Page 87 of Dead Mountain

And with that, he picked his coat off the back of the door, pulled it on, opened the door, and left her sitting in his office.

46

ALL RISE,” THE clerk of the court intoned.

Nora stood up, as did everyone else in the shabby courtroom. Nora, Skip’s attorney Edward Lightfeather, and another attorney from Lightfeather’s firm were all sitting at the defense table on the right-hand side of the courtroom. The prosecutor and his team were on the left—the district attorney, who was personally handling the case, an assistant DA, and several others. Skip was sitting alone in the dock.

Nora had known Skip wouldn’t look good—and she had steeled herself for it. Or thought she had. He was wearing an ill-fitting suit, his only one, that Nora had retrieved for him from his closet, but he had put it on carelessly, with the result skewing more toward Salvation Army than Saks. The tie was knotted awry, the top button undone, and the shirt had managed to grow wrinkled in the short time he’d had it on. The old cowlick on his head was standing up more than usual, like a cockatoo’s crest, and the rest of his hair looked slept on. He was clearly terrified.

All the spectator seats were full—this was apparently a big deal in Torrance County. Nora had a bad feeling about that. She knew how popular the sheriff was on his home ground, and she worried that people would be looking forward to seeing Skip convicted, not released.

The judge came in, wearing black robes. He was a bored, weary-looking man, about sixty, with a fringe of black hair—obviously dyed—combed over a bald spot, a pug nose, and cheeks the color of suet. He had a studiously neutral face, almost slack, which Nora figured was intentionally hard to read. He positioned himself behind the bench and sat down, then the rest of the courtroom did likewise.

Nora turned her attention to the jury. She saw, or thought she saw, a cross section of working-class New Mexico—ranchers, farmers, construction workers, retail and service employees—all ordinary people. It was impossible to see into their minds, but they looked solid and fair-minded. That gave her a slender feeling of hope.

The judge went through the preliminaries, welcomed the jury, and offered some introductory remarks. He then called on the district attorney to make his opening statement.

The DA’s name was Scowsen. Lightfeather had described him to Nora as formidable and more competent than one might expect to find in a backwater county: determined to win, but not crooked. Nora scrutinized him closely. He was a tall, rugged, and handsome man, in his midthirties, with curly black hair and blue eyes. He wore a gray suit and a beautiful pair of ostrich cowboy boots. Nora could sense his charisma and intelligence, which worried her even more than if he’d been corrupt. She glanced at Skip, anxiety and fear written all over his face as he watched Scowsen stroll into the center of the courtroom. Skip had never been good at concealing his emotions, and now he looked exactly like who he was: a person on trial, scared shitless, looking at fifteen years for attempted murder.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” the DA began in a folksy tone, sauntering over to the jury box and laying a light hand on the railing, “I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Will Scowsen, and I am the elected district attorney of this fine county. I will be the lead prosecutor in this case. I’ll be assisted by Assistant District Attorney Maureen Rivera.”

Rivera stood up and nodded to the jury, giving them a quick smile.

“I’m going to speak to you for a moment about the trial and what it’s about—what we attorneys call the opening statement. During the trial, I’ll explain to you what the defendant did, and how we intend to prove it beyond a reasonable doubt. The burden of proof is on us, and that burden is high. Very high. It’s that way for a reason—to make sure no innocent person is convicted. But as you will see as the trial progresses, the evidence here is overwhelming. We will meet that burden of proof and more.

“The defendant, Elwyn Kelly—” he turned and pointed a finger— “known familiarly as Skip, is accused of a number of felonies. I’ll go over them briefly. The first is, and I quote from the statutes: ‘Aggravated battery upon a peace officer in any manner whereby great bodily harm or death can be inflicted, with intent to commit obstruction of justice.’ Two: ‘Intentionally fleeing, attempting to evade or evading an officer of this state when the person committing the act of fleeing, attempting to evade or evasion has knowledge that the officer is attempting to apprehend or arrest him.’ Three: ‘Larceny in the third degree, the value of the property being over two thousand five hundred dollars and below twenty thousand dollars.’ And four: ‘Tampering with evidence with intent to interfere with the course of justice.’”

He took a little turn around the floor. “I know, sounds like a lot of gobbledygook. But this is a simple case. A very simple case. The defendant, Mr. Elwyn Kelly, was caught stealing federal property by the sheriff of our county, Mr. Derek Hawley. When Sheriff Hawley attempted to prevent the theft and take the defendant into custody, the defendant violently assaulted him and threw him to the ground, injuring him severely. The defendant then attempted to flee. This assault was witnessed by the deputy sheriff, Raymond Baca. You’ll hear testimony from Sheriff Hawley as to specific details, and his version will be fully backed up by Deputy Sheriff Baca. You’ll see medical records detailing the sheriff’s injuries. You’ll hear from a doctor that the force of the assault could easily have resulted in a fatal fracture to the sheriff’s skull. You’ll hear how the defendant resisted arrest and tried to flee.

“The defense will put up a witness, the defendant’s sister, who was also present at the assault. Her testimony—” here he took a moment to flash the jury a smile, rolling his eyes— “will be quite different from the testimony you’ll hear from our two law enforcement officers. Your job will be to decide who to believe: the sister who loves her brother and wants to keep him out of prison at all costs, or our two honorable law enforcement officers, men of the highest integrity, who were merely doing their jobs—men who have been protecting the good citizens of this county for a combined thirty-two years.”

Nora glanced over at Lightfeather while this recitation was going on. The attorney had a grim look on his face. Skip, on the other hand, looked like a person openly sinking into despair, his usual bright expression distorted with apprehension. Christ, he already looked guilty. She felt a terrible twist of fear in her own gut. Lightfeather had been right: Skip was going to lose this case. He should have pleaded down. But he’d been so damn stubborn.

“You’ll hear about an iPhone, and allegations about a video that never existed, and other claims thrown up by the defense designed to sow doubt in your minds. As they scatter this chaff, keep one thing in mind: this is a simple case. The defendant was stealing something, got caught, assaulted the sheriff, and tried to escape. That’s the entire story, full stop.

“I would like to conclude my opening statement with a little reminder about our sheriff. Many of you may already know of Sheriff Hawley’s heroism in the line of duty—how, during his very first term, he single-handedly stopped a robbery of the former Torrance Bank and Trust, exchanged fire with the bad guy, and took a bullet. Even as he was gravely wounded, he took down the criminal. Ladies and gentlemen, Sheriff Hawley is a genuine hero, and I’m sure you will be as outraged as I am when the defense tries to call him a liar and worse. I just want to give you a heads-up: things could get ugly. I know you will be able to separate that chaff from the wheat, truth from falsehood, and render a just verdict. Thank you.”

Scowsen retired to his table, and Nora could see him being quietly congratulated by his associates. She hated to admit it, but it had been a powerful presentation, reasonable, delivered in a steady, just-the-facts voice—short and to the point. She looked at Hawley and felt incandescent hatred for the self-satisfied, lying bastard with his meatball face, shaved dome of a head, aviator sunglasses hanging from his shirt, lips thin and tight.

Lightfeather rose up and began his opening statement, also speaking to the jury. Nora listened intently. He was very good as well, speaking in an affable voice. He talked about how what had happened was nothing as simple as the prosecution would like to paint it, how the defendant was not, in fact, stealing federal property but was authorized to remove human remains by the Isleta Pueblo Tribal Council. He was working in his capacity as an assistant archaeologist. But, he said, his voice lowering so the jury had to almost lean forward to hear him, the crucial point was this: the sheriff had assaulted the defendant’s sister first, knocking her down. The defendant—Skip—had done what he did to protect his sister from further harm. This was justifiable defense in every way. On top of that, Skip had recorded a video on his cell phone of the sheriff attacking his sister. But the sheriff had confiscated the phone, claiming it as evidence, and when it was returned to them by the sheriff’s department, the video had been erased—there was no trace of it to be found.

He paused to let this sink in, and then stated, his voice rising with suppressed anger, that the sheriff and deputy were both going to lie directly to them, the jury. The sheriff was going to deny the assault on the sister and deny erasing the video. They were going to lie about Skip trying to resist arrest. The lies and the cover-up, he told the jury, had already begun with the district attorney’s well-meaning opening statement—by a prosecutor who had also been deceived by the sheriff and his deputy.

Lightfeather’s opening statement was delivered in the tone of a person who seeks the truth, burning with carefully controlled indignation at the prevarications and falsehoods of those abusing their positions of authority and power. It was as well delivered as could be expected under the circumstances. But Nora, observing the faces of the jury, could already read open skepticism on some faces. How could her testimony prevail against the sworn statements of two law enforcement officers?

The courtroom recessed for lunch and Skip was led away. Nora felt too sick to eat and excused herself to be alone. She spent the hour in a distant corner of the courthouse cafeteria—there was nowhere else to go—nursing a coffee.

The afternoon session convened at one thirty, and it was even worse. For his first witness, Scowsen called Sheriff Hawley to the stand. The sheriff told his lying story in a quiet, reasonable way, conveying an air of pained honesty. He related the “facts” with little drama, giving the appearance of even underplaying the violence and his own injuries, rendering the false particulars without embellishment. He described the attack, told of being seized by Skip and thrown to the ground. He described that as he lay on the ground, stunned, the defendant had tried to run. He told of how Baca had heroically taken him down.

The entire story was a falsehood, but Hawley had clearly prepared and rehearsed it. Every detail was internally consistent, recounted in a quiet, calm, and convincing way. The guy was good—more than good—a liar of remarkable effectiveness. Nora could see the jury hanging on every word.

Then it was time to cross-examine. Lightfeather stood up. “I have no questions, Your Honor.” He sat down again.

Nora was stunned. She glared at Lightfeather. He quickly scribbled a note and passed it to her.

He’s too good. Can’t be shaken. To cross would only reinforce his story.

Nora felt sick. Was this how it was going to be?

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