On cross-examination, Swoboda scored no points. It was, after all, rather obvious how the two victims had died. What real difference did it make if the killer was firing from five feet away or from six inches?
Frustrated, Swoboda tossed his legal pad on the defense table and fell into his chair. He then made the mistake of looking at the jurors, almost all of whom were glaring at either him or his client. After three days of trial, it was obvious to him, and to every other person in the courtroom, that things were not going well for the defense.
—
The Jury. Nine whites, three blacks, no Native Americans. Equal split on gender. All registered voters of Bay County, next door to Brunswick. Three with college degrees, two without jobs, average age of fifty-two, so a fair amount of gray hair. Conservative, middle class, Protestant for the most part, and weary of crime and the senseless violence wrecking the stability of our society. During the selection process, all twelve claimed to have no problem with the death penalty.
They had been warned by the judge against discussing the case until their final deliberations, but such precautions were usually ignored. During lunch breaks and long gaps in the trial when the lawyers were back in chambers haggling over fine points in the law, the jurors were whispering. Some of the men in particular were intrigued by what Junior would say, if in fact he testified. Catch your wife in bed with another man, and a friend at that, and a violent reaction might be understandable. A good butt-kicking, maybe some broken bones. Junior certainly looked like the type who could draw blood with his hands, especially in a rage. But two bullets to each head? It seemed so cold-blooded.
The women had heard enough. They might forgive a shot or two to wound the man, but the killing of Eileen was simply too much.
6
The sixth witness was Louise Razko, wife of the murder victim.
With the State’s case clicking right along and finding little resistance from the defense, the prosecutor made the mistake of attempting to arouse some emotion. This is common in murder cases—bring in someone close to the victim, someone who’ll weep in front of the jurors and give them even more reason to convict. Such testimony has no probative value, but judges always allow it.
Judge McDover certainly allowed it. Anything the State wanted.
The problem was obvious and somehow the prosecutor missed the obvious. Could he really expect Louise to cry and carry on when her husband had been caught with another woman, and one she knew well? Was Louise saddened by his death, or was she secretly pleased that his treachery had been discovered?
Fortunately, at least for the State, Louise was the emotional type and began crying shortly after taking the oath. Between sobs, she managed to complete a few sentences and went on about what a good man Son had been, a great father, and, yes, a good husband. She missed him so, as did her kids.
Swoboda objected by asking why any of this was relevant. McDover overruled him.
He had no questions for her on cross. She was led away in tears. Most of the jurors, though, seemed skeptical. Were some of those tears actually tears of joy because her two-timing husband had been caught? It was hard to tell. Most observers questioned the move by the prosecutor, but there was no real damage to the State’s case.
—
The Prosecutor. His first name was Wagner, an extremely odd choice by his mother, but then it was her maiden name and she thought it fit him nicely, at least in the hospital. By the age of ten, though, he hated it for many reasons and chopped it in half. He’d gone by Wag for the past thirty years. Wag Dunlap. The voters seemed to like the oddness of his name.
Wag was thrilled to be on the hunt for his first death verdict. At the time Florida had three hundred men on death row and not a single one had been sent there by Wag. At the annual prosecutors’ conference down in Miami he often felt, well, inadequate. The heavy hitters were chosen to speak at seminars and share trial tactics, but not Wag. He had no medals on his chest, nothing to brag about over drinks. Sure, he had his share of convictions and had successfully prosecuted two other murderers, but only for run-of-the-mill killings. Nothing even close to a capital case. Junior Mace would put him on the map.
And what a beautiful set of facts he’d been handed! A tawdry affair. Junior, a good man, deceived by his friend Son, who’d been sneaking in the back door for how long? Caught in the act, a fit of rage, two cold-blooded killings, and a defendant who refused to avail himself of the defense of “irresistible impulse.” Florida law had long since recognized such a defense, and Junior could certainly avoid the death penalty and perhaps a long sentence if he would just admit that he’d acted out of temporary insanity and done what a lot of faithful husbands would have done. Junior, though, was steadfast in his denials.
So, why take the wallet? Why turn a horrible crime into something even worse? Murder alone does not trigger a capital case. Murder plus something else is needed—robbery, rape, kidnapping, killing a cop or a child—the list was long. Why turn into a thief after just becoming a murderer? There would never be an explanation, because Junior denied everything.
He caught them, killed them, took the wallet, and drove to a bar where he got drunk and passed out. They found the murder weapon, minus four bullets out of six, and the wallet in his truck. The facts lined up beautifully. The case was open and shut.
Wag, though, like most prosecutors, couldn’t resist the temptation to pile on. Why settle for less when there’s more to offer?
7
The seventh witness was Todd Short, the first of two jailhouse snitches. At the young age of twenty-four, he had already put together an impressive rap sheet, mostly for drug offenses. Following Wag’s firm instructions, he wore a shirt with long sleeves and a high collar to cover up as many tattoos as possible. He also had a fresh haircut and wore glasses he didn’t need because, in Wag’s opinion, they made him appear slightly more intelligent. With Short, intelligence was a relative matter.