Naive Charles Royce (great novels .txt) 📖

shows respect by snickering. The judge recognizes the mild feedback.

Judge Christopher K. Wilson, originally from South Carolina, is one of the few judges in any New York municipality who has an unblemished reputation. With no questionable ethics, no violations of code or process, he is sixty-six years old and considered by most in the legal profession to be a bit eccentric, very old school and by the book. He attended Vanderbilt University Law School from 1974 to 1977 and began working in New York as a defense lawyer in the late seventies. After rising through the legal ranks, serving in various capacities as judge for several civil and criminal courts, the Mayor of New York City appointed him to serve out his remaining years as a New York County Supreme Court Justice.

“Now, before we get started, I’d like to make something clear. My courtroom is formal. I will not stand for gimmicks, for outbursts, for anything not pertaining to the case. We are on the people’s dime and we don’t have time for any nonsense.”

Great, a Republican judge too, Shawn thinks. He takes a deep breath. Am I in Manhattan?

“Calling the case of the People of the Great State of New York versus Micah Breuer-er,” the clerk says, fumbling over the last name.

“Are both sides ready?” asks the judge.

“Ready for the People, your Honor,” ADA Astrid Lerner says.

“Ready for the defense, your Honor,” Shawn says.

“Will the clerk please swear in the jury?” asks the judge.

“Will the jury please stand and raise your right hand?” asks the court clerk.

The jury rises. Astrid Lerner gleams with approval and looks to the audience where she knows the Holcombs are sitting. Elaine is stoic.

The clerk begins to scan the jury. “Do you solemnly swear or affirm that you will try the matter of the People of the Great State of New York versus Micah Breuer in a fair and impartial manner and render a verdict according to the law and the evidence, so help you God. Do you so truly affirm?”

“I do,” they state in unison.

“You may be seated.”

“Thank you,” says the judge. “Ms. Lerner, you may begin.”

Astrid, dressed in a navy-blue pinstriped power suit, is seated right in front of the jury box. Her hair is styled in an updated Marlo Thomas That Girl style, straightened and flipping up at the ends. She places her hand on the slick varnished wall that separates her from the jury risers and begins.

“Thank you, your Honor. And thank you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. The defendant has been charged with the murder of Lennox Holcomb, his husband.

“Lennox, or Lenny, as his family and friends called him, was stabbed thirty-three times on the evening of August 17, 2018. And that man, Micah Breuer, sitting right there in the dark suit, confessed to killing him. That is a fact. Our evidence will show motive to commit murder, our timeline will prove opportunity to commit murder, and our DNA evidence of the murder is undisputed.

“Now, the defendant over here might look like an all-American Christian boy, and he is. Born and raised. He grew up with a loving family. Church-going. God-loving. But the defendant had another side. One that he hid from both his parents up until the day they died. Expert testimony and even the defendant’s own words will show a pattern of lying and hiding his true self beyond those early years, well into adulthood, ultimately up until the time his husband was murdered.

“The defense attorney, Mr. Connelly over here, is going to try to sway you with conspiracy theories, corporate espionage, and even ghosts.”

The jury chuckles.

“I know, but it’s true.” She begins to march across the front row of the jury box. “Oh, it’ll be interesting. Sometimes it’ll be hard to stomach, as the brutality of this crime is well-documented in the evidence we will present. But throughout this process, I would like for you to ask yourself: Is it easier to believe in ghosts, or that a conflicted young man living a double life could be a real-life murderer?”

Astrid looks at each member of the jury, one by one.

“Thank you for your time and service.”

She spins on her heel and takes her seat.

“Mr. Connelly?” Judge Wilson prompts.

“Thank you, your Honor.” Shawn begins his opening statement. “Ladies and gentlemen, Micah Breuer walked into his home on the evening in question and found his husband in a pool of blood on the floor. His husband was still breathing. Micah did what any of us would do: he tried to save him. He did CPR. Now, maybe CPR wasn’t the best choice, but defense will show that his state of mind and lack of knowledge as to what exactly was happening with his husband caused him to act quickly.”

He pauses, walks to his right, continues.

“Imagine for a second you’re at dinner. One of your loved ones is choking on, let’s say, some random meatball from your grandmother’s under-baked, chewy, lumpy beef stew.”

The jury laughs, louder than they had with Astrid.

“Objection,” Astrid Lerner states. “Meatballs, your Honor?”

“I think it’s a metaphor, Ms. Lerner, kinda like your ghost thing,” the judge says. “Overruled.”

She tries not to react. That’s completely different, she thinks.

“You know the Heimlich, right?” Shawn continues, looking at the jury. “You go to do the Heimlich on your loved one. You’re desperate. You push upward and push upward. But instead of releasing the meatball, you accidentally break your loved one’s rib. That rib punctures the heart and your loved one passes away. Are you going to think you killed your loved one? Absolutely. But was that homicide? Absolutely not. Can any of Micah’s acts that evening be considered homicide? No.

“When the prosecution has finished, the defense will bring to light the real truth: one they neglected to pursue any other line of questioning or suspect to the fullest extent they could have; and two, the evidence will show several other avenues, several avenues, that point to the real killer of Lennox Holcomb that fateful night.

“Reasonable doubt will