Binds that tie, p.26
Binds That Tie, page 26
It’s time to move on. You won’t find what you’re looking for.
Chapter Thirty-One
Chris
On the first day of jury selection, Jake explained Chris’s ideal juror. “An African American male, age thirty to fifty. We’re going to push hard the belief that the police focused on you and didn’t look elsewhere due to your record. Second to that, we’re looking for, basically, you. A blue-collar guy. Not the slickest, smartest guy. Again, thirty to fifty. They’ll be sympathetic to your truth: Maggie killed Logan, you buried him to protect you both, and then she skipped town.”
Chris was stung by Jake’s depiction and the ease at which he threw it out. Not the smartest guy. Nice.
“Either guy would be sympathetic to your jilted status,” Jake said.
“I’m jilted?”
“Yes, you’re jilted.” Jake tapped his pen on his legal pad and studied Chris’s face. “The only hang-up is you’re a little too good-looking. Men pretend not to notice when another guy is good-looking. Jurors notice. We’ll see if we can do something about that.”
For the first time, Chris understood why people hated lawyers.
Jake used all his exemptions on women in their early thirties and female senior citizens. Apparently, those would be the least sympathetic to his affair with Tracy and wouldn’t forget it. The few women on the jury were in their mid-fifties.
Jake said they were “the perfect age to have lost the idealism of marriage, but not old enough to view it with the rosy lens of hindsight.”
Chris hated the categories, the boxes Jake so easily slotted people into. He wondered more than once what box he would be put into had he been on the other side of the mahogany railing. Not the smartest guy. Fuck-up. Good-looking. He laughed inwardly at the irony. Phillip put me in that box a long time ago.
The final jury was mostly composed of their ideal jurors, with two over-sixty men Jake called wild cards. Both were retired, one a blue-collar mailman, but both had been married for over thirty years.
Jake just shrugged. “Depends on if they’re happy or miserable, I guess. Married that long? Could go either way.”
One of the women on the jury sat clicking her pocketbook open and closed, her lips pursed with disapproval. Her flame-red hair was patchy and thin, her spine straight with reproach. Chris wasn’t surprised when she was selected as jury foreman.
The trial commenced on the coldest day of the year. The courtroom was alive with chatter, as if the cold had brought people to life. Lawyers, bailiffs, and police blew into their raw hands, their red cheeks puffed as they talked about the blistering weather. The groundhog saw his shadow! Spring is right around the corner. Chris shook his head—only in Pennsylvania.
The trial was a stark contrast to the hearing. The hearing had been pulsed and energetic, with a rally team feel that Chris both abhorred and missed. The trial plodded along, steeped in ritualism and formality. Jake seemed almost bored. He barely jotted a note, when he used to fill pages during court sessions. He tapped the table and stared out the window.
Even Judge Puckett’s jokes had waned. He referred to Jake as Mr. McHale. The February cold seemed to seep in through the windows and cover the courtroom in a thick gray blanket. Only Janice seemed energized, her small, wiry frame ricocheting around the courtroom. During Detective Renner’s testimony, Chris looked over to find Jake texting Miranda.
Detective Renner, Officer Davis, and Mika all testified, exact replicas of their testimonies at the hearing. Mika retold the story of the night he punched her wall, and Chris felt no less shame. Jake asked him if he could look sorrier, and Chris wanted to ask how he should look sorrier than he felt. But he didn’t.
When Jake stood for cross-examination, he pushed with a gentle prodding. “When was the last time you spoke to Maggie Stevens?”
Mika squirmed. “Back in July, right after the police came looking for Logan. I called her.”
“You have no idea where she could have gone?”
“No.” Mika’s jaw jutted out, defying Jake to challenge her.
“Have the police questioned you about Maggie’s disappearance?”
“No.”
“Really? At all?” Jake feigned disbelief.
Chris knew it was feigned because the police weren’t looking for Maggie. Detective Stephanie Small had been covertly using her police connections to perform a database search here or a flight scan there. To his knowledge, she hadn’t found a trace of Maggie.
“I heard that she skipped town. It’s pretty obvious that she’s not really ‘missing,’” Mika said.
“Skipping town can get you out of a murder rap these days, then?”
Janice stood. “Objection!”
“Sustained. Mr. McHale, please. Jury, please disregard that last statement.” Judge Puckett waved his hand. Jake’s charm had worn thin.
Tiny’s testimony was reduced to the events of the night of Logan’s death. All the mentions of Mickey Bricks or Emily Masterson were avoided. Even Smith Hamilton’s testimony was abbreviated, shortened to only the parts Janice felt she could substantiate, including, of course, the location of Logan May’s body. Elsewhere, Janice focused on Chris’s predisposition toward violence. In the second-to-last testimony of the prosecution, she called retired police officer Michael Tanter.
When Jake had received the witness sheets, he’d studied them and showed them to Chris. “Who is this guy?”
The name hadn’t rung a bell, but when Chris flipped the page and saw the red, corn-fed face of his past, his vision had wavered. He just shook his head. Christopher Stevens is a violent-tempered kid who will be a violent man.
Jake had taken the witness list to Judge Puckett’s chambers and argued fervently that the events of twenty years ago had no bearing on the charges currently leveraged against Chris. Janice cited pattern of behavior and violent tendencies, and Jake left the chambers defeated and red faced.
Officer Tanter proved to be a stellar prosecution witness. He was a retired blue-collar boy with his crippled nephew slumped in the back of the courtroom. Chris watched his jurors, his ideal guys nodding in camaraderie and appraising Chris with new reproach.
“Can they do this?” Chris murmured.
“Yes” Jake said. “It’s a sneaky trick. Sometimes called the Silent Witness. They bring up the cop, but what they really want the jury to see is the guy in the gallery. They just use the cop to tell his story. Here, they have the best stooge imaginable—a helpless cripple. And you put him there.” Jake shook his head in disgust, either at Chris or the situation. Chris couldn’t tell.
Chris couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop turning around to watch Derek.
Jake pushed his knee into Chris’s under the table and whispered, “You need to stop. Every move you make is being scrutinized.”
Chris couldn’t stop. Derek was thin and blond and tilted slightly to the left, his expression unreadable. He avoided eye contact.
During recess, Chris ate a takeout roast beef sandwich while Jake scribbled on what had to be his third, possibly fourth legal pad. Chris brushed the crumbs from his hands and made his way to the men’s room, his head bent low. The halls were crowded, a bustling din that Chris welcomed. His life seemed filled with silence. Even Jake didn’t have much to say anymore. Their silence in Chris’s living room was permeated only by the television and the pop-hiss of opened beer bottles. He was struck with an intense longing for the high, giggling sound of Maggie laughing at one of his jokes.
Chris pushed open the door to the men’s room and stopped. Derek Manchester sat ten feet from him, across the swarming hall of the courthouse. Without thinking, Chris let his hand drop and fought his way across the crowd until he stood awkwardly in front of Derek. They hadn’t spoken since that fateful night, and possibly the last thing Chris had said to him was asshole. Twenty years later, Chris felt compelled to say one thing.
“I’m sorry.” The words fell between them, flat and dead.
Derek only shook his head, giving a snort of disbelief. “Do you feel better now? Will you sleep at night?” He tilted his head, and Chris was surprised by his clear, deep voice.
“Maybe? Probably not.” Chris pulled at the knot in his tie.
“You can rest easy, I guess. I’m fine. I’m married. I’ve got a kid and one on the way.” Chris must have looked shocked because Derek laughed softly. “Yeah, crippled dudes still have all the right plumbing. Listen, I’ll never forgive you, but I let go of my anger years ago. Had some help. You can probably let go of the guilt.”
“How?” Chris asked, and the question startled him. He hadn’t planned on asking it.
“I can’t help you there. But it seems like you have bigger problems.”
“Derek.” Officer Tanter stood at the door to the courtroom, motioning Derek in and eyeing Chris warily. Derek gave Chris a small wave and wheeled away.
When Chris turned around, headed back to the conference room and to Jake—the men’s room forgotten—he spotted the jury foreman standing in front of the ladies’ room door, watching Derek’s retreating back with a small frown. In her hands, her purse went click, click, click.
The prosecution rested after Michael Tanter. Jake called Chris as the first defense witness, and Chris sat in the witness chair recounting the events of murder with Jake’s voice in the back of his head. Be contrite, but not too contrite; you didn’t kill him. Be humble, be sympathetic toward Maggie. Be emotional, but for heaven’s sake, don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t ever, ever get angry.
Jake’s questions were open, giving Chris free rein to talk. Chris worked to keep his face the right balance of apologetic and principled. He started with the night of the murder, creeping down the steps to find Maggie holding the vase, and his blind panic, his absolute certainty that he would be blamed. He snuck a glance at the jury and saw the mailman nodding. Jake’s gentle questioning was the easy part.
Janice was ruthless, angrier than necessary, and Chris kept one eye on the purse-clicker. Janice pushed at all the holes, but Chris was honest. He hid nothing. He didn’t know where Maggie was, and he didn’t kill anyone. Janice’s hair seemed more wild than usual, the red, wiry strands standing in all directions, her eyes narrowed as she pointed in outrage. The mailman tilted his head, his eyebrows knitted, and Chris couldn’t help but think that Janice was the personification of their defense. She was the overzealous A.D.A. pursuing Chris at all costs, regardless of the truth or shades of gray. When he stepped down, Jake had nodded once.
“Janice came off as brittle and desperate,” Jake said later as he wiped the mouth of his beer bottle on his shirttail.
As the trial wound down, Chris dreaded the end of their comfortable nighttime routine. Either outcome held countless hours of solitude. He tried not to think of it, focusing instead on the television. The hockey game flickered with just the right amount of distraction. In the darkened living room, Jake looked ten years older.
Jake called Detective Small to the stand. Chris hadn’t seen her since the day she’d come to the house, offering to testify. As a witness, she hadn’t been allowed in court. She pushed her hair behind her ears as Jake approached the witness stand.
“Officer Small, let me get this straight. You’re testifying on Mr. Stevens’s behalf? Why is that?” Jake asked.
“Because after a full investigation, I believe that Mr. Stevens didn’t kill anyone. I believe his account.”
“What have the consequences been for you?”
“I was removed from the case. I was told my conclusions were no longer aligned with my partner’s and the assistant district attorney’s.”
“What do you believe happened?” Jake asked.
“I think Maggie Stevens killed Logan May accidentally, in self-defense, and Christopher Stevens feared repercussions from his past, so he buried the body instead of calling the police.”
“How did you come to this conclusion?”
“After Maggie disappeared, it became somewhat of a no-brainer.”
“How so?”
“There was no real reason for her to empty their bank account and skip town, unless she’s running from something. If Stevens killed May and Maggie truly knew nothing, she’d still be here, trying to figure out what happened. She has family in the area; it’s a significant hardship for her to run away.”
“Are the police looking for Ms. Stevens?”
“Not officially, no.”
“What does that mean, unofficially?”
“I’ve done some querying on my own time. I’m not using the resources of the department but my own common sense,” Small said.
“Have you found anything?”
“No. Maggie Stevens seems to have vanished.”
“To your knowledge, did she take anything with her?”
“Judging by the Stevens’s financial records, nothing but twenty-five thousand dollars.”
The jury deliberated for a day and a half. When they filed back in, Jake gave Chris a quick nod.
“Ladies and gentlemen, have you reached a verdict?” Judge Puckett asked.
The purse-clicker stood, holding her folded verdict. “We have.”
The bailiff took the paper and handed it to Judge Puckett. The judge read it, nodded once, and passed it back to the jury. “Go ahead.”
The foreman said, “On the count of murder in the second degree, we find the defendant, Christopher Stevens, not guilty. On the count of manslaughter, we find the defendant not guilty. On one count of desecration of a corpse, we find the defendant not guilty. On three counts of obstruction of justice, we find the defendant guilty.”
Chris sagged in his chair. Unbelievable.
Jake turned to him and gave him a big toothy grin. “You’re free to go. Only capital crimes result in immediate incarceration. We’ll be back for sentencing.”
His hand clasped Chris’s shoulder, but Chris felt only lightness. He was free.
Jake took Chris out for a beer to celebrate. They laughed and shared stories of college. They didn’t talk about the trial. They didn’t talk about the murder. They didn’t talk about Maggie.
Jake came back to the house to collect his stuff. He packed quickly, and Chris walked him to the door. “I should get back to Miranda,” Jake said.
“Yeah, probably. Fix that mess, I guess?”
Jake shrugged. “Nothing new. I’m used to it.” He gave Chris a hug, walked to his car, and lobbed his bag in the backseat. “Hey, if you hear from Maggie, let us know okay? Miranda is worried.”
Chris paused, giving Jake a pointed look. “Oh, wait up, hold on a second.” Chris ran back into the house and up to his bedroom, taking the steps two at a time. When he returned to the front porch, Jake was standing against the passenger-side door. Chris tossed him a swath of fabric, which Jake caught easily in one hand.
“What’s this?” Jake asked.
“I found it under my bed. So I guess if you hear from Maggie, maybe you let me know?”
Jake unfolded the fabric and studied it. It was a man’s dress shirt, cobalt blue.
At nine that night, the doorbell rang. Chris approached the door cautiously, thinking it could be the media. When he looked through the peephole, he saw Detective Small, bundled in a pea coat and scarf. She held a pizza in one hand and a six-pack in the other. He opened the door, and she gave him a hesitant smile. He noticed for the first time that her right front tooth was lightly chipped in the corner. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders, and when she tilted her head, he noticed a small mole near her left ear.
“Detective Small?”
She gave him a small shrug. “Call me Stephanie. I thought you might want to celebrate?”
Chris held the door open, and she turned sideways through the entryway, giving him a sly grin as she balanced the pizza and beer. Chris led her through the living room and into the kitchen. He watched her unpack the pizza and fish around the island for paper plates while opening a drawer and pulling out a knife. He was struck by the disconcerting thought, She knows where everything is.
She noticed his surprise and gave an embarrassed shrug. “The search warrant execution.”
They settled in the living room with their pizza. Chris was surprised by how comfortable he was.
She caught his eye. “So do you think you’ll look for her?”
Chris didn’t ask who; he didn’t have to. He nodded. “Yeah, I will. I don’t expect to find much, though. Maggie was… determined about a lot of things. I expect this is one of them.” He chewed and took a swig of beer. “Will the police or Janice look for her?”
Stephanie wiped her mouth with a napkin and sat back, pulling her feet up on the ottoman. “I don’t know. Probably not. I mean, here’s the thing. Janice put all her eggs in your basket. She found that Smith kid and didn’t want to listen to anyone that he wasn’t reputable. Even if she puts all her efforts into finding Maggie and brings her back, the first thing her defense attorney will say is, ‘How can you make a case for reasonable doubt against Maggie when you were convinced you had an airtight case on her husband not even six months ago, and especially when there’s no new evidence?’
