David Rosenfelt: New Tricks

“When you called Steven, what did he say?”

“That he had no idea where his father was; that they hadn’t been in much contact lately.”

“So when he was no help, who did you call next?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Your phone records show no other calls that night.”

“Then I didn’t make any.”

“So you were worried about Mr. Timmerman, you got no information from Steven, and that eased your mind enough not to call anyone else?”

“I said that Diana was worried about him. She probably made the other calls. These were not very significant events at the time, Mr. Carpenter. My recollection is not clear.”

“Okay. I’ll change the subject to something hopefully clearer. Let’s talk about money. I was reading the terms of Walter Timmerman’s will, and basically he left his estate and share of the company to his wife, Diana. Are you aware of that?”

“I’ve read it in the newspapers.”

“If she were not alive when the estate was settled, the money would then go to Steven. Are you aware of that?”

“Vaguely.”

“But if Steven were not in a position by law to receive the money, say if he were in jail for killing his father, Walter Timmerman’s stock goes back into the company. Did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“Therefore, all the other shareholders would then automatically have a bigger piece of the company. By my figuring, and correct me if I’m wrong, your personal stake in the company would increase by over eighty million dollars.”

“I have not given it a moment’s thought,” he says.

“Wow. You must be really rich,” I say, and am pleased when a few jury members laugh at the absurdity of it. “Most people would give at least half an hour’s thought to getting eighty million dollars.”

“I am fortunate enough to be well off financially. No amount of money would make me harm my partner and friend.”

“You don’t consider sleeping with his wife harmful to him?”

“That is something I deeply regret.”

I consider whether to delve into the likelihood that Sykes knew about Walter’s DNA work, and that taking it over was a motivation for murder. I decide against it, because it would just be me accusing and him denying, and I have nothing factual to catch him on.

I let Sykes off the stand, and Richard attempts to rehabilitate him. It gives him a chance to once again vehemently deny any wrongdoing, and to rail against the injustice of being asked about minor incidents that happened a long time ago, and then having the inference drawn that his inability to answer accurately should be incriminating.

We definitely won this round, but I just don’t know if we won it by a big enough margin.

PERRY MASON HAS LEFT THE BUILDING.

Actually, I’m not sure he was ever here. Sykes did not break down and admit his guilt, nor did I get enough out of him that his guilt was obvious.

But I made a lot of progress, and no fair-minded observer could have come away with anything near certainty that Sykes was not involved in the murder. Sykes had few good answers, only denials and evasions, and in my mind he should now be universally viewed with suspicion.

The real question is whether that suspicion of Sykes will result in reasonable doubt about Steven’s guilt. I believe that it should; if a person thinks there’s a chance that Sykes did it, then that same person by definition has to have a reasonable doubt as to whether or not Steven did.

This is the crucial question we must answer, because the time has come to decide whether or not Steven will testify. Kevin and I meet with him, and it’s the first time I can ever recall starting such a meeting without having a clear point of view of my own.

“I think we made substantial progress with Sykes,” I say, “and I can augment that in my closing argument. But there’s no way to know for sure.”

Kevin was more impressed than I was by the progress I made, and he says so. He is therefore now taking the position that Steven should not testify.

“Tell me the positives and negatives,” Steven says.

I nod. “Okay, let’s start with the positives. You can testify that you spoke to your father that night on Sykes’s phone, and you can say why you went to Mario’s. I can’t say those things in closing arguments; I can only talk about evidence already introduced. You can also tell the jury directly and in your own words that you did not commit these crimes.”

“And the negatives?”

“You will be asked about the evidence against you, like the blood and the gun, and you’ll have no answers to give, since you don’t really know how that evidence came into existence. You’ll also be asked about problems you’ve had with your father and stepmother, and in the hands of a good prosecutor like Richard, you’ll look bad in the process. On cross-examination, Mother Teresa could be made to look like Tony Soprano.”

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Yes, it would be nice to end this on Sykes, so that he is fresh in the minds of the jury. If you testify, he’ll fade somewhat into the background. When a defendant testifies, it alters the entire trial in one direction or the other.”

“So what’s your recommendation?” Steven asks

As I’ve been talking, I’ve been developing a point of view. “On balance, I would recommend that you not take the stand.”

“Okay… you’re calling the shot.”

I shake my head. “No, you’re calling it. This has to be your decision and only your decision.”

He nods. “I understand that. And my decision is to trust your judgment.”

All there is for me to do now is prepare my closing argument, and that is what I have on tap for tonight. It’s another area in which I like to be freewheeling and spontaneous, but I also have to make sure I don’t miss anything, because I’ll have only one bite at the apple.

What I do is write the general subjects I want to cover on a piece of paper, and then I think about them one at a time. If there are any details I’m unsure of, I refer to what is now the mountain of notes and documents that make up the case file. But basically I know what there is to know, and what it is I want to say.

Laurie knows enough to leave me by myself during this prep time. I’m on my own at this point, and no one can really help.

I’m not thrilled with how things are going with Laurie. She hasn’t come to a decision, which I pessimistically view as a negative sign. I know she has always liked to think things all the way through until she is comfortable, and I’m much more spontaneous. But it still doesn’t feel right.

Also, I’m feeling like I did when waiting for Laurie to decide whether or not to go to Wisconsin two years ago. If she leaves, it will feel somewhat like she is walking out on me again. We might have difficulty surviving that.

I am starting to believe that I brought it up too soon, yet for some reason I’m not sorry I did. But at this moment I can’t let myself worry about it either way.

Whether Laurie lives in Wisconsin or New Jersey is fairly insignificant compared with whether Steven lives at home or in state prison.

Even to me.

“WHEN WE FIRST CONVENED HERE, I told you this was a simple case,” is how Richard begins his closing statement. “And nothing has been said since to change my mind. Steven Timmerman was quarreling bitterly with his father, and he resented him terribly for marrying a woman that Steven hated.

“The defense has pointed out that those arguments happened frequently over time, and this was also not the first time Walter had threatened to disinherit his son. And all of that is true.