“Ladies and gentlemen, blood will tell,” she said. “Follow the evidence and it will lead you, without a doubt, to Lisa Trammel. She took Mitchell Bondurant’s life. She took everything he had. And now it’s time to bring her to justice.”
She thanked the jurors and returned to her seat. It was my turn now. I put my hand down below the table to check my zipper. You have to stand before a jury only once with your fly open and it will never happen again.
I got up and took the same spot in the well where Freeman had stood. I once again tried to show no sign of my still-healing injuries. And I began.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to start with a couple of introductions. My name is Michael Haller. I am counsel for the defense. It is my job to defend Lisa Trammel against these very serious charges. Our Constitution ensures that anyone accused of a crime in this country is entitled to a full and vigorous defense, and that is exactly what I intend to provide during the course of this trial. If I rub some of you the wrong way as I do this, then let me apologize up front. But please remember, my actions should not reflect on Lisa.”
I turned to the defense table and raised my hand as if welcoming Trammel to the trial.
“Lisa, would you please stand for a moment?”
Trammel stood up and turned slightly to the jury, her eyes slowly scanning the twelve faces. She looked resolute, unbroken. Just the way I told her to be.
“And this is Lisa Trammel, the defendant. Ms. Freeman wants you to believe she committed this crime. She is five foot three in height, weighs a hundred nine pounds soaking wet and is a schoolteacher. Thank you, Lisa. You can sit down now.”
Trammel took her seat and I turned back to the jury, keeping my eyes moving from face to face as I spoke.
“We agree with Ms. Freeman that this crime was brutal and violent and cold-blooded. No one should have taken Mitchell Bondurant’s life and whoever did should be brought to justice. But there should never be a rush to judgment. And that’s what the evidence will prove happened here. The investigators on this case saw the little picture and the easy fit. They missed the big picture. They missed the real murderer.”
From behind me I heard Freeman’s voice.
“Your Honor, can we please approach for a sidebar?”
Perry frowned but then signaled us up. I followed Freeman to the side of the bench, already formulating my response to what I knew she was going to object to. The judge flipped on a sound distortion fan so the jurors wouldn’t hear anything they shouldn’t and we huddled at the side of the bench.
“Judge,” Freeman began, “I hate interrupting an opening statement but this doesn’t sound like an opening statement. Is defense counsel going to hit us with the facts his defense case will prove and the evidence he has, or is he just going to talk in generalities about some mysterious killer that everybody else missed?”
The judge looked at me for a response. I looked at my watch.
“Judge, I object to the objection. I am less than five minutes into a thirty-minute allotment and she’s already objecting because I haven’t put anything on the board? Come on, Judge, she’s trying to show me up in front of the jury and I request that you take a continuing objection from her and not allow her to interrupt again.”
“I think he’s right, Ms. Freeman,” the judge said. “Way too early to object. I’ll carry it now as a running objection and will step in myself if I need to. You go back to the prosecution table and sit tight.”
He flipped the fan off and rolled his chair back to the center of the bench. Freeman and I returned to our positions.
“As I was saying before being interrupted, there is a big picture to this case and the defense is going to show it to you. The prosecution would like you to believe that this is a simple case of vengeance. But murder is never simple and if you look for shortcuts in an investigation or a prosecution then you are going to miss things. Including a killer. Lisa Trammel did not even know Mitchell Bondurant. Had never met him before. She had no motive to kill him because the motive the prosecution will tell you about was false. They’ll say she killed Mitchell Bondurant because he was going to take away her house. The truth was, he wasn’t going to get the house and we will prove that. A motive is like a rudder on a boat. You take it away and the boat moves at the whim of the wind. And that’s what the prosecution’s case is. A lot of wind.”
I put my hands in my pockets and looked down at my feet. I counted to three in my head and when I looked up I was staring directly at Furlong.
“What this case is really about is money. It’s about the epidemic of foreclosure that has swept across our country. This was not a simple act of vengeance. This was the cold and calculated murder of a man who was threatening to expose the corruption of our banks and their agents of foreclosure. This is about money and those who have it and will not part with it at any cost-even murder.”
I paused again, shifting my stance and moving my eyes across the whole panel. They came to a female juror named Esther Marks and held. I knew she was a single mother who worked as an office manager in the garment district. She probably made less than the men doing the same job and I had her pegged as someone who would be sympathetic to my client.
“Lisa Trammel was set up for a murder she did not commit. She was the patsy. The fall guy. She protested the bank’s harsh and fraudulent foreclosure practices. She fought against them and for that she was kept away with a restraining order. The very things that made her a suspect to lazy investigators were what made her a perfect patsy. And we’re going to prove it to you.”
All their eyes were on me. I’d captured their complete attention.
“The state’s evidence won’t stand,” I said. “Piece by piece we’ll knock it down. The measure by which you are charged to make your decision here is guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I urge you to pay close attention and to think for yourself. You do that and I guarantee that you’ll have more reasonable doubt than you’ll know what to do with. And you’ll be left with only one question. Why? Why was this woman charged with this crime? Why was she put through this?”
One final pause and then I nodded and thanked them for their attention. I quickly moved back to my seat and sat down. Lisa reached over and put her hand on my arm as if to thank me for standing for her. It was one of our choreographed moves. I knew it was an act but it still felt good.
The judge called for a fifteen-minute break before the start of testimony. As the courtroom emptied, I stayed in place at the defense table. My opener had continued my sense of momentum. The prosecution would hold sway over the next few days but Freeman was now on notice that I was coming after her.
“Thank you, Mickey,” Lisa Trammel said as she got up to go out into the hall with Herb Dahl, who had come through the gate to collect her.
I looked at him and then I looked at her.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said.
Twenty-two
After the break, Andrea Freeman came out of the gate with what I called the prosecution’s scene-setter witnesses. Their testimony was often dramatic but did not get to the guilt or innocence of the defendant. They were merely called as part of the architecture of the state’s case, to set the stage for the evidence that would come later.
The trial’s first witness was a bank receptionist named Riki Sanchez. She was the woman who found the victim’s body in the parking garage. Her value was in helping to set a time of death and in bringing the shock of murder to the everyday people on the jury.
Sanchez commuted to work from the Santa Clarita Valley and therefore had a morning routine that she strictly adhered to. She testified that she regularly pulled into the bank garage at 8:45 A.M., which gave her ten minutes to park, get to the employee entrance and be at her desk by 8:55 to prepare for the bank’s doors to open to the public at 9.