A different kind of person might have sat back and enjoyed the show James Wheeler was putting on as he gave the closing arguments for the defense, but Charlie Carlson was not that kind of person. Not when, at the end of the day, a man might get away with murder.
“Every living creature understands self-preservation,” Wheeler was saying. His thick, silvery hair made him look leonine. “As human beings we go through life avoiding danger, hoping we will never be forced into a position where we must defend ourselves. But if we are threatened with death, our instincts take over and we do whatever we must in order to protect ourselves. And that is exactly what happened here.”
By sinking his teeth into his tongue, Charlie managed to maintain a neutral expression.
“The evidence is clear: Ms. Yee was an illegal alien and a prostitute who came very close to killing David Leacham in a botched robbery attempt.”
When Mia talked about the dead girl, she was always Dandan or occasionally Miss Yee, but whenever her name came out of Wheeler’s mouth, it was always “Ms. Yee.” It was a tiny detail, but telling. Wheeler was trying to get the jury to think of the dead girl as older, more sophisticated, and the Ms. was just one more piece of that mosaic.
Charlie wondered how many of the jurors didn’t like illegal aliens, or thought that a prostitute deserved whatever happened to her. Mia had tried to uncover any underlying prejudices while the prospective jurors were being questioned in her voir dire, but since most people know what the “right” answers are, they often give them.
“My client is not a worldly man. He works long hours at his dry-cleaning business, talking to customers, fixing machines, and even cleaning and pressing clothes.”
Charlie wondered how much of that was true. He also wondered if Leacham was into fixing things other than machines. Since dry cleaning was often a cash business, it made the perfect front for money laundering.
Wheeler continued, “Mr. Leacham thought Ms. Yee was what she claimed to be, a massage therapist. He had a backache, and the pain became so intense he wondered if a massage might help. This is a man who has worked hard his whole life and who has built a successful business from scratch. A man who is still married to his high school sweetheart and who does not have a single criminal conviction.”
While investigating the murder, Charlie had found Sindy Sharp, who painted a picture of a very different man. Then, just before the trial began, she left her foster home with nothing but her purse and never came back. The girl did have a long history of running away. Charlie just hoped that was what had happened.
“When Ms. Yee began to flirt with him,” Wheeler said, “he was surprised and flattered. He lost his head.”
Yeah, Charlie thought sourly, at about the same time he lost his pants.
At the defense table, David Leacham bit his lip and looked down at the table. His eyes shone with unshed tears. Just how hard had the man had to bite, Charlie wondered, to make those tears flow.
“Afterward, when he came out of the bathroom, Ms. Yee suddenly attacked him, demanding his wallet. She pressed the knife against his throat until she drew blood and said, ‘Do it or die!’ ”
Charlie tried to imagine it, the tiny woman attacking the much bigger man who sat at the defense table. Judging by the expressions on the faces of the jurors, they were having a hard time as well.
“Mr. Leacham is not familiar with violence, with people who will steal and lie and cheat and even kill.” Wheeler raised his chin and pressed the blade of his right palm against his neck as if it were a knife. “But after Ms. Yee cut him, he could feel the hot blood trickling down the skin of his neck.” The fingers of Wheeler’s other hand traced the contours of his throat. His eyes darted, as if he were panicking, then he dropped both hands and addressed the jury. “Mr. Leacham knew it would take only a little bit more pressure for her to cut his jugular vein. And he was also sure, deadly sure, that either way, she would still kill him. So he knocked her arm away. He did what we all would have done and tried to protect himself. To allow himself to get away to safety. But instead of backing away, his attacker became even more enraged. She came at him again, and they wrestled for the knife. Suddenly, David Leacham was fighting for his life.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Charlie watched Mia’s lips become a thin, white line as Wheeler piled on lie after lie.
“You’ve seen the photographs of the cut on his throat, the slice on his hand he suffered when he tried to defend himself. The cut on his throat is from her initial attack, when she told him that he was going to die if he didn’t do what she said. The other cut is on his left hand because that hand was closest to the knife. Thankfully, he snatched it back as soon as he realized it was slicing into him, and it didn’t sever blood vessels and tendons. Then he tried to grab her, to stop her from killing him, and their feet became entangled. That’s when David Leacham got lucky. He got lucky because he did not sustain that third, killing wound this woman was determined to give him. Instead, they hit the ground, landing in such a way that the knife entered her body with his weight directly on top of it. Afraid that she would attack him again, he took that heaven-sent opportunity to escape.”
Wheeler managed to proclaim this convoluted story with a straight face. Behind him, Leacham blinked, sending tears running down his red face. In the silence he took a loud, ragged breath.
“Because of chance or providence, Mr. Leacham was able to escape and he is still alive. And while it is very unfortunate that Ms. Yee lost her life, under these circumstances our laws recognize that Mr. Leacham did not commit a crime. Instead, this was a justifiable homicide.”
Justifiable homicide was something Charlie had been forced to do a time or two. With a badge on his belt and a city-issued firearm. Not against a tiny woman who had been bought and paid for.
“You saw the prosecutor put these people on the stand who claimed to be experts in their fields.” Wheeler sighed. “I am just one man against the government. I don’t have a vast army of employees and fancy equipment.” It took a mighty effort for Charlie not to roll his eyes. “All I have”—Wheeler thumped his chest over his heart, or at least where his heart would be if he had one—“is the truth.”
He walked back to the defense table and picked up a black leather Moleskine notebook. As Charlie watched him, his gaze snagged on Leacham’s, who had turned in his chair. Not a muscle moved on the other man’s face, but Charlie still felt his own shoulders tense as if he were getting ready to throw a punch.
“In Ms. Quinn’s opening statement, which I wrote down”—Wheeler flourished the notebook dramatically—“she promised that you were going to hear from another prostitute who claimed she had evidence against Mr. Leacham. But that’s not what happened, is it? The lady didn’t even show up to testify.” He mimed looking around the courtroom. “So where is she, this mysterious woman? Is she not here because she was seeking something—sympathy, money, fame—but then she got cold feet when it came time to come before you and lie about what happened?”
He nodded to himself. “Facts are stubborn things. An indictment is not a crime. Indictments mean nothing. Anyone can be indicted, and that should not affect your decision making in any way. Why do our courts have presumption of innocence? Why is our standard reasonable doubt? Because ‘looking bad’ and ‘probably’ are not standards of proof. That’s the most important thing to remember. Human beings are naturally judgmental and critical of each other. But with presumption of innocence, we are forced to wait and weigh the evidence.”
Charlie didn’t think of himself as judgmental. He just called them as he saw them. And in his line of work, he saw a lot.
“The police botched this investigation from the start. I’m sure we all remember the officer who was in charge of logging people in and out of the scene, Officer Childs. While he was on the stand, I asked him for his notes, and he opened up a teeny tiny notebook. He did not have the names of anyone who was at the scene. At first he did not even recall if he was wearing gloves when he initially walked through the massage parlor. Then he remembered he wasn’t.” Wheeler shook his head. “Was there evidence that was never cataloged, perhaps even destroyed? We’ll never know.”
Wheeler went on, occasionally making a show of looking down at his notebook, casting doubt on every step of the investigation. Some of his points did not even make a lot of sense, but in aggregate they might leave the jurors confused enough that they would not be able to find Leacham guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.
But being found not guilty wasn’t the same as being innocent. Even Wheeler would not go so far as to claim his client was innocent.
Finally, Wheeler summed it up. “The prosecutor has not proved her charges. Instead, she has dragged the name of an honorable man through the mud. I ask that you serve justice today. I ask that you find David Leacham not guilty. Because that is the truth.”