William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

There were too many questions, and it was too hard to know-

A hand gripped Loving around the mouth.

His eyes went wide. Loving tried to shake the hand free, but he couldn't. Whoever was behind him had locked his other arm around his chest. He was strong. Loving's cover was probably already blown, but he still wasn't anxious to attract the attention of the men on the loading dock. Maybe he could still get out of this alive…

Loving kicked back against the retaining wall, knocking his assailant on his butt. His grip on Loving remained strong, even on his back. Loving tried to break away, unsuccessfully. This guy had some serious muscle. Loving pushed again and they went rolling down the grassy hill, locked together like lovers, Jack and Jill, tumbling out of control.

They hit the bottom with a thud. Finally the attacker's grip loosened just enough for Loving to wrest himself free. He swung around, then pushed himself up on his knees and took a swing.

The other man ducked, then lunged under Loving's arms and wrapped his arms around him, tackling him. They both crashed once more to the ground. It knocked the breath out of Loving. He shook himself, trying to get his bearings. The darkness made it almost impossible. He felt a fist clock him on the right side of his jaw.

Enough. He wasn't going to be anyone's punching bag. He jumped up and lunged.

The other man pulled a gun. Loving froze in his tracks.

"Police," the man said breathlessly.

Blast. Probably one of Shaw's buddies. Now Loving would never find out what he needed to know.

He heard the hammer of the gun cock. "You've got ten seconds to tell me what you're doing here."

"I'm not sayin' anythin'."

After a brief pause, the man said, "Loving?"

The dirty cop recognized him. He was a goner now.

"Is Ben here?"

Loving wasn't sure how to answer. He decided to go with the truth. "No."

"Thank heaven for that. For once, he actually showed some sense. Now get down before those jerks on the dock see you."

"You mean," Loving whispered, "you're not with them?"

"With them? I told you, I'm with the police."

"So is Shaw."

"Good point." He took a small pocket flashlight out of his coat and shone it on his face. "Now are we both on the same page?"

It was a face Loving had seen in the office a dozen or more times. Ben's best friend. Homicide detective Mike Morelli.

"Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is not a complex case. The defense has tried to complicate what even they admit is a simple matter, but I think you're smart enough to see through that. You may remember what I asked of you all those days ago when we began this trial. Nothing has changed. All I ask is that you honor the oath you swore when you took on the most important civic duty, that of being a juror. All I ask is that you weigh the evidence fairly and intelligently and that you apply the law."

Guillerman was starting low-key, Ben observed, but he suspected the man would work himself up to a fiery frenzy before he sat down. He would begin with appeals to logic and common sense, but before he was done there would be dramaturgy worthy of a Baptist preacher, filled with tears and invocations of "the thin blue line."

"The crime with which Dennis Thomas has been charged is murder in the first degree. What are the facts that led to this charge? I will tell you. And please remember: these facts are not in dispute."

He raised his hand and began ticking them off, one after another. "He has admitted that he blamed Detective Sentz for the death of his wife. He has admitted that he attacked the man, causing serious injury, and stopped only because other officers were present. He has admitted that he met with a high-profile defense attorney on the day of the murder. He has admitted that he took deliberate steps to discover Detective Sentz's location. He has admitted that he purposefully and intentionally went to the hotel room where he learned Sentz was." Guillerman lowered his chin, looking at them levelly. "And he has admitted that he went there with a gun."

Guillerman moved into the center of the courtroom, taking their attention with him. "This is the honest truth-I've gotten murder convictions on a lot less than that. There's not much doubt about what happened in that hotel room, and I notice that the defense hasn't tried very hard to convince anyone differently. Did we believe for one second that Detective Sentz would harm himself? No. Is there any indication of a third party? No. So why isn't this trial over already?

"There is only one reason. Because they have asserted the defense of temporary insanity. This is called an affirmative defense, meaning that the burden of proof is shifted. They must prove the truth of their defense. As the judge will later instruct you, if they do not, the defense must fail, and you must find the defendant just as responsible for his own actions as you would anyone else."

He took a few more steps backward, bringing himself up beside the defendant's table. "So what actual evidence of temporary insanity do we have?" He gestured toward Dennis. "What proof did you receive that this man was insane? We know he was angry, yes. Obsessed, certainly. We know he had a serious temper and was given to bouts of violence, not only with his wife but with others. He was given medication that might help suppress his violent impulses. But insanity? Where was the proof of that? The entire process of getting the gun, tracking down his intended victim, stalking him at the hotel-none of that sounds like the irrational act of a crazy man. It sounds like the cold, calculating, deliberate act of a man determined to take a life."

Guillerman glanced at Dennis, forcing the jury to do the same, then he moved on. "Excluding the psychiatric evidence, which I will talk about in a moment, the only real proof you have of anything remotely resembling mental illness is his blackout. He says he blacked out and now, conveniently, he doesn't remember what happened. Please remember that he never once, in the entire time he was on the witness stand, denied that he killed Detective Sentz. He just says he doesn't remember. What does that tell you?

"Did he really black out? Or was he faking? What you should be asking yourself is this: Is this one act, this one fainting spell, quite possibly feigned, enough to demonstrate that he was mentally ill? Or was it perhaps induced by the revulsion and horror a rational mind experienced after he completed the murderous act? Was the blackout the result of a brain desperately trying to erase the memory of what it had done?"

Guillerman returned to the jury box. "That leaves us with only one final element that bears on the defendant's excuse. The paid psychiatric witness. The man who himself called temporary insanity a merciful device invented to absolve the guilty. The man who only saw Dennis Thomas once between his wife's death and the murder but still wants to be considered an expert. The man who didn't see sufficient danger signs to take any action, but now wants to tell us that the defendant was temporarily insane. How seriously can you take this man?

"He says Dennis Thomas was under a lot of stress. Well, who isn't? All I can say to that is, with something like six million Americans taking Prozac every day, I seriously hope you do not turn stress into a license to kill. He says that the defendant was disturbed by the loss of his wife and I do not doubt it. Even though it is apparent that the marriage had problems, problems that the defendant has tried to withhold from the jury, I do not doubt that it was hard to lose a spouse, particularly in that way. But there is no good way. Death is a part of life, and each and every day many loving people lose their partners. I hope that you will not allow this to stand as a justification for anyone to vent their rage by taking the life of another human being."