He turns and points at Daniel. “It’s about saying that you, Daniel Cummings, are finished murdering. Now it’s your turn to be afraid.”
He turns back to the jury. “Thank you for listening.”
Tucker has done a masterful job; even I gagged only once or twice. There is no way I can effectively counter it, not at this stage. All I can do is make our presence felt, by making it clear to the jury that we are not going to roll over and die.
I stand. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that was a beautiful speech, wasn’t it? I don’t know about you, but I was hanging on Mr. Zachry’s every word. Of course, my reason for listening so intently was a bit different than yours. I was waiting to hear something that was true. I’m still waiting.
“Mr. Zachry did not offer you the specific facts of the case, so I won’t respond to them. He’ll have plenty of time to present his side, and so will I. Of course, he said that Daniel Cummings was a murderer, and he is simply wrong about that. But that argument also is for a later date.
“One thing Mr. Zachry did say was that certain incriminating items were found, not on Mr. Cummings personally, but in his car and apartment. This he says constitutes possession, and possession he considers evidence of guilt.”
I reach back with my hands and place them behind my hips, then look puzzled. Not feeling my wallet, I start to pat my right back pocket. “Excuse me . . . I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”
I go back to the defense table, quickly looking through my personal papers and briefcase. I glance at Kevin, who holds up his hands in a gesture indicating that he has no idea where the wallet could be.
I then walk over behind the prosecution table, look around for a moment, and reach under Tucker’s chair. There, where I taped it to the leg, is my wallet. I rip it off the leg of the chair, hold it aloft, and feign astonishment. “Mr. Zachry, how could you?” Then, “Bailiff, arrest this man!”
The jury, not exactly the best and brightest, finally understands and roars with laughter. Tucker goes ballistic, screaming his objections. Calvin, though I think he’s secretly amused, comes down hard on me, telling me in no uncertain terms that I am not going to turn his courtroom into a circus. Business as usual.
I resume my opening as if nothing happened. “What disturbed me the most about what Mr. Zachry had to say was his characterization of you as society’s protectors. You could read every lawbook ever written, and sometimes I feel like I have, and never find that. Not anywhere. Not once. You are the trier of fact. You decide who is guilty and who isn’t. That’s all. If the result of that decision is that society is protected, that’s great. But your role is simply to make the correct decision about guilt or innocence. Believe me, that’s enough to have on your plate.
“Wherever we go, whatever we do, we bring the person that we are with us. None of us has been dropped from another planet, with no life history and all empty pages. We act reasonably consistent with our past actions.
“Yet Mr. Zachry would have you believe that Mr. Cummings, with no criminal history, acted horribly criminal. With no violent history, acted horribly violent. With obvious intelligence, acted horribly stupid.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t fly. He’s asking you to make sense out of something that makes no sense at all.
“Lastly, I want to talk to you about something that must be on your minds. Since Mr. Cummings’s arrest, these horrible murders have stopped. You may be thinking that this fact in and of itself is evidence of his guilt. It is not.
“Daniel Cummings is not here today by chance. His presence as the defendant was planned and perfectly orchestrated by the actual killer. For that person to have committed additional crimes while Mr. Cummings was in custody would have been to defeat his own plan. It would have been foolish for the killer to elaborately frame Mr. Cummings and then commit an act that would prove his innocence.
“Daniel Cummings has hurt no one. And you protect no one by taking his life away.
“Thank you.”
I go back to the defense table, satisfied that I made the points I wanted to make. Kevin nods his approval and Daniel looks pleased, while trying to maintain the impassive exterior that I instructed him to maintain. I notice him making eye contact with a group of seven people, all from Cleveland, who have made the trek here to show support. Two of them are giving him the thumbs-up, which I will instruct them never to do again.
What they and Daniel don’t seem to realize is that this was easy, and these were just words. Starting tomorrow, we have to deal with the evidence and the facts.
There is no such thing as a normal workday during a murder trial. You work as hard as you can until the hours run out, and then you start again the next day. Court lets out at four, and my standard procedure is to convene a meeting of the team at my house at five-thirty. We order in dinner and spend the night preparing for the next day’s witnesses, as well as looking at the “big picture.”
I get home and walk Tara, then rush back to order dinner. I want to make sure I do the ordering rather than Laurie, since if left in her hands, Kevin and I will be stuck eating healthful food all night.
Preparation for tomorrow’s court day goes relatively quickly, as Tucker will be putting on mostly foundation witnesses, slowly building his case. It gives us time to think about our own defense, pathetic though it currently is.
We have been totally unable to make any connection between the victims, and I think it’s safe to say that there is none. Linda Padilla remains our focus; Sam has not found any significant information, financial or otherwise, on the other victims. We have two possible theories, equally unlikely and difficult to prove. One is that Padilla was the main target and the others were killed to obscure that fact. The other is that all the victims were chosen randomly, by a killer whose only goal was to frame Daniel.
Kevin goes over the list of people and companies that Padilla caused varying degrees of trouble for with her whistle-blowing. Unfortunately for us, the very prominence of her “victims” works against us. Corporate criminals can be as low as their less upscale brethren, but it’s hard to picture most of them strangling women and cutting off their hands.
Nevertheless, our situation is bleak enough that we have to pursue everything. Laurie and Kevin divvy up the list to check them out, putting some aside for Marcus as well. Complicating matters is that many of them are spread out around the country; Padilla by no means limited herself to local wrongdoers.
Particularly annoying, and reflective of our lack of cohesion, is the fact that one of the companies is in Cleveland. Had I known, I could have had Marcus check it out while he was there. The subject is an enormous corporation called Castle Industries, named after its founder, Walter Castle. It was found polluting the water in a Cleveland suburb, and a leukemia cluster emerged. Padilla’s actions cost the company a hundred million dollars, more than my fortune but probably not that big a deal to Walter Castle. And somehow I don’t see a sixty-year-old billionaire running around cutting off naked women’s hands in protest.
There are a few other entities that seem slightly more credible as potential revenge-seekers. I’m just guessing, of course, but my first choice would be a clothing company called Lancer. Padilla revealed them operating sweatshops, which is a major public relations negative if you do it in a place like Thailand. The problem is that they did it in Alabama, and Padilla caught them in the act. It devastated them; they were a quarter-of-a-billion-dollar company one day, bankrupt the next. The owner of the company, one Rudolph Faulk, was particularly embittered, claiming that Padilla set him up.