David’s imprisonment three weeks before the trial had caused a feeding frenzy in the press. The headlines in the Inquirer and Daily News screamed: “Hanson Imprisoned: DA Claims Millionaire Preparing to Flee” and “Hanson Withdrew Millions in Cash on Eve of Trial” and “Accused Geisha Killer Readies Corporate Jet to Flee.” None of the articles reported my insinuation at the hearing that David had used the money to fund charities. All of them played up his plane flight to Mexico, where he landed at the same private airstrip employed by cartel drug runners. One story colorfully painted a picture of David’s Learjet escaping Philadelphia late at night in a driving rainstorm. It used terms like “lurking” and “dodging” and “absconding,” and referred to David as a “fugitive.”
It took four days to pick the jury. Our panel of twelve jurors and four alternates are from all parts of the city, all walks of life. Kensington, South Philly, West Philly, the Northeast, Rittenhouse Square, the art-museum area, and Old City. A schoolteacher, a nurse, an aerobics instructor, a college track coach, a car salesman, the manager of a Wawa, a college student, a retired businessman, a FedEx driver, a building security guard, a retired insurance salesman, a hairstylist, a retired accountant, an unemployed truck driver, an unemployed factory worker, and a reporter for the Daily News. Ten men, six women. Five whites, nine blacks, two Hispanics. No Asian Americans—I made sure of that.
Judge Henry used Friday afternoon to hear arguments and rule on my motion to prohibit the prosecutor from presenting Edwin and the HWI pilots to testify to David’s withdrawal of money on the eve of trial. I argued that the issue of David’s supposed plans to flee was a straw man that would serve only to poison the jury against him. But the court bought Devlin’s argument that David’s actions evidenced a consciousness of guilt. “If you feel that strongly that the evidence is misleading,” Bill Henry told me, “you can present your client to explain to the jury what his actual intentions were for the money.”
Judge Henry enters through a door at the rear of the courtroom and takes his seat on the bench. Framing him on the back wall are the American flag on his right and the state flag on his left. Directly behind and above the judge hangs the blue-and-gold seal of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania.
“Please bring in the jury,” Judge Henry says to his deputy, Mike Holleran. “Everyone remain seated while the jury enters the courtroom,” he tells the rest of us. Holleran knocks on a door on the back wall of the courtroom, to the left of the bench. The door opens and, one by one, our special sixteen file into the courtroom and take their seats. Once they’re in position, most of them glance at Devlin and me. All of them look at David. The juror sitting in the first seat in the first row, our presumptive foreman, is the retired businessman. His name is Peter Drummond. He’s seventy-one years old and a former member of the Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce. Drummond has a full head of silver hair and has come to court dressed in a button-down shirt under a deep-blue blazer over charcoal slacks. His face is square and distinguished looking, reminiscent of John Forsythe of the old TV series Dynasty.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Henry greets the jury. The jurors say “Good morning” or nod and smile. His Honor spends about half an hour giving the jury preliminary instructions, telling them what our daily schedule will be: 9:00 a.m. sharp to 5:00 p.m., with an hour for lunch, a fifteen-minute break in the morning, and a fifteen-minute break in the afternoon. And Bill Henry means it. He tries a full day, every day.
“And now we will start the trial with the attorneys’ opening statements. The statements themselves are not evidence, and you are not to consider them as evidence. Rather, these statements are counsel’s explications of what they expect the evidence will show.” Judge Henry speaks for another few minutes and then turns to Devlin. “Is the prosecution ready?” Walker states that he is, and the court nods for him to begin.
The prosecutor rises from his seat and buttons his jacket. Dressed in a three-button black suit, white herringbone dress shirt, black-and-white-striped tie, black-and-white porcelain cuff links, and gleaming black loafers, Devlin has an American flag pin on his lapel and his hair freshly cut close to his head. He moves slowly to the center of the courtroom, pauses for a moment before the bench, and says, “May it please the court.” Judge Henry nods, and Devlin turns to his left and walks up to the jury box. Careful not to invade the jurors’ space, he plants himself four feet from the box. A portable lectern is available, but Devlin has chosen not to use it. He has no notes. He’s going to be speaking from the heart.
Devlin sighs, showing the jurors there’s no joy in what he has to do on behalf of the people, but that he’s still going to see it through, for all of our sakes.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Devlin says, then pauses. The jurors respond to him. Most of the women smile. Most of the men nod. “I come before you today to obtain justice for a murdered young woman. Jennifer Yamura, a bright woman with a promising future, whose parents worked hard to raise and educate her.” Devlin pauses again, turns toward the Yamura family, gives the jury the chance to see who they’re really fighting for. “Jennifer Yamura, whose life was stolen from her by a man who would have you see him as some sort of public benefactor.” I want to object here, but I know Devlin is baiting me to do it, hoping to get the jury to see me as disruptive. Devlin makes a few more gratuitous remarks about David’s wealth and privilege, then moves to the heart of the case.
“Thursday, May thirty-first, at 11:30 p.m., Officer Tim Kujowski and Officer Nicholas Pancetti are traveling south in their patrol car on Pine Street when they get a call from dispatch to go to 1792 Addison Street, on a report of a disturbance. They get out of the car, see the lights are on, hear someone inside running a vacuum cleaner. Officer Kujowski knocks on the door, and the vacuum stops. From inside, someone tells them to hold on, but he never answers the door. Officer Kujowski knocks on the door again. Still, no one appears, so Kujowski runs around back. He gets to the back of Jennifer Yamura’s house just in time to see a tall, well-built man running out the back door. The defendant. David Hanson. Officer Kujowski tells him to stop, but the defendant keeps on running. But Kujowski was a track star in high school, and the defendant doesn’t get far.