“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you're in the home stretch now. I'm going to make a few remarks, and then Mr. Carpenter will do the same. Following that will come the most important moment of this trial, when Judge Henderson instructs you about your responsibilities under the law. He will tell you a great deal, but the most important thing he will say is that you must follow the evidence.
“So I am here to ask that you not take your eyes off of that evidence, through our statements and through your deliberations. Mr. Carpenter will talk of an alleged murder that took place over thirty-five years ago, a murder for which no body has ever been found. He will also talk of an alleged conspiracy, revealed only through hearsay testimony, and conveniently withheld for all these years, right up until the eve of your deliberations.
“He will try to substitute another villain, Victor Markham, for the one he represents, Willie Miller. But it was not Victor Markham's blood and skin under the fingernails of Denise McGregor. It was not Victor Markham that was seen standing over the victim by a very credible eyewitness. It was not Victor Markham whose fingerprints were all over the murder weapon. And it is not Victor Markham who has a history of attacking women when under the influence of alcohol.
“The only person all that evidence points to is Willie Miller, and that is who you are here to judge. I ask that you find him guilty as charged.”
Wallace offers me a slight nod and the trace of a smile as he sits down. I know that he's feeling justifiably pleased that he's done a fine job, and thoroughly relieved that his job is over. It's now my turn, and it seems like every eye in the courtroom simultaneously shifts to me.
When I took on this case, I convinced myself there was a chance Willie was innocent. I need to do that to perform at a peak level. But back then I only believed in the possibility of his innocence, and I have now reached a certainty of it. It puts far more pressure on me to win, and it is that pressure that threatens to suffocate me as I stand to give my closing argument.
Just before I begin, I glance toward the back of the gallery and see Wally McGregor, in court for the first time, sitting up straight and waiting for justice for his family. This one's for you, Wally.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I believe that Victor Markham was one of a group of men who raped and murdered Julie McGregor many years ago. But on one point I agree with Mr. Wallace: You are not here to decide that case. And that murder, horrible though it may be, is your concern for one reason and one reason only. It became the motive for Victor Markham to murder Julie's daughter, Denise McGregor, who had learned and was about to reveal the truth.
“He took the life of a mother, then waited almost thirty years to wipe out her offspring.
“But you cannot make him pay the price for either of those deaths. That is for another jury to do, and believe me, I will not rest until they have done just that. What you can do is make sure that Victor Markham does not claim still another victim- my client, Willie Miller.
“There is a great deal of evidence against Willie Miller, and Mr. Wallace did an outstanding job presenting it. But every single shred of it can be explained consistent with Victor Markham using his awesome power to frame him for the murder.
“Mr. Wallace talked about what Judge Henderson will tell you. But he left out the most important part. The judge will say that in order to convict, you must consider Willie Miller guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. I would respectfully suggest that you are up to your ears in reasonable doubt.”
I walk over to Willie and put my hands on his shoulders.
“This man has spent the last seven years of his life on death row for a crime he did not commit. All of us can only imagine the horror of that, but he has lived it.
“It is not your fault, you had nothing to do with it, and you cannot erase it. But there is something you can do: You can end it. You can give him back his dignity, and his self-respect, and his freedom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you can go into that jury room, and you can do something absolutely wonderful. You can give Willie Miller his life back.”
I go back to the defense table, to the whispered congratulations of Laurie and Kevin, and the gratitude of Willie. I'm filled with a fear that I did not do or say enough to make the jury understand, and I want to get back up there and scream at them, to make them see the truth according to Andy Carpenter.
Hatchet gives the jury his instructions. My feeling is that he puts too much emphasis on the jury not considering the guilt or innocence of Victor Markham, but basically I think it's fair.
Actually, I'm pleased with Hatchet's performance throughout; I don't think he showed a preference to one side or the other. All in all, I'm glad he turned down the change of venue request.
Hatchet sends the jury off, and this case is officially out of my control. Before they take Willie away, he asks me what I think, and I tell him what I tell all my clients at this stage.
“I don't think, I wait.”
THE PRESSURE OF WAITINGFOR a jury to finish its deliberations is unlike anything else I have ever experienced. The only thing I could liken it to, and fortunately I'm just guessing, is waiting for a biopsy report to come back, after being told that the report will either signal terminal illness or good health. At that point matters are completely out of the hands of the patient and the doctor. Lawyers experience the same impotence while waiting for a verdict.
Every eccentricity, every idiosyncrasy, every superstition I possess comes out during this waiting period. For instance, I tell myself that if the jury gives us an even chance, we will win. Therefore, I do everything by even numbers. I'll only get out of bed in the morning when the digital clock shows an even number, I'll pump an even number of gallons of gas into my car, I'll only watch even-numbered channels on television, etc., etc.
Additionally, I'll also tell myself that our cause is in the right, which I react to by doing everything right-handed, by making three right turns rather than one left, and so on. There is no doubt about it-while waiting for a verdict, I become a crazed lunatic.
Fortunately for the rest of the world, I also become a hermit. I absolutely prohibit anyone involved with the defense from contacting me unless it is an absolute emergency. I want to be alone with Tara and my thoughts, and I want to do everything I can to try and keep those thoughts away from the case and the courtroom.
The Miller deliberations enter their third day with no word from the jury. They have not asked to have any testimony read back to them; nor have they asked to examine evidence. If they had done either of these things, Hatchet would have had to notify the attorneys, and we've had no such notification.
By accident, I hear a television commentator, a “former prosecutor,” say that the lengthy deliberation is a bad sign for the defense, but I turn it off before I can hear why.
I take Tara to the park to throw a ball, bringing my cell phone along in case the court clerk needs to reach me. We play catch for only about fifteen minutes; Tara seems to be slowing down as she gets older. If there is a God, how come golden retrievers only live until their early teens?
We stop at a caf the way home, where we take an outdoor table. I have iced coffee and an apple turnover; Tara has a bagel and a dish of water. We're just finishing up when the phone rings, and my stomach springs four feet into the air.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Carpenter?”
I have an overwhelming urge to tell the clerk she has the wrong number, but I don't. “That's me.”