Sudden Death Part 20

Lester agreed to Sam's request for help in this case because it sounded like fun, and Sam says there's pretty much nothing that Lester won't do for fun. I had explained to Lester that what he would be doing was technically illegal, but that I could guarantee that he would not be charged with a crime. Once I told him what we wanted him to do, I think he would have paid us for the opportunity.

I have a television and VCR brought into the courtroom and take Lester through his story. He and Sam taped every aspect of it, so his words are like televised voice-over.

"Last night at three A.M A.M. I entered Bobby Pollard's unlocked vehicle, which was parked on the street in front of his neighbor's house. I installed a device that is technically a small computer chip but really operates like an alarm clock. In this case it was set to go off five minutes after the car was started."

"What would happen when it went off?" I ask.

"It would disable the hand controls... neither the brakes nor gas would work, other than by using the foot pedals."

He continues to describe the rest of the operation. He installed another device to measure pressure on the foot pedals, and both devices could be monitored at a remote location.

"Please take us through what happened when Mr. Pollard started driving," I say.

His presentation is devastating. I expected that when the hand controls lost power, Pollard would be forced to use his legs to control and drive the car, secure that no one would ever know the difference, since he was alone. Amazingly, Pollard never used the hand controls at all, using the foot pedals the entire time. Every bit of this is measured by computer.

I let Lester off the stand and try to introduce copies of Pollard's medical records. They show that he was in fact in an accident in Spain but that it was relatively minor. The accident left him paralyzed, but the attending physician found no medical explanation for it.

Dylan objects to the introduction of the medical records, on the grounds that there is no one in the court qualified to authenticate them. Harrison agrees, as I figured he would, and we don't get to use them.

Next up is Carlotta Abbruzze, a shrink I went to for a while when my marriage was breaking up. I decided I didn't want to be shrunk, and my marriage broke up, but Carlotta and I remained friends. She has more Ph.D.'s than anyone I know, and she is easily qualified to testify in this case.

I ask Carlotta to explain psychosomatic paralysis. In layman's terms she explains that while there is no physical reason for it, the paralysis itself is real. She also describes how the human mind, if it leans toward such a syndrome, can be incredibly opportunistic. A minor car accident such as Pollard had could have triggered the immediate mental response to develop the syndrome.

"How long might it last?" I ask.

"Anywhere from a few minutes to a lifetime. When it disappears, the patient might intentionally continue to fake the paralysis, if it is providing some mental comfort for him."

"Just hypothetically, if a young man whose entire life was dedicated to football came to believe that he was not good enough to make it in the NFL, might even that subconscious realization bring on the syndrome?"

"It's certainly possible," Carlotta says.

Dylan's cross-examination is relatively effective, getting Carlotta to admit that she has never examined Pollard and that she can't be sure that he has ever suffered from this syndrome. I'm ultimately satisfied with her testimony; the jury understands this is a possible explanation for Pollard's situation.

To cap off an extraordinary day, I call a devastated Bobby Pollard back to the stand. "Mr. Pollard," I ask, "were all of your previous answers to my questions truthful?"

His reply is terse. "I take the Fifth."

"Have you been lying about your medical condition?"

"I take the Fifth."

"Did you kill members of the high school all-American team that you were chosen to be on?"

"No."

I let Bobby go and call Pete Stanton. He testifies about Adam's murder, including the fact that Adam's computer showed that he had been investigating the high school all-American team. He also confirms that the phone bill from the phone Adam used in my office shows two calls to Bobby Pollard the day he was murdered.

"And where was Kenny Schilling on that day, the day Adam Strickland was murdered?" I ask.

"In County Jail," Pete says.

Dylan's cross-examination is quick, as if he doesn't want to concede Pete has had anything important to say. "Lieutenant Stanton, have you arrested Bobby Pollard for the murder of Adam Strickland?"

"No."

"Have you decided to?"

"Not at this moment."

Dylan nods; his point is made. "But you did arrest someone for this murder?"

"Cesar Quintana, but he was released for lack of evidence."

"And you believed that he was the killer and that the murder was a case of mistaken ident.i.ty? Is that not true?"

"I believed it then, but I've learned a lot since then."

"But again, you haven't learned quite enough to make another arrest?"

"It won't be long now," Pete says.

Dylan smiles. "I can hardly wait."

Pete leaves the stand, and I call Dr. Stanley Robbins, my last witness of the day. He testifies as to the properties of pota.s.sium and its ability to cause fatal heart attacks while being very difficult to discover.

Dylan's cross-examination is brief, and a very eventful court day is over. As I'm leaving, Laurie arrives, looking somewhat shaken from her experience at the TV studio with Teri Pollard.

"It was horrible," Laurie says. "Before she knew what we were doing, she was confiding in me, talking about how difficult their life has been since Bobby's injury. Then, when she realized what was going on today, and that Bobby was faking that injury... I don't think she had any idea, Andy."

Laurie is feeling guilty about having deceived her, and I am as well, but I don't know how it could have been helped.

I do know one thing... I'm glad I'm not there to hear the conversation in the Pollard house tonight.

TONIGHT'S MEETING is to make the most important decision a defense attorney has to make in every trial: whether or not to let the defendant testify in his own defense. Usually, that important decision is a no-brainer, and my clients would have to walk over my dead body to reach the witness stand. Of course, most of them would prefer it that way. is to make the most important decision a defense attorney has to make in every trial: whether or not to let the defendant testify in his own defense. Usually, that important decision is a no-brainer, and my clients would have to walk over my dead body to reach the witness stand. Of course, most of them would prefer it that way.

This case is different, mainly because Kenny is the only person who can testify to a crucial fact: the subject of the "team meeting" the high school kids held in that restaurant those many years ago. Only three people are left alive who were there and know about the pact to share their NFL riches with each other. One is Kenny, one is Pollard, and the other is Devan Bryant, who is currently serving in the United States Army, stationed fifty miles outside of Kabul, Afghanistan. Bryant is unavailable to us, and Pollard seems likely not to aid in his own demise, so that leaves only Kenny.

Kenny wants to testify, which is typical of most defendants. In his view he will tell his story, and everyone will then believe him, and he can go home. This fantasy is greater in celebrities than mere mortals; they are used to their fans hanging on their every word. The problem is, Dylan is not a fan.

Laurie and Kevin are divided on the issue. Laurie thinks that Kenny should testify, that without the story of that pact the players took, there is not a strong enough basis for anyone to accept the serial killing connection. She doesn't think the statistical-probability evidence, while unequivocal, got through to the jury.

Kevin, with proper lawyer's caution, is opposed to Kenny testifying. He has seen too many people, many innocent, self-destruct under a wilting cross-examination. Dylan is good. Kevin knows it and doesn't want to take the chance.

This is a decision I always make myself, with equal amounts logic and gut instinct. Both are telling me that Kenny should not go near that stand, that the benefits of the "pact" story and Kenny's appealing demeanor will be outweighed by the negative of cross-examination. I don't want to give Dylan a chance to take Kenny through the facts of this case, most of which are incriminating. And I sure don't want Kenny up there talking about how he held off the police at gunpoint while Troy Preston's body was stuffed in his bedroom closet.

Kevin leaves, and I start thinking about my closing statement. Like my opening statement, I don't write it out, rarely even take notes, because I want it to be as spontaneous as possible. But there are points I want to be sure I cover, so I start mentally ticking them off.

Laurie comes into the den and asks if I want something to eat. I don't, and I'm about to tell her so when the phone rings. She picks it up. "h.e.l.lo."

She listens for a few seconds and then says a tentative "Hi." Since the initial "h.e.l.lo" should have covered the greeting part of her conversation, and since I can hear a tension in her voice, I immediately know that this is a charged phone call.

The rest of the call is peppered with clever Laurie-phrases like "I see," "I will," and "Of course." Laurie sneaks glances over at me to see if I'm paying attention to her, so I try to pretend that I'm not, though of course she knows I am.

She throws in a final "I will," and then hangs up. She looks over at me, and I say, "Wrong number?"

She smiles slightly, as if caught, and says, "That was Sandy. They're pressuring him to pressure me for an answer."

"You said 'I will' twice. Was that as in 'I will move back to Findlay,' or as in 'I will never leave the love of my life, Andy Carpenter'?" I'm trying to make my tone sound flip, which is tough considering I'm so nervous I can't unclench my teeth.

"It was as in 'I will have an answer by next week,'" she says.

"You don't know what you're going to do yet?" I ask.

"Andy, you will know the moment I do." She comes over and sits next to me, putting her hand on my knee. "And I'm sorry to put you through this... it's just very hard for me. I'm finding this so terribly difficult."

"Join the club," I say.

Laurie leaves me to work on my closing statement, not the easiest thing to do under these circ.u.mstances. Tara lays her head on my knee, in the same place where Laurie's hand had just been. "You're going to stay with me, right?" I say to her. "I'm prepared to guarantee you biscuits for life if you do."

She snuggles against me. Just what I like, a woman who can be bought.

THE MOMENT COURT is called to order, I announce that we are resting our case. Harrison asks Dylan if he would like to adjourn until after lunch to prepare his closing argument, but Dylan's preference is not to wait. He clearly had correctly predicted I would not let Kenny take the stand, and is fully prepared. is called to order, I announce that we are resting our case. Harrison asks Dylan if he would like to adjourn until after lunch to prepare his closing argument, but Dylan's preference is not to wait. He clearly had correctly predicted I would not let Kenny take the stand, and is fully prepared.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Dylan begins, "when I stood before you at the start of this trial, I told you that Mr. Carpenter would invent theories and attempt to confuse you with irrelevancies. I told you that you should keep your eyes on the evidence and not let his sleight of hand fool you. But I've got to be honest, I had no idea how far he would go with it.

"Think about it. None of it had anything to do with the facts. Those facts haven't changed, haven't even been challenged. Kenny Schilling was seen leaving the bar with Troy Preston shortly before he was killed. Mr. Preston's blood was found in Schilling's abandoned car. His body body was found in a closet in Schilling's was found in a closet in Schilling's house. house.

"But we hear that Mr. Schilling was somehow framed; that he's innocent, pure as the driven snow. So how did this innocent man act when the police arrived? He shot at them and barricaded himself in his house." Dylan shakes his head sadly. "Amazing.

"Now, Mr. Carpenter is a very clever lawyer, but when confronted with these facts, he acted like a man in a trap. First he tried to get out of that trap by claiming a Mexican drug gang did it, though he neglects to say why. Then, when he realized that exit was closed off, he tried to escape the trap by completely reversing direction, claiming it was part of a serial killing and the trainer did it." Dylan chuckles slightly to himself and shakes his head at the absurdity of it.

"I don't know how those poor young men died, but I do know the police in each case did not consider them murders... not even suspicious. And I also know that those deaths bear no resemblance whatsoever to the kind of death Troy Preston suffered: dumped in a closet and shot in the chest.

"I also don't know what drives a man like Bobby Pollard to fake such a serious injury. And I don't know how cell phones work, or what keeps airplanes in the air, or how we landed a man on the moon. And all of those things that I don't know have nothing to do with this case.

"I do know that Troy Preston is dead," he says, and points to Kenny, "and that this man killed him. And I am confident that you know it as well and that you will find him guilty as charged."

Dylan has outdone himself; I have never heard him better. I feel a momentary panic that, while I've been focused so much on the deaths of all those football players, the jury might well see them as irrelevant.

I stand and walk slowly toward the jury. "On a December weekend almost eight years ago eleven teenagers were brought together. They came from Iowa, and Wisconsin, and Alabama, and Texas, and California, and Pennsylvania, and Nebraska, and Ohio, and North Carolina, and two from right here in New Jersey.

"Except for the two men from New Jersey, Kenny Schilling and Bobby Pollard, they were all meeting for the first time. So they spent the weekend together, and they talked. In fact, one of their talks was so secret that they asked the only adult in the room to leave so he wouldn't hear them.

"And then the weekend ended, and they went home, and one after another they died.

"There is simply no chance that this is a coincidence. You did not hear me arguing against the DNA evidence, because that was simply a matter of mathematics, and numbers don't lie. Well, you heard an expert tell you that the odds of these deaths being a coincidence are one in seventy-eight billion, and those numbers don't lie either.

"But if you're shaky on those numbers, just add in the fact that Bobby Pollard and Kenny Schilling were both geographically available to have committed every one of those murders. I should have asked the mathematics professor what the odds would be against that. I probably can't count that high.

"So it is reasonable for you to a.s.sume that either Bobby Pollard or Kenny Schilling killed these people. That alone should tell you, after you listen to Judge Harrison's charge, that you should vote to acquit Mr. Schilling. If it could have been either one of them, then by definition there is more than a reasonable doubt that it was Mr. Schilling.

"But that's not all you know. You know that Adam Strickland, who was in the process of investigating Bobby Pollard, was suddenly and brutally murdered to cover up what he learned. You also know that Mr. Schilling was in jail, was living through this trial, at the time. Even the prosecution would admit that Kenny Schilling did not murder Adam Strickland.

"And most important, you know that Bobby Pollard is a liar. A liar under oath. A liar of mega-proportions. To believe that Kenny Schilling is the murderer, you must believe Bobby Pollard. I submit that no one should believe Bobby Pollard.

"Kenny Schilling had a very difficult upbringing, the kind of childhood that destroys far too many lives. It takes a very strong person to overcome it, but Kenny did more than just overcome bad luck. He went on to become an exemplary citizen, a good guy in an era and an occupation in which bad guys are all too prevalent.

"There is nothing that Kenny Schilling has ever done, not even anything he's ever said, that would give the slightest credence to the view that he could have suddenly committed a heinous crime like this. And he did not commit this crime, nor any of the others you've heard about.

"Do not end another life, one that is really just beginning, and one that is filled with such promise." I point to Kenny. "This man deserves his life back. Thank you."

I have never given a closing statement without being positive I screwed it up, and comments to the contrary from Kevin, Laurie, and Kenny don't come close to penetrating that pessimism. My guess is that I feel this way because it was my last chance to influence the jury, and matters are now totally out of my hands.

Harrison has decided to sequester the jury for the duration of their deliberations, and after charging them he sends them off to begin. I am now waiting helplessly for twelve citizens to decide the fate of a man I consider innocent. I am also waiting, just as helplessly, for Laurie to decide whether she will exit my life.

Suffice it to say, I am not a happy camper.

EACH PERSON REACTS differently to the stress of waiting for a jury verdict. I become cranky and obnoxious, snapping at anyone who asks anything about the trial. I also become intensely and uncharacteristically superst.i.tious, living according to a long-held list of idiotic behaviors that would make life intolerable if I attempted it on a permanent basis. For instance, for fear of p.i.s.sing off the justice system G.o.d, I won't do anything remotely illegal. I won't drive one mile over the speed limit, I won't jaywalk, I won't even play loud music on my car radio. differently to the stress of waiting for a jury verdict. I become cranky and obnoxious, snapping at anyone who asks anything about the trial. I also become intensely and uncharacteristically superst.i.tious, living according to a long-held list of idiotic behaviors that would make life intolerable if I attempted it on a permanent basis. For instance, for fear of p.i.s.sing off the justice system G.o.d, I won't do anything remotely illegal. I won't drive one mile over the speed limit, I won't jaywalk, I won't even play loud music on my car radio.

My other trait during these times ties in well with the first two. I also become a hermit, and anyone who has suffered through any time with me while waiting for a verdict thinks my reclusiveness is a good thing.

"Verdict stress" brings out Kevin's hypochondriac tendencies even further, which is no small statement. This time it happens more quickly than most: When Judge Harrison sends the jury off to deliberate, Kevin literally can't get up with the rest of us to leave the courtroom. He decides that something called his L4-L5 disk has degenerated, apparently overnight, and he needs a spinal fusion. What he really needs is a head transplant, but Laurie and I are obliged to almost carry him to his car.

Making matters worse is that my pessimism is shared by the large majority of television pundits covering the trial. In fact, I would say that three out of every five people in America are serving in the role of television pundit on this case. The majority view is that the defense is hoping for a hung jury, since not only would it obviously not be a loss but it would give us more time to investigate Bobby Pollard.

I actually have Laurie and Sam continuing to look into Bobby, in the likely event that we should lose and have to appeal. The unfortunate fact is that even a victorious appeal would take years and would destroy Kenny's football career in the process.

Laurie has spoken to three members of the defensive half of the Inside Football Inside Football all-American team, all of whom were in the restaurant that night, but not with the offensive team when the pact was discussed. One of them remembers Bobby telling him about it, and his surprise that Bobby seemed to take it so seriously. That person should be a solid witness at what I hope will be Bobby's eventual trial. all-American team, all of whom were in the restaurant that night, but not with the offensive team when the pact was discussed. One of them remembers Bobby telling him about it, and his surprise that Bobby seemed to take it so seriously. That person should be a solid witness at what I hope will be Bobby's eventual trial.

It is an irresistible impulse to try to gauge the jury, to try to guess what they must be thinking. I never do so out loud, since that's one of my superst.i.tions, but it certainly rattles around in my head enough.

In this case I'm hoping for a long deliberation. Our defense of the serial killings came out of left field, something the jury didn't expect, and without a necessarily clear connection to the offense charged. If the jury gives it serious consideration, it should take time for them to examine and debate. If they reject it out of hand, certainly a possibility, then there's really nothing to ponder; all the other evidence favors the prosecution.

I'm at home obsessing when the phone rings, always a traumatic event during a verdict wait. It's Rita Gordon, the court clerk, calling. Since it's only the morning of the second day of deliberation, if there's a verdict we're finished.

"I hope you're just calling to say h.e.l.lo," I say.

"Hoping for a long one?" she says. Knowing how anxious I am, she doesn't wait for an answer. "No verdict yet. The jury has a question."

The TV is on, and I see the "Breaking News" banner, "Schilling Jury Has Question," at the same moment Rita is telling me this. Rita says the judge wants us there in an hour, so I call Kevin and trudge down to the court.

On the way to the courthouse I hear that Quintana's body has finally been discovered in a field near the New Jersey Turnpike. I had been thinking that Petrone had sent him to the bottom of the ocean, but apparently, he wanted to use this killing to send a message to others stupid enough to mess with his territory.