The Victim's Wife Read online

  Goodman was a retired truck driver who was now trying to start his own business. He claimed to have no bias against Mason, but I was beginning to wonder if maybe he didn’t have an ax to grind against the rich wealthy executive type my client personified.

  I should’ve tried harder to convince Mason to wear a cheaper suit, I thought. Cheap Mason had gone out and bought himself an expensive suit because he was convinced it would make a difference in the outcome of his case. I hadn’t been so sure and had argued he just go with what he had in his closet, so he appeared more like an everyday person, but Mason had been adamant that since his life was on the line, he was not going to spare any expense.

  I had tried at that moment to convince him to go with a jury consultant, and the matter of the suit had been lost in the shuffle.

  I had meant to circle back to it but had never got the chance.

  Too late now, you have to run with the jury as it is and Mason as he is.

  I made a point of looking at each juror in turn. When they made eye contact, I gave a tiny smile or a slight nod of the head

  Vern Goodman frowned when I nodded. His eyes went to my client and got even worse.

  Is there something there besides bias against a rich man? I wondered.

  After I had reviewed the jury questionnaires, I had wanted to avoid seating Vern Goodman on the jury. However, there had been several worse candidates that I couldn’t countenance staying on the jury because I had been confident they would be biased against my client in other ways. I had thought Cindy might strike Vern Goodman as a juror, but she had glanced at him and moved right on down.

  It’s only one guy, I thought, only one person.

  The problem was that one person could mean the difference between a hung jury and an acquittal.

  The last thing I wanted was for Mason to have to go through all of this again.

  We should have hired the jury consultant. Maybe I was wrong about my other peremptory strikes.

  The judge looked at Cindy after glancing at the jury to make sure they were all settled. “You may proceed with your opening statement.”

  Cindy walked past the lectern with the judge’s permission and stood in front of the jury.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” she said, in a formal voice that was also soft as well as if she were trying to show empathy.

  This was an interesting approach for her. She usually liked to come off as strong as she could.

  “I thank you for your service today. I want to assure you that it is my intention that justice is done.” She let those words hang as she took a step forward and clasped her hands behind her, arching her back and staring straight into the face of every juror. “We are here on the crucial matter of the people of the State of Illinois versus Mason Harwood and Penny Moyer.

  “This case can be summed up in two sentences. Mason and Penny conspired to kill his business partner and her husband, Max Moyer. Mason killed his partner but was caught in the act.”

  Cindy paused and looked at each juror in turn.

  “It is as simple as that. Are we going to give Max justice? That is the question you all must answer, ladies and gentlemen.”

  Cindy paused again. “Penny is just as guilty as Mason of murder. I intend to prove to you, to everybody here, that both of these people deserve to go to jail for a long time.”

  She returned to her seat.

  I leaned back in my chair, watching the jury as Cindy spoke. I was surprised at her brevity, but she’d held their attention for every word.

  48

  Judge Lewis looked at me as Cindy moved to her seat. “Your turn, counselor.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” I stood and walked until I was in front of the jury. “My client has been wrongly accused of first-degree murder and conspiracy to commit murder.”

  I let the words hang for just a moment, thinking of what my next statement would do to the jury. I had talked this over with Mason, and he was on board with my approach, but still, it was a risk.

  “Did Mason stab Max?”

  The jury was hanging on my every word now. All eyes in the courtroom were on me. The judge stirred in his seat. Cindy was behind me so that I couldn’t see her expression, but I was confident that I had caught her attention as well

  I nodded. A gasp came from one of the jurors. I did not see who.

  “Yes, Mason stabbed Max.”

  If I had not had everybody’s attention before, I did now. I kept my face still as I looked at each juror, choosing this one moment to emphasize everything else I was about to say.

  “Should my client be found guilty of murder?”

  I paused again, assuming that there were some in the audience who thought I was about to admit this too.

  I shook my head.

  “No. He should not go to prison for murder.”

  I paused.

  “The question you have to answer is whether he had the proper mens rea when he stabbed Max. What does it mean to have mens rea?

  “Mens rea means that he had a guilty mind. It means that he knew his action was wrong at the time of the action. Did Mason have the requisite mens rea necessary to find him guilty of murder?

  “I am here to tell you today that he did not have the required mens rea. He was under the influence of drugs that had been unknowingly administered to him.”

  I paused again to look at the jury. I did not look at everybody’s face as I had before, wanting to get on with the delivery of my opening statement now.

  I had taken this approach because I was certain it would stick in juror’s minds. I wanted each to go home, remembering very little about what Cindy or Steve said. Instead, I wanted them to wish that they could talk about my presentation with somebody else because it had been that surprising.

  “Under the influence? Does it matter how the drugs are introduced to the system?

  “It does.

  “Make no mistake. He did not knowingly take these drugs. They were introduced by somebody else.”

  At this point in my opening statement, it would’ve been ideal to point the finger at somebody.

  Maybe by some miracle, Winston might turn something up, but I wasn’t counting on that.

  “At the end of this trial, I will ask you to acquit my client, not because he didn’t stab Max in the chest but because he was not in his right mind when he did.”

  I was done. I had decided beforehand to keep it quick, emphasizing only the points I wanted with the jury.

  Short. Sweet. Simple.

  Memorable.

  I had spent weeks working on that opening statement and had written a variety of drafts. When I had settled on an approach, I had written a much lengthier take. Then I had copied it, and whittled it down, and whittled it down again until I distilled it to the bare essence of what I had presented to the jury.

  I wanted to be memorable, so I had taken every word and planned it out carefully, thinking about it many times over the last few weeks before committing it to memory.

  I felt like I’d done a convincing job in delivering my opening statement, but it was only after the jury came back with a verdict that I would know for sure.

  Cindy had done a great job in her presentation. I hoped that I had done better.

  It had been tempting to present something longer. Attorneys liked to be verbose, figuring that the more they said, the more effective they would be, but I found that often was not the case. It was just one or two words said at the right time that could be the most influential. I had planned for some of those during this trial, assuming the opportunity arose, but if not, I had at least started off on the right foot with today’s opening.

  At Mason’s request, and for strategic reasons, I had not mentioned Penny. It was tempting to point the finger at her, but I couldn’t without evidence.

  I had not even fought Mason because it had not been worth it. If there would’ve been proof, it would’ve been a different story, but why fight a pointless battle?

  Judge Lewis lo
oked at Steve Barnum. “Counselor, it’s your turn.”

  Steve came up to the stand instead of standing before the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you today that my client has been spuriously charged. She did none of the things she is charged with doing. The prosecution has told you that she conspired with Mason to kill her husband Max. My client fervently denies that she had a relationship with Mason anytime during the year prior to the death of her husband. Phone records will show that phone calls did not start between the two of them until after Max’s death.”

  “What does this tell you?” Steve looked around the room. “The prosecution will tell you that this is evidence of a guilty mind, but I must ask you this, if you conspired to commit murder and you successfully committed that murder, would you call your coconspirator after the murder to talk about it?” Steve shook his head. “No, it doesn’t make sense. No, you would do everything you could to stay away from that person.

  “You will see instead that my client has established a pattern of trying to reach out to help Mason during his hour of difficulty.”

  Steve went on for quite a while. It wasn’t until almost fifteen minutes later before he finally sat down. I had found his opening statement to be rambling, off point at times, and un-memorable. Glancing at the glazed-over eyes of the jury, I figured they thought the same. Hopefully, the fact that I had done something in stark contrast to him would speak in our favor.

  After Steve sat down, the judge looked around at all of us as if he were going to say something and then decided against it. He banged his gavel instead.

  “We will take a forty-five-minute lunch.”

  Once the judge was gone, I looked over at Mason and gave him a confident nod.

  “We are off to a good start,” I said as I slipped my notepad back into my briefcase, packed up everything, and took it with me.

  I glanced over at Cindy as I did this, intentionally trying to make eye contact with her, but she appeared focused on something else, almost as if she knew that I was trying to taunt her for the time she had stolen my notes.

  The nerves I had felt before the trial had started were gone. My confidence was restored as it always was at the beginning. Today had gone about as good as it could have gone. Jury selection could have been worse. My opening statement had gone as planned. It was only enhanced by the fact that Penny’s opening from her attorney had been the polar opposite. I had accomplished a great deal already today. I had plenty to be happy about.

  “Solid opening, Mitch,” Mason said, getting up and walking with me out of the courtroom. “Let’s just hope I’m walking outta here at the end of all this.”

  49

  Once everybody was back from lunch, and Judge Lewis was seated again on the stand, Cindy called her first witness: a police officer named Randy Johnston, the same man I’d spoken to outside Meridian Solutions on the day Frank died.

  After Johnston was sworn in, Cindy proceeded to ask foundational questions, including information about Officer Johnston’s original call to the scene at the Meridian Solutions office building.

  It wasn’t until after she was almost half an hour into her questioning that things started to get interesting.

  “Officer Johnston,” Cindy said, “when you arrived at the murder scene, can you please describe what you found?”

  “Paramedics were already on-site, as well as several other cop cars. The ambulance lights were turned off. I walked into the building where I found a security guard who escorted me up to the fourth floor. I was shown to a large executive office.

  “Did you enter the office right away?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Why was that?”

  “The paramedics were treating a man outside.”

  “Who was this man?”

  “The defendant.” As soon as Officer Johnston spoke, I could tell that he wanted to say something more, but Cindy was already talking, so he clapped his mouth shut. He had recognized what she was already in the process of pointing out.

  “There are two defendants. Can you please point to who you are referring to?”

  “I’m talking about Mason Harwood,” Officer Johnston said, pointing in the direction of my client. The paramedics were examining him just outside of Max’s office, where he sat in a chair.

  “What was he being examined for?”

  “There were abrasions on his body. His cheek was bleeding.”

  “Did you ever learn the cause of these wounds?”

  I almost jumped to my feet, intending to object because this was hearsay.

  I already admitted Mason plunged a knife into Max’s chest.

  There was no reason to object to this; all it would do was muddy the waters and make me look like I was trying to argue something different than what I’d said in my opening statement.

  “I was told by a bystander, one of the other partners, her name was Vivian Fuger, that Max and Mason had been in a physical altercation. Max had given those wounds to Mason.”

  “Did you talk with Mason at that time?”

  “No, I did not. I went into the office and examined the body.”

  “Can you please describe what you found?”

  “Max’s body was beside his desk. There was a dagger beside him. It appeared he was stabbed three or four times. I learned later from the medical report that it was five times. There was blood all over the floor and his body was lifeless.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I went back outside and tried to engage Mason in a discussion.”

  “Why did you say tried?”

  “He was not very responsive. I would ask a question, but he would not look at me or even acknowledge that I was there. I reached out and tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention, and his eyes sprung open, glaring at me. When I repeated the question, something about his name, he just shook his head and looked away from me.”

  “Why do you think that was?”

  “I don’t know. He might’ve been drunk.”

  That was a point in our corner. I would take that and argue he was high from the Snickers bar laced with flakka.

  “What did you do after that?”

  “I waited for the detectives to arrive. Once they did, I had already received a new call that I had to respond to.”

  “Thank you, officer, that is all.”

  Judge Lewis looked at me. “Counselor, your witness.”

  “Officer Johnston,” I said, once I was at the podium with my notepad in front of me, “thank you for being here today.” I looked at my first question for Officer Johnston and decided that I was gonna stay with the theme of keeping things short.

  “You mentioned that it looked like my client was drunk. Did you smell anything on him to make you believe that was the case?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see any open canisters around him?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “When you tapped him on the shoulder, you said he looked surprised. Was he surprised to see you or just surprised that he was there?”

  “Hard to say. He looked up, almost like he wasn’t aware that I was there. He didn’t even look like he knew where he was. It was consistent with what you would expect from somebody who was drunk.”

  I nodded. “And what did the breathalyzer test say about his blood alcohol content?”

  Officer Johnston hesitated and glanced over at Cindy before looking back at me to answer the question.

  “We didn’t check him for intoxication.”

  I feigned a look of surprise. “Why not?”

  “The detectives showed up shortly after that, and I was called away. I don’t know what happened. You would have to ask them.”

  I nodded, happy with his responses, and decided to call it there.

  No breathalyzer, but testimony that he was drunk.

  Perfect.

  50

  After Steve Barnum was done asking pointless questions, Cindy stood up and went to the podium.

  �
��The state calls Detective David Thompson to the stand,” Cindy said.

  Detective Thompson was sworn in. After Cindy had asked him the usual preliminary questions and had gone over his history with the department, she got to the heart of the matter on what had happened that night.

  “Detective Thompson, can you tell us what happened on the night of January 23rd of this year?”

  “It was a little after 11:30 PM when I got a phone call. I reached out to my fellow detective, and together we responded to the scene about ten minutes before midnight. The police had already taken control of the situation, and the coroner was waiting for us to sign off before they removed the victim.”

  “Can you tell us what you found on the fourth floor?”

  “I found Officer Johnston, who gave me an update on the situation.”

  “And what was your conclusion after you familiarized yourself with the scene?”

  “It looked like Mason had killed Max.”

  “Did you arrest Mason that night?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  Cindy paused in her questioning, placing a finger on the notebook in front of her, before looking up to hold Detective Thompson’s eyes before she asked her next question.

  “Did he seem inebriated to you?”

  Detective Thompson hesitated. I held my breath. Would he contradict the testimony from Officer Johnston?

  “No, he appeared to have use of his full faculties.”

  Cindy nodded. “I want to be clear here. At no point did you suspect he was drunk?”

  “No, we did not.”

  It now made more sense to me why Cindy had chosen to go with Officer Johnston first. She wanted Officer Johnston to say that he was drunk, then she would have Detective Thompson come and clean it up. She could explain it away in her closing by saying that Mason had just been so shocked by what he had done that he had hardly been able to function; this was why Officer Johnston had thought him to be drunk.

  “Did Mason tell you what happened?”

  I almost popped out of my chair to object but refrained. I had suspected Cindy would try this and decided ahead of time to let her have it.