Injustice (40 page)

DETECTIVE PHILBIN:
Yes.

MS. BRILL:
And that the box contained physical evidence from Kyle Runion's remains?

I hear voices behind me. Gregory is on his feet yelling “Objection,” and in the witness booth, Philbin sits gaping at us. He says something, but I can't hear it.

Judge Ballard says, “Mr. Nations, what is the objection?”

“Relevance. And hearsay,” Gregory says.

“Overruled.”

MS. BRILL:
And isn't it true, Detective, that when you transported the physical evidence from the FBI to the state crime lab, you were alone in the car, and this was after you had searched Henry Tatlock's house?

Philbin sits looking back and forth from Monica to Nations. Finally, he looks at the judge and answers in a voice barely audible: “I didn't do anything.” His voice is soft, and everything about him changes. He morphs into a child—a little boy entrapped in the oppressive flesh of a fiftysomething. I've noticed in the past that he has a way of looking to Sabin for approval in the middle of a conversation. Sabin complains about him and criticizes him, but I have little doubt that she would step between him and a bullet. I hadn't formed the thought before, but I see it now. She treats him like a little brother. I think of Peggy Devaney's ferocious love and support for Daryl. I think of Tina and Lydia: how exasperated Lydia used to make Tina and how bottomless Tina's grief is. I'm an only child. I haven't experienced this kind of devotion, but I've noticed how even Lizzie has a special tone of voice for referring to baby Toby, her brother who died twelve years before she was born.

MS. BRILL:
Detective Philbin, will you answer the question?

DETECTIVE PHILBIN:
I didn't do anything wrong.

MS. BRILL:
Did you take any DNA-bearing substance from Henry Tatlock's house during your warrantless search . . .

DETECTIVE PHILBIN:
No.

MS. BRILL:
 . . . and plant something in the box you took to the state crime lab . . .

DETECTIVE PHILBIN:
No.

MS. BRILL:
 . . . to convict Henry Tatlock for Kyle Runion's murder because you hadn't been able to convict him of Lydia Trevor's murder?

The judge pounds his gavel and yells for order. But order is elusive. Both lawyers are on their feet, speaking over each other. Spectators are talking and gasping, Philbin is repeating,
No, no, no.
Even the jury is whispering among themselves. And the defendant, Henry Tatlock, after several days of sitting impassively, at last responds. He gapes at Philbin. Then, with his elbows on the table, he puts his head down into his hands.

T
he trial is over by noon. Judge Ballard announces we'll resume for closing arguments at three. I call Tina to tell her all about Monica's tactic and Philbin's testimony.

“What do you think?” she asks. “Is it all strategy, or is it really possible?”

“Possible that Henry is innocent, you mean?”

“Yes. That Henry is innocent and Philbin is a dirty cop.”

I'm surprised by the question. I hadn't believed for a second that Monica's tall tale could be true. I don't answer her. I just say, “Why don't you come to closing arguments with me, Tina?”

“I can't, Nick. I just can't.”

“That's okay.”

“It's not because of you, though. You know that?”

“Sure, Tina.”

“Maybe, um, let's have dinner tomorrow night. You want to? Come over here?”

I agree. We say good-bye. I call Lizzy. We talk about the trial, and I try to rope her into dinner tonight. She says she can't make it because she's meeting with Calvin Dunbar again to ask him for some clarification on parliamentary procedure. She wants to know how Representative Porter was able to add those amendments onto the gas tax legislation.

“Yes, good idea,” I say. I'm not really listening. My mind is on the trial. “Would you like to come for closing arguments?”

“Maybe, Dad. I don't know. Probably not. I'm pretty freaked out by the whole thing.”

“I'm sure you are, sweetie.”

“Did I tell you I did a bunch of background research on Porter?”

This is what Lizzy does. She deflects things. Henry's trial is difficult for her to talk about, so she fills the conversation, and her mind, with unrelated minutiae to fend it off. “He's a Democrat in a Republican district, so he keeps getting almost voted out,” she says.

“I can't wait to hear what Monica comes up with for a closing,” I say.

“He stays in office by bringing a lot of pork projects to his district,” Lizzy says.

“I'll get you a seat up front with me,” I say.

“Some huge ones,” she says. “He's kind of the pork master.”

“That's good, Lizzy. I have to go.”

“Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, Lizzy.”

Gregory Nations argues first. He speaks in bullets: The defendant, Henry Tatlock, was living in Orchard City working as an intern at a family-law clinic—a job that, naturally, would bring him into contact with young children. The defendant left Orchard City just when Kyle disappeared. The defendant returned here to the city to resume law school. Kyle's remains were ultimately found just west of here at the reservoir. The evidence from Kyle's remains was tested specifically because doubts had arisen about Devaney's guilt. Testing revealed the defendant's DNA, from both hairs and semen, among the evidence in Kyle's burial site; Philbin is a respected detective; Monica's version of events requires too many leaps of logic. It is a desperate defense that Henry and Monica Brill concocted in response to the absolute, definitive, and scientific proof of Henry Tatlock's guilt.

Gregory sits. It was a workmanlike closing: facts; conclusion; summary. The way he organized it, characterized the testimony of the witnesses, and built fact upon fact, and the way he juxtaposed the incontrovertible proof of Henry's DNA against Monica's desperate fantasy, I know the jurors are ready and eager to deliver a guilty verdict. I also know that Monica will deliver a formidable closing.

Monica stands. “Make no mistake,” she says, “the DNA comes from Henry Tatlock. The fact is undisputed. The only question is how it got into the evidence from Kyle Runion's remains. But before we talk about the evidence, let's talk about Henry Tatlock himself. Recall that in my opening statement, I asked you to overlook Henry's disfigurement. You've all probably heard or read the atrocious names the press gave Henry. ‘The Freddy Krueger Killer.' ‘The Mark of Cain Killer.' Now think back to when you were picked for the jury. The questions Mr. Nations asked, the questions Judge Ballard asked. And the questions I asked. Do you remember that many of the prospective jurors were released for mysterious reasons? Let me tell you a secret: I used a jury consultant for this case. That's a person whose job is to advise the lawyer on which jurors will be most receptive to that lawyer's argument. Depending on the facts, maybe we want a more conservative or more liberal jury, or a jury with lots of book learning, or more OJT kind of smarts. Maybe we want more analytical thinkers or more emotional thinkers. Et cetera. But I told my jury consultant I don't care about how much education you all have, or your economic circumstances, or your ethnic origin or work history or marital status or where you go on vacation or any of that. I just wanted jurors who are capable of not judging a man by his appearance. I told the consultant, ‘Henry Tatlock is innocent, and I can prove it. So I just need men and women who can hear the evidence instead of ones who would walk into the courtroom on day one and, maybe without even realizing it, decide he's guilty because of the way he looks.' I told the jury consultant I wanted jurors who understood in their bones that the tragic accident this man experienced in his early childhood has absolutely nothing to do with the facts of this case. I said I wanted jurors who are free of that kind of prejudice.”

Monica walks the length of the jury box looking at each one of them with a knowing smile. “And you know what?” she says. “I really do believe that I got the jury I asked for.”

This is brilliant. Monica has made these jurors feel special for having been selected, and she's turned Henry's disfigurement into an advantage: the only way for the jury to reward her confidence in them, and to prove they weren't motivated by small-minded prejudice, is to acquit.

“Let's talk facts,” Monica says, and she reminds us of every positive thing said about Henry: He's hardworking and dedicated; he overcame an inauspicious home life and excelled in school and put himself through law school.

I realize that most of these flattering things, she got from my testimony. I tried too hard to sound fair-minded as I proceeded to condemn him to hell.

I'm impressed with Monica. I wonder if her case has a chance. I wonder if even I have been snowed by her salesmanship. She stands in front of the jury box, butt poking out because of the heels she's wearing, skirt too tight, nails too long, lips too red, hair too perfect. She is exactly the kind of woman I never did and never would ask out. Worst of all, she is the advocate for my evil enemy. But I find myself sitting here feeling fond of her, almost smiling at the idea that I, along with the jury, am the kind of guy who, prior to the DNA results, saw Henry for his inner self and his good points instead of prejudging him for his disfigurement.

She gets into the meat of her argument. It is a simple story, and it makes perfect sense. Daryl Devaney killed Kyle Runion. He confessed. He is, even at this very moment, doing life in prison for the crime.

She lets this sink in, then continues: “And now Devaney, this killer, is trying to get out of jail on a technicality.”

(I'm glad Tina isn't here. I doubt she could keep her mouth shut at hearing Monica refer to Daryl's vindication by DNA evidence “a technicality.”)

Monica continues: “Enter Detective Patrick Philbin, a man so tortured by his sister's murder at the hands of her fiancé that he made it his mission in life to avenge her death.”

Monica goes on to say that Philbin became obsessed with
convicting Henry for Lydia's murder even though there was no evidence. “You heard Nick Davis—head of the criminal division of the U.S. Attorney's Office here, husband to Lydia Trevor's sister, Tina—tell you he believed Philbin was on a fool's errand. And if that's not enough, as further proof of the wrongheadedness of Philbin's investigation, when my client was finally charged with Lydia's murder, the district attoney himself, Mr. Nations, whom you see right here at this table”—Monica walks over to Gregory and points right at him—“he realized there was no basis for prosecuting Henry Tatlock for Lydia's death and dismissed the charges.”

Monica goes back to counsel table and takes a drink of water. Then she's back at it: “You heard Dr. Farquar testify that, yes, it is perfectly, scientifically reasonable to believe that DNA-bearing substances could have been introduced into the Runion evidence from other sources. You heard testimony that Detective Philbin had the run of Henry Tatlock's house during a warrantless search for which Henry himself granted permission. And keep in mind that this search was conducted when it had become obvious to everyone else that Philbin's case against Henry was ridiculous. Most important, you heard testimony of how Detective Philbin himself was
coincidentally
available to transport the box of evidence from the FBI back to the state lab.”

Now Monica wraps up: Philbin obviously opened the box of evidence and introduced a few of Henry's hairs into the evidence from Kyle's remains. Philbin further contaminated the evidence with minuscule smears of rehydrated semen salvaged from the underwear or bedsheets or discarded tissues in the home of this lonely and heartbroken man. Monica paused, then said in a tone of blunt honesty, “Without going into too much detail, I'll just ask you to consider for a second how a shattered man might comfort himself at night in the wake of his fiancée's murder.”