Double Jeopardy

2

4:00 P.M.

TRAVIS BYRNE LEANED AGAINST the jury box, established eye contact with each of the jurors, and began his closing argument.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, make no mistake about it. My client is an animal. He is vile. He is less deserving of your sympathy than the lowest vermin, the slimiest snake. He is entitled only to your disgust and your contempt.

“Do you think I enjoy sitting at that table with him? I don’t. Being near scum like him makes my skin crawl. Just looking at him sends shivers up my spine. You haven’t seen me feigning friendship with the defendant during this trial. For a reason. Because he is not my friend. He is the most revolting man I have ever met. If it were up to me, I’d lock him in a cell with no windows and throw away the key.”

Travis took a step back and folded his arms. “But that is not the law, ladies and gentlemen. The law proclaims that every man charged with a crime, even one as horrible as the offense you have heard described today, is entitled to a fair trial before a jury of his peers. If my client is convicted, it must be because you have determined not simply that he is a bad person, but that the evidence has proven beyond a reasonable doubt that he is guilty of the specific crime with which he has been charged.”

Maintaining eye contact with the jurors, Travis sidestepped to the prosecutor’s table. “Now, what is the charge that Ms. Cavanaugh has leveled against my client? Murdering a federal informant. As the judge will instruct you, that is a very specific, rather unusual crime. Most murders are tried in state, not federal, court. But by latching onto an obscure section of the United States Criminal Code, Ms. Cavanaugh has usurped the state authorities so that she can try this case in federal court and reap all the publicity attendant to a high-profile tragedy.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Travis saw Madame Prosecutor squirming. She wanted to object—to interrupt his flow, if for no other reason—but she knew it would irritate the jurors and do her more harm than good.

“What evidence do you have that Sally Schultz, a fourteen-year-old girl, was a federal informant? Very little, I think. Yes, the prosecution has inundated you with evidence that my client knew the girl. They have presented chilling, graphic evidence that he molested her on several occasions. And they have presented circumstantial evidence indicating that—to silence her—he took her life, in a slow, grisly fashion.

“But where is the evidence that Sally Schultz was an informant?” Travis pounded his fist on the prosecution table. “The evidence from the FBI agent, Mr. Banner, was that he had talked to Sally Schultz on one occasion, and that she had not decided whether she would testify. If she had agreed, if she had in fact been part of the FBI plot to ensnare my client at the time of her tragic death, then I would not be standing before you today.”

Travis planted himself front and center before the jury. He was a large man—heavy and big-boned, like a linebacker. The extra pounds around his gut were masked by his dark suit. Up close, he had an impressive bearing. “But that is not what happened. There had only been one conversation between Sally and Mr. Banner, and Sally had not made up her mind. If that single inconclusive conversation made Sally a federal informant, then any of us could become federal informants whenever the whim strikes an ambitious prosecutor. Clearly, that was not the intent of the law my client has been charged with violating.”

He took a deep breath, then released it slowly. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my client has committed acts that probably horrify you, just as they horrify me. But this court has no jurisdiction over him. I ask you to put aside your personal feelings and remember that this is a court of law, not a court of vengeance. The only question before you today is whether my client is guilty of murdering a federal informant. And the answer is no.”

Travis returned to the defendant’s table and sat without so much as glancing at his client. Ms. Cavanaugh rose and began her rebuttal argument, but Travis could tell the jury was not listening. They were looking at him, and his client, and considering the question he had put before them.