A fool for a client, p.7
A Fool for a Client, page 7
But she would also have to struggle to hide the anger.
The purple shorts came next. They matched the T-shirt in both colour and style... and carried the same suggestion. She stepped into them and pulled them up with a swift movement. They hugged her form, showing it at its best, or at least hinting at the offer. The whole scenario was repulsive and loathsome, but without the bait there was no way that she could lure that vile man to his destruction.
The combination was complemented by a pair of high leather boots in white. With every item of apparel in place, she stood before the mirror with her hands on her hips. A hard cruel smile broke out across her face. But it was not the smile of one who had no feelings. It was the smile of one who could feel too much.
Chapter 8
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Daniel Abrams' voice rang out. “Before you, sits a young lady accused of the crime of murder. This is a serious crime and it is not an accusation which a grand jury would make lightly.”
There was a stirring in the jury benches as several of the jurors sat forward. Strictly speaking a Grand Jury indictment is not a finding of guilt or even an accusation, but a finding of the fact that there is a case to answer. But the press and public frequently take it as a preliminary verdict of guilty, and most prosecutors are only too happy to avail themselves of this popular misconception.
“It is the contention of the prosecution that Justine Levy caused Sean Murphy to die of poisoning. It is the People's case that she did this wilfully, deliberately and with the most meticulous premeditation.”
The Assistant District Attorney stood by the wooden rail in front of the jury, addressing the twelve representatives of the people in a powerful strident tone as he blasted away at their senses with his opening volley of rhetoric. He was, by repute, a subtle prosecutor rather than a power prosecutor. But today he was changing his style in order to give a boost to his political career, and also to render him numb to his own doubts about the justice of his case.
“You will hear medical evidence as to how Sean Murphy died, how Miss Levy entrapped him into inviting her for dinner and then brought along a bottle of tequila as part of her plan to poison him. You will hear how the defendant took, from the medical school where she studied, certain equipment which she used to extract poison from canisters of insecticide, thereby avoiding having to sign for the purchase of a poisonous substance. You will hear evidence of how she purchased insecticide from which she extracted this poisonous substance. You will hear how she disguised her appearance before the crime and then went back to her old appearance after the crime, thereby indicating criminal intent. You will hear how she met the deceased at a bar and went off with him the night before the murder.”
There was an eerie quiet in the courtroom during the pauses between Abrams' sentences, the kind of silence one expects to hear in the fraction of a second before the verdict is announced. The judge, a seasoned observer of criminal proceedings, noticed a strange kind of unease hanging in the air, an unfamiliar kind of tension written in lines of earnest intensity across the faces of the numerous spectators. It was one of those cases that holds the public in its grip.
But there were cases and there were cases. It had always been so. There were the cases involving the rich and famous, which had drawn the public in droves, to root for their hero or to gloat over a fallen idol whom they hated or envied. There were the crimes of particular viciousness when the public had shown up to witness the undoing and punishment of the miscreant who had outraged their sense of morality. There were the serial killers, finally brought to book after tireless months of investigating by the authorities, who had taunted the police with their crimes and were finally hunted down and brought before the judge in chains, their days of gloating over. There were the helpless victims, the battered wives and abused children who finally and belatedly fought back with more force than the law allowed. And there were the deceitful ones who tried to portray themselves as belonging to that tragic category, their cunning lawyers taking advantage of the fact that the victim is not directly represented by the prosecution and knowing full well that the dead cannot answer back.
Each of these trials had their own peculiar character which marked them out for distinction from each other. But all of them had one thing in common: the tension came at the end, while excitement and curiosity characterized the beginning. With the case of The People of the State of New York versus Justine Levy all of this was different. The tension that was usually reserved for the build-up to the verdict pervaded the courtroom from the very beginning. There was none of the usual tendency of spectators to look at their neighbours and whisper to them. They seemed afraid even to look at their neighbours, as if their neighbours' faces were somehow an implacable reproach to themselves.
Abrams proceeded to outline his case in more detail, describing the first meeting between Justine and Sean Murphy, the type of poison used and how it affected the nervous system and the events at the hospital. Then he paused for dramatic effect.
“But there is another dimension to this case apart from the purely technical one, an aspect which is in fact more interesting than the dry scientific details.”
“I am referring,” Abrams continued, “to the moral aspects of this case, and also of course to the related psychological aspects. These form the backdrop to this case.”
At the defence table, Justine showed no emotion, except a kind of quiet attentiveness, her face as closed to the outside world as that of a seasoned poker player.
“In a way this case is a tragedy, members of the jury. A tragedy written by the hand of fate on the subject of human nature, on the theme, I should say, of the ugly side of human nature.”
Again he paused, monitoring the jurors' reactions to his words. It was one of those carefully planned dramatic pauses that he had practiced hundreds of times. Then, in time with his words, he began tapping on the rail in front of the jury with his right hand.
“A medical student, a girl who was learning how to save human life, instead chose to use her knowledge to become a destroyer by taking the life of one of her fellow human beings.”
Now came the technique that Jerry had taught him when he was greenhorn in the DA's office and Jerry was the up-and-coming whiz kid who served as his mentor. He half-turned and pointed with an extended finger and outstretched forearm towards Justine. It was the perfect courtroom ploy. As long as he gave the impression of personal sincerity it couldn't fail. However Justine reacted, she would look guilty. She could smile, blush, swallow, look demurely away or burst into tears, the result would always be the same. As long as the prosecutor sounded sincere to the jury, they would believe him and dismiss the defendant's response as a ploy or an indirect confession of guilt.
“There ladies and gentlemen sits an evil woman who has blood on her hands, a woman who committed cold-blooded murder. She would have you believe that she's nothing more than a girl, but she is most manifestly a woman. She lost her childhood innocence the day she decided to play God!”
He lowered his hand and started pacing along in front of the jury.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I know that the defendant is young and pretty. But I urge you members of the jury not to be swayed by her looks or her youth. Such sympathy would be wholly misplaced. Spare your sympathy instead for her victim, Sean Murphy. He paid a heavy price for liking her and trusting her: he paid with his life.
“You might think that because the late Sean Murphy was himself accused of murder, in a foreign country, hat this in some way justifies the actions of the defendant. But I need hardly remind you, members of the jury, that our sacred tradition calls for a government of laws and not of men. It was for the courts to decide what do to with Sean Murphy, not one lone vigilante. The courts decided. But she didn't agree with their decision, so she decided to take the law into her own hands
“I do not know what connection, if any, existed between Justine Levy and her victim. It may be that in her own twisted way she thought that she was acting in revenge for her profession. Murphy was accused of murdering a doctor. Justine Levy is a medical student. Perhaps she thought that it was up to her to avenge his death. Of course it was the revenge of a sick mind, s revenge so often is. But human life is a sacred thing... and that is why we have laws to protect it.”
He looked intently at the jury for a few seconds and then returned to his seat.
Some of the jurors were surprised that the prosecutor had no more than speculated on the motive, and his speculation had been pretty weak at that. What they didn't know was that motive was the prosecution's weak spot from the very beginning.
“We've got to find it,” Abrams had told the DA. “We'll need it if we're going for murder.”
“I don't see why,” the DA had replied, unperturbed. “We can prove what she did. We've got expert testimony. There are no chain of custody loopholes, and she's fully compos mentis. The case may be circumstantial, but it isn't weak. It comes straight from the forensic lab and its solid. Just make sure you get a jury that trusts scientists and you've got her nailed from opening credits to sunset finale.”
“Jerry listen to me. You said yourself when you handed me the file that it's going to be an uphill task prosecuting a pretty girl who's been through what she's been through, especially if the jury finds out about it. Now you're trying to re-assure me that we have a strong case and that all I have to do is present it. Well you were right the first time. It's not just enough to present the case. To prove murder I'm going to have to show intent to kill.”
“Oh come on Dan! You don't think all those preparations don't add up to a premeditated plan?”
“Maybe it was a plan to frighten.”
“Oh that's ridiculous!”
“Is it? We still don't know why!”
But no one at the DA's office had a clue what the motive was. They had taken a straw poll and the most popular explanation was, perversely, jilted lover. That this unlikely explanation was not supported by so much as a shred of evidence did nothing to mute the speculation. Loved-Murphy's-victim ran a strong second followed by Murphy-killed-someone-in her-family. A straight vigilante killing had only two votes: the DA and his secretary.
Not content with the results of the poll, Abrams had put a team of three young rookies from his staff onto the task of finding a motive. They had badgered Interpol and Scotland Yard, who were uncharacteristically obstructive. They even made some inquiries to the BBC in case they were sitting on some secret information for a documentary, to embarrass the British government. They had even investigated Justine's political past to see if she had any connection with Unionist paramilitary groups in Northern Ireland. But they had drawn a blank on all counts.
“The defence can either make its opening statement now,” said the judge in a tone of mild boredom, “or reserve the right to do so after the People's case is concluded. Miss Levy, the choice is yours. I suggest however that you confer with your standby counsel before deciding. If you wish I will grant a brief recess in order to give you time to confer.”
Parker leaned over to Justine and whispered: “I suggest you let me speak now to undermine the impact of his speech.”
“How do you propose to do that when you don't know the facts?”
He leaned back, defeated, as Justine rose.
“I'll speak now Your Honour.”
She turned to face the jury, looking at one juror in particular: James Lawson.
“Lizzie Borden took an axe and gave her mother forty whacks. When she realized what she'd done. She gave her father forty one. That rhyme has been known to children since the turn of a century when the trial of Lizzie Borden took place. Not many people know, even today, that Lizzie Borden was acquitted.
“In the nineteen fifties, a demagogue by the name of Joe McCarthy made a series of wide-ranging but factually hollow accusations to the effect that various figures in public life were Communists. Although he never proved so much as one of his accusations, he was greatly admired by many people and hailed as a defender of our system against the evil of Communism. Today we look back on McCarthy as a liar and a demagogue who hurt many innocent people with his false accusations. Most conservatives regard him with embarrassment rather than admiration, while radical libertarians go even further and regard him with contempt.
Abrams exchanged a puzzled look with his second seat colleague. The judge looked on impassively, admiring Justine's technique and fascinated by it. Strictly speaking, the only proper purpose of an opening statement is to present the outline of ones case and to state the elements of that case that one intends to prove. Abrams knew that he could object to Justine's soliloquy as not being a proper opening statement. But his instincts told him to hold back, so as not to give the impression that he was trying to suppress her case. Whatever Justine was trying to accomplish by her rambling monologue, he was confident that there could be nothing in it that would harm his case. All she could do would be to confuse the jury and give them the clear impression that she was mentally unstable, perhaps even unstable enough to commit murder.
“When Christopher Columbus set sail to the west in search of a new trade route to the riches of the eastern world, he was warned by uneducated people around him that the world was flat and that he'd fall off the edge. This was in spite of the fact that educated people had known since the time of the ancient Greeks that the world was round.”
A ripple of laughter wafted through the courtroom and broke into embarrassed silence in the face of the judge's reproving look. It relieved the spectators to hear such a snippet of humour from the hard-faced Justine, however brief. But it was over almost as soon as it started, without even a fleeting smile crossing her face.
Abrams shifted awkwardly. He was adding up the common factor in all of Justine's anecdotes, finally realizing what she was up to. But he had left it too late to make a valid objection. The judge would not look kindly on it if he tried to block her now. All he could do was ride out the storm and try to put his case back on track when he called his first witness.
“The point I'm getting at, members of the jury, is that it's all-too-easy for a lot of people to believe something and for all of them to be wrong. It's easy even for intelligent people to get caught in the grip of mass hysteria. We see it in the lingering assumption that Lizzie Borden was guilty. We remember it happening during the McCarthy era. And we can even read about it in the time of Christopher Columbus.”
She paused for a moment to let her point sink in.
“All I'm asking you to do is keep your minds open until you've heard all the facts. You've read about this case in the papers and heard about it on TV and some of you have come here with your minds already made up. You've seen the case in close-up. Now stand back and take another look.”
She sat down to a silence that was as deafening as any thunder, a silence that weighed in so heavily, it allowed the jurors to hear not only the beating of their hearts, but even the creaking of their souls.
Chapter 9
“Were you always this stubborn?” asked Rick Parker
He was edging his way along between the chairs towards a table in the corner, his tray held high in the air as it passed precariously over the heads of the lunchtime crowd. Justine gave him a quick glance backward, catching sight of him briefly as he struggled to keep up with her while she deftly manoeuvred towards the table she had chosen.
“I'll let you figure that out for yourself,” she replied, dismissing the question coolly as she led the way through the throngs of customers with a degree of self-confidence that bordered on bravado.
“I reckoned that if you wouldn't let me defend you in court, at least you'd let me buy you lunch. I'd like to feel that I'm earning my keep in some way.”
They slid easily if without grace onto the olive-green formica seats. The act of sitting down offered Parker a sense of relief, a feeling of taking shelter from the lunchtime rush even if they were still in the thick of it. In the comfort and safety of the corner, it was as if nothing in the world could harm them.
“I'm a good lawyer you know. If only you'd give me a chance.”
She took a bite out of her pastrami sandwich as if consciously relegating his question to second place.
“I don't doubt you,” she replied. “I want you to know that. I'm sure you're a damn good lawyer.”
He smiled in gratitude at the few crumbs of flattery she was ready to throw his way. But she killed his reviving confidence with her follow on.
“It's just that what you have to offer me really has no bearing on my defence.”
He looked at her, not exactly hurt, but openly vulnerable.
