The Last Alibi

91

Shauna

Judge Bialek denies my motion for a directed verdict after the close of the prosecution’s case, refusing to throw out the charges against Jason for lack of evidence. She gave me more than my allotted fifteen minutes to argue the motion, which was charitable of her, because she was no more likely to toss this case than she was to sprout wings and fly out of the courtroom. After breaking the bad news to me, the judge summons the jury.

“Is the defense prepared to call its first witness?”

For the first time in the trial, Bradley John rises to address the court.

“The defense calls Jason Kolarich,” he says.

Everyone takes note of Bradley’s sudden participation-the judge with a double blink of her eyes, Roger Ogren with a rifle-quick jerk of the head, the jurors with more casual looks of surprise, not having any firsthand investment in the case.

The biggest witness in the case, and the second-chair attorney, who has yet to speak before the jury, handling him? It was a mutual decision made between Jason and me. His idea, primarily, but I went along with it. A lawyer cannot knowingly suborn perjury, cannot question a witness on the stand if she knows he’s lying. Bradley, on the other hand, does not know everything I know, and in fact does not know with any certainty, one way or the other, whether the testimony Jason is about to give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

But I’d be lying to myself if I said this was all about ethics. As artificial and staged and thoroughly rehearsed as this conversation he and Bradley are about to have may be, it is a conversation nonetheless. Jason doesn’t want to have to answer these questions from me. He is afraid of how I will react. And maybe how he’ll react, too.

Bradley organizes his notes while Jason takes the witness stand and is sworn in. After giving his name for the record, Bradley cuts to it.

“Jason,” he says, “did you murder Alexa Himmel?”

“No, I did not.”

“Did you have anything to do with her murder?”

“No, I did not.”

Jason likes to say he is the son of a con artist, which is true, and he likes to say he can bullshit with the best of them, also true. But there is an earnestness to the way he answers these questions, no flash or sizzle, no overwrought emotional appeal, not even a puppy-dog face for the jury, that works. I think it works. I’m doing my best to retain a clinical perspective, a lawyer’s objectivity, to view this through the eyes of the jury and not from my own memories.

“You watched segments of your interrogation with Detective Cromartie?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You heard the testimony about your handgun, the prints being wiped off?”

“Yes.”

“You heard the testimony about the e-mails Ms. Himmel sent you and the many phone calls she made to you in the days leading up to her death?”

“I heard it all. And I have to say, if all I knew about the case was the evidence the prosecution has shown the jury, I’d probably think I was guilty, too. But I’m not guilty. I didn’t kill her.”

“Will you address this evidence with me today?”

“I’ve been waiting all week.”

“Do you know who did kill Ms. Himmel?”

“I believe I do, yes. I didn’t, when the police questioned me, but I do now.”

Roger Ogren stiffens in his chair.

“Will you discuss that with me today, as well?”

“Yes, I will.”

The jury is at full attention. This is Jason’s one chance. The evidence against him has been pretty solid. The jury has to be leaning toward conviction, if they aren’t all the way in, hip-deep, by now.

Bradley peeks at his notes. “Okay, then, let’s get to it,” he says.