The Neon Lawyer (12 page)

Two men were crying. They held it back as well as they could, but the tears were rolling down their cheeks. Brigham had thought perhaps the women would cry first, but maybe the two men, one Hispanic and the other, the white guy with the Levi’s jacket, had daughters the same age as Tabitha. Something Vince, in his joking around with the jury, hadn’t asked.

Brigham let a good half minute go by in silence before he said, “Her mother sat in a cold police interrogation room as the detective read her Tyler Moore’s confession. All the things he’d done to this beautiful . . .”

He stopped. Completely unintentionally, emotion was now choking him. He took a moment before he looked up to the jury. “The prosecution told you that it’s wrong to murder. But they’re asking you to murder my client. This isn’t justice.”

Brigham sat down. Another person on the jury was wiping tears away as she stared at the photo of Tabitha. Vince said, loudly enough for Brigham to hear, “Get that down.”

His assistant jumped up and took down both photos and placed them where the jury couldn’t see them. The judge cleared his throat and said, “First witness, Mr. Dale.”

Twenty-five

The first witness in the case was Detective Steve Pregman. He was an older man, skinny with hair that was almost an afro. He was sitting at the prosecution table when he rose and walked to the witness stand. The clerk made him raise his right hand and swear the oath that he would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. He said he would, and then lowered his hand and took a sip of water.

Vince ambled up to the podium. He leaned one hand against it and said, “State and spell your name, please.”

“Steven H. Pregman. That’s P-R-E-G-M-A-N.”

“And what do you do, Mr. Pregman?”

“I’m a homicide detective with the Salt Lake City Police Department.”

Brigham noticed that when Pregman spoke, he always looked at the jury—not the judge or Vince. His back was straight and he wore a suit that was impeccably clean: a professional witness for the prosecution.

“Tell us a little about your training and experience for that position, if you would.”

“I’ve been a police officer for fourteen years, and before that I was in the military. I joined the homicide unit four years ago.”

“Do you remember what happened in relation to this case on July the twelfth?”

“Yes, I do. I was doing some follow-up investigation for another case when I got a call from Detective Robert Jones. He said there had been a homicide at the Matheson Courthouse and that the suspect was being held by the bailiffs there. So I met Detective Jones here and we went up to the holding cell where they were keeping the suspect.”

“Who was that suspect?”

“Amanda Pierce.”

“Identify her for the jury, please.”

“She’s sitting at the defense table in the dress.”

Vince leaned against the podium. “So what happened next?”

“I sat down with her and turned on my digital recorder. I read her her Miranda rights and asked if she would speak with me. She didn’t respond, so I asked her about this incident.”

“And what’d she do when you asked her?”

“She started crying.”

“Did she speak to you at any point?”

“No, she was just crying.”

“So what did you do, Detective?”

“After about five minutes, I knew I wouldn’t be getting anything out of her, so I ended the interview. I stationed a unit to stay by her while I went out to the courthouse steps in the back. The Crime Scene Unit was already there processing the scene. They had a body, a forty-two-year-old Caucasian male. He was identified as Tyler J. Moore.”

“What did you think had happened to Mr. Moore?”

“Well, he suffered from several gunshot wounds to the neck and head. Blood at the scene was consistent with that. I spoke to five witnesses.” The detective looked at a notepad he’d brought up with him. He read the names of five men. “They were all in the vicinity when this incident occurred.”

“And what did they say happened?”

“They all said the same thing. Mr. Moore was coming down the stairs, and they saw the defendant, Amanda Pierce, approach him from the sidewalk. She moved up a few steps, turned, and fired several rounds. We recovered seven rounds total, five of which struck Mr. Moore.”

“Was anybody else hurt?”

“No.”

“Well, thank goodness for that,” Vince said, glancing to the jury. “No children were nearby, I hope?”

“No, none that we saw.”

Vince nodded. “Now at some point, you tried to talk to Ms. Pierce again, didn’t you?”

“After the scene was processed and the Coroner’s Office removed the body, yes, I tried talking with her again. We transported her down to the station. I again read her Miranda because I felt that enough time had elapsed, and I asked her to speak with me.”

“Did she?”

“No, sir. She didn’t speak with me at that time.”

“Did you ever determine why she killed this man?”

“Mr. Moore was responsible for the death of Ms. Pierce’s daughter. He was facing trial for it.”

“Revenge killing.”

Brigham shot to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor.”

“Sustained. Keep it relevant, Mr. Dale.”

Vince smiled widely. “Of course, Your Honor. Thank you.” He looked to the detective. “That’s all I had, Detective. Thank you for your time.”

Brigham took a sip of water. His throat was so dry it ached and felt swollen. He stood up and moved to the podium.

“When you first saw her in that room, Detective, how did she look to you?”

“Look as in . . . her appearance?”

“Yes.”

He shrugged. “She looked pale. Shaken up.”

“Were her hands trembling?”

“I think so, yes.”

“And she was crying?”

“Yes.”

“The entire time?” Brigham said.

“Yes.”

“Would you say she was crying uncontrollably?”

The detective thought a moment. “Yes. It didn’t seem like she could communicate at the moment.”

“Could she say anything? Ask for some water? Ask where she was or what was going to happen?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Brigham hesitated. “Do you blame her for what she did, Steve?”

“Objection!” Vince bellowed. “That’s completely irrelevant.”

The judge was about to speak when the detective quickly said, “No, I don’t blame her. How could you blame someone after going through what she went through?”

Vince looked like he was about to throw something at the detective’s head.

“Objection sustained. Move on, Mr. Theodore.”

“No further questions.”

“No redirect, Your Honor,” Vince said.

“This witness is excused.”

As the detective walked in between the defense and prosecution tables, Vince glaring at him the entire time, the detective gave a slight nod to Brigham, which Brigham returned.

“Next witness,” the judge said.

The rest of the morning and well into the afternoon was a technical information dump, like reading the encyclopedia. Vince put the medical examiner on the stand and went through the autopsy. Half the jury looked like they wanted to fall asleep. But it was necessary. The law wasn’t a piece of wood to be carved by cutting away pieces. It was a house that you built piece by piece, from the ground up. The foundation had to be laid. Even though it was obvious to everyone in the courtroom that Tyler Moore was dead, the prosecution still had to establish it through the testimony of the ME.

They broke for lunch around 1:30. The jury was excused and they agreed to be back in an hour to continue with the medical examiner’s testimony.

“Counsel,” the judge said, “I’ve gone through the jury instructions and they seem pretty run-of-the-mill to me. Any objections to any instructions that weren’t covered?”

“No, Your Honor,” Vince said.

“No,” Brigham said.

He had wanted to include every jury instruction he could think of, but Molly had told him that would confuse the jury. While that may not have been bad for some cases, like complex white-collar fraud where it was better the jury didn’t understand exactly what had occurred, this was a simple case, and they needed simple instructions. In the end, the only one Brigham had insisted on said that if the jury didn’t want to acquit because they felt like Amanda had done it, but they also didn’t want to convict and potentially sentence her to death, they could agree that she committed manslaughter instead of murder. It was called a lesser-included offense instruction.

“All right then,” the judge said, “break for lunch. Be back at two thirty, gentlemen.”

Brigham watched as the bailiff took Amanda away. He turned to see Molly and Scotty staring at him.

“What?” he said.

“That opening was great work,” she said.

“I don’t think it’s enough.” He rubbed his nose, hoping to alleviate, however slightly, the coming headache. “Let’s grab something to eat. I’m starving.”

Twenty-six

After lunch, the trial resumed. Vince questioned the medical examiner for almost four hours. Charts and graphs and computer printouts were presented. A laptop presentation had a computer-animated re-creation of the shooting, charting the trajectory of each bullet.

By the time the ME was through, the jury looked exhausted and the judge had to stop and ask if they needed anything. No one raised a hand, so the judge said, “It’s now six in the evening, I think we’re going to have to break today and continue with the defense’s cross-examination tomorrow.”

“I only have a couple of questions,” Brigham said. “I’m happy to do them now so that we don’t need to bring Dr. Jacobs back, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Dale?”

“That’s fine, Your Honor.”

Brigham rose. “Dr. Jacobs, did you do the autopsy on Tabitha Pierce as well?”

Vince rose. “Objection. Approach, Your Honor.”

The two attorneys went up to the bench. The judge, who also appeared ready for bed, had red-rimmed eyes and his hair looked puffier than it had earlier that morning.

“Tabitha’s death was tragic,” Vince said, “but is not the subject of this trial. Frankly, I shouldn’t have even allowed him to bring it up in opening.”

“But you did,” Brigham said. “And now I get to talk about it. It’s relevant because the only question in this case is what Amanda’s mindset was when she pulled that trigger. What happened to her daughter caused that mindset.”

The judge thought for a moment. “I’ll allow it. But if you veer too far off course, I have to shut you down, Mr. Theodore.”

“Understood.”

Brigham returned to the podium. “Please answer the question, Doctor. Did you do the autopsy?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How did she die?”

The doctor hesitated. “Exsanguination . . . she bled to death.”

“Bled to death from what?”

Vince casually got up from his seat again. “Your Honor, I have to renew my objection to this entire line of questioning. What happened has no relevance—”

“How can you say that?” Brigham said, louder than he would’ve liked. “It’s relevant. Her daughter’s murder is relevant.”

“Your Honor, this is a ridiculous waste of—”

The judge sighed. “Everybody, calm down. Mr. Dale, I think defense counsel is right. It’s relevant to her state of mind. If you don’t think so, you’re free to question that. Now let’s get this over.”

Brigham turned back to the witness. Anger had flared inside him and he hadn’t meant for it to. He hadn’t even known it was there. “Bled to death from what?”

“She was . . . cut repeatedly.”

“Cut how, Doctor? Please be specific.”

“Vaginal walls were cut with a precision instrument. A hunting knife or possibly a scalpel. As was her rectum.”

“So in layman’s terms, he tried to cut out her genitals, didn’t he?”

“That would be my best guess, yes.”

“And she was alive during this, correct?”

The doctor glanced to the jury. “Yes. My understanding is that he stated he wanted to hear her screaming.”

Amanda’s head fell. Her eyes glazed over in a way that indicated she wasn’t there anymore. At the same time, Vince jumped up.

“Your Honor! This is far more prejudicial than probative.”

“That’s enough, Mr. Theodore.”

“That’s all I had. Thank you.”

The judge instructed the jury that they were done for the day but were not to speak to anyone about the case. Vince’s assistant leaned over and said to him that they should have the jury sequestered so they couldn’t read about the things that had happened to Tabitha online. Vince looked to Brigham. Brigham knew Vince didn’t want to be the one to suggest the jury be put up in a cheap motel the four days this trial was scheduled for. He wanted Brigham to do it. But there was no way he was about to. He rose, and waited a few moments to see if Vince would actually have the guts to suggest the jury be locked away from their families.

Vince turned a light pink, glaring at Brigham, but didn’t say anything. The bailiff helped Amanda out of the courtroom and Molly and Scotty rose to leave as well.

Brigham winked at Vince and left the courtroom.

Brigham tried to spend the evening preparing his cross-examinations of the witnesses to the shootings, but there was nothing there. Just like with the medical examiner, everything they were going to say was true and accurate. But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t trying to cast doubt on whether the shooting took place, only what Amanda’s mind was like when she did it. He decided he wasn’t going to cross any of the witnesses unless they said something truly outrageous. Tommy had told him it was better not to cross at all than to cross and look like an idiot, or worse, bolster the other side’s case.

Though it was late, Brigham decided to leave his apartment and go to the office. Molly was there working some divorce cases and he could use her company. And Tommy had a certain way about him that made him feel more comfortable with this whole thing than he should have been.

When he got to the office, he found Tommy there, already drunk. A bottle of scotch was on his desk and he poured a drink for Brigham in a tumbler and pushed it toward him. “Drink.” It didn’t sound like a request.

The scotch was so strong, Brigham began to cough, amusing Tommy to no end.

“So,” he said, pouring them both another drink, “how’s the trial going?”

“Terrible. Everything they say is true.”

“Don’t matter. See, they wanna acquit her. But they need something to tell their relatives. When they go home, if they acquit, their wife or husband is gonna be saying, ‘what the hell were you thinking?’ And we gotta give that next line that they’re gonna give them. We have to give them something that will make their spouse back off. Maybe even understand. That’s your job. Give them that.”

“Well, hopefully the psychiatrist can do that.”

Tommy
lifted his glass. “Here’s to hopefully.”