Part 42 (2/2)
A side door opened as a deputy sheriff entered, escorting Jack to the seat beside Jordan's. He still wore his blazer and tie, but he was handcuffed. As the deputy released the cuffs, Jordan focused on his client, who was such a bundle of nervous energy that heat seemed to emanate from his body. ”Relax,” he mouthed silently.
That, Jordan realized, was nearly impossible. The gallery was full-media reps from states as far away as Connecticut were reporting on the trial, and there were a fair number of local townspeople who'd come to make sure that Salem Falls remained as morally pure as it had always been. Amos Duncan stared vehemently at Jack from his spot behind the prosecutor's table. There had to be close to 200 people in that wide audience, all with their attention riveted on the defendant ... and not a single one in support of Jack.
”Jordan,” Jack whispered, a thread of panic wrapped around his words. ”I can feel it.”
”Feel what?”
”How much they hate me.”
Jordan remembered then that Jack had not ever suffered through an actual trial. His conviction had been a plea bargain-an uncomfortable hearing, but one not nearly as grueling as the one that was about to occur. The legal system sounded good on paper, but the truth was that as long as Jack sat beside a defense attorney, every person watching this trial would consider him guilty until proven innocent.
The six men and eight women who made up the jury and its alternates streamed solemnly in from a door on the side of the courtroom. Just before taking a seat, each one turned, scrutinizing Jack. Beneath the table, Jack's hands clenched on his knees.
”All rise!”
The Honorable Althea Justice billowed to a seat behind the bench. Her cool gray eyes surveyed the gallery: the cameras, the reporters with their cell phones, the tight rows of residents from Salem Falls. ”Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, ”I see we have a packed house today. So let's all start out on the right foot. At the first sign of any inappropriate behavior”-she glanced at a cameraman-”or any outbursts”-she glanced at Amos Duncan-”you will be escorted from my courtroom, and will remain outside it for the duration of the trial. If I hear a beeper or cell phone go off during any testimony, I will personally collect everyone's electronic devices and burn them in a pyre outside the court building. Finally, I'd like everyone to remember-including counsel-that this is a court of law, not a circus.” She slipped her half gla.s.ses down and peered over them. ”Mr. Houlihan,” the judge said, ”let's get rolling.”
”On the evening of April thirtieth, 2000, Amos Duncan kissed his daughter good-bye and went out for a quick run. She was seventeen years old, and although he worried about her every time he left her alone, he had chosen to live in Salem Falls because it was a safe place to raise his child. Amos Duncan certainly didn't expect that the next time he saw his daughter, she would be sobbing, hysterical. That her clothes would be ripped. That she'd have blood on her s.h.i.+rt, skin beneath her fingernails, s.e.m.e.n on her thigh. That she'd be telling the police she had been raped in the woods outside Salem Falls, New Hamps.h.i.+re.”
Matt walked slowly toward the jury. ”The evidence that the state will present to you today will show that on April thirtieth, 2000, Gillian Duncan left her home at 8:45 P.M P.M. She met up with her friends and went to a clearing in the woods behind the Salem Falls Cemetery. They made a small bonfire and enjoyed each other's company, teenagers having fun. And just as they were getting ready to leave shortly after midnight, this man came up to them.”
Matt jabbed his finger at Jack's face. ”This man, Jack St. Bride, approached the girls where they were sitting. He was unsteady on his feet. They could smell alcohol on his breath. He started speaking to them conversationally, even sat down with them to chat. When the girls made it clear they were on their way home, he stood up and left.
”Minutes later, Gillian and her friends departed on different trails. Worried about the safety of the smoldering ashes they'd left behind, Gillian decided to turn back and kick some dirt over the remains of their bonfire. At that moment, Jack St. Bride stepped into the clearing, pushed her to the ground, and brutally raped her.”
Matt faced the jury again. ”Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Matt Houlihan, and I'm an a.s.sistant county attorney for the state of New Hamps.h.i.+re. I met you all during jury selection, but I wanted to introduce myself again, because it's my job-as a representative of the state-to prove to you all the elements of this crime beyond a reasonable doubt. Jack St. Bride has been charged with committing aggravated felonious s.e.xual a.s.sault against Gillian Duncan ... but please, don't take my my word for it.” word for it.”
He smiled, his very best Opie Taylor grin, one that invited the jury to believe that they were in excellent hands. ”Instead, I urge you to listen to Gillian Duncan, when she tells you what she suffered at the hands of Jack St. Bride. And to her girlfriends, who were also there that night. Listen to the detective who found Gillian after the attack, and who investigated the crime scene. Listen to an expert witness, who did DNA a.n.a.lysis on evidence collected from the scene. Listen to the doctor who examined Gillian Duncan after the a.s.sault.” Matt looked at each member of the jury. ”Listen carefully, ladies and gentlemen, because at the end of this case, I'm going to ask you to find Mr. St. Bride guilty ... and on the basis of everything you've heard, you will.”
Jordan watched Matt return to his seat. The jury knew he was supposed to follow that opening act; most of the men and women in the box had their eyes turned expectantly on him. But he sat an extra moment longer, as if he, too, were considering Houlihan's words at face value. ”You know,” he said conversationally, ”if the only evidence you were going to hear was what Mr. Houlihan just laid out in his opening, then I'd agree with him a hundred percent. From everything he just said-heck, it sure does look like Jack St. Bride committed this crime. However, there are two sides to every story. And you're not just going to hear the state's version of what happened that night ... you're going to hear Mr. St. Bride's version as well.”
He ran one hand lightly along the railing of the jury box. ”My name is Jordan McAfee, and I'm here to represent Jack St. Bride. And just like Mr. Houlihan, I want you to listen carefully ... but I also want to remind you that things aren't always what they seem to be.” Suddenly, Jordan leaned forward, as if to pluck something from behind a juror's ear. The woman blushed as he stepped back, brandis.h.i.+ng a s.h.i.+ny quarter.
”Objection,” Matt called out. ”Is this an opening argument or a David Copperfield show?”
”Yes, Mr. McAfee,” the judge warned. ”Did I not say something about turning this court into a circus?”
”I beg your pardon, Your Honor. I just wanted to prove a point.” Jordan grinned, holding up the coin. ”I think we all know I didn't just pull this out of juror number three's head. But it sure looked that way, didn't it? Like I said-things aren't always what they seem to be. Not even when you experience them firsthand.” Jordan flipped the quarter into the air-and after spinning, it appeared to simply vanish. ”It's certainly something to keep in mind when you listen to the prosecution's eyewitnesses.”
Matt sprang to his feet. ”Objection!”
”On what grounds, Mr. Houlihan?” asked the judge.
”Your Honor, the credibility of all the witnesses is in the hands of the jury. It's not for Mr. McAfee to determine whether testimony is credible or not ... particularly during an opening statement.”
She arched a brow. ”Mr. Houlihan, can we just get through through this opening statement?” this opening statement?”
”I'd like a ruling for the record, Judge,” Matt said stiffly.
”Overruled.” She turned back to Jordan. ”Proceed.”
”Listen to everything,” Jordan advised the jury. ”But don't trust everything you hear. Picture what the witnesses tell you ... but don't a.s.sume that's what actually happened. As Mr. Houlihan said, your job on this jury is crucial. Yet where the prosecutor would like you to act as a sponge, I want you to be a filter. I want you to ask yourself who was there. Ask yourself what they saw. And then ask yourself if you believe them.”
Rape victims, Matt thought, were the worst.
By the time larceny and a.s.sault cases made it to trial, victims put on the stand were angry about what had happened. In a murder case, of course, there was no victim left at all. No, it was only in a s.e.xual a.s.sault case that someone who had been terrorized and was still, for the most part, traumatized, had to face her attacker from just a few feet away.
”That's him,” she replied in response to Matt's last question. She pointed with a trembling finger.
”Judge,” Matt said, ”may the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant.” He stepped smoothly in front of her, again blocking her view of St. Bride. ”Gillian, what happened that night?”
Gillian bent her head, hiding her face. ”I told my father I was going to my house, but I wasn't, not really. We all lied, just to get out. Things had been so crazy ... and our parents told us we couldn't ... well, it was like a dare for us.”
”Where did you go?”
”To the forest behind the cemetery. There's a big dogwood there.” Gilly swallowed. ”We built a campfire, and we were just sitting around it telling jokes and trying ... trying to act brave.”
”Who was with you?”
”Meg was. And Whitney and Chelsea.”
”What time was this?” Matt asked.
”Around eleven o'clock.”
”What happened next?”
”After midnight, we decided ... that it was time to go home. We were putting out the fire when he showed up.”
”Who, Gillian?”
”Jack St. Bride,” she whispered.
”What was he wearing?”
”A yellow T-s.h.i.+rt. And jeans, and boots.”
”Did he say anything to you?”
”He smiled,” Gillian answered. ”He said h.e.l.lo.”
”Did you say anything in return?”
”We were all really scared. I mean, we all knew what everyone had been saying about him raping that other girl-”
”Objection,” Jordan said. ”Hearsay.”
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