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In the grand jury room, I spent Monday morning building a relationship with the good folks on the jury, obtaining indictments on more than half a dozen no-brainer cases. After lunch, I gave them an overview of the Tate case and called LA as my first witness. About ten minutes into his testimony, I realized I could have saved myself hours of preparation time.

LA was a charmer, and he didn’t mind giving me a hard time to draw a few chuckles from the jurors. I took him through the investigation step by step. By the time he had finished, we were already in good shape. Next, Dr. O’Leary testified about the cause of death and seemed determined to make a few jurors puke before she left the stand. A toxicologist followed her and testified about the blood and hair testing.

Tuesday morning, the jury heard from Dr. Gillespie. Most of them seemed to like the man, though one or two drifted in and out during his testimony. I took the psychiatrist through each of Rikki’s important counseling sessions. Yes, she had been involved in a few affairs. And yes, Caleb Tate had found out about them.

Next came a parade of church friends to talk about how Rikki’s newfound faith had created a strain on the marriage and how Caleb Tate had been a control freak. I called Rikki Tate’s civil attorney to testify about Caleb’s opposition to the lawsuits Rikki had filed attempting to get her topless pictures removed from various websites. A few of the female jurors made noticeable faces during that testimony—What kind of scum is this guy?

I held my breath and put Rafael Rivera on the stand. The deputies had dressed him up and brought him over from the county jail. He raised his hand, swore to tell the truth, and gave me a condescending sneer. He testified about providing Caleb Tate with oxycodone and codeine for the past six months. I did not ask him about the morphine. Though Tate and his defense attorneys were not allowed in the grand jury room, they would eventually be entitled to a transcript of the proceedings. I didn’t want to tip our hand about the morphine any earlier than necessary.

Despite his repulsive attitude, Rivera stuck to the script, and I had him off the stand in fifteen minutes. For the first time in two days, I relaxed. The grand jury was going to indict. In truth, it was pretty hard to lose a case when the other side didn’t get to show up.

I recalled LA to the stand after I finished with Rivera so LA could testify about Caleb Tate’s financial status. Tate’s law firm, despite its appearance of great success, was actually struggling with mounting debt. In his personal life, Tate was swimming in an ocean of credit, and the various banks that had loaned him money during his heyday were starting to tighten their grip. LA also testified about the million-dollar life insurance policy Caleb Tate had taken out on his wife shortly after he discovered her affair two years ago.

“Two years seems like a long time for someone like Mr. Tate to wait,” I said.

“Poisoning is not a crime of passion,” LA lectured. “It’s a crime of deceit. It requires careful and patient planning. I’ve made some charts of Mr. Tate’s cash flow and debt obligations. He probably knew he could afford to wait two years, but not much more.”

I ended my case with a short and straightforward closing argument. I could tell the jurors’ only question was how quickly they could sign the indictment.

After they voted unanimously to indict, I reminded them of the absolute confidentiality of the grand jury proceedings. I thanked them for their service, stuffed some papers into my dad’s briefcase, and called Bill Masterson as soon as I got into the hallway.

“Get your bench warrant and take the rest of the day off,” he said. It was a few minutes after three.

“Maybe I will.”

Based on the grand jury indictment, I obtained a bench warrant from a Superior Court judge and met LA in the hallway. “Have fun,” I said, handing him the warrant. I left the courthouse alone and walked down the large concrete steps. The sun was bright, and I could smell the freshly cut grass on the courthouse lawn. For the first time in months, I felt like I could fully breathe, like my chest wasn’t constricted by pressure. I knew my dad would be proud.

I should have followed Bill Masterson’s advice and taken the rest of the day off. Instead, I got in my car and headed back to the office.