Don Winslow - California Fire And Life

"Now, my esteemed colleague, Mr. Casey, has told you — correctly — that the authorities ruled the fire an accident and the death an accident. That is true. What he didn't tell you is that those findings are not binding upon an insurance company. Great Western doesn't think itself above the law. The law states that an insurance company has the right, indeed the obligation, to independently investigate a claim and render its own decision. And the law further states that the insurance company may deny a claim if it reasonably concludes that it was 'more likely than not' that an insured set fire to his own property.

"That is the law — 'more likely than not' — and when you hear our witnesses, and carefully consider the facts that they present, I am confident that you will also conclude that it is far more likely than not that Mr. White is an arsonist and a murderer. And that far from awarding the millions of dollars that he is asking for, you will be asking, 'Why isn't this man in prison? Why isn't he the defendant in this trial?'

"Now, Mr. Casey asked you to send a message.

"So do I.

"Send a message that you are not going to be swayed by cheap dramatics. You are not going to be swayed by emotion. That you are instead going to consider the facts and send the message that, far from being rewarded, Mr. White should be charged, convicted, and punished.

"Thank you."

As the jury starts filling out their questionnaires, Jack hears Reinhardt say, "She came out too strong."

"I liked it," Herlihy says.

It was strong, Jack thinks, but that's what she had to do. You come out half-assed in an arson trial, all you do is get your half-ass totally kicked.

Jack sees the TSI consultants typing like mad. Typing and waiting like vultures for the responses to the opening statements to come in. Jack knows that the responses are key: if Casey "wins" the opening, it's going to be damn hard to convince the jury otherwise. The TSI people would say that 80 percent of jurors have their minds made up after the opening statements.

It's also going to be damn hard to convince Mahogany Row not to settle.

The jury finishes writing and one of the consultants rushes in to get their papers.

Peters says, "Calling to the stand Mr. Smith."

Which is me, Jack thinks.

Now Jack's in an interesting position here.

If he goes in there and does a good job and wins, Sandra Hansen drops the hammer on him.

If he goes in there and does a bad job and loses, then he gets to keep his job but Nicky Vale gets away with arson and murder.

Sort of your basic dilemma.

He walks in a Negative 7.

He can't see that, of course, but Jack can look into the jury's eyes and know they already don't like him.

It's one thing to look at a "jury" — even a focus group panel — from behind a one-way mirror. It's a whole different deal, Jack thinks, to be eyeball to eyeball with them, them staring at you like you're some sort of zoo animal.

A bad animal.

Anyway, he does his best to do what Peters advised him: Make eye contact, speak a little slow and a little loud, and answer the questions directly. Be calm, be cool, be confident.

Right, Jack thinks. Even as he sits down he can feel the sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

And Mallon staring at him.

Like, I've seen you before.

A long time ago, Judge, in a galaxy far, far away…

Peters starts him off with his background, his education, his experience level.

Then asks, "And how many fire claims would you say you've handled for Great Western?"

"I would estimate hundreds."

"As many as a thousand?"

"That's possible."

"And of that thousand," she asks, "how many were eventually denied for arson?"

"Very few."

"Can you give me a number?"

"A handful. Nine, ten."

"It's rare, isn't it?"

"Objection. Leading."

"Sustained."

"Could you give us an idea," Peters asks, "of the frequency of arson denials?"

"It's rare."

A low chuckle from the jury.

"Is it difficult to prove arson by an insured?"

"It can be."

"Why?"

"Arson is a crime that consumes its own evidence," Jack says. "It's also a crime in which the perpetrator tends to leave the scene before the event… for obvious reasons."

Jack feels himself flush because he used the word "crime" not once but twice — a supposed no-no in civil arson litigation, but then he thinks, Fuck it, I can't play for a tie here.

"Well," Peters says, "how do you prove arson by an insured?"

"As I understand the law," Jack says, "you need three elements: incendiary origin, motive, and opportunity."

She takes him through the meaning of the Tripartite Proof, then asks him, "Did you conclude that the White fire was of incendiary origin?"

"Yes, I did."

"What led you to that conclusion?"

"A number of things."

"Could you tell the jury what they were?"

Oh, yeah, Jack thinks. I sure could.

I could also take a dive, because this is the moment to do it. This would be the place to fumble, mumble, get my shit out of order, just generally look like a dooms.

Do the old two-and-a-half triple gainer with a twist and land headfirst in a pool with no water.

Crack.

Jack says, "It would be easier to explain using a chart and some photos I brought."

He gets up and walks over to a tripod stand. Flips the cover over to reveal a big blowup of his INCENDIARY ORIGIN/MOTIVE/OPPORTUNITY chart.

And runs it.

No mumbling, no fumbling.

Shit totally together, Jack runs the jury through the Tripartite Proof. Runs down all the evidence — the kerosene-soaked samples, the holes in the floor, the hole in the roof above the bed, the pour pattern. He matches each item with a blown-up photograph and he talks to the jurors as if they're in the house with him when he took the pictures.

Peters lets him go. You got a Thoroughbred, you give it its head, you let it run, and Jack is running like freaking Secretariat.

His ProCon numbers shoot up into the Positive 8 range.

Jack is amped.

He starts in on motive.

Runs the column.

Tells them how he concluded that White's motives were both personal and financial. Walks the jurors through the Whites' marital problems, their public fights, her drinking and rehab, the restraining order, the separation, and the upcoming divorce.

Then he takes them through White's finances: the $600,000 balloon payment on the house, the tax debts, the flat real estate investments, the tapped-out bank account, the delinquent credit card bills, the expensive furniture collection, the threat of alimony and child support, the threat of losing half of his meager assets to his wife.

The jury is tripping on Jack. They're pulling back on their joysticks like they're triggering a cocaine drip. There are 9s and 10s lighting up on the old monitor like Jack is some sort of eighty-five-pound adolescent girl on the uneven parallel bars.

"Did all this lead you to reach any conclusions?" Peters asks.

"Yes," Jack says. "That he was about to lose his home, his business, and his furniture."

"You seem to think the furniture is important, why is that?"

"It represented a very considerable investment," Jack says. "Also, it was one of the first things Mr. White asked me about the day of the fire."

"The day of the fire?"

"Yes."

"Mr. White called you about his claim the same day his wife was killed?" Peters asks, looking at the jury, an incredulous little tremor in her voice.

"Yes," Jack says, matter-of-factly. Better to let the jury get indignant.

"So the fact that he was about to lose all these things," Peters says, still shaking her head a little, "did that mean anything to you?"

"Yes, it meant to me that he had sufficient motive to set the fire."