The Insanity Plea (24 page)

Duke interrupted, “Dan, we understand
everything you’re saying.
 
We’re ready to
go. You won’t have to do much since we don’t expect to call you as a witness…”

“Just so you won’t be surprised, I
may still choose to testify.”

Duke frowned. “That would be a
mistake, Dan. Let us make the decisions.”

“Hear what you’re saying. It’s my ass
on the line. I’ll make the final call. And, by the way, I may have another
surprise or two by the time of trial.”

Returning from Galveston, Duke
dropped Wayne off at the fire station and declined to come in for a beer. One
look at his friend told him that the strain of what they were doing was getting
to Wayne.

Watching Duke drive west on
Washington to his high rise, Wayne realized that Duke had not even asked to be
paid for his time. Worse yet, Wayne had not even offered to compensate him. Then
he decided that if the shoe was on the other foot, he, too, would be working
for friendship and nothing more. For now, he would leave the subject alone. He
dropped his briefcase in the back of his Nissan. On the drive home, his mind
turned to the trial. Just how does a lawyer explain to a jury the burden he has
in defending his brother’s life? How does he overcome the obvious bias he has
in attempting to save his brother? What parts of Dan’s life will shift just a
little of the sympathy from the victim to Dan? Do they want to hear about his
early career? Do they care that he had the potential to be a federal judge? How
much of his life on the streets is important? How much is too much? What about
the physical evidence against Dan? How can we offer an explanation about the
bracelet and the blood that will appeal to twelve Galvestonians? And will those
born on the island remember Dan leading them to the state championship? Will it
make any difference?

After parking his car, he unlocked
the door to Rita’s condo, got a beer from the fridge and started looking for
Rita. He found her seated in front of her three computers, searching the web
for more killers.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said as she rose
to give him a kiss. “Figured that was you rummaging around in my fridge.
 
How was moving day? I turned up three more
victims while you were gone and even had a conversation with an inspector in
Mexico.”

“Move went fine,” Wayne replied as he
sat in an easy chair beside Rita’s computers. “Talked to Dan. He told me about
your Mexican victims. Lord knows I hope you can find this guy, but time’s
running out.” Wayne shut his eyes as he replayed the thoughts he had on his
drive home. His eyes popped open when he found Rita crawling into his lap, then
rubbing his temples.

“Look, hon. We’re all doing all we
can, even Dan. He’s one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. I can only imagine
what he would be like if he wasn’t on that medication.”

Wayne relaxed as his tension flowed
away with the gentle massage. “Yeah, he was always brilliant. Strange how
everything came so easy for him and then he was hit by this illness.”

“Damn sure isn’t fair, sweetie. As
Dr. Phil says, we just have to deal with it.”

“One more thing, then let’s go grab a
bite to eat. As we were leaving, Dan said that he might insist on taking the
stand. Oh, and he may have a surprise for us at trial. Wish I could figure out
what the hell is going on in his mind.”

“Me, too, sweetie. Let’s hope those
voices are not getting back in control.”

The Gulf of Mexico was dark. Clouds
covered the stars and the only sound was that of waves lapping against the
shore. As minutes passed, a dull light began to illuminate the clouds when the
sun silently announced its arrival. On this morning there was no glowing,
multi-color sunrise. Instead, the light appeared over the horizon, reflecting
off of clouds that hung low and crept toward Galveston, first highlighting the
waters of the Gulf, then the jetty protruding from 21
^st
Street,
followed by reflections from windows on the old Galvez. Soon it would be
another day in Galveston, though a dreary one at that.

As the light progressed, a figure,
tall and lean, could be noticed sitting cross-legged at the end of the jetty. He
rose, stretched himself and hopped over the boulders to the stairs leading to
the seawall.

Wayne Little had risen before dawn,
quietly put on a T-shirt and sweatpants and tiptoed out to the veranda of his
mother’s house where he put on his running shoes and slowly jogged to the
jetty. It was the first day of trial. Certainly, he was not commanded by voices
to raise the sun. Still, there was something in him, perhaps a small voice that
said that he needed to be there at the end of the jetty as the trial began. Maybe
he hoped for a revelation; maybe just some inspiration. Whatever the reason,
walking back to the house on Ball Street he felt more calm, relaxed and eager
to begin the fight for his brother’s life, a battle that would begin that
morning with jury selection.

The court clerk had given them the
jury list and questionnaires on Friday. Rita had burned up her computer,
digging for every last detail available on each of the jurors. Wayne and Sarah
had gone over the list, talking about the potential jurors they knew or had
heard of. Sarah spent most of Saturday, calling friends all over the island,
inquiring about the jurors, their work, friends, habits, anything that might be
useful in determining whether they would be pro-defendant in this case. The
idea of a juror who would be fair and impartial was not even considered. They
wanted jurors who would start off with a bias favorable to Dan and his
predicament. If not that, then a bias against a system that persecuted the
downtrodden. On Sunday morning Claudia combined all of their knowledge and
printed out a jury list with everything they had learned.

On Sunday afternoon the team scoured
Claudia’s list. In a Texas capital murder trial, each side had fifteen
preemptory strikes to use as they saw fit, meaning they did not need any cause
to exercise such a strike. Such strikes could be worth their weight in gold. Certain
rules of thumb applied: Republicans were too conservative and lean toward the
prosecution. As Duke commented, most Republicans believe that if the D. A.
indicts, the defendant is guilty. Accountants saw everything in black and
white. Businessmen wanted to preserve the system. On the other hand, minorities
had either been hassled by the police or knew someone who had. They also
studied the list for local bias. One was a young assistant football coach at
Galveston High School. He would not have known of Dan Little, but he would have
heard stories of the state championship.

When Wayne returned from his Monday
morning run, he could see lights and activity on the veranda level of his
mother’s house. Duke had made a pot of coffee and was studying the jury list
when Wayne entered. He was already dressed in his best pin striped suit with a
red tie. His shoes were polished to a mirror shine and he was wearing glasses,
the half glasses favored by those who needed them only to read. Now, he looked
over his glasses at Wayne.

“Where the hell you been? We got a
case to try today.”

“Just out for a jog,” Wayne answered.
“Thought it might clear my mind. You turn up anything more on that jury list
since we worked on it last night?”

“Found one black juror who lives in
that neighborhood where we played basketball that afternoon. Missed him
yesterday. They’ll be instructed, as usual, not to talk about the case, but
they won’t follow the instruction. Maybe he’s one who’s heard about that crazy
guy talking to himself. Now you best get your ass upstairs and get cleaned up. We
got ourselves a trial to win.”

Wayne smiled at his friend, poured
himself a cup of coffee and climbed the stairs.

The team, with Sarah playing a
critical role in jury selection, walked the two blocks to the courthouse,
briefcases in hand. They left at seven-thirty, intending to get to the
courtroom first because they wanted the counsel table closest to the jury,
directly facing the witness stand. The trial had drawn enough local interest that
media from South Texas were assembling. Wayne was pleased that they were early
enough that no one was ready to roll the cameras. Still, the reporter for the
Galveston County Daily News spotted Duke and hollered as they crossed the
street.

“Hey, Duke. Hey, Mr. Romack. Can I
talk to you a minute?”

The reporter was young, eager and
probably a sports fan.

“Sorry, my man. Not this morning,”
Duke answered. “Got some big fish to fry. Check back in at the end of the day.”

The reporter nodded and allowed the team
to pass.

Stepping from the elevator, the three
who were lawyers could not avoid the thoughts that echoed in their minds like
their footsteps down the deserted hall. They had prepared as well as they
possibly could. No stone remained unturned. Still, trials had lives of their
own. One day, the trial might respond like a trained golden retriever and
everything went as planned. The next day, the trial could be like a pit bull
that turned on his master, attacking the hand that fed him like an enraged
beast. And the crazy thing was that no one could predict on any given morning
which day it was going to be. There were too many moving parts: The judge had
to make rulings on the fly; witnesses gave answers that could not be
anticipated; opposing counsel brought up issues that the other side never
thought of; some jurors slept through key testimony. There was no script, no
producer and no director. The lawyers were on center stage and could only hope
that the audience of twelve citizens would see them as heroes and their client
as the rightful winner at the end of the day.

They found the courtroom deserted. Wayne
walked to the table to the right, only a few feet from the jury box, and
dropped his briefcase on it with a loud thud. Duke did the same. Rita, Claudia
and Sarah took seats directly behind the rail separating the lawyers, litigants
and jurors from the audience. One seat at the counsel table was reserved for
Dan. He would sit between his lawyers.

While Wayne and Duke were unpacking
their briefcases, the back door opened and Kate marched in. She wore a grey
suit, blue tie and black flats, the same outfit she would wear every day of
trial. Somewhere she attended a seminar where a speaker suggested that a trial
lawyer should look exactly the same every day and she adopted the suggestion as
gospel.

When she pushed through the swinging
door, Wayne was surprised to see her approach their counsel table and set her
briefcase on it. “Sorry, gentlemen, but I always have this table in trial. That
one over there is yours.”

Wayne grinned as he replied, “First
of all, you might have said ‘good morning,’ or ‘how was your weekend?”

“Kate, this ain’t your table,” Duke
interrupted. “First come, first served is the unwritten law of this state. Take
it up with the judge if you like. I feel certain he’ll be pleased that he has
to resolve such a weighty matter right out of the box.”

Kate stared at both of her opposing
counsel, picked up her briefcase and moved it to the other table without another
word. At eight-thirty the court reporter, a new one for this court, who
introduced herself as Casey, started arranging her steno machine and her
computer. Then she checked the computer on the judge’s bench where he could
review the testimony she took in real time. Duke sized her up and concluded
that besides being tall and attractive, she was also probably smart and didn’t
mind taking charge when the judge was not around. As she finished her
preparations, Judge Fernandez entered the courtroom. Everyone rose.

“Be seated, ladies and gentlemen. Morning,
Kate. Morning, Wayne and Duke. Everyone ready to go?”

Not waiting for replies, the judge
motioned to Casey to begin reporting and continued, “I’ll call for
announcements in the case of The State of Texas v. Daniel Little. What say the
State?”

“The State is ready, Judge.”

“What say the defense for Daniel Little?”

Wayne rose and answered, “We’re
ready, Your Honor.”

“Okay, you guys correct me if I get
any of this wrong. This is a capital murder case where the defendant has pled
‘not guilty by reason of insanity.’ That means the state goes first and puts on
its case to establish guilt. Then the defense puts on evidence of insanity and,
I presume, can also challenge the evidence of guilt if they choose. Last, the
State puts on rebuttal evidence on the issue of insanity which I understand
will be this Parke fellow. Have I got it right?”

All counsel nodded their agreement.

“The bailiff has advised that he’s
down in the central jury room,” the judge continued. “Each side has fifteen
preemptory strikes; so, I’ve ordered a jury of sixty, which is all we can
squeeze into this old courtroom. Duke, I understand you’re doing voir dire. I’ve
talked to some of my friends in Houston and I know you’re damn good at getting
rid of jurors you don’t want.”

Duke rose to defend himself. “Now,
Judge, I don’t know who you been talking to. I just do my job. Not my fault I
get a lot of the people to agree with what I say.” He smiled.

“You take your best shot, but you
might as well be taking them from the three point line for the Rockets. I may
let you challenge a few for cause, but at the end of the day we will have a
jury in this box. Now, I’m going back to my chambers. You folks keep your
seats. When the jury is here, I’ve instructed the bailiff to bring Dan from the
holding area. I’ll save the best for last, meaning me. Voters always like to
see the judge come in for the first time, black robe trailing behind. Everybody
at attention. You know what I mean.”