An Insignificant Case, page 18
“Then the trial should be a snooze for you,” Charlie answered.
“If we get that far. Once you see what we’ve got, I expect you to run to my office to ask for a plea bargain.”
“We’ll see after we read the discovery in her case. Can you messenger it over to us?”
“Sure thing, Charlie. I’ll even use a Magic Marker to highlight all of the evidence that proves your adorable client is, beyond a reasonable doubt, a mass murderer.”
“Thanks, Tom.”
Grant turned to Bridget. “We all miss you. It’s a shame you went over to the dark side.”
Bridget laughed. “We’d better get inside. Court should be starting.”
Alexis’s arrest had been front-page news, and the courtroom was packed.
“How are you holding up?” Charlie asked when the guards had taken off Alexis’s shackles and she was seated next to him.
Alexis smiled. “Jail is a breeze after some of the places I was in when I served.”
Charlie chuckled. “I keep forgetting you were in combat in war zones.”
Alexis stopped smiling. “That’s a time of my life, like this one, that I’d like to forget. What are my chances of getting bailed out?”
“That’s not going to happen. There’s no automatic bail in a death case, and given that you’ve already been hiding out in Mexico, I won’t be able to argue that you aren’t a flight risk.”
“Then what’s happening today?”
“We’ll waive the reading of the indictment and enter pleas of not guilty to all the charges. Even though we won’t win, I’ll ask for a bail hearing so we can get some idea of the State’s case, and we’ll do some scheduling.”
The bailiff rapped his gavel, and the Honorable Isaac Steinbock took the bench. Charlie and Bridget had been happy when they heard that Judge Steinbock had been selected to hear Alexis’s case. The judge was in his late fifties, but he looked younger. He was a gym rat and had a wiry physique, a full head of curly black hair with only a smattering of gray, and bright blue eyes that were cast in shadow by bushy black eyebrows. Trying a case in Steinbock’s court was a pleasant experience because he had a jovial disposition, treated the litigants with respect, and was very smart.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Steinbock said after his bailiff called the case. “Are you ready to proceed?”
The parties stood.
“Thomas Grant for the People of Oregon. We’re ready.”
“Charlie Webb and Bridget Fournier for Miss Chandler. We’re ready, and we waive a reading of the indictment.”
“Very well, Mr. Webb. How does Miss Chandler plead?”
“Not guilty to all of the counts.”
“Okay. What’s the State’s position on bail, Mr. Grant?”
“This is a murder case with no automatic bail, and the defendant has been on the run for two years, so there’s no question that she’s a flight risk. So, we ask the court to hold the defendant and not grant her release on bail.”
“Mr. Webb?” Judge Steinbock asked.
“We’d like you to schedule a bail hearing.”
“How does next Tuesday suit everybody?” the judge asked.
“We’re good,” Charlie said.
“Tuesday is fine with the State.”
“Okay, then. If there’s nothing else, we’ll be in recess.”
“What happens next?” Alexis asked.
“In a few weeks, a jury of your peers will decide if you live or die.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
That afternoon, Charlie and Bridget were seated next to each other in their conference room sipping caffe lattes while they pored over the discovery that Thomas Grant had sent them.
“What do you think?” Charlie asked when they’d finished reading the police reports, autopsy reports, reports from the crime lab, and viewing the crime scene photographs.
“It’s the guns,” Bridget said. “All of those guns.”
“My thought exactly.”
“We’ll need an expert.”
“Great minds think alike.”
Bridget grinned. “You’re giving yourself way more credit than your IQ tests support.”
Charlie laughed. Then he got serious. “Who do we call?”
“I know just the man.”
* * *
Charlie’s navigation system told him to take a right turn into an industrial park that was a few blocks from the Columbia River. Then it told him that he was eight hundred feet from his destination. Charlie parked in front of an unremarkable concrete building, locked his car, and walked up a ramp to a walkway that passed in front of an export-import business and a construction firm and ended at Oregon Forensic Investigations.
Oregon Forensic Investigations was owned by Paul Baylor, who had a degree from Michigan State University in forensic science and criminal justice and had worked at the Oregon State Crime Lab for ten years before going out on his own. He had a reputation for integrity, which he’d gotten by telling defense attorneys the truth about the evidence in their cases when that was the last thing they wanted to hear. That reputation carried a lot of weight with the district attorneys’ offices in Oregon, and it was not unusual for a case to be dismissed when one of Baylor’s reports was presented to the prosecution as part of a discovery package.
The door to Oregon Forensic Investigations opened into a small anteroom furnished with two chairs that flanked a table covered with old copies of scientific journals. Across from the door was a desk that no one was sitting at. Behind the desk was a sliding glass window, and next to the desk was a door. Charlie opened the door and found himself in a long room cluttered with scientific paraphernalia.
“Mr. Baylor?” Charlie shouted. “I’m Charlie Webb. We had an appointment for three o’clock.”
He heard a gunshot coming from the back of the room. He called out again, and a slender, bookish African American wearing wire-rimmed glasses walked into view.
“Mr. Webb?” Paul Baylor asked.
“Hi. Are you Mr. Baylor?”
“I am, and it’s Paul. On the phone, you said that you had some questions about guns and a gunshot that had been made at a crime scene.”
Charlie nodded. Then he looked around at the surfaces on which he could spread out what he was carrying in his attaché case. It looked like every square foot of usable space was covered with test tubes, beakers, paperwork, and machines he could not identify.
“I have the crime scene photographs and reports in here. Is there someplace I can show them to you?”
Baylor smiled. “I apologize for the mess. I’ve got a lot of cases I’m juggling right now. Let’s go to my office.”
Baylor led the way to a corner of the large room, where an open door revealed a small, cramped office outfitted with an inexpensive desk, mismatched chairs, and a bookcase crammed full of books on forensic science, scientific journals, and case files.
Baylor’s desk was covered with stacks of paperwork, which he moved to one side. When Baylor was seated behind his desk and Charlie was seated across from him, Charlie took a stack of reports and photos from the attaché case and spread them out.
“I represent Alexis Chandler. Are you familiar with her case?”
“Just what I’ve seen on the news and read in the papers.”
“She’s got a lot of charges, but one accuses her of shooting Leon Golden.”
“The defendant in the sex trafficking case?”
“Yes. She claims that she was at his estate and she shot him in self-defense, after he took a shot at her. I’d like you to take a look at the reports and photos and let me know if you can tell me if there are facts that support her claim. I can get you into the crime scene if you need to see it to draw your conclusions.”
“What does Miss Chandler say happened at Golden’s place?”
Charlie told Baylor what Alexis had told him. Baylor read the reports and studied the crime scene photographs.
“Interesting,” Baylor said when he finished. “I will have to go to Golden’s estate.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
It had taken three days to pick a jury because of all the publicity Alexis’s case had produced. When the jury was finally impaneled, Bridget and Charlie had mixed feelings about their chances.
At seven thirty the night before Charlie was going to give the opening statement in Alexis’s case, he and Bridget left their office, convinced that there was nothing more they could do to prepare for the first day of State of Oregon v. Alexis Chandler. Neither one of them had the energy to cook, so they picked at their food at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from their condo and went home, exhausted and on edge.
When they walked into the entryway, Charlie didn’t turn on the lights. Instead, he took Bridget’s hand and led her into the living room so they could look out at Portland’s night sky.
“Are you tired?” Charlie asked.
“I’m exhausted, but I’m too wound up to sleep.”
“Do you want a glass of wine?” Charlie asked. “I’ve got a bottle of that good pinot we bought at that wine tasting last year.”
“I had too much wine at dinner,” Bridget answered as she turned to Charlie and rested her head on his shoulder. “We’re going to lose this case, aren’t we?” she asked.
“Maybe. I don’t know. Alexis is one hell of a liar, and she’s got God on her side.”
“What God?”
“Read your Old Testament—the part where it talks about an eye for an eye.”
“That might work if our jury was made up of twelve Barbarians. Unfortunately, Tom got rid of all the die-hard criminals and religious fanatics.”
“We’re doing our best, Bridget. That’s all we can do. Alexis created this situation, and she’s the only one who can talk her way out of it.”
“Too true.”
Charlie hugged Bridget. Then he kissed her. “If we got naked and fooled around, do you think you might unwind?” he asked.
Bridget laughed. “Jesus, Charlie, we have a client who might die, and all you can think about is a roll in the hay.”
Charlie grinned. “I have absolutely no interest in sex. This would strictly be for medicinal purposes.”
“Oh, well,” Bridget said. “Making love to you usually puts me to sleep, so this might work.”
“I don’t turn you on?” Charlie asked, pretending that his feelings had been hurt.
“Not in the least, but you are an effective alternative to a sleeping pill, so I guess we should fool around.”
* * *
When Charlie woke up, he was a bundle of nerves, his normal state every time he was going to give an opening statement. He and Bridget forced themselves to eat a hearty breakfast packed with protein even though they had no appetite. It was going to be a long couple of weeks, and they knew from experience that they would need every ounce of energy their bodies could manufacture.
A group of reporters were waiting in the hallway outside Judge Steinbock’s courtroom when Bridget and Charlie rounded the corner. They swarmed the defense team, and Charlie had to use a string of “No comment”s as a battering ram as he and his cocounsel forced their way into the packed courtroom.
Thomas Grant and Mary Choi, a deputy DA, were conferring at the prosecution counsel table when Charlie and Bridget pushed through the bar of the court.
“Good morning, Tom and Mary,” Bridget said.
Grant smiled. “I expect it is going to be.”
As soon as the defense team was seated, the guards led Alexis out of the holding area wearing a set of clothes that Bridget had arranged for her to wear that made her look like an attorney instead of a felon. The guards guided Alexis to a seat next to Bridget.
“What happens today?” Alexis asked.
“Charlie and the prosecutor give their opening statements,” Bridget answered.
“So, are we off and running?”
“Yup,” Bridget answered just as Judge Steinbock took the bench.
“Good morning, everybody,” the judge said. “Are you ready to give your opening statements?”
“Ready for the State,” Grant said.
“Ready for Miss Chandler,” Charlie told the judge.
“Then let’s bring in the jury and get started.”
As soon as the jurors were seated, Thomas Grant stood and walked to the jury box.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. The events that form the basis for the charges against the defendant occurred two years ago. The reason that her trial is only being held now is because she was on the run, hiding in Mexico, until she was arrested recently.
“One of the defendant’s victims is a man named Leon Golden, who is serving a lengthy sentence in the Oregon State Penitentiary. Mr. Golden was a successful movie producer who lived in an estate near the Columbia River Gorge that was surrounded by a high wall decked out with razor wire and patrolled by guards with vicious dogs. Gretchen Hall, a wealthy woman who owned La Bella Roma restaurant, was Mr. Golden’s coconspirator. She would lure young women, some underage, to Mr. Golden’s estate with a promise that they would get a part in a motion picture. Once inside, these women became prisoners who were forced to have sex with men. One of these women was Annie Chandler, the defendant’s sister. Annie was raped and murdered by Anthony Noonan, a judge on this circuit court, who is now serving a life sentence in the Oregon State Penitentiary. We know that Mr. Noonan killed Annie Chandler because we have a movie that shows the murder, which, unfortunately, you will see as part of the evidence in this case.”
Grant paused to let the jurors digest this information.
“The defendant learned that Gretchen Hall had lured her sister to Golden’s estate. Then her sister disappeared. Soon after, she learned that Hall and Golden had been arrested for running a sex trafficking ring.
“You will learn that the defendant is a trained sniper who served in combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. As soon as she figured out that Hall and Golden were responsible for her sister’s death, she came to Oregon and went on a killing spree that left Gretchen Hall, Golden’s bodyguard, Yuri Makarov, and a man named Brent Atkins dead and Mr. Golden severely wounded. She also kidnapped Detective Sally Blaisedale when she went on the run.
“Now, the defense is going to tell you about the rape and murder of Annie Chandler,” Grant began the conclusion to his statement. “They are going to ask you to forgive the defendant’s equally cold and calculating murders of the people involved in Leon Golden’s criminal enterprise. But our society no longer permits people to take the law into their own hands. A long time ago, civilized society decided that neutral people, like yourselves, should decide if an accused should be punished, and a neutral judge should decide the punishment. That’s what happened with Anthony Noonan and Leon Golden, who are serving prison sentences as punishment for the crimes they committed.
“Why do we do that? To avoid aggrieved people acting on emotion and killing innocent people, like Brent Atkins, who the defendant murdered in cold blood, even though he had no connection whatsoever to the murder of her sister.
“When all of the evidence is in, there will be no reasonable doubt in your minds that Alexis Chandler took the law into her own hands when she murdered Gretchen Hall, Yuri Makarov, and Brent Atkins, crippled Leon Golden, and kidnapped Portland detective Sally Blaisedale. Thank you.”
“Mr. Webb,” Judge Steinbock said.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Charlie said as he walked over to the jury box and addressed the jurors. “And thank you for taking time from your busy lives to listen to the evidence in this case.
“Now, Alexis Chandler may or may not present evidence to you. In the American judicial system created by our forefathers, a defendant in a criminal case has no duty under the Constitution to do anything.
“When the State of Oregon arrests a person, the Constitution and laws of criminal procedure require everyone to presume that the defendant is completely innocent and has done nothing wrong. Our American Constitution requires you to start this trial assuming that the State screwed up when they charged Miss Chandler, that it made a mistake.
“A district attorney starts a trial bearing the burden of proving a defendant’s guilt beyond any reasonable doubt. In the American judicial system, a defendant had no burden on her to do anything. She doesn’t have to produce any witnesses or evidence or cross-examine the State’s witnesses. Alexis and I can go to a movie during the trial and just return for the verdict.
“Now, what do we mean when we say that the district attorney has the burden of proving Alexis is guilty beyond a reasonable doubt? This is what it means. Let’s say that after hearing all of the evidence emotionally—in your heart—you feel that Miss Chandler is guilty, and unemotionally—using logic and being objective—you feel that she is guilty, but there was one single piece of evidence, like a photograph or a statement by a police officer, that raises one single reasonable doubt in your mind about her guilt; it is your patriotic duty as an American citizen to free her.
“I’m not going to tell you what the evidence will show. You’ll be hearing the witnesses when I sit down. But I will ask you to refrain from drawing any conclusions about whether what Alexis did to the terrible people who callously and cruelly took her sister Annie’s life constituted a crime until all of the evidence is in. Thank you.”
“Call your first witness,” Judge Steinbock said when Charlie was seated.
“The People call Detective Gordon Rawls.”
The detective had traded his blazer and turtleneck for a banker’s dark suit, white shirt, tasteful navy-blue tie, and shoes that were so well shined that they could have been mirrors. When he was seated in the witness-box, Rawls stated his name and told the jurors his professional history.
“Two years ago, were you and your partner, Detective Sally Blaisedale, tasked with the job of investigating the murder of two people whose bodies were found in Tryon Creek state park?” Grant asked.
“Yes.”
“Who were the victims?”
“A Miss Gretchen Hall and a Mr. Yuri Makarov.”
“Had you heard about these two people before?”
