Mark Gimenez - Accused

He had taken Pajamae to her mother's murder trial-he had to do everything he could for Shawanda-but he couldn't do that to Boo. And that trial had not been televised; this one would be. The girls didn't need to be seen on national TV. So they were at the beach house with Consuela and Maria and uniformed police officers out front and back-and under strict instructions not to watch the trial on cable.

Judge Morgan wanted a meeting of counsel in chambers before she swore in the jury. She looked at Scott's face and recoiled.

"My God. Are you okay, Scott?"

"Yeah. Thanks for asking."

"Because I don't want to delay the trial-we'll lose our broadcast slot. Renee said the cable channel's booked up the next two months. Next week they've got a serial murder trial up in Chicago." She turned to the D.A. "Rex, what's this about sex tapes?"

"Not evidence, Shelby."

"Renee said she asked you for copies and you refused. Why?"

"Because it's none of her goddamned business, that's why."

"You know what those tapes would do for our ratings?"

"Shelby, I'm about to go out there and ask a jury to send a human being to prison for life, so frankly, I don't give a good goddamn about cable TV ratings."

"She's filing a public information request with the AG's office in Austin."

"She can file it where the sun don't shine, all I care." He stood. "I'm gonna try a goddamned murder case."

"Jesus, Rex, every murder trial, you get really grouchy." She stood. "Does my hair look okay?"

Judge Morgan didn't sit at the bench; she posed.

When the jurors entered the courtroom and sat in the jury box, their eyes immediately turned to Rebecca Fenney. They would sit in judgment of her life-not just her actions that night, but her entire life. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work, but that's the way it did work. And they would be shocked by her life.

The Assistant D.A. read the indictment into the record, and Rebecca Fenney pleaded not guilty in open court. Galveston County Criminal District Attorney Rex Truitt slowly stood from his chair. He wore a seersucker suit, a white shirt, a blue tie, and black reading glasses. He looked like Hemingway himself stepping forward to read from one of his books, and if Ernest didn't have the D.A.'s voice, he should have.

He stepped over to the evidence table, picked up the murder weapon encased in plastic, walked to the jury box, and said, "The evidence will show that when the police arrived at the crime scene at three-fifty-seven on the morning of Friday, June the fifth, they found Trey Rawlins dead, lying on his back in his bed, with this eight-inch butcher knife stuck in his chest, right here."

He put the blade against his chest.

"The evidence will also show that the defendant's fingerprints-and only the defendant's fingerprints-were found on this knife. And that the defendant had not held the knife like this, as if to cut a steak, but like this, as if to stab."

The D.A. held the knife with the blade pointing down.

"The evidence will further show that police found the defendant in the bedroom covered in Trey Rawlins' blood… that the defendant's bloody footprints and handprints and fingerprints were found on the bedroom floor, wall, and phone… that no third-party's bloody footprints or handprints or fingerprints were found in that bedroom or anywhere in that house… that the only plausible explanation is that the defendant, Rebecca Fenney, took this knife from a drawer in their kitchen, went into their bedroom where Trey Rawlins lay sleeping on their bed, and stabbed this knife into his chest, killing him. Murder is the taking of a human life without justification. There was no justification for what the defendant did to Trey Rawlins."

The D.A. stared at the knife a long moment then placed it on the evidence table.

"Now, defense counsel will argue that the defendant had no motive to kill the victim, that she lost everything when he died. Which is true. So why did she kill Trey Rawlins? I don't know. I've been in this job for twenty-eight years now, trying criminal cases and trying to understand criminals: Why do they do what they do? Unfortunately, I am no closer to understanding my fellow human beings today than I was when I started this job. If you want to know why she killed her lover, she will have to tell you. I cannot. All I can do is prove that she did in fact kill him. And I will."

The district attorney returned to the prosecution table. Rex Truitt had done this before. He hadn't promised too much or too little, and he had left a lot to be revealed later. Things that would shock the jury, like cocaine and sex. And he set the jury up to expect Rebecca to testify.

"Mr. Fenney," the judge said, looking not at him but at the cameras.

Scott did not move because her words did not register in his mind. His thoughts were of "innocent until proven guilty." The state bears the burden to prove the defendant guilty. The defendant does not have to prove herself innocent. That's the law. But every defendant bears that burden. That's the reality of a murder trial.

Americans don't believe that innocent people go to prison in America. That's something that happens in other countries, like Russia and China and Mexico. Maybe it's ignorance, maybe it's denial, or maybe it's fear-that it's better to imprison a few innocent people than risk guilty people going free and committing more crimes. But innocent people do go to prison in America. Unless they can prove their innocence.

"Mr. Fenney."

Scott stood and walked over to the jury box. The television cameras sat on either side of the courtroom. Behind the cameras in the spectator section were reporters, print journalists from the major Texas newspapers and the wire services scribbling on tablets, and locals there for a macabre form of entertainment. Terri Rawlins sat in the front row behind the prosecution table; Melvyn Burke sat next to her. When their eyes met, Melvyn averted his gaze. Scott turned to the jurors.

"Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Scott Fenney. I represent the defendant, Rebecca Fenney. First, my face… I took a, uh, tumble on the beach. Second, Rebecca"-he would refer to her by her first name in order to distance her from "defendant" status-"and I share the same last name because, as I'm sure you've read in the papers or heard on the TV, she is my ex-wife.

"I have great respect and personal affinity for Mr. Truitt, but he failed to mention a few other facts that the evidence will show, including that the murder weapon was part of a matched set of eight knives given to Trey Rawlins at a golf event more than a year before, that those eight knives had been in their kitchen ever since, and that Rebecca had used all of those knives, including the murder weapon, on numerous occasions for a variety of kitchen purposes.

"That Rebecca was covered in Mr. Rawlins' blood that night because she had been sleeping next to him in their bed when she woke to find him dead-how could she have killed him then slept in his blood? Who could do that? Who would?

"That Rebecca was at the crime scene when the police arrived because she called nine-one-one herself. Rebecca Fenney did not run from the scene of the crime. She summoned the police to the scene of the crime.

"That Trey Rawlins loved Rebecca, that he provided for her, that he gave her gifts of cash and jewelry and a Corvette, that he asked her to marry him the very night he was killed.

"That Rebecca had no motive to kill Trey Rawlins. She had a great life with Trey-first-class travel, five-star hotels and restaurants, spas and resorts, money, jewelry, clothes. Without Trey, she has nothing-no travel, no hotels and restaurants, no money, no home, no life insurance. Nothing except a red Corvette and jewelry.

"Why would she kill the man who gave her everything?