Corrupted (33 page)

She leaned nearer to Jason, to show the jury she was on his side, and watched the jurors file in, getting a first impression as they entered the jury box. There was a pasty-faced young man who looked like a Programmer Guy; a thirty-something black woman built lean as a runner, Marathon Mom; a tattooed redhead with oversized black glasses, Brooklyn Girl.

Bennie slid from the case file the chart they'd been given by the Court, containing the jurors' names, ages, occupations, and general location of their residence. The jury composition was seven males, five females, and two female alternates, so even-handed that she doubted it would be a factor. The race of the jurors reflected the city's diversity: five white, four black, two Hispanic, an Asian, and an older Indian grandmother, so that wouldn't be a factor, either. Bennie missed the days when the lawyers conducted voir dire, questioning the jury and getting to know them. The rules had changed, and now judges conducted voir dire to save time, asking only the most routine questions, while the lawyers watched and took notes, then
picked
the jury. Bennie always found the word
picked
to be ironic in that lawyers don't actually
select
juries but actually deselect them, through the use of challenges which eliminate potential jurors that one side or the other believe might be somehow biased, resulting in those that remain unchallenged to comprise the actual jury. It wasn't the same because Bennie always used voir dire to establish a rapport with the jury, to benefit her client. Those days were gone, and she would be watching the jurors during trial. Until then, their specific leanings, beliefs, and personalities were part of the vast sea of unknowns.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Judge Patterson smiled as the jurors settled into their numbered seats.

“Good morning, Judge,” “Good morning, Your Honor,” “Nice to meet you,” they murmured as a group, picking up their blue booklets and smiling nervously back at the judge.

“Thank you for agreeing to serve. We are aware that it's an inconvenience, but service on jury duty is essential to the administration of criminal justice in this city.” Judge Patterson gestured at Martinez. “Jurors, seated at the table nearer to you is Juan David Martinez, who represents the Commonwealth in this case, and at the far table is counsel for defendant, Bennie Rosato. Next to her is the defendant in this matter, Jason Lefkavick.”

Bennie nodded pleasantly, though Jason stiffened.

“Jurors, please feel free to make notes in your numbered booklets, and only in your booklets. They will be collected at the end of the day and may not be taken home. Additionally, you are asked to refrain from watching or reading media about this case. You are instructed not to discuss this case among yourselves at anytime until all the evidence has been submitted, both sides have rested their cases, and I have provided my instructions on the law. Only at that time may you begin your deliberations. Now, we may begin. Mr. Martinez?”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Martinez jumped up with a toothy smile, buttoning his jacket as he walked over to the jury box. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you very much for your service. We're here on a very grave matter, the gravest. The defendant, seated over there in the new white shirt, is charged with the premeditated murder of a young man named Richie Grusini, which took place on Monday night, January 12, of this year. Richie, who was only twenty-six years old at the time of his murder, leaves behind his mother and grieving family.” Martinez nodded in Doreen's direction, which was one of the cheapest tricks in the book, because it wasn't permissible in an opening to refer directly to a victim's family.

The jury looked over at Doreen and Declan, but Bennie kept her face front, not to contribute to his stage directions. Martinez was an experienced enough lawyer to have a bag of lawyerly tricks, and she had a few of her own. Among them, she'd always refer to Martinez as the prosecutor, because it was a word people mixed up with persecutor, which sometimes wasn't far from the truth. She put on her game face and listened as Martinez continued.

“I like to keep my opening short and let my witnesses do the talking for me. The evidence of guilt in this case is simply overwhelming, in both hard evidence and supporting circumstantial evidence. Suffice it to say that you will hear testimony that the defendant and his victim, Richie Grusini, had a history of conflict since childhood, when they got into a childhood fight in a middle-school cafeteria, in 2002. But to fast-forward to a year ago, the evidence will show defendant moved to Philadelphia, rented an apartment only a few blocks away from Richie, and began stalking him.”

Bennie was about to object to the stalking characterization, but let it go. She didn't want to appear as if she were hiding something.

“You will hear evidence that one Monday night this past January, Richie was seated at the bar in his favorite restaurant with his best friend, minding his own business, when the defendant interrupted the victim, Mr. Grusini, and picked a fight. An altercation ensued, and the two men were asked to leave the premises. Ladies and gentlemen, you will hear that what happened next is why all of us are here and that, what should have ended with the defendant simply walking away, ended with Richie lying dead in the alley outside the bar with his throat slashed.”

Bennie watched the jury focus on Martinez, who held their rapt attention.

“The Commonwealth will prove that Richie left the bar and walked to an alley-like area around the corner, where his car was parked. But still, Richie wasn't safe from defendant. The evidence will show that defendant pursued Richie into the alley and that there, the defendant murdered him by stabbing him in the throat with a hunting knife, which was found, dripping Richie's blood, still in the defendant's hand.”

Bennie watched as Marathon Mom's eyes flared in horror. Mouths dropped open in the front row, and Funny Guy exchanged appalled glances with the older Asian juror, sitting next to him.

“This is a classic case of premeditated and brutal murder. You will hear testimony that the defendant
himself
told officers at the scene that he was not sorry that Richie was dead, even as that poor young man lay bleeding to death.”

Bennie kept her expression impassive as she caught Brooklyn Girl frowning behind her big black glasses.

“You have heard people use the term murder on television and movies, but in Pennsylvania, we use the term criminal homicide, and it is defined as the intentional, knowing, reckless or negligent causing of the death of another human being. Murder in the first degree, which is the charge here, is the most heinous crime known to man. It is defined as criminal homicide when the killing of another human being is intentional, and the evidence will show that that is exactly what happened to the victim in this case, at the hands of the defendant.”

Martinez gestured at Jason, then continued.

“The Commonwealth will show you the actual murder weapon that was used, and we will produce additional forensic evidence, as well. Ladies and gentlemen, this is a horrific and indescribable tragedy, and you can be certain that by the time the evidence is closed and the Judge has charged you on the law, that same evidence and that same law will leave you with only one alternative, namely, to look this defendant squarely in the eye, just as he looked Richie in the eye when he cut his throat, and return the only verdict that the facts and the law will allow, namely, a verdict of murder in the first degree. Thank you.” Martinez started back to his seat, and Bennie didn't wait because she wanted to dispel any mood he'd created by his opening.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, approaching the jury box, where she began to relax, feeling at home. She blocked Declan, Doreen, and the twins from her mind, kept Jason uppermost, and took a moment to make eye contact with the jurors, as calmly as possible. She never tried to wow a jury with an opening, but to plant the seed of a reasonable doubt about the Commonwealth's case.

“Thank you for agreeing to serve on this jury. You have a grave responsibility on your hands, the fate of my client, Jason Lefkavick.” Bennie gestured briefly to him. “That's Jason sitting at counsel table, and as you can see, he's a young man. And yes, the prosecutor was right about one thing—Jason is wearing a new shirt, because I made him. We're all trying to look our best in court today, and that is not a crime. In fact I'm wearing a new shirt, for that very reason.” Bennie kept her tone light, but not joking, and knew she'd made her point when she saw Brooklyn Girl smile. “So now that we've dispensed with wardrobe snark, let's get to what's important.”

Bennie paused, just to make a break in their concentration.

“You have just heard the prosecutor tell you what he thinks the evidence will show in this matter, but I'm here to tell you something even more important—what the evidence will
not
show. This case is about a deadly argument that took place in an alley between two lifelong enemies, Mr. Grusini and my client, Jason, and there are no witnesses to what actually occurred.” Bennie paused, for emphasis. “The prosecutor talked about videocameras, but there is no video that captured what happened in the alley. The prosecutor talked about best friends, but there is no best friend who saw what happened in the alley. I'm asking you to keep an open mind as the testimony goes in and to listen not only to what you are being told, but to what you are
not
being told.”

Bennie felt heartened to see Brooklyn Girl nod in a knowing way, and she continued.

“The most important thing that you are
not
being told by the prosecutor is who really started the fight that led to Mr. Grusini's death. The prosecutor said that Mr. Grusini was minding his own business and that my client Jason was the aggressor, but in fact, the evidence will show that the opposite was true.” Bennie spoke to them naturally, because it was the only way she knew how to speak to a jury, just like she spoke to everyone else. “The question in this case is not a complex one, and it comes down to, ‘who started it?' The prosecutor claims that Jason started it, but I think the evidence will show that it was
Mr. Grusini
who started it. You will be the one to decide that question ultimately, and I have complete confidence that you will do so correctly. After all, ‘who started it' isn't a complex legal question, but a matter of common sense. It's familiar to anybody who's ever raised a child—or for that matter, to anyone who's ever
been
a child.”

Bennie had improvised this last part for Marathon Mom, who nodded in agreement, and the grandmotherly juror in the front row smiled.

“The evidence will show that my client, Jason, acted only in self-defense. Self-defense is a justification, which is the right of everyone in our Commonwealth, where, as you will learn, we have a stand-your-ground law that gives every Pennsylvanian the right to stand his ground and defend his own life, whether he is threatened in his home or anywhere in public, like in an alley. You are justified in using deadly force to defend yourself where there is a threat to imminent harm and there is no other means of escape from the situation. The evidence will show that is exactly what happened in this matter.”

Bennie had no idea how she would make a self-defense case without putting Jason on the stand, but she wasn't about to promise the jury that they would see him testify. No trial lawyer would ever make a promise in an opening that they couldn't deliver. Her strategy was to establish self-defense through cross-examination of the Commonwealth witnesses, and her only consolation was that she had no other choice. Still, Bennie sensed that if she looked up Insanely Risky in the dictionary, there would be a picture of her, right now.

“You have heard the expression that there's two sides to every story. Well, that's true. So when the prosecutor has his witnesses up on the stand, he's telling you his side of the story. I get to tell our side of the story when I cross-examine. Real cross-examination isn't like on TV. It's not about being mean to the witnesses or making them cry. It's about eliciting facts from them that the prosecutor doesn't want you to know about, but that I do. I'm going to have questions for each witness, which will tell you our side of the story, so I'm going to ask you to listen carefully for when I do that.”

Bennie paused.

“The most important point of law that you need to keep in mind, and one that Judge Patterson will instruct you on, is that even though we are claiming self-defense, we do not have to
prove
self-defense. Under the Constitution of this country, the burden never shifts to Jason or to me to prove
anything
in a criminal trial. That burden always remains with the prosecutor, and my client, Jason, is absolutely innocent unless and until the prosecutor proves him guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.”

Bennie paused to let the concept sink in, and Programmer Guy seemed to understand immediately, raking a hand through scruffy hair. The other jurors seemed to be listening to her, returning solid eye contact or cocking their heads in a way that suggested she had planted the seed she wanted.

“We know that things are not always what they seem. Sometimes we need to look beyond the surface and question what we are being told. You're smart people and you will need to do that, starting now. Look for the holes in the prosecution's case, which I think falls far short of proving anything beyond reasonable doubt, much less the most heinous crime known to man. Thank you so much.”

Bennie turned away from the jury, and Martinez popped up, trying to steal her thunder, the way she had stolen his.

“Thank you, counsel.” Judge Patterson nodded. “Mr. Martinez, ready?”

Bennie got back to her seat, touching Jason's shoulder before she sat down next to him. He was frowning, and she realized why when she saw the note that he had written on her legal pad.