CHAPTER 42

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my name is Donovan Watanabe, and I will be representing the people of the state of Hawaii during this trial. Today I am charged with the task of prosecuting the defendant Turi Ahina for committing the atrocious act of felony murder against an officer of the law with the Honolulu Police Department—veteran narcotics detective Kanoa Bristol of Pearl City.”

As Dapper Don settled into his opening statement, I made certain to look each juror in the eye from my vantage point at the defense table all the way across the aisle. I instructed Turi to do the same, with the one eye that wasn’t bandaged, but to be careful not to intimidate and not to smile. “Look earnest,” I told him. “Show the jury that you’re taking these charges very seriously, but that you’re confident that the truth will come out.”

Dapper Don continued, “My opening statement will be brief. Why? you may ask, when this is such an important case, a case in which a law enforcement officer was viciously gunned down while trying to uphold the law. Why will the attorney charged with the awesome responsibility of making certain that justice is done for Detective Bristol, for his family, for the citizens of Pearl City, and for all of Hawaii be brief in his opening remarks? The answer is simple and it is simply this: this is a simple case.

“As it is said in the parlance of our times, this case is open-and-shut. And after all the evidence is presented to you, you will know beyond any reasonable doubt that the defendant Turi Ahina committed the crime in question, the crime of murder. And he committed it in cold blood.”

Jury selection had taken only a single day. I’d led with the simple question “Have you ever heard of the cable news legal pundit Marcy Faith?” I watched half the room and gave the other half to Jake. We were looking for the slightest smile, the tiniest sparkle in the eyes that said, “Yup, that’s my girl.” When we found it, we attempted to have that juror removed for cause. If that failed, we exercised one of our valuable peremptory challenges.

“The evidence that will be presented to you,” Dapper Don said to the jury, “will also be simple and clear-cut. The evidence will show that at around eleven o’clock on the evening of July twenty-third of this year, Detective Kanoa Bristol, while off duty, came upon the defendant engaged in a criminal act, specifically a significant illegal drug transaction, and that Detective Bristol attempted to engage and interfere with that transaction, and for that reason Detective Bristol was shot twice, once in the chest—a bullet stopped by the officer’s Kevlar vest—and once in the throat, the latter proving fatal. Furthermore, the evidence will prove beyond any shadow of a doubt that the man who fired those bullets into Detective Bristol is sitting in this courtroom today and will do so until this trial is over. That man is seated at the defense table, and his name is Turi Ahina.”

Dapper Don pointed an accusatory finger at Turi, who did not look away. In the prosecutor’s eyes I saw a raw passion I hadn’t seen from him when I faced him during the Gianforte trial. At issue here, however, was a dead law enforcement officer, and Donovan Watanabe, it seemed, was taking this case personally. His normally calm, cool demeanor had all but evaporated. Without question, Dapper Don was out for blood.

“What is this evidence? you ask,” Dapper Don continued. “Firstly, you will hear the testimony of Mrs. Doris Ledford, a young woman of seventy-two.” Here he smiled and the jury smiled with him. “Mrs. Ledford will testify that while in her home at eleven o’clock that night, she overheard two bangs that sounded like gunshots, and she hurried to the kitchen window to discover what the sounds were. She will testify that when she looked out that kitchen window, she saw clearly an obese man running fast as he could down the street, away from the scene of the shooting.”

Turi rolled his eyes, and I warned him to watch his body language in front of the jury.

“But what do he have to call me obese for, eh?” Turi shot back in a whisper. “There are ladies here in the audience, yeah?”

Watanabe said, “You will hear from the detective who was in charge of investigating this homicide, this murder of his fellow officer. Detective Ray Irvine will testify regarding every part of the investigation, from first response, to the gathering of evidence, to apprehending the suspect, and beyond.”

Dapper Don walked over to the evidence table and lifted the clear plastic bag that held the alleged murder weapon.

“As you can plainly see, police recovered the defendant’s gun. Not far from the spot where police would recover the defendant himself. Now, make no mistake, this defendant is not dumb simply because he committed such a terrible crime and got caught. No, this defendant was wise enough to wipe his fingerprints off the gun and to take measures to avoid, or possibly clean up, gunshot residue to help conceal his crime. The defense will attack, attack, attack on these issues, as though the defendant should be rewarded for being crafty. And Turi Ahina was crafty, just not crafty enough. And, as you will learn, just not fast enough either.”

Dapper Don turned his meticulous frame and looked at me as though he were about to throw down the gauntlet. But this was a challenge I had long ago accepted, and now I had no intention of backing down. Not even following my arrest for prostitution. That case—the case of State versus Kevin D. Corvelli—remained pending, at least in court. But certainly not in the press. In the press I, like any criminal defendant, was guilty until proven innocent.

“… and next you will hear from the Honolulu Police Department’s ballistics expert, Denis Ritchie…,” Dapper Don was saying.

But I had stopped listening. When the prosecution’s opening statement was concluded, I’d have to make an immediate decision: whether to rise and give my own opening statement today, or to delay it until the close of the prosecution’s case. The pro of opening now was that the prosecution’s entire case-in-chief would be colored with suspicion, looked at through the spectacles of possible police corruption. On the downside, I’d be locking myself permanently into the choice-of-evils strategy.

“You may have heard of my adversary, the celebrity defense attorney Kevin Corvelli,” Dapper Don said out of nowhere. “So respected are his skills that he presently represents our governor.”

“Objection,” I said, rising to my feet. “There’s no relevance here, Your Honor.”

“I agree,” Judge Narita said. “Sustained. The jury will disregard that last statement. Mr. Watanabe, move on.”

“Your Honor,” Dapper Don said, nodding, then turning back to the jury. “My only point is that Mr. Corvelli is exceedingly good at his job. I read once a line in a play; the line read, ‘The law is a sort of hocus-pocus science.’ Well, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Corvelli is perhaps the world’s premier illusionist. And because of that, I feel I must caution you to keep your eyes and minds on the actual evidence at all times.”

I started to stand to object, then thought better of it and sat down. Let him go that route, I decided. In a few minutes I’d be able to show the jury myself that I hid no rabbits in my hat, that I was just a man, a lawyer like any other.

“… and at the conclusion of this case, ladies and gentlemen, I will return to this rail to summarize the evidence introduced during this trial and ask you to return a verdict of guilty on the charge of murder in the first degree.”

“Thank you, Mr. Watanabe,” Judge Narita said from the bench. Then he turned to me. “Mr. Corvelli, would you care to give your opening statement now, or would you prefer to reserve it?” In more crass terms, shit or get off the pot, Counselor.

Lay your cards on the table.