Michael Connelly - The Reversal

“This trial is about a monster who killed a child. A monster who defiled one young girl and was going to move on to the next when something went wrong and he killed that child. This trial is about the family that was so fearful of that monster that they went along with the plan to cover up the crime and point the finger elsewhere. At an innocent man.”

Royce pointed righteously at Jessup as he said this last line. Maggie shook her head in disgust, a calculated move for the jury.

“Jason, would you please stand up?” Royce said.

His client did as instructed and turned fully to the jury, his eyes boldly scanning from face to face, not flinching or looking away.

“Jason Jessup is an innocent man,” Royce said with the requisite outrage in his voice. “He was the fall guy. An innocent man caught in an impromptu plan to cover up the worst kind of crime, the taking of a child’s life.”

Jessup sat down and Royce paused so his words would burn into every juror’s conscience. It was highly theatrical and planned that way.

“There are two victims here,” he finally said. “Melissa Landy is a victim. She lost her life. Jason Jessup is also a victim because they are trying to take his life. The family conspired against him and then the police followed their lead. They ignored the evidence and planted their own. And now after twenty-four years, after witnesses are gone and memories have dimmed, they’ve come calling for him…”

Royce cast his head down as if tremendously burdened by the truth. I knew he would now wrap things up.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we are here for only one reason. To seek the truth. Before the end of this day, you will know the truth about Windsor Boulevard. You will know that Jason Jessup is an innocent man.”

Royce paused again, then thanked the jury and moved back to his seat. In what I was sure was a well-rehearsed moment, Jessup put his arm around his lawyer’s shoulders, gave him a squeeze and thanked him.

But the judge gave Royce little time to savor the moment or the slick delivery of his opening statement. She told him to call his first witness. I turned in my seat and saw Bosch standing in the back of the courtroom. He gave me the nod. I had sent him to get Sarah Ann Gleason from the hotel as soon as Royce had informed me upon arriving at court that she would be his first witness.

“The defense calls Sarah Ann Gleason to the stand,” Royce said, putting the accent on defense in a way that suggested that this was an unexpected turnabout.

Bosch stepped out of the courtroom and quickly returned with Gleason. He walked her down the aisle and through the gate. She went the rest of the way on her own. She again was dressed for court informally, wearing a white peasant blouse and a pair of jeans.

Gleason was reminded by the judge that she was still under oath and turned over to Royce. This time when he went to the lectern he carried a thick file and a legal pad. Probably most of it-the file, at least-was just an attempt to intimidate Gleason, to make her think he had a big fat file on everything she had ever done wrong in life.

“Good morning, Ms. Gleason.”

“Good morning.”

“Now, you testified yesterday that you were the victim of sexual abuse at the hands of your stepfather, Kensington Landy, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

With the first word of her testimony I detected trepidation. She hadn’t been allowed to hear Royce’s opening statement but we had prepared Gleason for the way we thought the defense case would go. She was exhibiting fear already and this never played well with the jury. There was little Maggie and I could do. Sarah was up there on her own.

“At what point in your life did this abuse start?”

“When I was twelve.”

“And it ended when?”

“When I was thirteen. Right after my sister’s death.”

“I notice you didn’t call it your sister’s murder. You called it her death. Is there a reason for that?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Well, your sister was murdered, correct? It wasn’t an accident, was it?”

“No, it was murder.”

“Then why did you refer to it as her death just a moment ago?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Are you confused about what happened to your sister?”

Maggie was on her feet objecting before Gleason could answer.

“Counsel is badgering the witness,” she said. “He’s more interested in eliciting an emotional response than an answer.”

“Your Honor, I simply am trying to learn how and why this witness views this crime the way she does. It goes to state of mind of the witness. I am not interested in eliciting anything other than an answer to the question I asked.”

The judge weighed things for a moment before ruling.

“I’m going to allow it. The witness may answer the question.”

“I’ll repeat it,” Royce said. “Ms. Gleason, are you confused about what happened to your sister?”

During the exchange between lawyers and the judge, Gleason had found some resolve. She answered forcefully while hitting Royce with a hard stare of defiance.

“No, I’m not confused about what happened. I was there. She was kidnapped by your client and after that I never saw her again. There is no confusion about that at all.”

I wanted to stand and clap. Instead, I just nodded to myself. It was a fine, fine answer. But Royce moved on, acting as though he had not been hit with the tomato.

“There have been times in your life when you were confused, however, correct?”

“About my sister and what happened and who took her? Never.”

“I’m talking about times you were incarcerated in mental health facilities and the psych wards of jails and prisons.”

Gleason lowered her head in full realization that she would not escape this trial without a full airing of the lost years of her life. I just had to hope she would respond in the way Maggie had told her to.

“After the murder of my sister, many things went wrong in my life,” she said.

She then looked up directly at Royce as she continued.

“Yes, I spent some time in those kinds of places. I think, and my counselors agreed, that it was because of what happened to Melissa.”

Good answer, I thought. She was fighting.

“We’ll get back into that later on,” Royce said. “But getting back to your sister, she was twelve at the time of her murder, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“This would have been the same age you were when your stepfather began to sexually abuse you. Am I right?”

“About the same, yes.”

“Did you warn your sister about him?”

There was a long pause as Gleason considered her answer. This was because there was no good answer.

“Ms. Gleason?” the judge prompted. “Please answer the question.”

“No, I didn’t warn her. I was afraid to.”

“Afraid of what?” Royce asked.

“Him. As you’ve already pointed out, I’ve been through a lot of therapy in my life. I know that it is not unusual for a child to be unable to tell anyone. You get trapped in the behavior. Trapped by fear. I’ve been told that many times.”

“In other words, you go along to get along.”

“Sort of. But that is a simplification. It was more-”

“But you did live with a lot of fear in your life back then?”

“Yes, I-”

“Did your stepfather tell you not to tell anyone about what he was doing to you?”

“Yes, he said-”

“Did he threaten you?”

“He said that if I told anyone I would be taken away from my mother and sister. He said he would make sure that the state would think my mother knew about it and they would consider her unfit. They would take Melissa and me away. Then we would get split up because foster homes couldn’t always take two at a time.”