by J J Miller
“Listen,” I said, “I’ve looked at this from every angle. I watched the jury’s response at every turn. And my sense is that there is genuine empathy there. I see them look at him like someone they’ve gotten to know. Now that doesn’t mean they like him. What it does mean is that the prospect of finding him guilty will weigh on them all the more heavily. Juries never want to convict an innocent man—it’s a very powerful thing; it’s a real test of conscience. They are so much more invested in getting their decision right. I didn’t see them looking at him coldly, or indifferently.”
“I did,” she said, staring out the window.
I’d asked that Carrie turn up at court so that the jury would see Chip not just as a defendant but as a husband whose wife was going through hell. I know that sounds manipulative, but you must use everything at your disposal to keep the jury thinking of the defendant as a human being who is loved, who is connected to society. A defendant can so easily be reduced to a two-dimensional figure, seen only through the funnel of one incident in their entire life. And Carrie had done that every day. Some days, the girls were left with her parents, on others she entrusted them to Megan.
“Okay, there were a couple occasions when a juror looked at him in a tangibly negative way,” I conceded. “But this decision has to be unanimous. And I believe the bulk of those jurors harbor doubts about what went down. And if that’s genuinely the case, then they’ll have to acquit, because I can’t see them all being talked into a guilty verdict.”
“I wish I could be so sure.”
“That’s understandable. I know this is a nightmare but it will soon be over. Chip will be home soon.”
I kicked myself. Why did I say that? Of course, I felt sorry for Carrie but to be certain of a future event typically invites a contradiction. I should know better. I do know better. But sometimes you just speak as a person who knows another person is hurting. It’s hard not to say whatever you think will alleviate their pain.
Yet the truth was I actually believed my own words. After all my years as a trial lawyer, you learn to read a jury—what resonated with them, what touched them, what disgusted or offended them. And the way I read this particular jury, most of them were with Chip. For the most part, juries take a rational, commonsense, fair-minded path to reaching a verdict. But if their sympathies and reasoning led them Chip’s way, you could be sure that this would be countered by the duty to the victims’ loved ones.
The more I thought about it, the less sure I felt about anything.
“Do you mind?” asked Carrie, having reached for pack of cigarettes.
“No go ahead.”
I didn’t smoke but I didn’t take offense at those who did.
Carrie lowered the window after lighting her cigarette and kept the burning ember close to the crack, allowing the suction to drag the smoke outside.
“I can’t just think it’s going to turn out okay, Brad. I know I should but I can’t.”
“That’s understandable. You’ve got no say in a decision that’s going to affect you for the rest of your life. There’s no harder place to be.”
“Chip might be taken from us, and there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.”
“It’s just a waiting game now, Carrie. Soon we’ll know one way or the other.”
“What am I going to tell the girls if they find Chip guilty?”
It wasn’t a question that Carrie was looking to me to answer; it was more a spoken thought, one that must consume her, even in sleep.
“Hannah and Tracy think the world of him,” he said. “How can I ever tell them that he’s never coming home again?”
She took another drag, and spoked words that were addressed to herself more than me. “Well, if that’s the way it goes, that’s the way it goes.”
“And we will appeal, if that happens,” I said.
“Who knows what else might come to light?”
“That’s right.”
“The police know that someone else was involved but they won’t do anything about it.”
“Yes.”
“And if Chip is found guilty, they’ll pat themselves on the back and not bother to give it another thought.”
“I hate to say it, but I think you’re right.”
“They think the only way to find out is for Chip to tell them. And if he doesn’t then he deserves to rot in prison for the rest of his life. And they call that justice.”
“No, that’s not justice.”
Carrie looked at me, the brave talk was getting too much. “They’re not going to find him guilty, are they?”
She turned away without waiting for an answer. It was now not a question but a simple expression of her life’s profound uncertainty.
As I pulled into the parking lot in Santa Monica my phone rang.
The caller identified herself as Judge Birch’s clerk.
“You need to get back here,” she said. “The jury’s reached a verdict.”
Chapter 45
Chip entered the courtroom looking dazed. The decision on his fate was imminent. Bearing the extremes of consequences, his verdict loomed with terrifying might.
As he took his seat next to me, I put my arm on his shoulder and spoke some encouraging words. They were inane words, really. Futile sounds that had no bearing on the outcome whatsoever. But that’s what we do. We have to say something. We have to stay positive.
What I told Chip was that I thought it was a good sign that the jury had taken only a couple of hours, if that, to decide.
I found it extremely hard to believe the jury had swung so quickly and heavily against Chip. The speed of the deliberation meant there wasn’t much debate at all, not a lot of persuading, not much arguing, and few, if any, rounds of showing hands. No, this was about as clinical as a jury decision gets.
Judge Birch entered and directed the bailiff to bring the jury in. After the jury members had taken their seats, Judge Birch cast his eyes in their direction and asked the foreperson to stand. The juror selected for this role was a plain-looking man in his late forties wearing a light gray suit. At first, I couldn’t recall his name but then I remembered in jury selection that he declared, practically in the same breath, that he was Henry Ford and that he sold Toyotas on Hollywood Boulevard and that his wife’s maiden name was Lincoln and she worked for General Motors in some capacity. This had gotten a laugh from all the jurors on the panel, and I think I even detected a grin on Judge Birch’s face. Such mirth seemed a long time ago.
“Mr. Ford. I take it the jury has reached a verdict,” said Judge Birch, his tone reflecting his surprise at such a fast turnaround.
“We have, Your Honor,” said Ford.
Judge Birch turned to Chip. “Will the defendant please stand?”
Chip got to his feet, as did I.
The next words that came from Ford’s lips were a stream of sounds above which key words and phrases porpoised—“first count”… “murder”… “Nathaniel Reed”… “We find the defendant guilty”… “second count”… “murder”… “Bo Hendricks”… “guilty.”
“Oh, my God!” A muted scream erupted from Carrie as cheers rose from the other side of the gallery.
I was unable to hide my shock. I bowed my head and cursed then I turned to Chip and grabbed his shoulder firmly. I turned to see Carrie, hand over her mouth, glistening eyes wide in shock, her cheeks caving in as she sucked air though her fingers.
The commotion behind us grew into a dull roar. I put my arm around Chip and pulled him in. His head rested against my shoulder. He didn’t say a word.
“Chip,” I said into his ear. There was a rage in my voice that stemmed from my soul. “This is not fucking over, Chip! This is not over.” I grabbed both shoulders now and talked into his poor, dejected face. “This is just round one. It’s a bullshit verdict. I promise you, Chip—the minute I leave this court is the minute the fight to overturn this travesty begins.”
Chip was white, his breathing shallow and his eyes defeated.
Chip turned to embrace Carrie. Two deputies approached the couple, one telling Chip he had to go with them.
“No,” Carrie cried mournfully, holding on to Chip for dear life. “Please don’t take him away. He’s innocent.”
“Keep telling yourself that, lying bitch!” a man shouted from behind.
The deputies led Chip to the door.
“Rot in hell, you fucking murderer!” yelled the same man.
“I love you, darling,” she said, as the door was opened for Chip. Then louder: “I love you, darling.”
Chip turned around and mouthed the words: “I love you. It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”
Two seconds later, he was gone.
I walked up to Carrie and put my arm around her.
“How can it be okay?” she said tearfully. “It will never be okay.”
Carrie shrugged me off and reached into her handbag for her cigarettes before realizing where she was. She shut up her bag and then glared at me coldly.
“How could you let this happen?”
“Carrie, I—”
“How could you? You said they wouldn’t do this to him. You told me. You basically promised me they’d let him go.”
“Carrie, I’m as stunned as you are.”
“Are you? I can assure you, Brad. No one on God’s earth is as stunned as I am right now. No one.”
“Listen, Carrie. You have to believe me when I tell you this is not over. I told Chip I’d launch an appeal and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“They’re taking him to jail, Brad. He’s going to fucking jail. They’ll lock him up for life.”
“I know you’re angry. At me, and at pretty much everyone, and you have every right to be.”
I tried to stay close to Carrie as we left the courtroom but she walked ahead of me. We said nothing to each other in the elevator.
As the doors opened on the ground floor, I saw the throng of media outside and grabbed Carrie’s hand.
“Stay close to me, okay?”
Carrie nodded.
When we exited the building, Dale Winter was addressing the large group of reporters and camera operators.
“Of course, this was a fair decision,” I heard him say. “The State placed its faith in twelve honorable men and women. We always thought we had a very strong case, and I’m glad that the jury agreed. I congratulate them. They’ve given the victim’s families a small but significant consolation. It’s called justice.”
I put my arm around Carrie’s shoulder and pushed through the crowd as cameras fired at us.
“Are you surprised they reached a decision so quickly?” I heard a reporter ask Winter.
“No, I’m not. The evidence was strong, and it told them all they needed to know. To not reach a guilty verdict would have required a ridiculous perversion of the facts in evidence.”
I looked up and saw Winter. Standing beside him was Wes Brenner, ready to crow about the verdict being what the state of California wanted and needed.
I stopped, still holding onto Carrie. I had initially thought I’d bypass the press. Now I knew I could not let Winter go unopposed, nor could I resist the opportunity to take some wind out of Brenner’s sails.
“The defendant Chip Bowman killed two men in cold blood,” Winter said. “That was clear as day before this trial began and its most certainly clear now. We now look forward to sentencing—”
Winter was cut off by Brenner, who was now beside him and raising his voice to full pitch. “Life is too good for that despicable man. Chip Bowman deserves nothing less than the death penalty.”
Winter took that as his cue to leave. He raised his chin and moved forward, parting the crowd before him.
With that, the press gathered around me, much to Brenner’s disappointment.
“Mr. Madison,” a reporter asked. “What is your reaction to this verdict?”
“I’m stunned, to be honest,” I said. “This is a total miscarriage of justice. Simple as that. I have nothing bad to say about the jury members as individuals but collectively they got it wrong. They got it so wrong. There were holes in the prosecution case that you could drive a truck through. I’m stunned by this verdict, to be honest. And I’m at a loss to understand how it was reached so quickly. It doesn’t seem right, and it doesn’t seem fair.”
“Do you intend to appeal?”
“You bet I do. I’ll be initiating an appeal immediately.”
Over the flurry of several questions being asked of me at once came Brenner’s voice. “You’re just being a sore loser, Madison! You tried to defend a double murderer and you lost!”
I looked Brenner in the eye with a degree of relish. Among the tasks I’d asked Jack to do was to discover who was funding Brenner’s campaign. When Jack delivered his findings, I was shocked but not surprised. Now was the perfect time to let people know a couple of home truths about Brenner.
“I see Wes Brenner is here trying to exploit this case for his own personal gain,” I said, leaning a little closer to the ring of microphones, voice recorders, and smartphones in front of me. “And before anyone seeks Brenner’s opinion on anything concerning the cannabis laws in this state, perhaps they should ask about his connection with Traxon Pharmaceuticals, the biggest corporate player in the cannabis industry. Ask Wes if Traxon is funding his campaign. Ask him if it’s disingenuous for him to try and rework legislation in order to hand Traxon the lion’s share of cannabis production in California. Ask him if him owning a sizable holding of Traxon stock is coloring his opinions.”
As I spoke these last words, I fixed my gaze on Brenner. I’d never seen him look mortified but it was pretty to watch.
I turned back to the reporters. “Before you have a chat with Wes, let me just reiterate that the evidence in this case was far from conclusive. I’m not going to stand idly by and watch an innocent man be sent to prison for the rest of his life.”
“You think he’s innocent?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then why couldn’t you prove it? You had your chance.”
“It wasn’t my job to prove anything. The State had to prove that my client killed two men and stole a lot of money, but as I said in court, they came up short. Their case was riddled with doubt.”
“That’s not what the jury thought.”
“Well, what can I say? The jury and I see things very differently. That’s their prerogative, sure, but it doesn’t mean that they’re right.”
“What about the victims?”
“This is all about the victims,” I said. “If their loved ones wanted justice, they don’t have it. The people of California don’t have it. My client Chip Bowman doesn’t have justice. Nor does his family. If the State wanted the perpetrator of that terrible crime to be brought to justice, then it has failed. Everyone has lost here and the real killer is still at large in the community.”
“You’re a liar. You’re defending a cold-blooded killer!” This voice came from behind the members of the press. It was a member of the public, a member of Nate or Bo’s family, I assumed.
“I understand the emotions of a trial like this, and they’re running super high. But I promise you this—it’s not over. Not by a long shot.”
“You’re scum. You piece of shit.” It was the same man. I said nothing more and began backing away from the media, with my arm around Carrie.
“Let’s go,” I said. “We’ve got work to do.”
As we walked away, I heard several people calling out Brenner’s name. I turned around to see him trying to walk away while swatting microphones away from his face.
On the way back to the car, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I fished it out and looked at the screen. It was a text from Abby.
“Just heard about the trial. So sorry x”
“Thanks but it’s not over yet,” I typed back.
After I sent Abby’s text, I brought up the list of favorites and tapped a conta
ct.
“Father of the Century, please hold.”
“Jack, we lost. I’m just leaving court now.”
“Lost what? The trial?” Jack said seriously, having noted from my tone that I was in no mood for humor. “You’re shitting me.”
I broke away from Carrie, holding my hand up to ask her to wait just a minute. I hunched over to ensure the conversation couldn’t reach her ears.
“I wish I was. It was the Usain Bolt of juries. It was like they had nothing to discuss in the deliberation room. Buddy, something’s not right here and I need to find out what. I need your help. As in drop whatever the fuck it is you’re doing—not that fatherhood’s not important—and get your ass to my office pronto.”
“You know what Chanel’s gonna—”
“Jack. Come on. They’ve just convicted an innocent man, a father of two young girls, for double murder. Jack, you’ve got to get a hall pass. I need your help.”
“You sound convinced he’s innocent.”
“I am. Look, it’s not my job to believe a client, but this guy? Jack, he’s an innocent man facing life.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there.”
Chapter 46
Jack walked out of the Hollywood Toyota showroom into the morning sun with Henry Ford in tow. We’d spent hours the previous night working up a plan. There are many grounds upon which you can lodge an appeal. I was going to focus on two: finding a legal error in the court proceedings and finding grounds to overturn the verdict.
The first option could only work if I proved that the error swayed the outcome. So I would have to go through everything: the court reporter’s transcript, the clerk’s transcript—which included all the exhibits, motions, documents—and all the briefs.
But the speed of the deliberation suggested that trying to overturn the verdict might be my best bet.
There was something rotten about how Chip’s trial ended; it stank of jury misconduct, and my nose told me to follow the jury foreperson, Henry Ford.