“I was serving as an official volunteer at the Columbus Fan-Con.”
“What are the duties of an official volunteer?”
“They vary. But on that day, I served as the assistant to Mr. Joey Volpe, who was a special guest at the convention.”
“A special guest is usually a movie or television star, am I correct?”
“Well, you could say they’re stars.”
The jury giggled a bit. I grimaced.
“But they’re not always actors, are they? Sometimes they can be real people, right?”
“Right. Sometimes they’re comic book artists. Or writers. Or people who are famous for one reason or another. I went to a Fan-Con once where Joe the Plumber was signing autographs.”
“So it wouldn’t be unusual for, let’s say, a famous Mafia boss or hit man to be at one of these conventions.”
“Not unusual at all.”
“What are the duties of a special guest’s assistant?”
“I was helping him manage his autograph line. Selling eight-by-ten photos, handling the cash, taking pictures of Mr. Volpe with his fans, and so on.”
“Your Honor, I have in my hand People’s Exhibit A. May I approach the witness and show it to her.”
“You may.”
“Ms. Murray, can you identify this photograph?”
“Yes, that’s a photograph of Mr. Volpe with one of his fans that I took using the fan’s smartphone. I remember that guy because he was dressed as one of the characters in the The Hunger Games. I’m a big fan of The Hunger Games.”
“Ms. Murray, let me direct your attention to the two men standing behind Mr. Volpe. Do you recognize those two men?”
“I do. Those were Joey’s personal friends and bodyguards.”
“Object, for chrissakes!” I said to Michael, loud enough for everyone in the courtroom to hear.
“Objection, your honor!” said Michael, rising to his feet.
“On what grounds, Mr. Willis?”
Michael turned to me and whispered, “On what grounds exactly?”
“On the grounds that they were not my friends or my bodyguards.”
I could see the gears in Michael’s brain grinding. He reviewed his entire Lake Tahoe Law School curriculum in search of the right way to translate this into acceptable legal verbiage.
“Relevance?”
“Overruled.”
“Wait, no. Not relevance. Scratch that. My mistake. I’m objecting because it assumes facts not in evidence.”
The judge pondered this a moment. “You’ve got a point, Mr. Willis. Sustained.”
Michael sat down and slapped my thigh under the table like he’d just caught a game-winning pass in the Super Bowl.
“I’ll rephrase my question,” said Fineman. “Ms. Murray, with regard to these two men standing behind Mr. Volpe, when did you first meet them?”
“Objection!” said Michael. “Assumes facts not in evidence. Who said she ever met them?”
“Overruled. Don’t press your luck, Mr. Willis. Proceed, Mr. Fineman.”
“When did you first notice these two men, Ms. Murray?”
“When they walked into the convention hall carrying two gigantic machine guns. They said hello to Mr. Volpe, and he introduced them to me.”
“Were you under the impression he was acquainted with these men prior to that morning?”
“I got the impression they knew each other, yes.”
“What did The Fox … er, what did Mr. Volpe say to you about the role of these two men at the convention?”
“He said they were there to act as his bodyguards. He said their presence would enable him to make more money at the convention. He told them to stand behind him, hold their machine guns, and look tough. I got the impression that Mr. Volpe was in charge. He was the ringleader.”
“At any point, did you notice Mr. Volpe giving anything to his bodyguards?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“About half an hour after they showed up, I could hear them whispering to each other. I couldn’t tell what they were saying because I was dealing with the fans in line. When I turned to look at Mr. Volpe, one of his bodyguards had his hand in Mr. Volpe’s right pocket. He was pulling a pistol out of it.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, he pulled another pistol out of Mr. Volpe’s left pocket.”
“What did you think about that?”
“I thought it was strange. I asked him what the pistols were for.”
“What did he say?”
“He said they were toys like the machine guns. He said they were part of his ‘act.’” She made air quotes around the word act with her fingers.
“And you believed him?”
“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve volunteered at dozens of these Fan-Cons over the years. Everybody is carrying weapons of one kind or another. Light sabers. Samurai swords. Star Trek phasers. They’re all made of plastic. They’re all toys.”
“But you were about to find out that those pistols were not plastic toys at all, weren’t you?”
“Yes, sir,” said Karen. She dabbed at the tears in the corner of her eyes with the official volunteer kerchief.
Oh, puh-leeze, I thought. I also thought I was 99 percent convicted at this point. Mr. Fineman had made his ice-cream sundae. It would just be a matter of putting nuts, sprinkles, marshmallows, chocolate chips, whipped cream, and a cherry on top. I glanced at Michael. He was doodling on his yellow pad again. I think he was playing a solitaire version of Hangman. How appropriate.
“At a certain point, you broke for lunch. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Tell the jury in your own words what happened next.”
Karen turned to the jury and directed her well-rehearsed speech to them.
“Mr. Volpe asked me if his two bodyguards could come with us into the greenroom for lunch. I said it was okay with me, but the security guard might stop them because they didn’t have the right credentials. I was right. The security guard tried to keep them from going into the greenroom. But Mr. Volpe made a big fuss. He threw a temper tantrum. He threatened to call the guard’s supervisor. He threw his weight around like a big Hollywood star. Finally, the guard gave up and let them all in. Once they got inside, all three of them headed for the buffet line. I sat at their table for a while. But they were whispering to each other and not including me in the conversation. So at a certain point I decided to get up and sit at a different table.”
What a pack of lies, I thought. I glanced at the jury and I could tell they were eating it up with a spoon. Their attention got more rapt as Fineman walked Karen through the robbery and its aftermath. The warning shots fired into the ceiling. The single shot that shattered the window. How the robbers lined everyone up against the wall and forced us to strip naked. How they put all the loot into plastic trash bags and tossed our clothing out the window. Steven Dubois’s ill-fated attempt to stop the robbery. The moment Paulie slipped and almost castrated himself on the shard of glass. Putting our clothing back on. Trying to stop Steven Dubois from bleeding to death. How we all stood talking about what just happened.
“You confronted Mr. Volpe at that point, did you not?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did you say?”
“I said he was responsible for the whole thing. I said he planned it. He was the inside guy. He was the ringleader. He smuggled the handguns into the exhibit hall. He was going to meet up with his bodyguards later and split the money. He was the mastermind. And everybody around me said they agreed with me a hundred percent.”
“For God’s sake, Michael, make an objection,” I said.
“Object to what, exactly?”
“She’s acting as judge and jury. She’s assuming facts not in evidence. She’s speculating. She’s quoting hearsay. She’s …”
“Naaah, that’ll never work,” said Michael, and he turned back to his yellow pad.
It was at that mom
ent I realized you can get a better legal education from watching television than you can from attending an online law school.
“No further questions for this witness, Your Honor,” said Fineman. He returned to his seat with a smug look on his face.
“Your cross-examination, Mr. Willis?”
“I have one question, Ms. Murray. Did you see someone dressed as Darth Vader waiting in the autograph line?”
“Yes, I did. He bought Mr. Volpe’s photograph, asked Mr. Volpe to sign it, and left without saying anything.”
“I have no further questions for this witness,” said Michael and sat down.
“You don’t have any more questions for her?” I said.
“Nope.”
“You could make mincemeat out of her.”
“Don’t worry, Joey, I have—”
“I know. You have a goddamn trick up your sleeve. Well, your trick better make Harry Houdini’s heart skip a beat, Michael, because we’re in serious trouble here.”
Over the next few days, Fineman called a series of witnesses to the stand who linked me to Paulie and Carlo. Many of them had taken photographs of all three of us on their smartphones. In some of those pictures, Carlo and Paulie were whispering into my ear. Someone snapped a photo at the critical moment when the lunch horn went off and the two gangsters dropped their toy machine guns and drew real handguns.
I had to give Fineman his due. He was damn good at his job. He had charts, diagrams, and hotel surveillance photos that showed exactly where we were standing in the exhibit hall. He used a map of the hotel meeting rooms to show how we ducked behind the flats and walked to the greenroom in the back. Fineman questioned the security guard who stopped us at the door to the greenroom. His testimony was damaging. He made it sound like the three of us were in cahoots and that I’d used my influence as a celebrity to wheedle our way past him. He overstated his testimony almost to the point of perjury, but I couldn’t blame him. Other than Steven Dubois, the guard was the only one to get hurt in the heist. In fact, he was hurt worse than Dubois. He was still suffering headaches and double vision as a result of the blow to the head from the butt of Carlo’s gun.
As witness after witness took the stand, Fineman built his case, and the honorable Michael Willis, Esquire said next to nothing. “I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor,” was his mantra. Fineman dug my grave one shovelful after another, and Michael didn’t even bother to kick a few clods of dirt back into the hole. I sat there helpless and depressed.
Finally, Fineman called his star witness. Literally.
20
“The people call Mr. Steven Dubois to the witness stand,” said Fineman.
Steven Dubois limped down the aisle on two crutches, with his left foot wrapped in white bandages. I knew he was overplaying it. The TV doctor had stopped the bleeding with a couple of napkins, for heaven’s sake. But it worked. The jury stood up and applauded.
“I’ve never seen that before,” said Michael.
“This is your first time in a courtroom,” I reminded him.
“I haven’t even seen it on television, though.”
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, please!” said the judge. “This is highly irregular. Take your seats. You don’t applaud a witness as he takes the stand. This is a trial, not a stage show. In thirty years on the bench, I’ve never seen that before.”
Michael gave me a told-you-so look.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor,” said Dubois. “Because of my foot, I’m still walking slowly. The jury was just trying to give me some encouragement. They were sharing the love. Bless your hearts, jury people.”
“Very well, Mr. Dubois. Mr. Fineman, please proceed. Let’s keep the histrionics to a minimum.”
“Mr. Dubois, you are an actor, correct?” said Fineman.
“I plead guilty to that charge.”
The jury laughed like it was the opening gag in a stand-up comedy routine. The judge put the kibosh on that right away.
“Mr. Dubois, try to make your answers as brief and to the point as possible. Our goal here is to find the truth, not to make the jury laugh.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Another laugh from the jury.
“I mean, yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Dubois,” said Fineman, “can you identify the defendant in the courtroom?”
“He’s that handsome young man with the curly black hair and pale blue eyes seated at the table over there.”
Dubois pointed at me and smiled. I smiled back. Weird moment.
“Where have you seen the defendant before?”
“He was in the greenroom at the Columbus Fan-Con where the robbery took place.”
“Had you ever seen the defendant before that day? Other than on television, of course.”
“Yes, Jeremiah Pennington introduced him to me at another Fan-Con in Atlantic City.”
“Jeremiah Pennington is also an actor, isn’t that true?”
“You could say so.”
A big laugh from the jury.
“I’m sorry. Yes, Jerry is an actor and a friend of mine.”
“In fact, like you, he was an actor on the Star Trek television show, was he not?”
We were on different versions of Star Trek. But we did a few episodes and two feature films together.”
“So when you walked into the greenroom for lunch, did you recognize Mr. Volpe?”
“I did. I said hello to him. And I told him to give my regards to Jerry.”
“Tell us in your own words what happened after you entered the greenroom that day.”
Dubois told his version of events in great detail, and his story matched Karen’s exactly. There were no gaps or discrepancies for my attorney to exploit—even if he was the type of attorney who asked questions.
When Dubois finished telling his story, Fineman rewound his testimony to take a closer look at one critical moment. “Let me take you back to the time when the two men with guns were forcing everyone up against the wall. What was The Fox … er, Mr. Volpe doing at that time?”
“Well, it was strange. Joey sat in his chair while everyone else lined up against the wall. Finally, one of the gunmen noticed him sitting there. He said something like, ‘You, too, ass—’ Your Honor, can I say asshole in court?”
“You just did.”
Laughter.
“Ooops, I guess you’re right. He said something like, ‘You, too, asshole. Don’t think you can get out of this just because you played a mobster on TV.’”
“What did Mr. Volpe do then?”
“He smiled.”
“He smiled like a fox?”
“Yes.”
I glanced at Michael in the desperate hope he might object. But he hadn’t made an objection since the judge overruled his last one. He had a .500 batting average when it came to objections, and he was willing to rest on that record.
“What did he do then?”
“Well, his smile turned into a frown. It looked like he was acting.”
“And you’re an expert on acting, correct?”
“I guess I am. Then Joey walked over to the wall with the rest of us. From that point forward, he acted like he was being robbed like everybody else.”
“He acted like he was being robbed?”
“Yes.”
“He took his clothes off and everything?”
“Yes. He’s in good shape for a man his age.”
“He put his money down on the floor and let the gunmen take it?”
“He did. But he seemed less angry about it than the rest of us.”
“One last question. What made you, armed with a butter knife, think you could overcome two robbers with guns?”
“Well, I’ve studied stage fighting since I was a child actor. I’ve taken many martial arts classes. I’m in pretty good shape for a man my age, too, if I do say so myself. Plus, I had the advantage of surprise on my side. I could tell the problem of climbing through a broken window occupied the robbers. I just thought I
’d take a shot. Come to think of it, that’s what I did. I took a shot in the foot!”
The jury laughed. Even the judge cracked a smile at that one.
“Well, it was very brave of you,” said Fineman. “There’s a lesson in there for all of us. Your behavior shows that actors on television often play a version of themselves in real life. If they play a hero on TV, they are brave in real life. And if they play a lowlife criminal on television, they’re often a crook in real life, too.”
I almost stood up and objected to that myself. It wasn’t even a question, it was a closing argument. I looked at Michael, but he wasn’t listening. The judge himself must’ve been asleep to let that one go by, I thought.
“That’s all I have for you, Mr. Dubois,” said Fineman. “On behalf of the jury and the court, thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to talk to us—especially given your grievous gunshot wound. Now, if you can spare us a few more minutes, I’m sure Mr. Willis will have some questions for you.”
No reaction from Michael. I jabbed him with my elbow and he stood up.
“I have no questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
He sat down and I pulled him over to me by the collar of his shirt. That didn’t look good to the jury, but I was past the point of caring how it looked.
“Ask a goddamn question, Michael. I don’t care what it us. You can’t keep saying, ‘I have no questions.’ You’ll make the jury think you’ve given up. They’ll think you know I’m guilty and you’re just going through the motions. So ask one damn question.”
“What do I ask?”
“Any goddamn thing at all. Just let them know you’re not a potted plant.”
Michael stood up.
“Your Honor, on second thought, I do have a question for this witness. Two questions, actually.”
“It’s nice to see you’ve rejoined the land of the living, Mr. Willis,” said the judge. “Fire away.”
“Mr. Dubois, there’s something I’ve always wondered about …”
“Yes?”
“When you’re beamed up to the transporter room, does it tingle or tickle or what?”
The jury laughed. The judge was too dumbfounded to say a word.
“I get asked this a lot. To tell you the truth, you just stand there. They add the sound and the visual effects in post.”
The Don Con Page 13