James Sheehan - The Law of Second Chances

Leland Pendergast had been the coroner of the City of New York for twenty years. He knew every politician in the state and walked and talked with an air about him that suggested power and influence. His favorite attire were expensive, custom-made suits that padded his shoulders and tapered his waist-efforts on his part to hide most of the fat on his beefy, six-foot frame. He couldn’t hide his face, though, and those thick jowls.

Leland Pendergast strode confidently into the courtroom on the afternoon of the fourth day of Benny Avrile’s murder trial and took the stand. Spencer led him through his extensive and very impressive qualifications before honing in on the substance of his testimony. Not surprisingly, Spencer spent very little time on how the murder had occurred and the cause of death. Their little tragic opera was all about photographs, twenty in all-extremely graphic pictures of the bloody corpse. Each image was six feet tall and three feet wide, and Leland Pendergast stood in front of each one with a pointer-like a teacher leading a classroom discussion-explaining its significance to the jury.

Jack objected to each photograph, initially on the grounds of prejudice and eventually on the grounds that the evidence was cumulative and prejudicial.

“Judge, how many photographs does the jury need to see to understand that Carl Robertson was shot in the forehead? The prosecution is just trying to inflame the jury,” Jack argued at sidebar. But his objections were overruled.

The jurors were horrified. Some of the women were moved to tears. At the end of his testimony, Leland Pendergast finally gave the only opinion that mattered. The cause of Carl Robertson’s death was a single bullet wound to the head. It took him two and a half hours to get there.

Sitting in the front row behind Jack and his son and watching the juror’s reactions to the pictures, Luis understood what Jack meant about a trial turning on a dime. The pictures weren’t the only bad turn. Benny, who had been silent and stoic throughout the trial as Jack had directed him, was visibly moved by the pictures. Try as he might, he couldn’t help himself. Tears rolled down his cheeks. The jurors saw the tears and wondered if they were tears of guilt.

Jack saw the tears too. There was nothing he could do about them. He had to concentrate on taking a pound of flesh from Leland Pendergast. As he rose to begin the cross, something in his mind clicked about a piece of evidence whose significance he had not understood until that very moment.

Before taking his place at the podium he walked over to the easel facing the jury, removed the last of the grisly pictures, and placed it facing backward on the far wall with the other exhibits so it would not be a distraction during his cross-examination. Mr. Pendergast was going to have to get through cross on his words alone.

“Were you at the scene of the crime?”

“No.”

“Was somebody from your office there?”

“Yes.”

“Who was that?”

“Dan Jenkins.”

“And is Dan Jenkins a licensed pathologist like yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And has he testified in court before?”

“Yes.”

“In murder trials?”

“Yes.”

“Has he ever been disqualified for any reason?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Who did the actual autopsy?”

“Dan Jenkins-with my supervision, of course.”

“We’ll get to that. The autopsy report that you’ve been talking about, state’s exhibit number 10-did Dan Jenkins sign that?”

“Yes. And so did I.”

“Is it your practice to sign every autopsy report?”

“Yes. I am responsible for every opinion that comes out of my office.”

“And that signature of yours on this autopsy report, is that a stamp?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is the stamp for convenience so you don’t actually have to sign all the autopsies that are done by your staff?”

“Yes.”

“How many autopsies does your office do a year?”

“Thousands. This is New York City. We are very busy.”

“So you don’t read and approve every autopsy report before it comes out of your office, do you, Mr. Pendergast?” This was where Jack expected the big lie. He wasn’t disappointed.

“I try to. I’m sure some slip by.”

“You said Dan Jenkins did the autopsy with your supervision, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How long has Mr. Jenkins been with your office?”

“Around ten years.”

“Does he need supervision to do an autopsy?”

“Absolutely not. What I mean by that statement is that I supervise the work of all my people.”

“You weren’t present when Dan Jenkins did the autopsy of Carl Robertson, were you?”

“I may have walked in and out of the room a few times.”

“Do you specifically recall if you did or not?”

“No, I don’t.”

“So you don’t have any firsthand knowledge of the findings in this autopsy report that you have been testifying about all afternoon, is that correct?”

Leland didn’t answer right away. Instead, he made one of the most amateur and devastating moves a witness who is trying to appear impartial can make. He looked over to Spencer Taylor for help. Spencer looked down at his notes.

“Is that correct?” Jack prompted.

“Yes, but as an expert witness I can testify about the findings of others, especially my staff.”

Jack had taken enough wind out of Leland’s sails. It was time to get down to specifics. He was debating whether he should even use Dr. Wong’s exhibits at this point. There had to be a reason Dan Jenkins was not on that stand. Maybe he would save the exhibits for when he called Jenkins himself.

“In your opinion, Dr. Pendergast, was the assailant close to the deceased when he shot him?”

“Yes.”

“How close?”

“Not point-blank but very close.”

Jack wanted to ask him how he’d arrived at that conclusion but he refrained from doing so because Leland had given the exact answer he’d wanted. “I’ve reviewed this autopsy report and I noticed that there was-I’m not sure how you put it-a protrusion at the rear of the cranium, is that accurate?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Is that where the bullet struck the back of the cranium?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Now, did you or Mr. Jenkins measure the angle from the entry wound to this protrusion in the back of the cranium?”

“Yes, we did.”

“And why would you do that?”

“To determine the trajectory of the bullet. It’s not always totally accurate, because sometimes the trajectory is thrown off by other obstacles in the body.”

“How about in this case? Do you think the trajectory was accurate?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And what was the trajectory of the bullet?”

“It was almost a straight line from the forehead to the rear of the head. There was a slight upward angle.”

“Are you aware of how tall the defendant is?”

“Yes, I am.” Leland smiled when he gave the answer as if he suspected Jack would be surprised by his positive response. That told Jack that they knew where he was going and were ready for him. He kept going anyway.

“How tall is he?”

“Five feet eight.”

“And Carl Robertson, how tall was he?”

“Six feet four.”

“At close range, if a five-foot-eight man shot a six-foot-four man, wouldn’t the trajectory be straight up with the bullet hitting the top of the cranium rather than the rear?”

Leland smiled again. He’d obviously been waiting for the question. “Not necessarily, and certainly not if the taller man was looking down at the shorter man. Say they were having a conversation like ‘Give me your money’ or something like that. Then the trajectory would be at a straight angle, just like we found.”