For the defense, I’ve written the name Lonnie Gorman, a twice-convicted second-story man recently arrested for a burglary just two blocks from Jennifer Yamura’s house. David Hanson’s name is also listed on the board—with a big question mark next to it. Finally, though it’s doubtful I could compel testimony by any of them, I’ve listed every one of the seventeen officers of the Thirteenth and Fifteenth Districts the grand jury recommended be charged, along with Lawrence Washington and Terrance Johnson, the two surviving officers who testified before the grand jury in return for immunity.
Vaughn and I go around and around about our defense. We’ve agreed that we must present a plausible alternative to David Hanson as the murderer of Jennifer Yamura. We have two choices. On the one hand, Jennifer’s missing laptop, iPhone, watch, and money support the argument that she was killed as part of a robbery. That’s where Lonnie Gorman comes in. On the other hand, we have the grand-jury angle. The crooked cops clearly had a motive to kill her. And in slaying Stanley Lipinski, who’d turned state’s evidence against them, we know at least one bad cop was willing to take a life.
Vaughn and I argue back and forth for a while about which of our two alternative-killer theories to press. We could offer both theories up to the jury, let them bite on whichever seems the more appetizing. But then we would lose the force of conviction, the persuasive power carried by the message that this is what we believe.
I stand up, walk to the credenza, lift a bottle of Fiji water from a silver serving tray. “Let’s turn to David,” I say.
“Yes, let’s,” says Susan, who’s appeared in the doorway. “What are we going to say about the fact that Hanson stayed in the house for who knows how many hours with the bloody, murdered body of his lover? How do we address the coldness of the soul of a man who could do that?”
“Dissociative state,” I answer immediately. “A person of normal mental health like David Hanson happens upon the murdered body of his girlfriend. He’s desperate not to have their affair revealed and irrationally latches onto the hope that he can clean up the house, remove all traces of himself. But he’s never seen a murder victim before, let alone the body of someone he’s had an intimate relationship with. So his mind splits. The part of his consciousness that holds his humanity—his compassion, his love, his morality—numbs itself completely, while the other part of him—his practical side, the lizard brain—takes over and starts cleaning.”
Susan smirks. “I don’t think they’ll buy it, not with David. I think the jury is going to see him as a cold fish. A rich, calculating prick perfectly willing to do whatever it takes to protect himself.”
“Which brings us,” Vaughn says, “to the big question. Do we try to change the jury’s view of David by putting him on the stand? Let him talk to the jury, look in their eyes, and tell them he didn’t do it?”
Now that I know David had to be the one who dragged Jennifer back to the stairs to die, I can’t ethically put him on the stand to perjure himself by denying his involvement. Not that ethics would stop me. Indeed, as I’ve charted it out in my head, my literally “criminal” defense of David Hanson will necessitate a heaping dose of perjury. But I can’t share that with Vaughn or Susan, or anyone. Not yet.
“Think about it,” Vaughn continues. “We could have David testify about sponsoring those three foreign musicians in New York. Humanize him.”
Susan flinches at the idea of perpetuating that sham.
“If we put him on the stand,” I say, “he’s going to have to tell the jury where he was.”
“And his fairy tale about the long walk isn’t going to fly,” adds Susan. “Which brings me to what I think the big question is. If David didn’t kill Yamura, where was he, really, at the time she was murdered? What could he have been doing that is so terrible he wouldn’t disclose it to save himself from a murder conviction?”
“Even if there comes a point when we want David to disclose his alibi, we have a Rule 567 problem,” Vaughn says.
He’s referring to the rule of criminal procedure that requires the defendant to notify the court and prosecutor within thirty days after the arraignment of the defendant’s intent to offer an alibi defense, specifying the details as to where the defendant claims he was and whom he claims he was with. That window, of course, has come and gone.
“So we’re in agreement,” I say. “We keep David off the stand if at all possible.” I look at Vaughn and Susan, and both nod. “Which brings us to heart of the matter. Reasonable doubt. Does the prosecution have enough to convict? Let’s start with the evidence of motive. There is none. Sure, Devlin can speculate that David and Jennifer had a falling-out. But that’s all it will be: speculation. And David’s prints and hair and DNA being all over the house? Of course they were, he owned the place and had been there a hundred times. And as for David getting caught in the house, it was more than nine hours after the murder. Walker hasn’t identified a single eyewitness who can put David there at the time of the crime. Bottom line is that the prosecution may have the goods to make the jury pretty sure David killed Yamura. But it doesn’t have the evidence to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“Nice closing, Mick,” Susan says. “But David is tainted in the eyes of the jury pool, the whole city. Pretty sure may be enough for a conviction in this case.”
“Okay. I think we’ve done enough for today,” I say, ignoring her take. “Nice job, Vaughn. We’ll press on with this tomorrow.”
That’s his signal to leave. Then I look at Susan and ask her to stay in the room with me. When Vaughn’s gone, I close the door and sit next to my partner. I put my elbows on the table, rub my eyes with my hands, and blow out some air. “Susan—”
“Look,” she interrupts, “I know this case must be hard for you, with David being your friend. Are you sure you even want to be first chair? I can step up if you need me to.”
“Thanks. But I can push through it. And I think I better do it alone. That’s what I want to talk about. I know I promised you I could play it straight. But there are things going on in this case that you don’t know about, and that I can’t tell you. The fact is, I may have to go completely cowboy once we get to court. And the whole thing might blow up in my face. If that happens, I don’t want you anywhere near the fallout.”
Susan leans back in her chair, crosses her arms. “What exactly are you telling me here? Or not telling me? Did David confess to you? Are you looking to get rid of me so you’ll have a free hand to put him on the stand, help him perjure himself? I mean, what the hell? That’s not the type of law practice I want to be a part of. I used to be a United States attorney. I can’t have you helping clients lie on the stand.” She emphasizes the point by nailing the conference-room table with her index finger.
“It’s not that. I’m not going to help David lie under oath.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t tell you,” I say too loudly. “And that, too, is to protect you. All I can say is that you don’t want to get too close to this one.”