Chapter 33
Eddie
A murder trial is not about truth.
It’s about who tells the best story. Is it the defense? Or the prosecution? Who has presented the most likely and probable version of events to the jury? Even if the prosecution has told a good story, have they proven their case beyond all reasonable doubt?
Where is the truth in any of this?
I used to say the truth has no place in a courtroom. I’m not sure about that any more. In this world, right now, the truth has become more ethereal. More pliable. America is divided. The world is divided. Each side has their own truth. Their own facts.
What happens to the world when nobody pays attention to the truth?
The answer is simple.
It’s war.
That’s what a trial really is. A battle.
And we all had exactly the same method of warfare – questions.
Normally, a question seeks truth. But not in a murder trial.
Here, a question is a weapon, a trap, a shield and a sword.
Questions can alter perception, confuse, change facts, manipulate memory and even alter time.
I had a lot of questions to ask in this trial.
For the past two months I had been sharpening them in my mind like finely edged blades.
Glancing over at the prosecution table, I saw the assistant district attorney in charge of this trial, Kurt Riley, scribbling notes on a legal pad. No doubt he had a few daggers to throw my way.
Despite his youth, he was a talent. Not only did he have a natural gift, but he worked at it too.
He was the first person in the office and the last to leave.
He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke and didn’t socialize with anyone in the workplace.
His focus was on his cases, and his healthy lifestyle regime.
His suit was too tight, after the fashion of young men in their late twenties who spent too much time in the gym listening to podcasts on creatine dosing.
He was an angular man, from his jaw and cheekbones to his triceps and quads, all of it accentuated by the ill-fitting suit, the jacket button straining to stay closed over his wide chest. I’d done my research on my opponent.
He was a rising star in the DA’s office, a graduate of Brown University, but despite his excellent grades he had no real connections in the legal world.
He needed to make a name for himself, and the DA’s office often provided a platform for talented trial lawyers to make the jump into private practice.
As much as Riley wanted to win this trial for his ego, and his boss, the DA, there was no getting away from the fact that the trial presented him with an opportunity. He would use the high-profile murder of Molly Green as an audition.
He rose from behind the prosecution table, walked solemnly to the center of the courtroom and stood in front of the jury. His voice was deep and authoritative.
‘Members of the jury, you have a decision to make at the end of this trial. It’s not going to be a difficult one. The defendant, Vanessa Vanderpool, murdered Molly Green. We will prove this to you. For now, just take a moment to look at the defendant . . .’
The five men and seven women on the jury turned to look at my client. I’d already told her what to do in case she saw the jury looking at her. She should stare right back. Standard instructions to defendants. Only the guilty hide their eyes from those who would judge them.
Vanessa had dressed in a navy business suit and white blouse, her blonde hair tied back, with little make-up, tasteful jewelry. But there was no hiding it. Even a casual glance told you this was a woman of wealth and privilege.
‘Right now, Vanessa Vanderpool has everything. Not only is she rich, but she has power. And it’s that power which corrupted her.
People with power don’t give it up too easily.
That power flowed from her husband, the respected politician, Patrick Vanderpool.
The defendant was jealous of her husband’s beautiful new personal assistant, Molly Green.
This jealousy festered into paranoia. The defendant convinced herself that Molly was trying to seduce her husband.
If that happened, she could lose everything.
She became convinced she had to protect herself.
Her wealth. Her marriage. On the night of February seventeenth, she went to Molly’s apartment, and confronted her . . .’
Riley pointed to a large screen facing the jury.
An image appeared. His assistants had put it up there from the laptop linked to the screen. A woman in her mid-twenties, with curly dark hair, a warm vanilla skin tone and a beautiful smile stared at the jury members.
‘This is Molly Green. Her youth and beauty were destroyed that night. The defendant fought with Molly in her apartment. But this wasn’t an argument that got out of control.
Vanessa Vanderpool visited the victim’s apartment that night with one intention – murder.
The defendant’s DNA was left behind on a jewelry box in that apartment.
That same jewelry box also had the victim’s blood on it.
We will call a DNA expert and a forensic crime scene expert to prove that it was the defendant who took the victim’s life in this savage attack, using this box as a weapon.
And then, in her rage and jealousy, she mutilated the victim’s body.
It is our case that the defendant struck the victim with that jewelry box, crushing her skull.
To hide her crime, the defendant decapitated the victim.
This is shocking, I know, for all of us.
Yet it shows the premeditation and planning of this murder.
You might look at the defendant, and think she is not capable of such a terrible act.
Don’t be fooled. Follow the evidence. We will not only prove that this happened, but we will show you security camera footage of the defendant leaving the victim’s apartment building with a gym bag in her hands.
And we all know what is in that bag, ladies and gentlemen.
The footage will show you Vanessa Vanderpool trying to hide her terrible crime by disposing of the victim’s head.
Don’t let her get away with this murder.
Listen carefully to all of the evidence.
We will prove to you beyond a reasonable doubt that Vanessa Vanderpool is a cold-blooded killer.
And you, ladies and gentlemen, will give justice to Molly Green by finding the defendant guilty. ’
He paused, turned to the screen, looked at the picture of the victim.
The jury followed his gaze.
Without another word, Riley strode back to the prosecution table and sat down, leaving the jury to drink in that image of young Molly Green. A picture of youth, vitality and all the possibilities of life. No one could look at that woman and not feel the sadness and tragedy of a life cut short.
I saw that sadness on the jurors’ faces. Some of them let their compassionate looks wander from the image of Molly, down to Vanessa, and their expression hardened as they gazed on the defendant.
Young prosecutors play this trick often.
It’s compensation for inexperience. You see, there’s lots of things they can’t teach you in law school, and you don’t learn it running trials, not right away.
It takes time. In the early years of an attorney’s life, they focus on the evidence, the testimony, cold, hard facts.
What they don’t know how to do is win the jury’s hearts.
A verdict in a murder trial is supposed to be a neutral, unbiased assessment of the evidence and nothing else.
That’s how the law works.
But that’s not how people work.
Ordinary people have great analytical minds. But most of us make decisions with our emotions, not our brains. That’s what young DAs haven’t learned yet.
We do it every day, in every single decision. The COO of Ford, Kumar Galhotra, once said that building a car involves making a hundred thousand rational decisions, with the sole purpose of persuading a buyer to make a single emotional one.
Riley’s rational approach was on point. I couldn’t fault it.
His blades were razor sharp.
He’d drawn first blood.
Judge Elizabeth Tanner, a relatively new judge in her late fifties, slid her eyeglasses to the end of her nose as she stared at me.
Like all judges, she was appointed by politicians.
There were rumors floating around that Judge Tanner had granted a lot of favors in order to get this appointment.
That didn’t bode well. I had resolved to keep a close eye on her.
It was my turn now.
Defense opening statement.
I knew what I had to do. I’d done this a thousand times.
I stood up, left the defense table and made my way to the center of the courtroom and stood before the jury.
I took up the same position Riley had. It was a psychological trick.
If I stood exactly where he’d stood, and then gave another side to the story, this would have more impact.
The jurors’ minds would register it more deeply as a true alternative version of events.
It was like holding up a mirror and reversing an image.
I felt the pressure building in my head.
Turning, I scanned the faces watching me from the gallery.
Harry sat beside Vanessa at the defense table, his eyes locked on me.
Behind him, on the end of the second row of the public seating, Voss sat with a pen in her hand and a legal pad on her knee.
Vanessa had fired her, as I’d asked, so there was no reason for her to be here.
Buchanan and Duff were acting for Patrick in the divorce.
It was still early days in that process, and we were leveraging the divorce case to help with the defense.
Bloch had a mission today, doing some work for the divorce case, which wouldn’t help the divorce at all, but might help us in this courtroom.
I didn’t do divorce cases, as a rule. It was much dirtier than crime and more complicated – two people who had at one time wished to spend the rest of their lives together, and now they hated each other and wanted to rip their former partner’s guts out. And those were the uncomplicated cases.
In this divorce, there was money. Shit tons of it.
And Buchanan and Duff had taken all the kinds of precautions that come with protecting the Vanderpools, including a prenuptial agreement with an iron-clad sunset clause.
Sunset clauses are legal markers that reflect the evolving rights of spouses as the marriage continues, and protections for Patrick.
In this case, the prenup stated that Vanessa had basically no martial rights until the marriage was two years old.
She had cleared that bar, but there was still an almighty battle ahead.
Her divorce case didn’t matter right now. If she was convicted, she would get nothing. This trial was way more important.
The courthouse was packed with journalists and politicos. This case was going to cause ripples for Patrick’s election hopes, no matter what. The only question was, would it be a small undulation on the surface, or a tidal wave that would bury his political ambitions in the stain of sex and murder?
I had my hopes.
I let my eyelids fall closed.
Took a breath.
I thought of Hanna Tublowski sitting on the window ledge of her apartment, happily watering her rubber plant.
I opened my eyes.
Opened my mouth.
Gave the jury my full attention.
And spoke . . .
‘Members of the jury, have no doubt, this case is unlike any other to have come before this court. The decision you give at the end of this trial will be the most important of your life, because my client’s life hangs in the balance.
It doesn’t matter that she has nice clothes, money in the bank or that she has what some of us call privilege.
She’s entitled to be treated just like any other citizen.
But – let’s be clear – she is not any other citizen.
My client in this case has suffered a great injustice.
The police have targeted her for this murder.
They have not looked at other viable suspects, and instead of investigating what really happened to Molly Green on the night of February seventeenth, they have sought only to make sure my client is convicted of Molly Green’s murder. Take a look at the victim again . . .’
I had not changed the screen, deliberately. I’d left Molly’s smiling, vibrant, youthful face on full display for the jury, so I could hold up a mirror to Riley’s case.
Reframe the story.
Take the DA’s strongest case and throw it back in his face.
‘That young woman deserves justice. This is what our city and our justice system demands. Mr. Riley doesn’t want you to see the truth.
He wants Vanessa Vanderpool convicted. He wants to protect the powerful people that surround this young woman’s life, and her death.
This is your oath as a juror – you will faithfully try the defendant and render a true and honest verdict according to the evidence.
I would ask you to be mindful of that oath.
Our society is built upon it. It is a light that will guide you through the trial.
You carry that lit torch with you today, and every day for the duration of this trial.
Follow that light, and above all follow your hearts.
By the end of this case you will know, in your very soul, who really murdered Molly Green.
And it’s not the young woman at the defense table. ’
I took a moment and looked over the jury. The seven women and five men stared at Molly Green’s image once again. This time, I saw something different in their eyes. There was sadness for Molly. Some of them sat up straight, or blinked, and then looked at Molly’s face again.
This time, none of them looked at the defendant with anything approaching anger or disdain.
My strategy was to hold up a mirror to the prosecutor’s case, and let the jury see that the reflection in there was not what Riley wanted them to see. The mirror really showed someone else. The real killer.
So far, I’d built a little frame for that mirror. The surface was dusty and distorted. Throughout the case, I had to sharpen the image. Bring it into focus.
And away from Vanessa.
I sat down next to her, and put a hand on her wrist, patted it. She whispered to me . . .
‘Thank you for that . . .’
I kept my voice low, said, ‘Don’t thank me yet. We’ve got a long way to go. And things will get worse before they get better.’
‘Your Honor,’ said Riley, ‘the People call their first witness, Alison Karim.’
Here we go.