“Wow,” Joe whispered to Marybeth when the opening argument was done. “Dulcie’s more brutal than I am when it comes to your mother.”
“Joe . . .”
“One thing, though,” he said. “I thought they had tapes of the calls between Missy and Bud, but she didn’t say anything about that. Apparently, they just have records of the calls being made.”
“Still . . .” Marybeth said, and let the rest of her thought trail off. Joe thought how tough it must be on his wife to see one of her friends indict her mother with such surgical precision. He wondered if she was getting doubts, but he didn’t ask her. Instead, he put his arm around her and kneaded her shoulder. She didn’t respond. Her muscles beneath her jacket were as tightly coiled as steel springs.
Hand’s opening was surprisingly short and breezy, Joe thought. He conceded to the jurors that Missy was “kind of hard to like until you got to know her,” but that he’d prove to them beyond a reasonable doubt she’d been framed. He alluded to other explanations for the murder that would be revealed. Hand spoke smoothly, but with a lack of slickness that impressed even Joe. He gestured to Missy and urged the jury to put themselves in her place.
“Think about how you would feel,” he said to them, “if your ship finally came in and you were able to raise yourself out of your humble beginnings to a place you’d always dreamed of. And imagine if, when that finally happened, you were framed for a murder you didn’t commit. Imagine how you’d feel if the full force and weight of the government had decided to persecute you not only for what they say you did, but who they think you are?”
Hand stood in silence for a full minute, as if he’d choked himself up and couldn’t continue.
But he did. “Gentlemen and ladies of the jury, what you are about to see is the most classic case of tunnel vision I’ve ever encountered in a courtroom. The prosecution decided within minutes of the crime that my client was responsible. They didn’t look left. They didn’t look right. The government didn’t look up to see what other forces may have led to this tragic crime. They started with the conclusion and worked backwards, picking out every little thing they could find to fit the story they believed and didn’t even consider anything that didn’t fit into their perfect little box. The government wants my poor client’s head as a trophy on their wall, and they want mine right next to it. Nothing else matters to them. This isn’t smoke, folks. Just because we’ll introduce evidence that doesn’t fit into the prosecution’s perfect little box doesn’t mean it’s smoke . . .”
Joe watched Hand work. He felt the pendulum rock from the prosecution to the defense. And he noted that every time Hand said the word government he seemed to be talking directly to the unemployed city worker, and the juror, probably unconsciously, nodded in agreement.
Hand said he agreed with the government that the entire prosecution’s case rested on the testimony of one man—Bud Longbrake—even though Schalk hadn’t exactly said that. Joe noted that Hand didn’t even try to dispute the motive, the record of phone calls, or the rifle.
Then Marcus Hand thanked the jury for taking time out of their busy lives to see that justice would be done, and sat down.
Joe had been the first witness called for the prosecution. Dulcie Schalk led him through the discovery of the body and dismissed him before they got to the arrest of Missy. Sheriff McLanahan had followed Joe and walked the jury through the rest of the day, culminating with Missy’s arrest. McLanahan was smug and countrified, but well rehearsed. A state forensics examiner was next, and Schalk prompted him through a PowerPoint presentation tying the murder weapon to the fatal wound, the ownership of the weapon to Earl and Missy Alden, and the fingerprints on the rifle to Missy.
A county clerk employee was the last witness called on Day Two, and the PowerPoint screen showed the jurors Earl’s official filing for divorce proceedings. Joe noted that Missy slumped to the side, head down, during that part of the presentation.
Marcus Hand declined to cross-examine any of the opening witnesses except for McLanahan, and he asked only one question: “Sheriff, did your investigation extend any further than my client?”
When McLanahan said there was no need to broaden the investigation, Hand rolled his eyes so the jury could see him and sat down, anticipating an objection from Dulcie Schalk and a rebuke from Judge Hewitt for his body language. Both complied.
The day ended as Hand asked Judge Hewitt for permission to recall both Sheriff McLanahan and game warden Joe Pickett to the stand later in the trial. Joe’s stomach clenched because he knew where Hand was headed.
Hewitt granted the request.
The morning of Day Three, Missy sat small and prim, with her back to everyone, next to Dixie Arthur, one of Hand’s law partners from Jackson. Joe assumed Hand had chosen her to be at the table because she looked friendly, small-town, and approachable. The kind of woman who would never have been there if she honestly believed Missy was guilty. Arthur had a quick smile and a round empathetic face and she seemed to have become fast friends with Missy because the two whispered to each other with great frequency and familiarity. So far, she hadn’t asked any questions of the witnesses but seemed to be the keeper of the defense playbook, and she’d conference with Hand from time to time to, presumably, keep him reined in.
At the prosecution table was Assistant County Attorney Jack Pym. Pym was tall, solid, boyish, and not quite thirty years old. He was a Wyoming native from Lander who had played tight end for the Wyoming Cowboys football team prior to law school. Joe liked him, and since Pym was a fly-fisherman like Joe, they’d made plans several times to float the river but it hadn’t yet worked out. This was Pym’s first murder trial, and it showed. He seemed anxious and, like his boss, overly eager to take on the legendary Marcus Hand. Joe had observed Pym attempting to stare Hand down, as if he faced him across the line of scrimmage.
Bud Longbrake Jr. sat in the very back row with several of his colleagues whom Joe had seen outside the Stockman’s Bar that day, and his sister, Sally, was broken and shriveled in a wheelchair placed next to him in the aisle. Joe hadn’t seen Bud’s daughter for years and not since her accident, and he barely recognized her. She didn’t look back, and Joe assumed she was under medication. Shamazz did look back, defiantly, and Joe turned around.
“Odd they’re here,” Marybeth said, echoing his thoughts.
Both attorneys returned to their desks and shared the result of the conference with the judge with their co-counsels, and Hewitt returned to his seat. Joe could see a stack of papers on the judge’s bench off to the side of his microphone. He recognized a manual deep in the stack as a copy of the Alaska hunting regulations. Joe smiled grimly, reminded that the trial would proceed quickly since the Dall sheep season would close in just over a week.
He noticed Marybeth, like the other spectators, kept turning and looking over her shoulder toward the double doors manned by the bailiff, Stovepipe. She was waiting for the first appearance of Bud Longbrake.
Dulcie Schalk prolonged the anticipation by calling a technician from the local phone company as her first witness instead of Bud. As she did, the air went out of the room. Joe half listened to the technician as he explained a call record list that was being shown on the screen, detailing the dates Missy’s phone called Bud’s phone and vice versa, and allowing himself to be led to the conclusion that the telephone conversations increased in frequency and length on the days leading up to the murder.