Chapter Fourteen
Chris Leith, chewed at his pencil, he had started out so confident; there was a confession, the defendant was caught in possession of one of the missing children and he had beaten up the arresting officer. Cut and dried. Only now, Chris felt he was the one who had been cut in to little pieces and hung up to dry like fish on a rack, by Ms. Wasabi, the defense attorney, who looked more like a DA than the pudgy, mouse haired prosecutor ever would. This, his first case, had gone to the dogs and he was wondering if he should be perusing the employment pages right now.
Reluctantly he stood and addressed the jury; "Ladies and Gentlemen, the evidence remains that Dimmey Palmerston was the one who directed the police in their search for the missing children. He alone knew where they were because he alone had taken them from their homes and their playgrounds. He placed Scottie Weese in the locker and locked it, thereby causing his death by suffocation." He went on, making impassioned pleas to their reason.
But the jury was biased now; they were on the side of the big kid who sat, during the trial that determined the rest of his life, and drew pictures with crayons and smiled winsomely but was too shy to answer any questions. The defense had been very successful in making Jim and Karen out to be heartless cops; shortsightedly looking for a scapegoat, so they could close their case. Chris took his seat after making his play; this was less like the game of chess he had imagined and more like being taught a lesson by an opponent who outmatched you one hundred to one.
The defense attorney approached the witness stand. She was a sharp looking Asian woman, her hair tied in a severe black bun at the back of her neck, her clothes were dark and expensive. She looked more like a shark circling than a sheepdog guarding her client. "Detective Bettancourt, please describe what you saw of the arrest made by Detective Dunbar."
"Well, it wasn't intended to be an arrest; during a door knock, the suspect showed recognition of the missing children when he looked at the photographs. He opened the door; we followed him into the building where he attacked us," Karen explained.
"So, you had no reason to believe this man was the abductor?" Ms. Wasabi asked.
"Not at that point, no," Karen had to agree.
"And was it you or Detective Dunbar who first came up with the idea that Dimmey Palmerston could be charged with the abductions?"
"Came up with the idea? No, he attacked and abducted us, then we found Sophie in the same building – there was no coming up with an idea." Karen's anger showed. She hated the way these lawyers presented their own views in the form of questions, twisted the jury's understanding, and seeded it with further doubt.
"So, together, you formed the conclusion that, because Sophie Leberowski was found in the same building as the defendant, he must have abducted her?"
"She also identified him," Karen pointed out.
The counselor smiled at Karen and turned, with a sincere confusion on her face, back to the jury. "Oh, I was led to believe her parents refused to have her view a line up and select the man who had taken her?"
Karen fumed, she watched Jim who looked as calm as ever. It was true, the Leberowski's had declined the line up, but the Lieutenant had backed them up saying the upset she might feel was unnecessary; with Dimmey's confession the prosecution should have it in the bag.
"It was considered unnecessary," Karen said, trying for the same crisp clipped style Jim used so well in the courtroom.
The defense turned to the jury, arms open in supplication. "So the detectives and their lieutenant decided that standard law enforcement procedures, such as a line up, were unnecessary because it might upset a little girl? And what other standard procedures did you neglect Detective Bettancourt? By the way, how long have you been a detective? Do you rely on Detective Dunbar to guide you in investigating serious crimes and identifying the offenders? Are you what is called a 'rookie'?" The defense counsel's voice rose slowly, punctuating words with depreciating gestures designed to show the jury that Karen was incompetent and relied on Jim to identify the perp. The questions fired in rapid succession, not allowing time for Karen to utter a word. And the prosecutor's melodrama was very effective, taking the jury with it, every accusation mirrored in the eyes of the six men and six women who sat in judgment against Jim and Karen, rather than of Dimmey Palmerston.
"No! I am not a rookie!" Karen felt swamped, how was she supposed to answer three questions in one? And should she answer these?
"Chris, what are you doing? Stop this!" Jim whispered fiercely, digging his elbow into the prosecutor who sat, fuming but silent beside him.
Chris stood, "Objection, Your Honor, the detectives are not on trial."
"Sustained. Defense counsel will address the evidence not malign the character or competence of the police."
"But Your Honor, it is these very incompetent police who currently threaten the liberty of this innocent child, while the real perpetrator of this crime goes unsought, unpunished and perhaps abducting more children. Unless we can show this, the police will close the file and the real criminals will get away." The defense counsel was as sly as a snake, turning even the judge's words against Jim and Karen and now equating a guilty verdict with another criminal loose on the streets to abduct more children.
"Counsel, approach the bench," though the judge's voice was quiet, her eyes glittered like the sharp edges of cut glass.
Both the defense and prosecutor stood before her. After giving the prosecution a warning look she turned to the defense counsel. "Ms. Wasabi, I am aware of your strategy and I warn you now, that if you further attempt to turn the jury from their duty of examining the evidence rather than the gatherers of that evidence, I will find reason to reprimand you in a manner that you will find most unpleasant." The defense nodded and looked away, her dark hair swung loose of its tight fixture atop her head and hid her expression from the judge. The sparkle in her eye did not diminish, she had the jury anyhow, this would be a piece of cake, all she needed was that blind detective on the stand, a nice sympathetic tone, a gentle approach and the jury would see him as a groping fool, trying to carry out a function well beyond his capabilities.
The judge turned back to the prosecutor, "And you Mr. Leith, you had better step up to the plate, right now; your case looks pathetic."
…
When the prosecution again held the stage, the jury members got to view enlarged photos of Jim's injuries and were swayed somewhat, but not enough to make them doubt the big shy kid they saw playing with crayons and match box cars at the defense desk.
Wasabi smiled, treasuring the law that said all evidence had to be shared. It had taken a lot of effort but she had managed to dig up photos of very similar injuries on another man, newly blinded and thus liable to walk into half opened doors, injure his wrist in cane travel, and even break a few ribs in a tumble down some stairs. Every injury came with a confession of self-infliction.
She would put the photos up, describe them in detail to the detective and ask if he could have in fact received his injuries in very similar circumstances. If he admitted they could have been self-inflicted, the jury would assume they did. Even an embarrassed smile from him would work in her favor; his denial would appear nothing more than defensiveness and pride.
If needed, she had the tape recording where the Lieutenant had questioned the detective on the bruises on his hands and wrists. She almost hoped he would deny it, the exact words on tape were damning; "Jim, how did your hands get so bruised?" A long pause… "I had no cane and no guide, Sir. I stumbled a bit." Wasabi almost shivered with anticipation almost tasting the bitter joy on her tongue.
As expected, the defense asked to recall Detective Dunbar and was granted permission after recess; the judge looked directly at Chris Leith and shook her head.
…
During the recess Jim turned to Chris. "Where is Dimmey seated?"
"At the defense table."
"This side?"
Chris nodded.
"Yes," Karen supplied, gesturing angrily to Chris that he should speak to Jim, not just nod.
"So, he's sitting on the end?" Jim clarified.
"Yes." Chris exaggerated his answer and glared at Karen.
"I have an idea." Jim laid out his plan.
"Oh, no, Jimmy that's too dangerous." Karen was adamant.
"You think he'll attack you?" Chris asked doubtfully; glancing at the big man sitting hunched over, making broom-broom sounds, a few feet away. His parents were bribing him with promises of chocolate milk and cookies to get him to leave with them. It worked and Karen, Jim, and Chris were alone in the court room.
"Yes, absolutely he would, but it's too dangerous," Karen stated, annoyed that their own prosecutor hadn't accepted what they had told them of the man's violent nature.
"You see any other way to get this guy off the street, Karen?" Jim reasoned.
She shook her head. "No, but I don't like it."
"Come on take me to the doors, I need to know the layout." Jim stood up, committed. "Hank, stay."
Karen sighed, she gave him her arm, and spoke softly as they walked, "Jimmy, last time I had to stand by and watch…" she sounded distressed.
"He's in cuffs, there are guards and you know what to expect," Jim reassured her, ignoring the tension in his own body. "And this time your hands are free, you have a gun, and there's no walls between us." he whispered, leaning over her as they walked to the back of the room.
Despite his calming words, Jim was surprised to find fear trying to worm its way in, using the images from his dream the night before as passport. He refused entry to the fear but the images stuck in his head, making it a little difficult to map the gallery, the layout of the tables, and the witness stand.
"Chris, you staying here over recess?"
"Yes. I gotta find some way to turn this around." Clearly he had no faith in Jim's plan. That was fine; Jim didn't require any from him.
"Look after my dog, we're going for coffee."
TBC