.”
“And the data retrieved from Mr. Connor’s phone provided the exact time the video was taken down, right?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what time the video was deleted, Detective Bayer?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell the court, please?”
“Twelve twenty-six PM.”
“Twelve twenty-six.”
“Now I’m going to ask you to read something for me. This is a printout of the entry records for VidCon.” I handed Bayer the sheet. “Do you see the entry highlighted there in green?”
“Yes.”
“What time does that say?”
“Twelve thirty-one.”
“Do you know what that is, Detective Bayer?”
“No. But I figure you’re about to tell me.”
“Yes, I am, Detective Bayer. That five-digit number corresponds to the pass my client used to get into VidCon. So, according to your theory, Demarco Torrell shot Mr. Connors and then got himself to the convention center in five minutes. Or else he was in two places at the same time.”
“Who said he went by foot? Another gang member probably drove him.”
“Right. This sounds like quite a professional arrangement—a rapid two-kill assassination carried out by an LA street gang. You are convinced that that is what happened?”
“Yes. Do I have to remind you that the Sin Town Crips are a professional criminal organization?”
I pulled up an image to the screen.
“Detective Bayer, please look at the map I have here. Exhibit one-four-eight. You have seen this before, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“It’s the map we traced of Toby Connor’s movements using his GPS data.”
“Right. So the global positioning system in his phone leaves a kind of breadcrumb trail of his movements, isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“Now my client has told you in a statement that Mr. Connors engaged him to help shoot a prank video of Luke Jameson, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“He told you he was paid f
ive hundred dollars up front and promised another five hundred after the prank, is that right?”
“That’s what he told me.”
“Sounds like an offer too good for anybody to refuse, let alone a seventeen-year-old kid living on the streets, am I right?”
“Objection, Your Honor! Calls for speculation from the witness.”
“Sustained. Next question, please counselor. And try to keep it related to what the witness might know or have seen.”
“Certainly, Your Honor. Detective Bayer, my client told you he was driven to the convention center by Mr. Connors?”
“Yes.
“And he said Mr. Connors dropped him off at the center, saying he was going to park the car and that he would meet him inside, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“If you look at the path marked on the map, doesn’t it lend plausibility to my client’s version of events? Mr. Connors passed by the convention center before proceeding to the location where he was shot, isn’t that right?”
“Yes but...”
“My client didn’t need to walk to the center from the vacant lot. He did not need a lift because he was never there. This is the more likely interpretation of this GPS data, is it not?”
“There are many possible stories we can weave to match that map—but yes, your client’s story does bear some resemblance to what that map tells us.”
“Right, but instead of accepting what pure, unbiased logic dictates, your preferred interpretation is to claim that my client pulled off a double hit that Jason Bourne would be proud of?”
“Objection!”
“Sustained.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
21
I wouldn’t say the room chilled when Francine Holmes entered, but there was no doubting that her presence changed the atmosphere. She walked to the stand with a rod-straight spine and sat wearing an expression of fearless poise. Her dress looked like something out of the fifties, as did the double string of pearls. A large silver brooch—a dove, as far as I could make out, was pinned on one side. Her make-up was applied with the lightest of touches, and not a strand of hair was out of place. Everywhere was Sunday School for this woman, and her ever-present duty was to teach.
I bet Jessica could hardly wait to get started on the establishment details. Francine told the court she’d known Demarco for about a year. She’d met him at the Los Angeles Mission where she worked part-time on a volunteer basis. She highly valued her role there as a spiritual guide. She considered it her calling to help the less fortunate find prosperity of spirit through God. And that salvation only came one way—through deep meditation on the scriptures. In her other role as philanthropist, she was a member of the Halo Group, an organization that sponsored young stars who were good role models. When asked why the Halo Group did this, she said America’s youth was being swamped by poor exemplars who had nothing to showcase but greed, lust and avarice. She said this was happening in a parental blind spot—the internet. The world of social media was taking over television as the gateway to the minds of young Americans, but adults seemed oblivious to their responsibilities when it came to policing what their children were exposed to.
Francine couldn’t help but look at me when she was saying this. Jesus, couldn’t she take her morality wig off for one second? No doubt about it—I’m a lost cause. Hell’s got a bed of nails with my name on it.
With Francine’s impeccable virtue established, Jessica moved on to Demarco.
“Ms. Holmes, what were your impressions of Demarco Torrell when you first met him?”
“He was very troubled, but that was understandable. He was trying to take a better path in life, and that was proving to be extremely difficult.”
“How so?”
“Demarco was only just sixteen, but he had already been a street hoodlum for almost four years, so he told me.”
“Did he open up to you?”
“Well, yes. Eventually. Someone at the mission suggested he meet with me. They thought I could help him find the strength to change his life for the better.”
“What did he tell you he wanted to change?”
“Well, it took a while for us we to have that kind of conversation. Initially, we would meet for thirty minutes or so. I would talk to him about the importance of living a good life and tell him he was courageous for attempting to break away.”
“From his gang?”
“Yes. He had joined a gang intervention group that had helped steer him away from that life.”
“And he had left the gang life behind then?”
“I’m not sure, to be honest.”
“Why are you unsure?”
“Well, sometimes I would not see him for a week, but then he’d return and be evasive about where he had been. It’s my belief he’d been visiting his thug friends in Pomona.”
“So you don’t think he had left his gang?”
“I don’t believe so, no.”
“What happened when he came back to you at the shelter?”
“We would start all over again. Each time he seemed to trust me more. And I got to learn more about his life and his dreams.”
“And what were those dreams?”
“He wanted to become a Marine, just like his father. That’s what he told me.”
“And did you encourage him to do that?”
“No, I most certainly did not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have devoted my life to peace. I have no faith in war. This is a deeply personal issue for me, and I have spent a large part of my life trying to repair the damage done by war.”
“How so?”
“I have done a lot of development and rebuilding work in Afghanistan, where Americans have been fighting for more than a decade. Our organization tried to build hope from the rubble.”
“So you could not support Demarco in joining the armed forces?”
“No, but I suggested he should get his head and heart in the right place before he made such a big decision—and the way to do that was to follow the word of Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior.”
“What about when you last saw the defendant—how was he progressing toward his hopes and dreams?”
“He had ceased to progress, I hate to say it. He had regressed. Perhaps worse than ever.”
Demarco hissed quietly next to me. “Lying bitch,” he muttered. I had to admire his restraint.
“Could you elaborate, please?”
“I feared I was no longer be able to get through to him.”
“Why not?”
“He was avoiding me at the mission. Then he told me he did not plan to continue our work together.”
“What was your reaction when you heard Demarco had been charged with murder?”
Francine paused and looked at Demarco with pity.
“I have to be honest. I felt extremely disappointed. Heartbroken, even. But I cannot say I was surprised. I’d tried my best, but it can be extremely difficult, if not impossible, for leopards to change their spots.”
“So you believed you had lost Demarco to the gang again?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing further, Your Honor.”
I put a hand on Demarco’s shoulder.
“We get a say in this too, you know,” I said quietly.
I stood up and looked at Francine, who returned my gaze with quiet expectation.
I’d like to say that I proceeded to do exactly what I’d hoped to—that I found a crack in her armor of virtue, but that’s not how it went down.
“Ms. Holmes, you told the court Demarco no longer wanted to continue the work he was doing with you, is that right?”
“Yes, he made that very clear.”
“And do you think he could have broken free from his past and establish a productive future for himself without your spiritual guidance?”
“I believe that it would have been almost impossible for him to succeed without deep spiritual conviction.”
Francine had not expected me to interrupt her, and my challenge was taken as an insult. Her attempt to hide that fact with a smile failed.
“It is my view that anything less that the most earnest commitment to God would see Demarco fail,” she said with forced composure. “And I think I have been proven correct.”
“What you think and what you know are two very distinct matters, Ms. Holmes. We are not here to indulge in your speculation.”
Francine stiffened, clearly not used to being reprimanded. But my point was made for the jury’s sake, not hers.
“What I mean, Mr. Madison is that it is like an alcoholic trying to dispense with the bottle once and for all. It is no accident that the twelve-step program is in essence a pathway of spiritual commitment—a contract you make with God. When suffering is at its most acute, the helping hand needs the strength of the Almighty if we are to be saved or to save ourselves.”
“You say that, but other social workers were very happy with Demarco’s progress, weren’t they?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Madison. I do not wish to speculate.”
“Nice try, Ms. Holmes. But it is not speculation to reveal the nature of discussions you had with fellow volunteers about Demarco’s welfare. And it is my understanding these discussions took place every week, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, but I did not involve myself in the relationships he had with other people.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. Did anyone at the mission express the view that Demarco’s progress was encouraging?”
“No, not that I can remember.”
“You are under oath, Ms. Holmes.”
“I do not need reminding of that, Mr. Madison. I can only repeat that I made no business of Demarco’s relationships with others.”
“Did you consider yourself to be essential to Demarco’s salvation?”
“Yes. I’m not saying it had to be me personally. But I was the only person striving to help him develop his spiritual and moral discipline. Maybe someone else could have played that role, but at that time and place, only I was in the position to guide him to success.”