Dirkson smiled. “But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me tell you what Amy Dearborn did then. She’d killed Frank Fletcher and taken the petty cash, leaving the petty cash box and the petty cash drawer open to make it look like robbery was the motive for the crime. What did she do then? She left the office. Why? For several reasons. One, to get rid of the money. Two, to get rid of the gun.”
Dirkson stopped, held up his hand. “Now, I have to warn you. The defense attorney is going to make a big deal over the fact we haven’t recovered the gun. You’ll see him up here, striding up and down, saying, Where’s the murder weapon? How can they prove their case when they haven’t got the means?” Dirkson shook his head. “Well, if you fall for that, ladies and gentlemen, it’s because you’ve been seduced by television. The shows on TV, they always have the gun.
“Real life is different. In a large percentage of murder cases, the weapon is never recovered. Why? Because the murderer gets rid of it. Why? Well, sometimes because it can link the murderer to the crime. But not always. Sometimes the murderer will kill someone, and then take the gun with them when they try to escape. Hang onto it in case they encounter resistance, perhaps have to shoot their way out. They dispose of it later, as soon as they feel safe, as soon as they’re away from the scene of the crime.
“Which is what happened in this case. The defendant took the murder weapon away with her and disposed of it. And why haven’t we found it? Because she didn’t want it found. It’s a big city. She drops it down a sewer, throws it in a dumpster, in the East River for all we know. Chances are that gun will never be found.
“I don’t want you to get hung up on that point. If the rest of the circumstantial evidence indicates the defendant committed the crime, we don’t need the murder weapon to establish her guilt.
“Anyway, the defendant left the office to dispose of the money and the gun. But she had a third reason for doing so. To build up an alibi for herself. She went back to her own neighborhood, hailed a taxi and had it take her to the office. She went in, pretended to find the body, and called the police. They arrived minutes later and she told them her story.”
Dirkson held up one finger. “That story is false. We can prove that by her own words.” He smiled. “Because the defendant was very unlucky. Something happened which she could not have foreseen. Between the time she left the office to dispose of the money and the gun and the time she returned to pretend to find the body and call the cops, a chambermaid came by to clean the office. She found the petty cash box and the petty cash drawer open.
“And she closed them.”
Dirkson smiled. “But the defendant didn’t notice. She came back to the office, called the cops, and when they arrived, told them she’d just gotten there and found Frank Fletcher dead and the office robbed. According to her, she’d found the petty cash drawer and the petty cash box open and the petty cash gone.”
Dirkson shrugged. “Well, the money was gone all right. But the petty cash box and the petty cash drawer were shut.”
Dirkson shook his head, chuckled. “How damning is that? Well, I ask you to consider the defendant’s own evaluation. When confronted with that fact, the defendant offered no explanation whatsoever. On the contrary, she refused to answer questions, and from that point on she has not said another word.”
On the bench Judge Wylie glanced over at the defense table. A seasoned jurist, Wylie would have expected an objection-Dirkson’s comment was clearly improper. But Amy Dearborn’s longhaired, casually dressed, young lawyer just sat there calmly looking slightly bored.
Judge Wylie frowned. He looked over at Dirkson to find the prosecutor had paused, either in anticipation of an objection, or merely to let the significance of his statements sink in.
Whichever, Judge Wylie felt somewhat irritated. “Does that conclude your opening statement, Mr. Dirkson?”
“No, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “Though there isn’t much more to tell. This is a very simple, straightforward case.”
Dirkson turned back to the jury. “We expect to prove that Amy Dearborn first arrived at the office of F. L. Jewelry, not at ten o’clock as she would have us believe, but much earlier, at eight o’clock. We shall prove this both by circumstantial evidence and by eyewitness testimony. You will hear two separate eyewitness accounts placing her at the scene of the crime. You will hear the actual tape recorded message from Frank Fletcher, the message he left on her answering machine asking her to come meet him. You will hear the testimony of the medical examiner to the fact that the decedent, Frank Fletcher, was killed at exactly the time the eyewitnesses place her on the scene.”
Dirkson held up one finger again. “No one saw her fire the shot. Which is not unusual. Most murderers don’t commit their crimes with someone watching. It simply isn’t done.
“That is why this case, like most murder cases, is a case of circumstantial evidence. That, as I say, is not unusual. It is only unusual in that it happens to be a particularly strong one. The facts will show that the defendant, and only the defendant, could have committed this crime. We will lay these facts before you and we will expect a verdict of guilty at your hands.”
30
Steve Winslow stood before the jury in his corduroy jacket and jeans. He shook his head, chuckled. His long brown hair fell over his face. He pushed it back, raised his head, looked at the jury.
“A particularly strong one?” he said. “Did you hear what the District Attorney said? A particularly strong one.” Steve smiled at the jury. “I have to tell you, I was worried going into this case. Just this morning, I was sitting here at the defense table, thinking, what’s the District Attorney got? Then I heard that, and suddenly I’m not worried anymore.
“A particularly strong one?” Without taking his eyes off the jury, Steve pointed in the direction of the District Attorney. “If his case were a particularly strong one, he wouldn’t have to say it. It would be obvious. The fact he has to say it, indicates that it’s not.
“Oh boy, is it not. From what I see, the man has no case at all.”
Steve smiled. “Now Mr. Dirkson told you I’m going to make a big deal about the gun. I’m not. So they didn’t find the gun? Big deal. Some gun shot him. Some person shot him. They haven’t found the person, what’s the big deal if they haven’t found the gun? The medical examiner will say he was shot with a gun. We concede he was shot with a gun. There’s no problem proving the corpus delicti here. We’ve got a dead man who was shot with a gun.”
Steve spread his hands. “What we don’t have, is one shred of evidence connecting this particular defendant to the crime. The District Attorney says he has eyewitnesses who will place the defendant at the scene of the crime, well, I say bring ’em on. Let’s hear what they have to say. Just between you on me, I don’t think they can prove a thing.
“But it’s not up to me. That’s up to you. You listen to their testimony and you listen to the cross-examination, and then you make a determination how much these people actually know. I think you’ll find it adds up to nothing at all.
“No, when you come right down to it, I think you’ll find the District Attorney’s whole case turns on the fact Amy Dearborn said the petty cash drawer was open and the cops found it shut.”
Steve spread his arms. “That’s all he’s got. I know that’s all his got, because I saw what lengths he went through to make sure you understood he had it. You will recall he emphasized that when confronted with the shut drawer, Amy Dearborn did not say a thing. I could have objected there, and that objection would have been sustained. Because, under law, a District Attorney has no right to infer guilt from a defendant’s refusal to explain.