anyway. When they begin asking her questions about her and her husband, but refuse to tell her what it's all about, she decides it's none of their business and barely gives them the time of day. In fact, she lies to them, telling them she hadn't been at Barry's the evening before. As soon as they tell her they know otherwise, she admits it. They ask her if she and Barry fought, and she says no. They spend a few minutes debating the difference between a fight and an argument. And then, just like that, they slap handcuffs on her and arrest her for murdering her husband.'
If only it were so simple, thinks Jaywalker, if only that's all there was to it. But there's more, much more, and like it or not, he has to deal with it. So it's theory time.
'Members of the jury, you are about to embark on the journey of a lifetime. Nothing you've ever been through, in all your years, will have fully prepared you for it. And nothing you will ever experience over the rest of your lives will even come close to matching it. Put your hands firmly on the armrests of your seat, and hold on as tightly as you can. And make sure you use both hands. Because this isn't going to be just one journey, but two.'
A few of them-not all, but a few-actually do as they're told, grip the armrests of their seats.
'Mr. Burke has ably and forcefully outlined the first journey for you. His is a journey that's going to take you from one piece of evidence to the next, and then to the one after that. And each piece of that evidence, whether it comes to you in the form of a witness's testimony, some physical object or a sheet of paper, is going to point over whelmingly to the guilt of Samara Tannenbaum. That's right, you heard me correctly. If you choose to take that first journey, and that first journey alone, you'll end up con vinced that Samara's guilty. Because it'll all be there right in front of you, served up on a silver platter. Samara's presence at Barry's apartment shortly before the murder. Their voices raised in argument. Her initial lie to the de tectives. A knife capable of having caused the fatal wound hidden away in her home, along with a blouse of hers and a towel, all three of them with Barry's blood on them. A month- old application for an insurance policy on Barry's life, with Samara's signature on it. The policy that was issued, worth twenty-five million dollars in the event of Barry's death. A perfect motive, if ever there was one.
'Jurors, you can confine yourselves to this one journey, the journey Mr. Burke has outlined for you. If you decide to do that, it'll take you no time at all to become convinced of Samara's guilt, and you'll come out of this trial thinking that this was the strongest case there ever was. And in a sense, you'll be right. Strong? The word doesn't begin to do it justice. Try o verwhelming. Airtight. Perfect. So perfect, in fact, that it should scare the living daylights out of you and make you ask yourselves if things are ever, e ver, so perfect in real life.
'Because, jurors, there's another journey you can take, if you're up to it. If you dare. A second journey through the very same evidence outlined by Mr. Burke. A second journey I beg you to take, implore you to take. This journey begins with a proposition, a proposition that flows from the rule of law that asks you, r equires you, demands of you, that you presume Samara innocent. It's a proposition that, if you give it a chance, may explain why this case seems so in credibly strong, so utterly convincing, so absolutely perfect, when almost nothing ever is in this world we inhabit.
'And here-' dropping his voice again now, forcing them to lean forward once more '-is the proposition. Samara Tannenbaum is being framed.'
The collective gasp is so audible that Jaywalker fears he's gone over the top and lost them. But there's no turning back. All he can do now is repeat himself, dig in, and hope that one or two of them will stay with him.
'That's right,' he says, ' framed. As you listen to the evidence, jurors, try not to be dazzled by it. Shield your eyes from the blinding light, protect yourselves from the blast of heat, and try to see through to the core of it, the essence, the part that truly makes sense. The damning items found in Samara's home, for example. Was that really where she would have hidden them, if indeed she'd mur dered her husband? In a place where they were absolutely sure to be found? The life insurance policy. Did she really expect to collect twenty-five million dollars on a policy taken out a month before murdering her husband? Did she think nobody would notice? This woman who lives in the glare of publicity? Come on, she's smarter than that, and so are you. The clumsy, obvious lies to the detectives. Proof that Samara's a murderer? Or that she's simply someone who doesn't particularly like cops, especially cops who seem to be prying into the details of her mar riage? The fact that she argued with her husband. Earth shaking? Or a pretty common thing? The list goes on and on. What you'll find is that every single piece of evidence against Samara has a flip side to it, if only you'll allow it to reveal itself.
'So, jurors, there's an easy way to look at this case, and a hard way. Mr. Burke makes it all sound easy. In fact, he's already told you that at the end of the trial he'll be asking you to convict Samara. He's told you that, as a matter of fact, before you've had a chance to hear one single word of testimony. Think about that for a minute. Me? I'm not asking you to acquit Samara. I have no right to do that at this point, not before you've heard the evidence. What I'm asking you to do instead- all I'm asking you to do, in fact-is to take both journeys, the obvious one and the notso-obvious one, the easy one and the hard one. I'm asking you to listen with both ears, to watch with both eyes, and, if you detect something a little foul in the air, to smell with both nostrils.
'Who's framing Samara? I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. Maybe the evidence will yield a clue or two. Maybe not. But remember this-I have no burden of proof in this trial. I don't have to identify the framer. Nor do you. At the end of the day, it will be enough if you walk back into this courtroom, look us squarely in the eye and tell us that, having taken both journeys through the evidence, you are unable to say that you are convinced that my client is guilty of murder, and that you are certainly unable to say you are convinced beyond all reasonable doubt.'
He turned from them, walked back to the defense table and sat down. He'd spoken for almost half an hour. He had no idea if he had them or not. At very least, though, he'd presented them with a theory-a proposition, he'd called it-and none of them had laughed. That itself he counted as a victory of sorts.
The bad news, of course, was that the evidence was about to begin.
19
'The People call Stacy Harrington.'
A lot of prosecutors like to start off with a bang, calling a key witness first. While this practice makes for exciting TV drama, it often accomplishes little more than confusing jurors.
Tom Burke was anything but a showman, and drama was the last thing he was interested in. In the choice of his leadoff first witness, he made it clear that it wasn't ratings he was after, but chronology and clarity.
Stacy Harrington, small, black and attractive, was employed as an executive assistant-a new title for the old job Jaywalker had grown up calling a secretary-in the offices of Tannenbaum International, Barry Tannenbaum's flagship company. She'd been among the first to notice Barry's lateness in showing up one August morning, a year and a half ago. And the thing about Barry, at least one of the many things about Barry, was that he was never late for anything.
MR. BURKE: What did you do, when he didn't show up?
MS. HARRINGTON: I called his home, both homes.
MR. BURKE: And?
MS. HARRINGTON: He didn't answer.
MR. BURKE: At either place?
MS. HARRINGTON: At either place.
MR. BURKE: What did you do then?
MS. HARRINGTON: I called the police.
MR. BURKE: Which police?
MS. HARRINGTON: The New York City police. It was my understanding that
Barry, that Mr. Tannenbaum, was staying in the city. And that way was easier. I just di aled 9-1-1.
MR. BURKE: And what, if anything, did the police tell you?
MS. HARRINGTON: They recognized the name.
They said they'd send some one over, and would contact the Scarsdale police and have them do the same up there.
