Page 41 of The 1 Lawyer

“You know your husband better than anyone, and you can’t tell when he’s being truthful and when he’s lying?”

Oh, shit, I thought. Here it comes.

“Then how can the people in this courtroom possibly believe anything he says?”

I was on my feet before he finished, shouting out an objection—argumentative, badgering the witness. Walker sustained it. But the jury was thinking it over. I saw it in their faces as they stared at the defense table, assessing Caro.

Most of the people in that box had already condemned him. They’d made up their minds.

CHAPTER 30

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN of the jury, you have a weighty job before you.”

Gordon-James stood at the lectern facing the jury. It had been a couple of years since I’d heard him make a closing argument. As I recalled, he relied on a script. But on this day, he didn’t have a sheaf of papers. His hand held only the clicker for his PowerPoint slideshow.

“Your job is to find the defendant guilty of two counts of murder in the first degree. The jury instructions contain all the law that applies to this case. What does the law tell you to do?”

He clicked the PowerPoint, and a jury instruction appeared on the screen. It contained the elements of count one, the murder of Aurora Gates.

“This tells you what you must find in order to return a verdict of guilty. Has the State met its burden? Let’s review the evidence.”

Gordon-James was composed as he walked them through the State’s case starting with the fisherman who’d discovered the victim’s body. With a flick of his hand, the text messages between Aurora Gates and Daniel Caro appeared. He moved next to the waitress and parking valet, bypassing the in-court identification provided by the Uber driver I’d smacked down on cross-examination. Then he summarized the testimony of his expert witnesses, clicking images on his PowerPoint, flashing exhibits across the screen.

Too many exhibits, in my opinion. It kept the jury’s focus on the courtroom wall rather than on the DA’s argument. The jurors looked from the screen to the lectern and back as they tried to follow along.

You’re losing them, Gordon-James. They’re not hearing you. But that was okay. Better for our side.

He set the clicker down and grasped the top of the wooden lectern with both hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, back on the first day of this trial, I promised you in my opening statement that the State would show comprehensive evidence that would prove the defendant’s guilt to you, and I have kept my promise.”

At that point in his argument, the DA turned his head and met my eye. I knew what to expect. He was coming for me.

“Counsel for the defendant made an opening statement, too, on that first day. But he didn’t make any promises. Because Mr. Penney knew he couldn’t follow through on them. What did the defense counsel choose to say in his opening statement? What was his tactic? He attacked the nature of the evidence that the prosecution is bringing before you. Mr. Penney derided our evidence before it was even produced. He spoke of circumstantial evidence as if it constituted some kind of inferior proof. He said circumstantial like it was a dirty word, didn’t he?”

Several of the jurors looked over at me. I kept my posture relaxed to give the impression that I had nothing to apologize for.

Gordon-James smacked the surface of the lectern with the palm of his hand. “But I’ll tell you this, ladies and gentlemen. Circumstantial evidence is the best kind of evidence. Because it can’t lie to you. It is what it is.

“Scientific tests. DNA results. Experts’ descriptions of gunshots. Photos of abrasions, bruises, genital injury. How can they lie? They are what they are. They can’t intentionally deceive you.” His voice grew strident: “Now compare the State’s case with the defendant’s case. What did Mr. Penney present to you? He gave you the testimony of the man charged with two counts of murder who will lose his life or liberty if he’s convicted. And he tossed in some character evidence, the personal opinions of the defendant’s employees and friends, testimony that had no bearing whatsoever on the facts of these murders. And Mr. Penney wrapped up his case with the testimony of the defendant’s wife, a woman who, after years and years of marriage, can’t tell whether her husband is lying to her or not.”

I had to control my urge to slide down in the seat. Admittedly, the DA’s attack on Iris Caro was a pretty good shot.

He went on, even louder: “Think about the credibility of the evidence and the witnesses. Circumstantial evidence doesn’t lie. But people can lie. They can and they do. The instructions of law—and you won’t just hear them aloud, you’ll take them with you to the jury room—state that it’s your job to determine the credibility of the evidence and the witnesses and decide whom you believe. If you don’t find the defendant Daniel Caro credible, you don’t have to believe a word he says. Think about that, ladies and gentlemen. Is he credible? ‘I’m working late tonight, honey!’ His wife should not have believed him. And neither should you.”

Another effective shot. It would have been a good place for the DA to wrap it up.

But Gordon-James wasn’t finished. He launched into a tirade on the burden of proof, sounding positively resentful of the reasonable-doubt standard. He attempted to define reasonable doubt in a myriad of ways that incorrectly diminished the standard, and I objected and shut him down. Four times, in fact.

Every time the judge ruled in my favor, Gordon-James became more vehement. He started going off on tangents, using up time on matters that didn’t advance his argument.

As I listened, I thought: He should’ve used a script.

The jurors looked weary. Maybe he noticed it, because he changed direction. With a forbidding expression, he pointed at the door behind the jury box. “You’ll be retiring to that jury room shortly. While you’re in there deliberating, I want you to use your heads. Think! Think about Aurora Gates and the violence she suffered. As you recall the evidence, I want you to put yourself in Aurora Gates’s shoes when you decide—”

As soon as he said shoes, I was out of my chair. “Objection, Your Honor! Improper argument!”

Judge Walker was nodding in agreement with me, but I kept on. “What the DA is arguing is personalization. The DA knows that’s improper. It’s an attack on the impartiality of the jury’s judgment!”

“Mr. Penney is correct. Objection sustained.”

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