Scott Turow - Presumed innocent

"And who is Rusty Sabich? Not simply, as Mr. Della Guardia told you, a top deputy in the prosecuting attorney's office. The top deputy. Among a handful of the finest trial lawyers in this county, this state. The evidence will show you that. A top graduate of the University Law School. A member of the Law Review. Clerk to the Chief Justice of the State Supreme Court. He gave his career, his life to public service. To stopping and preventing and punishing criminal behavior, not"-Stern glances contemptuously toward the prosecutors-to committing it. Listen, ladies and gentlemen, to the names of some of the persons whom the evidence will show you Rusty Sabich brought to justice. Listen, because these are persons whose wrongdoing was so well known that even you who are not regularly in this courthouse will recognize these names, and, I am sure, will once again be grateful for Rusty Sabich's work." He spends five minutes talking about the Night Saints and other cases, longer than he should, but Della Guardia is hard put to object after Sandy endured his opening without complaint.

"He is the son of an immigrant, a Yugoslavian freedom fighter who was persecuted by the Nazis. His father came here in 1946 to a land of freedom, where there would be no more atrocities. What would Ivan Sabich think today?"

I would squirm were I not under the sternest orders to show nothing. I sit with my hands folded and look ahead. At all moments, I am to appear resolute. Lamentably, Stern did not give me a preview of this portion. Even if I testify, I will not testify to this-not that the prosecutors would be likely to disprove it.

Stern's manner is somehow commanding. The accent lends an intrigue to his speech, and his considered formality gives him substance. He makes no predictions of what the defense will show. He steers clear of promising my testimony. Instead, he focuses on deficiencies. No evidence, not a scintilla of direct evidence that Rusty Sabich handled any murder weapon. No sign that Rusty Sabich took part in any violence.

"And what is the cornerstone of this circumstantial case? Mr. Della Guardia told you many things about the relationship of Mr. Sabich and Ms. Polhemus. He did not tell you, as the evidence will show, that they were coworkers, that they worked as trial lawyers, not as lovers, on a case of tremendous importance. He did not mention that. He left that for me to tell you. All right, then, I have, and the evidence will show that to you, too. You should mind closely what the evidence shows you, and does not show you, about the relationship of Rusty Sabich and Carolyn Polhemus. Mind closely in this circumstantial case where Mr. Della Guardia seeks to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I tell you flatly, flatly, that the evidence will not show you what Mr. Della Guardia has said it would. It will not. You see this case will not involve facts, but rather supposition upon supposition, guess upon guess."

"Mr. Stern," says Larren mildly. "You seem to be falling into the same trap as Mr. Della Guardia."

Sandy turns; he actually bows in an abbreviated way.

"I am so sorry, Your Honor," he says. "He seems to have inspired me."

A laugh, a small one, from everyone. The judge. A number of members of the jury. A small laugh at Delay's expense.

Sandy turns back to the jury, and remarks as if he were speaking to himself: "I must keep myself from getting carried away by this case." Then he plants his last seed. No commitments, just a few words.

"Well, one cannot help asking why. As you listen to the evidence, ask why. Not why Carolyn Polhemus was murdered. That regrettably is something no one will be learning from this proof. But why Rusty Sabich sits here falsely accused. Why offer a circumstantial case, a case that is supposed to show guilt beyond a reasonable doubt and does not?"

Sandy stops. He tilts his head. Perhaps he knows the answer; perhaps he does not. He speaks softly.

"Why?" is the last thing that he says.

They cannot find the glass.

Nico admits this as soon as Stern and Kemp and I arrive on the third morning of trial. The first witnesses will be called today.

"How in the world?" asks Stern.

"I apologize," says Nico. "Tommy tells me he forgot about it at first. He really did. Now there're looking high and low. It'll turn up. But I have a problem." Della Guardia and Stern stroll away, conferring. Molto watches them with obvious concern. He seems reluctant to leave his place at the prosecution table, like a whipped dog. Really, Tommy does not look well. It is too early in the trial to be as exhausted as he appears. He has a yellow cast to his skin, and his suit, the same as yesterday's, does not seem to have had any time to rest. I would not be surprised if Molto never made it home last night.

"How can they lose a piece of evidence like that?" Kemp asks me.

"Happens all the time," I answer. The Police Evidence Center, over in McGrath Hall, has more unclaimed items that a pawnshop. Tags get knocked off, numbers are reversed. I started many cases with evidence misplaced. Unfortunately, Nico is right: the glass will turn up.

Stern and Della Guardia have agreed to advise the judge of this development, before he takes the bench. We will all go back to chambers. This will save Nico from a public whipping. Stern's concession on points like this, minor courtesies, is the kind of thing that has made him popular around the P.A.'s office. Other lawyers would demand to be on the record so that Nico could take a hiding before the press. We all wait a moment in the judge's outer office, while his secretary, Corrine, keeps an eye on the phone light to see when the judge completes the call he is presently taking. Corrine is stately and large-chested, and the courthouse wags regularly speculated on the nature of her relationship with Larren, until last fall, when she married a probation officer named Perkins. Larren has always been a ladies' man of some renown. He divorced about ten years ago, and over time I've heard a lot of tales about him drinking Jack Daniel's in the pretty-people night spots down on Bayou Boulevard, that pickup strip which certain sages refer to as the Street of Dreams.

"He says come right in," Corrine tells us, putting down the phone after a brief conversation with the judge to announce our group. Kemp and Nico and Molto precede us. Stern wants a moment with me to confer.

When we enter, Nico has already begun telling the judge the problem. He and Kemp are in armchairs before the judge's desk. Molto sits a distance away on the sofa. The chambers, the judge's inner sanctum, has a distinguished hearing. One wall is solid with the gold-toned spines of the state law reports, and Larren also has his own Wall of Respect. There is a large picture of the judge and Raymond, among a number of photos of the judge with politicians, mostly black.

"Your Honor," Nico is saying, "I learned the first time last night from Tommy."

"Well, I thought Tommy indicated yesterday that you had the glass and he simply had overlooked this matter. Tommy, I'll tell you something right now." The judge is on his feet behind his desk, looking rather legal in a purple-toned shirt with white collar and cuffs. He has been roaming in his books and papers as he listens, but now he turns about and points a stout finger at Molto. "If I have the same kind of bullshit from you in this case I've had in the past, I'll throw you in the lockup. I really will. Don't be tellin me one thing and meanin something else. And I want to say this right in front of the prosecuting attorney.

"Nico, you know we've always gotten along. But there's a history here." The judge tips his large head in Molto's direction.

"Judge, I understand. I really do. That's why I was concerned as soon as I learned of the problem. I really do believe that it's oversight."