The Justice Game (46 page)

    Poole looked at the judge and then back at Kelly. “I’m invoking my Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination,” he said. “I refuse to answer the question.”

    There was an audible gasp in the courtroom, followed by murmuring and the banging of Judge Garrison’s gavel. “Order! Let’s have it quiet in here.” Juror 7 had her arms crossed and her lips pursed in disgust. Jason could feel the stares of the courtroom audience. It was painful watching your case go down in flames.

    “Plaintiff’s Exhibit 33,” Kelly said. “Isn’t that a statement from a bank account you own that was not declared in your divorce case?”

    “I’m invoking the Fifth.”

    “Where did the deposits come from? Isn’t this more money than you were making from your consulting work?”

    “I’m invoking the Fifth.”

    “And what about Plaintiff’s 34? Does that show cell phone calls to the same woman who was receiving payouts from this account?”

    Poole’s face was crimson now, as if he might explode at any moment. His lips barely moved when he talked. “I’m invoking the Fifth, Counselor.”

    “Let me ask you one more time,” Kelly said, “because you forgot to invoke the Fifth Amendment for this one earlier. Have you ever lied under oath?”

    “I plead the Fifth Amendment,” Poole said.

Ed Poole was off the stand by 10:30. He left the courtroom with his tail between his legs. He would fly back to Atlanta and probably face perjury charges or at least an irate divorce-court judge.

    Though Kelly had gone after him hard, she actually felt a little sorry for the man. With everything going on in her personal life, Kelly found no pleasure in watching somebody else’s past catch up with him.

    Jason stood and announced that the defense rested. Kelly told the judge that she had no rebuttal witnesses. Everybody could sense that the jury was anxious to begin their deliberations.

    Judge Garrison announced that his jury instructions and closing arguments would begin after a fifteen-minute break. The tension in the courtroom increased exponentially.

Fifteen minutes later, after Judge Garrison read the jury instructions, Kelly walked to the front of the jury box and surveyed the panel. She caught the steely-eyed gaze of Marcia Franks, Juror 7, and the attentive look of Rodney Peterson, Juror 3. All of the jurors had benign looks of encouragement, as far as Kelly could tell. She sensed that the case was hers to lose.

    “We’re not here to raise Rachel Crawford from the dead. I wish somehow we could, but her warm and cheerful light has been extinguished forever—at least this side of heaven.

    “We
are
here to correct a grave injustice. As my client so eloquently reminded us, quoting the words of Dr. King: ‘An injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.’

    “Mr. Noble doesn’t want to talk about justice. He wants us to focus on the left brain. Remember what he said during opening statements? Use logic, not emotions. So let’s humor Mr. Noble for a minute. Let’s talk left brain.

    “What could be more left brain than statistics?” Kelly hit a button on her remote, and numbers flashed up on the screen. “One percent of gun stores sell 57 percent of the weapons ultimately traced to crimes. I know, Chief Poole testified that most guns used in crimes came from street sales. But if you trace them back far enough, how did they get on the streets in the first place? Through a few renegade gun dealers who specialize in illegal sales.

    “According to MD Firearms’s own study, four renegade dealers accounted for approximately 50 percent of the MD Firearms guns linked to crimes. One of those dealers was Peninsula Arms. That gun store accounted for 251 guns linked to murders or aggravated woundings in Washington, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and New York during 2006 alone.”

    She took a few steps, and the screen flashed one more time, displaying another number: $2,763,960.00. “This is the reason why MD Firearms keeps selling guns to dealers like Peninsula Arms. Two million, seven hundred sixty-three thousand, nine hundred sixty dollars. That’s the amount of revenue that MD Firearms made from Peninsula Arms in the last three years.”

    She turned to squarely face the jury again. “You want left brain? Let’s talk legal definitions. A few minutes ago, Judge Garrison read a set of jury instructions to you. He told you that negligence is a careless act or omission by the defendant.

    “An act
or omission.

    “In other words, it’s no defense for MD Firearms to do nothing if a reasonable manufacturer would have acted.

    “Oh, they’re good at pointing fingers.” Kelly turned and stared at her three adversaries—Jason Noble, Case McAllister, and Melissa Davids, who had obviously decided to be present for closing arguments—all sitting in that ridiculous position off to the side of the defense counsel table. She walked over to the table. “Mr. Noble is great at putting everybody else on trial.” She pointed to the empty chairs. “Larry Jamison. Peninsula Arms. Jarrod Beeson. He even added a seat for the ATF.”

    She turned back to the jury. “Larry Jamison already got his verdict—at the hands of the SWAT team. Beeson’s in jail. Peninsula Arms is bankrupt. The ATF has qualified immunity. But for these individuals representing MD Firearms,
this
is their judgment day.”

    Her voice grew tighter, angrier, more intense. “And it’s no defense for them to sit back smugly and say, ‘We did nothing. We hid behind the Second Amendment. We knew people were dying, we knew this dealer was supplying the black market, but we also knew we made nearly three million dollars from them the past three years, so we did
nothing.
’”

    Kelly stopped. Took a breath. Lowered her voice. She thought about her dad leading Communion, about the words of the liturgy that applied to her own life.
We have sinned against You by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.

    “MD Firearms didn’t pull the trigger. They didn’t make the illegal sale. Those were the wrong things that were done. But MD Firearms is guilty by what they have left undone. They knew about this renegade dealer but didn’t act. They knew people were losing their lives because Peninsula Arms was supplying the black market, and they turned their heads. They came into court and brought out the proverbial bowl of water and washed their hands of the matter, blaming everyone else.”

    The jury was anxious to start their work; Kelly could see that. And most jurors had probably made up their minds already. She needed to keep this short. But she also needed to end with a little emotion.

    “And so if you do what Mr. Noble suggests and use only your left brain, I respectfully submit that you will find in favor of the plaintiff. But I must say, ladies and gentlemen, that there’s a reason the left brain and right brain are connected. Because, you see, justice is not just a matter of the head; it’s a matter of the heart.”

    Kelly stepped in front of the jury and turned to a dry erase board. She pulled the top off a red marker and wrote the name of Larry Jamison. “Follow the trail of blood,” she said, drawing an arrow. “From Jamison to Jarrod Beeson.” She wrote names and drew arrows as she spoke. “From Beeson to Peninsula Arms. And from Peninsula Arms to MD Firearms.

    “No amount of fancy lawyering can remove the blood from their hands.”

    She put down the marker, the red ink staining her fingers.

    “Follow the trail of blood, ladies and gentlemen. It will take you straight to the door of Melissa Davids and MD Firearms.”

Jason stood and took only a few steps from his chair, trying to look calm and relaxed. His insides churned from the tension.

    “In the ancient Jewish tradition, the priest would lay his hands on the head of a goat during the Day of Atonement and confess the sins of the people. The goat would then be cast out into the wilderness to make atonement for the people’s sins.

    “The ancient Greeks had a similar custom when a natural disaster, like a plague or famine, would occur. They would pick a beggar or someone crippled from inside the city, place the blame on that person’s head, stone and beat him, and then cast him out of the community.”

    Jason stepped into the middle of the courtroom, keeping his eyes on the jury. He would do his closing without notes. For the most part, he would keep his voice even and measured—the very picture of reasonableness.

    “Scapegoating. It’s been around for thousands of years. But American plaintiffs’ lawyers have perfected it.”

    “Objection!” Kelly said, and Jason wanted to thank her. “That’s improper argument, Judge.”

    Judge Garrison looked a little perplexed. He told Jason to tread lightly and reminded the jury that this was just argument from the lawyers, not evidence in the case.

    “A tragedy occurred on August 25, when Larry Jamison broke into the WDXR studios and executed Rachel Crawford in cold blood. A family was destroyed. A career was cut short. A wife was killed. A baby was lost. Somebody has to pay. And so Ms. Starling comes over and lays her hands on the head of my client, the manufacturer of the gun, and declares them responsible for all of this evil.”

    Jason shook his head in disbelief. “Why? Because they pulled the trigger? No. Because they committed an illegal act in selling the guns? No. All they did was manufacture a perfectly legal gun and sell it to a perfectly legal dealer in a country that protects the constitutional right of its citizens to do so.”

    By the skeptical looks on their faces, Jason could tell that some of the jurors weren’t buying this. Marcia Franks was not. Rodney Peterson was not. But Jason didn’t really care about them any more. He was talking to other jurors now.

    “There’s been so much smoke and so many mirrors deployed in this case that I need to remind us all what this case is
not
about. It’s not about sound suppressors or fully automatic machine guns or whether ATF agents are Nazis. It’s not even about whether or not you like my client.” Jason turned and looked at Melissa Davids. Not surprisingly, she didn’t smile.

    “I actually like Ms. Davids,” Jason said, as if that might surprise the jurors. “She’s a straight shooter, if you’ll pardon the pun. She has her convictions, and she’s not willing to compromise them. She’s a living example of how guns can level the playing field and help women protect themselves.

    “But it really doesn’t matter whether you like her or you think she’s the devil incarnate. She’s not running for Miss Personality here. She’s at the bar of the court seeking justice. And Lady Justice wears a blindfold for a reason.”

    Jason knew he had to deal with this next subject, unpleasant as it might be. Poole had been decimated on the witness stand. For the sake of appearance, Jason had to at least talk about the issue.

    “This case isn’t about Chief Poole’s divorce either,” Jason said. “And you may think I’ve lost a lot of credibility by putting him on the stand.” Jason looked straight at Marcia Franks. “But if that’s the case, there’s something you need to know.

    “Lawyers have certain obligations in what we call pretrial discovery. One of those is to turn over documents that we intend to use at trial. Before the first witness took the stand, I received the documents from Ms. Starling that she used this morning on cross-examination.” The jurors looked a little surprised—exactly the reaction Jason anticipated. “I didn’t share them with Chief Poole. I knew he would get crucified on cross-examination, and I put him on the stand anyway. From the looks on your faces, I can tell you’re wondering why.”

    Jason took a few steps, looking down, giving the jury a moment to contemplate the issue.

    “First, because I figured if he was trying to cheat on his ex-wife during their divorce proceedings, it probably needed to come out in open court. And second, because I knew that everything he said about guns being available on the streets is independently verifiable. Think about it—what does the fact that he cheated during his divorce proceedings have to do with his testimony concerning the availability of guns on the streets?”

    Jason surveyed the entire jury, but he took special note of Marcia. She seemed to at least be considering this. “I put him on because I knew that you were smart enough to distinguish between the character of the man and the quality of his data. Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence yet never released his own slaves. Does that mean we should throw out the Declaration?

    “You will recall that even though Ms. Starling made a fool of Chief Poole, she didn’t even try to attack the statistics the man presented.”

    Jason took a deep breath and thought for a moment, drawing the jury in with him. He was no longer nervous.
This
was what he loved. Being on stage. High stakes. The audience hanging on the next line.

    “Larry Jamison is not here today to punish. The SWAT team took him out. But there are other killers like Larry Jamison out there watching. And believe it or not, they probably hope that you will give a big verdict to the plaintiff. Why? Because these criminals know that
they
can always get a gun. And their plans will be that much easier if law-abiding citizens cannot.

    “Two wrongs do not make a right. Larry Jamison murdered Rachel Crawford. An unjust verdict against the manufacturer of the gun will not bring her back.”

“Any rebuttal?” Judge Garrison asked.

    “Very briefly, Your Honor.”

    Kelly turned on the monitor in front of the jury and loaded the DVD. Without saying a word, she began running the tape again. Jamison bursting into the WDXR studios. The bullying, the threats, the demands of Lisa Roberts, forcing Rachel to apologize. Resolve lined Rachel’s bloodied face as Jamison screamed about the lies and declared the television studio a “court of law.”

    The jury watched intently as Jamison held the gun to Lisa’s head and asked her if Rachel was guilty. They heard the commotion off camera and watched Jamison pivot toward Rachel, hatred and desperation in his eyes.

    Kelly Starling paused the video right there. The frame perfectly captured both the hatred and the fear. Jamison spinning in rage toward his prey. Rachel diving toward the floor. The WDXR news studio a split second before the bullets started flying.