Gates of Power

by Peter O'Mahoney

  He decided that he was going to murder Mr. Gates.

  You will hear from witnesses that were also attending the charity function that fateful night, and they will explain to you how angry Mr. Rose was after Mr. Gates continued to verbally attack him throughout the night. Mr. Gates made a speech, and throughout the speech, he made jokes about Mr. Rose, personally and professionally. Are jibes enough of a reason to cause someone’s death? The defense team may ask you that question, and they will ask you to consider whether Mr. Rose was defending himself. Looking at you, the jurors, I can see that you won’t be tricked by these questions.

  Throughout this trial, you will also hear from witnesses that will state that they saw Mr. Rose enter Mr. Gates’ dressing room after the function.

  Dr. Christopher Payne, a chief medical examiner, will explain that he performed the autopsy on Mr. Gates and he will detail the estimated time of death, along with the cause of death. He will present his autopsy report and detail the photos he took of Mr. Gates’ deceased body. This may be upsetting to you, however, it will help you grasp the callous and disgusting nature of this crime.

  Detectives from the Chicago Police Department involved in the case will also explain how they investigated the death and arrested and charged Mr. Rose with first degree murder within a matter of days. They will explain the evidence that they gathered in those days, and they will detail how they came to the conclusion that Mr. Rose was guilty of murder. They will explain to you what Mr. Rose said after he was arrested, including the statement that Mr. Rose admitted being in that dressing room only moments before Mr. Gates died.

  They will present the arrest report to you and explain it in detail.

  You will hear from a DNA expert, who will explain how Mr. Gates’ blood was found on the sleeve of Mr. Rose’s shirt.

  You will hear from experts who will detail the crime scene and explain how Mr. Rose attempted to move Mr. Gates’ body after he murdered him.

  You will hear from a long list of witnesses, people who all have evidence about this case, and they will all confirm that you can only come to one… one… conclusion.

  When these witnesses have finished providing their testimonies, you will have no reasonable doubt that Mr. Rose intended to kill Mr. Gates, and he did so that night.

  There’s a lot of noise surrounding this case. There’s a lot of hatred out there, for both sides of the argument. There are very vocal people voicing their opinions about the murder, and this case is in the news.

  But you cannot, you cannot, let that noise influence your decisions.

  Your decisions here, in this court, must be without bias, without prejudgment, and without outside influence. The defense team will spin a fanciful tale; one full of mistruths, and misdirection. Don’t be fooled by their theories. Don’t be fooled by their tricks. You must look through their games, through the stories, and you must only see the evidence.

  You must listen to the facts, listen to the proof, and after you have done so, you will only come to one conclusion.

  Only one.

  And that conclusion will be that Mr. Alfie Rose is guilty of the first-degree murder of Mr. Brian Gates.

  Thank you for your service to this court.”

  It was an impressive performance, one worthy of a Broadway theater, and I almost felt like standing to applaud, but as she finished her statement, my phone buzzed on silent.

  It was a message from Casey: New info on Packman, meet me in the park outside.

  I slipped out quietly, exiting the courthouse, making my way down the steps and across the road to the park, where Casey was waiting with a file in one hand and an optimistic smile on her face.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Not good. McIntyre was on fire. Had the jury in the palm of her hand.”

  “Doesn’t she always?”

  “Yeah, she’s good all right. So, what’ve you got for me?”

  “Police file on Packman, wasn’t easy to get, but well worth the effort.”

  She handed it over.

  “Take a look, he’s got a previous conviction for… violent assault.”

  “Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

  “And by all accounts should have another conviction too. Apparently three years ago he had a difference of opinion with a work colleague and lashed out at him, punched the man unconscious. There were witnesses but the victim refused to press charges. Rumor has it, Packman either paid him off or threatened him with more of the same if he proceeded. Either way, the guy backed off, and Packman got away scot free.”

  “Good Job, Casey. This is gold.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Any news on Lizzie Guthrie?”

  “Not yet, she’s my next priority.”

  “Do whatever it takes and let me know how it goes.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’m gonna run, see if I can get back before the first witness.”

  “Best of luck, and send my regards to the kid,” said Casey, heading off towards her car.

  As I made my way up the courthouse steps, my phone buzzed again.

  “Laura.” I answered. “I don’t really have time for-”

  “Don’t talk to me about time, Jack.” She snapped. “I’ve just talked to the doctor. She says things are happening with the cancer quicker than she expected. I need to know who did it, Jack. Before I go, you need to find me the answer. Someone has to be held responsible for my daughter’s death.”

  I paused and sighed. There was no use arguing with her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Jack?”

  “Yes?”

  She took a moment. “Thank you.”

  She hung up the phone without another word.

  I drew a deep breath, pushed Laura to the back of my mind, and continued my walk through security.

  By the time I arrived back in the courthouse there was a recess. The defense had made their opening statement, and people were milling around in the corridors outside. Sitting on a bench alone, slumped over with his head in his hands was the figure of Alfie Rose.

  “Don’t worry, son,” I said in my best positive voice.

  “Jack!” he said, with a smile. “Am I pleased to see you.”

  “That was quick. What happened, judge need a bathroom break?”

  “If only. A fight broke out in court. A protester started yelling and threw a shoe at me, only they missed and hit McIntyre in the back of the head.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Nah, she looks alright though.”

  Alfie gestured down the corridor, where McIntyre, along with the rest of the prosecution, were discussing something with Alfie’s defense team. It looked all too cozy to me, like they were still angling for a plea deal, not fighting for his innocence. I’d missed the defense’s opening statement, but after my encounter with Betsy Jane, I didn’t have much faith in her abilities to counteract the formidable McIntyre.

  Alfie frowned. By the looks of it, he was concluding much the same himself.

  “Hey, this’ll cheer you up,” I said, hoping a bit of gallows humor would lighten the mood. “There’s a man on trial in court, and the judge says to him, ‘You are charged with beating your wife to death with a hammer,’ and a voice from the back of the court yells, ‘You lowlife!’ and it all goes quiet, like. And the judge says, ‘You are also charged with beating your dog to death with a hammer,’ and the voice from the back of the court yells ‘You scumbag!’ And the judge says, ‘Well this can’t go on.’ He pulls the man in front of him and says, ‘Now look, I can understand you being a bit upset about this case, but if there are any more outbursts like this, I shall charge you will contempt. Now what’s the problem?’ And the man says, ‘Well, I lived next door to him for over thirty years... and every time I asked to borrow a hammer, he said he didn’t have one!’”

  Alfie laughed, so I hit him with another.

  “There’s another man in court charged with stealing an overcoat, and the judge says to him ‘Weren
’t you before me four years ago for stealing an overcoat?’ and the man replies… ‘Well how long do you think an overcoat lasts?’”

  Alfie laughed again, but I didn’t continue.

  I had more jokes up my sleeve, but it could be a long trial and I didn’t know when I might need them later.

  The first prosecution witness was about to give evidence next, and, by all accounts, it seemed likely to be one hell of a damning testimony.

  Chapter 16

  Detective O’Reilly stood in the witness stand, practically filling it with his herculean size. He was an impressive man, 6 foot 4 inches and over 250 pounds of muscle, one of Chicago’s finest, and decorated several times, twice for extreme bravery.

  We’d only met the once, at my brother-in-law’s wedding, where O’Reilly had been the best man. We hadn’t spoken much on that day, at least not beyond the normal pleasantries you exchange with strangers at such events; you know, a quick ‘Hello,’ ‘How do you know the couple?’ ‘What sort of work do you do?’ and then on to the next person.

  He’d struck me as an uber confident individual, but that changed when I saw him in front of a crowd. Despite his imposing size, he wasn’t the best public speaker, in fact, if his best man speech at the wedding was anything to go by, then he was downright bad at it. But delivering a captivating and witty wedding speech to a couple of hundred guests is very different than answering the sort of factual questions he seemed likely to be asked today, which would be relating to what was, ultimately, his forte: police work.

  I wasn’t certain how he would perform on the stand, but I hoped he’d display the same sort of nerves and indecisiveness I’d witnessed at the wedding, and that Alfie’s defense would tear a hole in him, but as he took the oath, introduced himself and settled in for the prosecution’s first question, my hopes faded. He looked calm, confident and at ease. It was hardly a surprise; this was, after all, effectively another day in the office for him, and something he must have done a hundred times before in the line of duty.

  “Officer O’Reilly, would you tell the court your role at the Chicago Police Department?” asked Prosecutor McIntyre.

  “I’m a major crimes investigator for the crime scenes unit, specializing in homicide investigations. I’ve proudly served this city, and this community, for more than two decades.”

  “And it was your investigation, was it not, that led to the arrest of the accused?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, it was.”

  “Talk me through the morning you found the dead body of Brian Gates, will you please, Detective O’Reilly?”

  “Well, Ma’am, I was the first police officer on the scene after an emergency call was placed by the venue’s manager, alerting us to a body, which was found by a member of his cleaning staff the morning after a charity event that was hosted by the deceased, Mr. Brian Gates. I arrived at roughly 8am on the morning of the twelfth of January and found Brian Gates’ body face down in his dressing room, congealed blood emanating from a significant wound to the back of his head. His body was cold, indicating that he died some time earlier.”

  “You’ve been a police officer for a long time, haven’t you Officer O’Reilly?”

  “Yes, Ma’am, twenty-two years and counting.”

  “Would it be fair to say that you’ve witnessed a lot of dead bodies over the years in the course of your work?”

  “Too many, but yes, I have.”

  “Do you have a lot of experience in this area?”

  “I do.”

  “And in your experience, what was your first impression of the scene?”

  “My first impression was that something didn’t look right, and on closer inspection it wasn’t right.”

  “In what way?”

  “Things looked like they’d been moved around in the dressing room after the event, after the murder had taken place.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Furniture had been moved, but the most obvious thing was the body itself. As I said, I’ve seen a lot of dead bodies over the years and when a person falls, they do so in a certain manner that has an authenticity about it, which is sometimes difficult to categorize but easy to recognize, especially in its unauthenticity. If a body has been moved by an amateur and repositioned to look ‘natural,’ then the trained eye of a professional can often pick it up, sometimes at a glance. Brian Gates’ body was, and I apologize to his family for using this word, comically repositioned, almost spread eagle, with arms and legs out in all directions. Most often a person who is struck by a fatal blow crumples in an awkward manner, normally on top of a limb or two, not in a nice neat Hollywood movie kind of way.”

  “Was there anything else about the scene that didn’t seem right to you, in your experience?”

  “Yes, there were remnants of what looked like smear marks, where someone had tried to wipe away blood from certain areas.”

  “What areas?”

  “Chairs, only the person who did it didn’t do a very thorough job. They’d left big smears there, highlighting, inadvertently, the fact they’d tampered with the scene.”

  “And as the investigating officer, your enquiries led you to the accused, to Mr. Alfie Rose, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Would you please tell the court why?”

  “Well to begin with, Alfie Rose was the last person to see Brian Gates alive…”

  “…Objection, your honor,” piped up Alfie’s defense council. “This is pure speculation on the officer’s part.”

  “Sustained,” agreed the judge.

  “Withdrawn,” responded McIntyre, “May it please Your Honor, for Officer O’Reilly to tell the court what led him to believe that Mr. Rose was the last person to see Brian Gates alive.”

  “I’ll allow it but tread carefully Officer.”

  “Well,” continued Officer O’Reilly, “Mr. Rose admitted to entering the dressing room at around twenty-two hundred hours, 10pm, and despite rigorous inquiries that were carried out by myself and several of my officers, not one person, be they venue staff or fellow attendees of the event, reported seeing anyone else remotely near Brian Gates’ dressing room at that time. However, many people report seeing Alfie Rose. Had another individual been there after Rose, it is highly likely someone would have seen them. And the estimated time of death is around 11pm on the night of the charity event, with a degree of leeway either side, so it matches well. Especially given that Rose admits going into the dressing room to confront the deceased…”

  “Objection!” said Betsy Jane, rising again to her feet. “My client admits to entering the dressing room, but only to talk to Brian Gates, to smooth things over, not to ‘confront him’ as Officer O’Reilly so casually asserts with zero evidence, and certainly with no recorded testimony or statements from Mr. Rose, which remotely back up this erroneous claim. If Mr. Rose has ever made a statement to that effect then I, for one, would like to hear it.”

  The judge turned to McIntyre and O’Reilly.

  “Officer O’Reilly and council for the prosecution, do you know of any testimony from Mr. Rose in which he specifically states he entered the dressing room to, in Officer O’Reilly’s words, ‘confront’ Mr. Gates?”

  “We do not, Your Honor,” replied a fleetingly contrite McIntyre.

  “Then members of the jury are to disregard Officer O’Reilly’s last statement that Alfie Rose entered the dressing room with the intention of confronting Brian Gates. Whether or not that was the case is, obviously, to be determined in the course of this trial itself, but it is not for the officer to state an opinion as if it were a fact. I hope that is understood, Officer O’Reilly.”

  “It is. I apologize, Your Honor.”

  “Please continue, but just the facts as they happened.”

  “The point I was going to make is, no matter how long their verbal exchange took, it would confirm they were together at the same location at a time even closer to, or right in line with, the ETOD—sorry, estimated time of deat
h.”

  “I’d like to turn to the blood…” said McIntyre. “…Brian Gates’ blood.”

  She paused, emphasizing the last bit while looking over at the jury.

  “You mentioned earlier that Brian Gates’ blood had been wiped off the chairs, but had been left elsewhere, can you please elaborate?”

  “Yes, blood had been wiped from the chairs but not the carpet, as if someone was trying to conceal something, and by the looks of the trail of blood on the carpet, the body had been dragged a significant distance towards a table.”

  “And was there anything unusual about the table?”

  “Yes, there was. The corner of the table had been dabbed with blood, clearly applied with something other than the impact of a head.”

  “What did it look like to you?”

  “Like someone had dabbed the corner of the table with a bloodied cloth.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s hard to say with any certainty, but it appeared to be a panicked and amateurish attempt to make it look like a fall, as if Brian Gates had tripped and hit his head on the corner of the table, and that his injuries and the blood left there were the result of that, as opposed to being battered by a bottle of champagne.”

  “And, in your experience, is that scenario possible, given what you witnessed at the scene?”

  “No. The whole scene had been tampered with, and not remotely in a convincing manner. To me it looks like the murderer had a silly idea to mess with the evidence but then at some point realized it wasn’t working and decided to hightail it out of there instead.”

  “So, whoever did this would likely have got some of Brian Gates’ blood on them too?”

  “Yes, given the quantity of blood at the scene, even if the person responsible was extremely careful, it would be virtually impossible for them not to get some blood on themselves. In fact, I’d say quite a bit of blood.”

  Prosecutor McIntyre looked from Officer O’Reilly to the jury, highlighting its importance.