Calvino cracked his gavel and asked for quiet. He nodded to Warwick. The lanky public defender stood, buttoned his sport coat, and approached the jury box. He stopped, and smiled. “Good morning. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, as you have surmised, we have now reached that part of the case known as closing argument in which each of the lawyers has an opportunity to tell you what his case is about. You’ve already heard the district attorney’s position.
“In my opening, I told you that the evidence that the prosecution had against my client was circumstantial. Not the best type of evidence. In fact, none of it is direct evidence. Because there is no direct evidence linking my client to this crime. No one saw her commit the crime.
“Oh, yeah, there’s a witness who saw someone wearing a Cubs cap. Well, the last time I looked, being a Cubs fan did not make someone a murderer. And we also must remember that based upon this same witness’s description, the police arrested a male initially, not a female.
“My client is not an angel. She’s not a model citizen. I won’t insult your intelligence by standing up here and saying that she is. But her past actions were not precursors to murder. Poor judgment, misguided ethics, for sure. But murder?” He spread his arms out, palms up, pleading his case. “I think not. I know not.”
“And this incident in the market. My client has what some call ‘verbal diarrhea.’ She runs off at the mouth,” he clarified, to some stifled laughter. “But again, I ask you…does this make her a murderer? It does not. She was angry, she was frustrated-whether you feel she was right or justified is irrelevant. But when she came face-to-face with the man who represented her frustrations, she yelled something at him. Did she really mean what she said? Of course not. We all, at one time or another, say things that we regret, that we don’t mean. We’ve all said things that we wish we could, take back because they were said in the heat of the moment. The DA wants you to believe that she was announcing to a crowded market her intentions to commit murder. My client may not be an angel, but she is certainly not stupid.
“At the start of this trial, I asked you to remember three things: reasonable doubt, circumstantial evidence, and burden of proof. Burden of proof,” Warwick said, walking the length of the jury box and letting his left hand drag along the railing, “means that it is the prosecution’s responsibility to make a compelling case against my client. But all they did was to throw a bunch of circumstances at you and ask you to make a leap of faith. They gave you nothing concrete except a contrived theory.
“They didn’t mean for their case to be so indirect and weak-it’s not their fault. They didn’t have a choice. But ask yourselves,” he said, slapping his right hand, karate-chop style, into his left palm for emphasis, “did they actually prove anything to you, or did they merely set the stage and ask you to imagine that you’ve seen the play?
“You have to admit that their case may, in, fact, be interesting, but it’s not conclusive. Certainly not beyond a reasonable doubt. Which is the standard against which, you must judge my client. Reasonable doubt means that if you have any doubts about the innocence or guilt of my client, if there’s something bothering you about all of this in the back of your mind, something that just doesn’t feel right, you must vote not guilty. That’s not my invention, it’s the law.
“As for Mr. Denton thinking that the matter of imprisoning someone for perhaps the rest of her life is a simple decision…well, maybe where he comes from, it is. From where you and I come from, it is not. It’s never easy to make such drastic decisions regarding another human being’s life. I’m sure you feel that in order to do so, you must be absolutely sure of the facts. Absolutely sure!”
As Warwick’s voice rose, in the manner that a preacher admonishes his followers, Denton detected the slight nod of the head of two of the jurors.
“I’m not asking you for sympathy for my client. But I am asking you for fairness for my client. Miss Harding is an innocent person, falsely accused, whose life will never be the same again, even if she is acquitted. Don’t reach a verdict of guilty merely because you want to make someone, anyone, pay for this horrible crime.” He held out his right hand, index finger angled toward the ceiling for emphasis. “Based upon the case that the prosecutor has provided, you must find her not guilty.
“Thank you.”
Warwick strolled back to the defense table, sat down next to Harding, gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She sat there, numb, staring straight ahead. Judging by her lack of response, it appeared as if she had not heard a word either attorney had said this morning.
As the judge provided his long-winded instructions to the jury, Denton ground his molars so hard he gave himself a splitting headache. He knew what was coming, and he knew there was no way to avoid it-the extensive speech by Calvino defining and discussing reasonable doubt. The only positive aspect of his instructions concerned his comments on circumstantial evidence-which were strong and, Denton was sure, confusing to the jury.
Calvino explained, in an informal manner, that circumstantial evidence was real evidence: “It is to be considered and given weight just as one would give weight to direct evidence. However, the circumstantial evidence must not only point in the direction of guilt, it must also exclude to a moral certainty every reasonable hypothesis except guilt.” He plowed forward, despite the confused looks of some of the people on the panel. “Further,” he said, “every inference you make from the circumstantial evidence needs to arise from facts that were proven beyond a reasonable doubt. Otherwise, the circumstantial evidence could not be considered as evidence of guilt…”
After the judge concluded his thirty-minute explanation, the jury was dismissed to its room to begin deliberations. Hellman, who had arrived with Madison and Leeza just prior to the dosing statements, stood up and straightened his tie. “Now, we wait,” he said.
“How long do you think it’ll be?” Leeza asked.
Hellman cocked his head to one side. “No way to tell. If they’re absolutely convinced of her guilt, they’ll be backout here in half an hour. If they have issues of conflict, say, if one juror doesn’t think the evidence is conclusive enough, it could be days or weeks before they reach a verdict. I’ve given up trying to read juries. It’s not only inaccurate a good portion of the time, it’s stressful as hell.”
“Well, I’ve blocked off the morning from my schedule. God knows I’m not exactly busy these days,” Madison said, shaking his head.
“Things will pick up, Phil. It’s just a matter of time. People will forget. The other docs will realize they have no one who can do these surgeries as well as you can. They’ll start sending cases over again.”
“I can just hear it every time I go to testify as an expert witness. ‘Doctor, isn’t it true that you were once arrested for murder?’ It’ll be objected to, but I’m sure it’ll make a hit with the jury…and dredge everything up again. Would you want to hire me as your expert if you knew that question was going to be asked?”
“Why don’t we go grab some coffee,” Hellman suggested, realizing that this was not going to be a simple issue of reassurance. Leeza urged Madison to go, promising that she’d call him should the jury return while they were away.
They walked out of the courthouse to a Java City cafe a couple of blocks away. As they walked, Madison took a deep breath, filling his lungs with air that had a brisk, moist chill to it.
“Hopefully, today is the start of something new,” Hellman said.
“How did your trial go?”
“Jury’s still out. Deliberations will go on for days, I’m sure. It wasn’t as strong a defense as I’d like to have had, especially with the guy facing twenty-five to life. But you take what you have to work with. Regardless, life goes on. For me, at least.”
Madison gave him a look. “Sorry-just a bit of defense humor.”
They ordered decaf lattes and sat at a comer table with a view of the street and sidewalk.
“So is that it? Life goes on? Is that how I’m supposed to think?”
Hellman shrugged. “It wouldn’t hurt. This past year hasn’t been a dream, Phil. As much as you’d like to wake up from it all, you have to accept that it’s happened and you have to deal with it. Your life will be changed forever.”
“Just move on, that’s it.”
“That’s it. There’s not much else you can do. Just be glad that it turned out this way. You could just as easily have been sitting in court right now instead of Harding waiting for the jury to decide your fate.”
Madison sat there, shaking his head. “I can’t describe what this past year’s been like, Jeffrey. I’ve been to hell and back. I guess I should feel fortunate, but all I feel is numb…emotionally spent. I’ve been on a rollercoaster for ten months. I’ve had feelings I’ve never had in my life. I’ve done things I’ve never done, been places I’ve never been.”
