William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

The hell you aren’t.

“—but they are certainly…different. Now, Mrs. Applebury, you wouldn’t hold a grudge against a woman just because she was having, um, relations without benefit of marriage, would you?”

There was nothing Ben could do. If he objected because there was no evidence of any, um, relations between the defendant and the victim, he would only appear defensive, which would ensure the jury would assume that there were some, um, relations…

Mrs. Applebury placed her hand against her chest. “I-I would try not to.”

“And how about you, Mrs. Bernstein?”

“Well, I always try to keep an open mind.”

“And you, Mr. Svenson? You wouldn’t assume a woman was guilty just because she engaged in sexual practices you don’t consider…normal.”

“Your honor!” Ben said. “This is outrageous. This is totally irrelevant to this case.”

“Well,” Derek said, “if it’s totally irrelevant, it can’t do your client any harm, can it?”

Ben had to hand it to him; Derek was pretty quick on his feet.

“That’s all right, your honor,” Moltke said. “I’m ready to move on. I have one last subject to discuss, again, with considerable regret. This case will touch upon the subject of illegal narcotics. I’m sure each of you knows what a serious problem this is in the United States today, with drags available on every street corner, even in decent, God-fearing neighborhoods. Even on grade-school playgrounds—”

“Objection, your honor.”

“Sustained.”

Moltke continued unperturbed. “I’m sure each of you knows there’s a war on—a war against drugs. Many of us in the government consider ourselves foot soldiers in that war. Perhaps many of you do, too. But I must remind you that this is a trial for murder in the first degree. Even though you may find the defendant was in possession of sizable quantities of illegal narcotics, you must not let that prejudice your decision on the larger issue. I’d like each of you to promise me you will view the evidence fairly, and that if you bring back a conviction against the defendant, it will be based upon the considerable evidence proving she committed murder, and not simply an understandable, if misguided effort to sever this link in the virulent chain that is destroying our fine nation—”

“ Objection , your honor!” Ben said, practically screaming. “This is grossly prejudicial. Counsel is practically testifying.”

Derek nodded calmly. “The objection is sustained.”

“I also move to strike the prosecutor’s improper remarks from the record, and that the jury be instructed to disregard.”

“If you insist.”

Well, at least he didn’t say: Why bother?

Derek gazed impassively at the jury. “You are instructed to disregard any remarks of counsel that may have suggested criminal activity as yet unproven.” He peered down at Moltke. “Anything else, or are you about done?”

Moltke could take a hint. “I ‘m done, your honor.”

“Good. Counsel for the defense?”

Ben went to the podium and began running through the list of questions he had prepared in advance. He did it like they taught him in law school; he avoided questions intended to tarnish opposition witnesses, questions designed to preview opening statement, and questions designed to predispose the jury in his favor. The point of voir dire was to determine whether the jurors could be fair and impartial, and he stuck to it. That was the way it was supposed to work. Right?

Ben was barely halfway through his questions when he sensed the jury’s attention was beginning to wane. They kept peering over his shoulder, trying to size up Christina. The sad fact was that half of them would probably be more influenced by her personal appearance than any evidence they heard at trial.

“I noted that opposing counsel required you to make all kinds of promises during his voir dire examination,” Ben said in conclusion. “I’m only going to ask you to make one. Later in this trial, you will hear the judge use the phrases presumed innocent , and beyond a reasonable doubt , and he will instruct you on the meaning of those phrases. Please listen carefully to what the judge tells you, and bear in mind at all times that Christina McCall is presumed innocent, and that the burden of proving her guilt beyond a reasonable doubt is entirely on the prosecution. All I ask is that you hold them to that legal standard. Will each of you promise to do that?”

There was a general, unenthusiastic nodding of heads.

“What about you, Mrs. McKenzie? Will you make that promise?”

It was a mistake, Ben realized almost immediately. He just didn’t have Moltke’s finesse. She looked stricken, embarrassed to be singled out. “I—why, yes, I suppose,” she said, flustered. She covered the side of her face with her hand.

“Thank you.” He decided not to compound the error by trying anyone else.

“And thank you, counsel,” Derek said. “Both sides will take ten minutes to deliberate, then I want to see counsel in chambers to make their initial challenges.”

All in all, it could have been worse. Ben took off three older women, including Mrs. McKenzie, the one he had mortified. Moltke took off three men, all for reasons that eluded Ben. Perhaps they weren’t responding properly to his charismatic feints.

Derek called for opening statements. Moltke strode up to the jury box and smiled. Derek cleared his throat and pointed at the podium.

“Oh, of course, your honor. I forgot where I was.” He retreated to the podium.

Just another tactic from Moltke He went up front and close to the jury to remind them he was one of them, one of the gang. Ben knew he would never have an opportunity to get that close. They would always perceive him as being more distant.

“It was a dark, moonless night,” Moltke began, setting the mood. “Most law-abiding Tulsans were still asleep in bed. All was calm, silent, still. Until suddenly, the night was shattered”—he pounded on the podium, startling the jurors—“by a sudden act of grisly violence.”

Ben tried to refrain from rolling his eyes. He hated attorneys who thought they were Edgar frigging Allan Poe. He hated seeing what should be a cold, unemotional recitation of the facts turned into “The Fall of the House of Usher.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the overwhelming evidence will show that on that moonless morning, the defendant, Christina McCall, took her lover’s gun and shot him, at point-blank range, four times in the head. As you might imagine, one such shot would easily have killed him. What kind of woman would stand there and shoot, not once, but four times? The same woman, as the evidence will show, who was found by FBI agents hovering over the body, her fingerprints still fresh on the gun. The same woman whose only statement to the arresting officer was, ‘I killed him.’ ”

There was no point in objecting. It was argumentative, but Moltke was carefully couching his statements in terms of what “the evidence will show,” which theoretically kept him within the scope of opening statement. Derek would simply rule that the jury could listen to the testimony for itself and decide whether the opening remarks were accurate. Then Derek would sneer and make it clear to the jury that he held Ben in complete contempt. No, Ben was going to save his objections for when he needed them.

Moltke continued for about twenty minutes, painting Christina as a spiteful tramp, linking the murder to drug smuggling and organized crime, and evoking sympathy for the bereaved widow, the betrayed woman. He gestured to Margot, now without her sunglasses, poised in the front of the gallery with a stricken expression on her face. Had he arranged for her to get a front-row seat? Probably.