Rage of Angels

Di Silva walked along the jury box, looking each juror in the eye. ‘I told you that this case won’t take up much of your time. I’ll tell you why I said that. The defendant sitting over there – Abraham Wilson – murdered a man in cold blood. He has confessed to the killing. But even if he had not confessed, we have witnesses who saw Abraham Wilson commit that murder in cold blood. More than a hundred witnesses, in fact.

‘Let us examine the phrase, ‘in cold blood’. Murder for any reason is as distasteful to me as I know it is to you. But sometimes murders are committed for reasons we can at least understand. Let’s say that someone with a weapon is threatening your loved one – a child, or a husband or a wife. Well, if you had a gun you might pull that trigger in order to save your loved one’s life. You and I might not condone that kind of thing, but I’m sure we can at least understand it. Or, let’s take another example. If you were suddenly awakened in the middle of the night by an intruder threatening your life and you had a chance to kill him to save yourself, and you killed him – well, I think we can all understand how that might happen. And that wouldn’t make us desperate criminals or evil people, would it? It was something we did in the heat of the moment.’ Di Silva’s voice hardened. ‘But cold-blooded murder is something else again. To take the life of another human being, without the excuse of any feelings or passions, to do it for money or drugs or the sheer pleasure of killing –’

He was deliberately prejudicing the jury, yet not overstepping the bounds, so that there could be no error calling for mistrial or reversal.

Jennifer watched the faces of the jurors, and there was no question but that Robert Di Silva had them. They were agreeing with every word he said. They shook their heads and nodded and frowned. They did everything but applaud him. He was an orchestra leader and the jury was his orchestra. Jennifer had never seen anything like it. Every time the District Attorney mentioned Abraham Wilson’s name – and he mentioned it with almost every sentence – the jury automatically looked over at the defendant. Jennifer had cautioned Wilson not to look at the jury. She had drilled it into him over and over again that he was to look anywhere in the courtroom except at the jury box, because the air of defiance he exuded was enraging. To her horror now, Jennifer found that Abraham Wilson’s eyes were fastened on the jury box, locking eyes with the jurors. Aggression seemed to be pouring out of him.

Jennifer said in a low voice, ‘Abraham …’

He did not turn.

The District Attorney was finishing his opening address. ‘The Bible says, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” That is vengeance. The State is not asking for vengeance. It is asking for justice. Justice for the poor man whom Abraham Wilson cold-bloodedly – cold-bloodedly – murdered. Thank you.’

The District Attorney took his seat.

As Jennifer rose to address the jury, she could feel their hostility and impatience. She had read books about how lawyers were able to read juries’ minds, and she had been skeptical. But no longer. The message from the jury was coming at her loudly and clearly. They had already decided her client was guilty, and they were impatient because Jennifer was wasting their time, keeping them in court when they could be out doing more important things, as their friend the District Attorney had pointed out. Jennifer and Abraham Wilson were the enemy.

Jennifer took a deep breath and said, ‘If Your Honor please,’ and then she turned back to the jurors. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the reason we have courtrooms, the reason we are all here today, is because the law, in its wisdom, knows that there are always two sides to every case. Listening to the District Attorney’s attack on my client, listening to him pronounce my client guilty without benefit of a jury’s verdict – your verdict – one would not think so.’

She looked into their faces for a sign of sympathy or support. There was none. She forced herself to go on. ‘District Attorney Di Silva used the phrase over and over, “Abraham Wilson is guilty.” That is a lie. Judge Waldman will tell you that no defendant is guilty until a judge or jury declares that he is guilty. That is what we are all here to find out, isn’t it? Abraham Wilson has been charged with murdering a fellow inmate at Sing Sing. But Abraham Wilson did not kill for money or for dope. He killed to save his own life. You remember those clever examples that the District Attorney gave you when he explained the difference between killing in cold blood and in hot blood. Killing in hot blood is when you’re protecting someone you love, or when you’re defending yourself. Abraham Wilson killed in self-defense, and I tell you now that any of us in this courtroom, under identical circumstances, would have done exactly the same thing.

‘The District Attorney and I agree on one point: Every man has the right to protect his own life. If Abraham Wilson had not acted exactly as he did, he would be dead.’ Jennifer’s voice was ringing with sincerity. She had forgotten her nervousness in the passion of her conviction. ‘I ask each of you to remember one thing: Under the law of this state, the prosecution must prove beyond any reasonable doubt that the act of killing was not committed in self-defense. And before this trial is over we will present solid evidence to show you that Raymond Thorpe was killed in order to prevent his murdering my client. Thank you.’

The parade of witnesses for the State began. Robert Di Silva had not missed a single opportunity. His character witnesses for the deceased, Raymond Thorpe, included a minister, prison guards and fellow convicts. One by one they took the stand and testified to the sterling character and pacific disposition of the deceased.

Each time the District Attorney was finished with a witness, he turned to Jennifer and said, ‘Your witness.’

And each time Jennifer replied, ‘No cross-examination.’

She knew that there was no point in trying to discredit the character witnesses. By the time they were finished, one would have thought that Raymond Thorpe had been wrongfully deprived of sainthood. The guards, who had been carefully coached by Robert Di Silva, testified that Thorpe had been a model prisoner who went around Sing Sing doing good works, intent only on helping his fellow man. The fact that Raymond Thorpe was a convicted bank robber and rapist was a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect character.

What badly damaged Jennifer’s already weak defense was the physical description of Raymond Thorpe. He had been a slightly built man, only five feet nine inches tall. Robert Di Silva dwelt on that, and he never let the jurors forget it. He painted a graphic picture of how Abraham Wilson had viciously attacked the smaller man and had smashed Thorpe’s head against a concrete building in the exercise yard, instantly killing him. As Di Silva spoke, the jurors’ eyes were fastened on the giant figure of the defendant sitting at the table, dwarfing everyone near him.

The District Attorney was saying, ‘We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man –’

And Jennifer’s heart suddenly leaped. One word that Di Silva had said had given her the chance she needed.

‘– We may never know the reason for the defendant’s vicious attack, but one thing we do know, ladies and gentlemen – it wasn’t because the murdered man was a threat to Abraham Wilson.

‘Self-defense?’ He turned to Judge Waldman. ‘Your Honor, would you please direct the defendant to rise?’

Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer. ‘Does counsel for the defense have any objection?’

Jennifer had an idea what was coming, but she knew that any objection on her part could only be damaging. ‘No, Your Honor.’

Judge Waldman said, ‘Will the defendant rise, please?’

Abraham Wilson sat there a moment, his face defiant; then he slowly rose to his full height of six feet four inches.

Di Silva said, ‘There is a court clerk here, Mr Galin, who is five feet nine inches tall, the exact height of the murdered man, Raymond Thorpe. Mr Galin, would you please go over and stand next to the defendant?’

The court clerk walked over to Abraham Wilson and stood next to him. The contrast between the two men was ludicrous. Jennifer knew she had been outmaneuvered again, but there was nothing she could do about it. The visual impression could never be erased. The District Attorney stood there looking at the two men for a moment, and then said to the jury, his voice almost a whisper, ‘Self-defense?’

The trial was going worse than Jennifer had dreamed in her wildest nightmares. She could feel the jury’s eagerness to get the trial over with so they could deliver a verdict of guilty.

Ken Bailey was seated among the spectators and, during a recess, Jennifer had a chance to exchange a few words with him.

‘It’s not an easy case,’ Ken said sympathetically. ‘I wish you didn’t have King Kong for a client. Christ, just looking at him is enough to scare the hell out of anybody.’

‘He can’t help that.’

‘As the old joke goes, he could have stayed home. How are you and our esteemed District Attorney getting along?’

Jennifer gave him a mirthless smile. ‘Mr Di Silva sent me a message this morning. He intends to remove me from the law business.’

When the parade of prosecution witnesses was over and Di Silva had rested his case, Jennifer rose and said, ‘I would like to call Howard Patterson to the stand.’

The assistant warden of Sing Sing Prison reluctantly rose and moved toward the witness box, all eyes fixed on him. Robert Di Silva watched intently as Patterson took the oath. Di Silva’s mind was racing, computing all the probabilities. He knew he had won the case. He had his victory speech all prepared.

Jennifer was addressing the witness. ‘Would you fill the jury in on your background, please, Mr Patterson?’

District Attorney Di Silva was on his feet. ‘The State will waive the witness’s background in order to save time, and we will stipulate that Mr Patterson is the assistant warden at Sing Sing Prison.’

‘Thank you,’ Jennifer said. ‘I think the jury should be informed that Mr Patterson had to be subpoenaed to come here today. He is here as a hostile witness.’ Jennifer turned to Patterson. ‘When I asked you to come here voluntarily and testify on behalf of my client, you refused. Is that true?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you tell the jury why you had to be subpoenaed to get you here?’

‘I’ll be glad to. I’ve been dealing with men like Abraham Wilson all my life. They’re born troublemakers.’

Robert Di Silva was leaning forward in his chair, grinning, his eyes locked on the faces of the jurors. He whispered to an assistant, ‘Watch her hang herself.’

Jennifer said, ‘Mr Patterson, Abraham Wilson is not on trial here for being a troublemaker. He’s on trial for his life. Wouldn’t you be willing to help a fellow human being who was unjustly accused of a capital crime?’

‘If he were unjustly accused, yes.’ The emphasis on unjustly brought a knowing look to the faces of the jurors.

‘There have been killings in prison before this case, have there not?’

‘When you lock up hundreds of violent men together in an artificial environment, they’re bound to generate an enormous amount of hostility, and there’s –’

‘Just yes or no, please, Mr Patterson.’

‘Yes.’

‘Of those killings that have occurred in your experience, would you say that there have been a variety of motives?’

‘Well, I suppose so. Sometimes –’