The Jury (3 page)

"Did she appear to be scared?"

"I would have been," says Hodges.

"Objection--move to strike."

Before the judge can rule, Hodges says: "I believe she was frightened."

The judge strikes her earlier response, but the last one works for Tannery. He has done his damage.

Within three minutes we are beyond the earshot of guards, safely ensconced in the small conference room near the holding cells, with the door closed.

"Why the hell didn't you tell us?" Harry is bearing down, red out to the tips of his ears. To Harry, a client may be a lying sack of shit to the rest of the world, but he is our lying sack of shit--that is, until he lies to us.

"I forgot about it. I'm sorry. " "How do you forget something like that?" Harry is looking at me for answers.

"You tell me?"

"We had a conversation," says Crone.

"We talked. It slipped my mind."

"You didn't tell us you saw her that night."

"Does it matter? Is it that important?"

"Damn right," says Harry.

"It doesn't prove I killed her."

"No. But it does show that you lied to the police," I say. By now I have the file open on the table in front of me, flipping through papers until I find the one I want: Crone's initial statement to the cops.

Crone hasn't thought about this until now.

"They asked you when you saw her last. You told them you hadn't seen Jordan for at least a week prior to the time she disappeared."

Those bushy eyebrows now migrate to the middle of his forehead in thought. He scratches his head with the eraser end of a pencil as if this were some math problem for which an equation can be worked out.

"Can't we simply tell them I made a mistake, that I forgot?"

"Convenient that you should be reminded by the testimony of their witness," says Harry.

"That is the way lies are usually exposed in a courtroom."

"You're saying they may not believe me."

Harry nods and rolls his eyes as if to say, Now he understands.

"And you want to take the stand?" says Harry.

"In which case they're gonna make you eat your statement to the cops like it was a crow and all the feathers were attached."

Crone actually smiles at the mental image this conjures up. There are times when he seems amused by Harry's anger and the verbal heat that drips from my colleague's tongue. I get the feeling that to Crone, expressions of anger are novelties, like animals at the zoo, something with little use other than to amuse in his world of proteins, enzymes and the mathematical equations of life.

He looks at Harry as if he doesn't understand. So I explain.

"If you testify, they can use your statement in the police report to show that you were lying. A prior inconsistent statement. You did see her that night?" I ask him, simply to make sure of the point.

"Oh, yes."

"You argued with her?"

"Well, I don't know if I would go so far ..."

"Was it an argument or not?" Harry is tired of the hairsplitting.

"We had a discussion."

"A loud discussion?" asks Harry.

"Perhaps."

"Then your statement to the cops in their report is a prior inconsistent statement."

"Is that the same as a lie?" asks Crone.

"Only in the eyes of the jury," says Harry. Harry rolls his big brown ones toward the ceiling and turns away.

"I'm sure the two of you can deal with it. I have utmost confidence," says Crone.

"I'm glad to hear it," says Harry.

"Just as long as I don't have to take the needle for you, or do the time."

Crone actually smiles at this.

"You know, Harry .. . You don't mind if I call you Harry?"

He has spent three months calling him Mr. Hinds, to Harry's continual consternation. Harry's been telling the professor from the beginning that his name is Harry, that his father was Mr. Hinds, and then only to relatives he didn't like.

"You have a very colorful manner," says Crone.

"Very original."

Harry shakes his head as if the man hasn't heard a word he's been saying.

"No, I mean it.

"Take the needle .. . or do the time."

" Crone repeats it using his fingers like a metronome.

"It's wonderful stuff. You could put it in a song.

Gilbert and Sullivan," he says.

"Have you ever thought about writing lyrics?"

"Only when I'm drunk," says Harry.

"They're going to wonder where I've been when I get back to the center spouting all the wonderful new vernacular."

"Trust me," says Harry.

"Unless they live on Mars, they'll know where you've been."

"You mean the TV?"

Harry nods.

"You're a celebrity. Notorious. On your way to becoming Charlie Manson, and you haven't even been convicted." Harry turns and walks the few feet allowed to him away from the table in the small holding cell.

"Yes. I am sure," says Crone.

"On the news every night, being led to and from the courtroom with a guard on each arm. It can't be a pretty picture. I don't watch television," he says.

"That would be too

depressing." His manner of speech is didactic--I suspect from years spent in the academic pit, lecturing.

Harry gives me a look, the kind of expression that makes me think he suspects we might have a mental case on our hands.

"Just to keep the record straight," says Crone, "I wasn't lying to them. No matter what you think, Harry. I honestly forgot. It's the simple truth and that's all we can say about it."

"It's simple, all right." Harry isn't buying, but in the straightforward tones in which Crones delivers, the jury just might.

Crone is a bag of surprises. It is the second time our client has either forgotten details or forgotten to tell us about them.

Kalista Jordan attempted to obtain a restraining order against Crone three months before she was killed. That she failed was not for want of effort. She claimed that he was stalking her. Crone admits that he was after her, but that it had nothing to do with unwarranted advances. Jordan had taken working papers from his office, and he wanted them back.

Ultimately, Jordan's claim became grounds for a sexual harassment complaint that was pending when she died. The claim died with her. Since there was no investigation and no findings, Dr. Crone made the bold assumption that this was not relevant. He viewed the entire episode as personally distasteful, and since it was untrue in his eyes, he declined to inform us.

We managed to ferret out the harassment claim as part of our investigation. The fact that the jury might see this as a motive for murder still has not dented that great brain.

Crone tells us that people do not kill other human beings over such matters. The fact is, people do and have killed for much less. When we remind him that his career is at stake, he offers only a sobering nod and a grudging admission that this might be true.

I get back to the argument he had with her that evening in the faculty dining room.

"Did you put your hands on her in any way?"

"I might have touched her arm."

"Did you grab her?" asks Harry.

"Maybe I held her arm." This is not something coming from the deep recesses of his memory.

"She tried to walk away from me. We weren't finished talking."

"You mean you weren't finished," says Harry.

"Perhaps."

"So she wanted to end this conversation?" I ask.

"Yes."

"And you stopped her?"

"She refused to return the documents. The working papers I told you about."

We're back to the mysterious working papers, documents that Crone manifestly refuses to describe in any detail, saying only that they pertained to the project on which he and Jordan were working before their falling out.

"And you wanted these papers badly enough to get physical with her?" asks Harry.

"I wasn't getting physical."

"Show me how you grabbed her," says Harry.

Crone gets out of the chair and Harry plays Jordan, turning his back and feigning a step as if walking away. Crone takes his arm, and Harry pulls away.

"If that's all you did, the argument would have ended pretty quickly," says Harry.

"Maybe I was a little more forceful," says Crone.

"Did you grab one arm or both?"

"I don't remember. It happened so quickly."

"Did you forcibly turn her around?"

"Probably. I think I held both arms above the elbows, like this," he says. He takes Harry at both biceps.

"Did you shake her? The witness says you shook her."

"I don't remember that."

"You can't remember, or it didn't happen?"

"I don't know. I don't remember it."

"How long did this conversation last?"

"A minute, maybe two."

"And what did you say?"

"I told her I wanted the documents back."

"And what did she say?"

"She became abusive. She told me to screw myself."

"In those words?"

"As I recall. Yes."

"Did she say anything more?"

"I don't remember. It was a long time ago. I think she called me a 'control freak," something like that."

"What did she mean?"

"She had a problem with authority. It was one of Kali's least endearing qualities. She wouldn't follow directions. If you disagreed with her, you became a control freak. She wanted things her way."

"But she worked for you. You were her boss," says Harry.

"Perhaps you should have been around to remind her of that. She was a difficult person to manage. She was often doing things you didn't know about. Things relating to work."

"That's why you canceled her trip. The one to Geneva."

"That's correct."

"Still you call her Kali," I say.

"Not Dr. Jordan, or Kalista."

"We worked together for almost two years, on a first-name basis."

"What did she call you?"

"I don't remember."

"Dave?"

"No."

"David?"

"I don't think so. She usually referred to me as Dr. Crone."

"So why didn't you call her Dr. Jordan?" says Harry.

"Why? Is it important?"

"The D.A."s likely to make it sound important."

"Did you ever show any favoritism toward her over other employees?" I ask.

Office jealousies could present a lot of problems for us, and add fuel to the issue of harassment.

"No. I told you, our disagreement had nothing to do with personal relations. It had to do with differences over professional matters. Matters of judgment relating to the project."

The fact that Crone won't tell us anything more about their falling out is a continuing theme. He says it relates to the documents that Jordan took from his office, documents that Crone insists contain highly confidential information pertaining to the study they were working on. To my knowledge, these documents have never been found. They were not among the items inventoried by the cops when they searched the victim's apartment or her office at the center. They checked her apartment for evidence of foul play, indications of violence, but found nothing. Nor did they find the missing papers among Crone's documents when they searched.

Trying to sort out what a jury will do with all of this is like rolling dice--a kind of sidewalk crap game in which we may end up throwing snake eyes while the judge holds the stakes: Crone's life.

"During the argument in the dining room that night, did you yell at Jordan? The witness says you yelled in the victim's face several times." Harry is now leaning on the table.

"I don't know. I may have raised my voice."

"Opera singers raise their voices," says Harry.

"People in an argument yell.

Sometimes other people hear what they say."

"Nobody heard what was said except Kali and myself. Ms. Jordan." He catches himself.

"Dr. Jordan, if you like." He's now becoming self-conscious. If we put him on the stand, it's going to take a month to prep him.

"For a man who couldn't remember the event an hour ago you

seem pretty sure that nobody heard you," says Harry.

"Let me ask you, did you threaten her?"

According to the witness she could not hear what was being said, only voices raised in anger. What others might have heard we can't be sure.

"It's an important point," I tell him.

"If you threatened her, if you said anything that could even be misconstrued as a threat, we need to know that now."

"I didn't threaten her. I would never do that."

The problem is that we are hearing all this for the first time from their witness. The prosecution has blindsided us with this.

Crone apologizes for what he calls an "oversight." He's been under a lot of stress. According to him, this explains why he can't remember every detail.

"The damage is done," I tell him.

"But make no mistake, it is damage. Maybe it's time we talked about other matters, so that there are no more surprises."

He looks at me quizzically.

"I know we've talked about this before. It's the question of these documents, the ones you say Jordan took from your office. I think it's time you told us what these papers were. Specifically what they deal with."

Crone looks pained, exasperated.

"We've been over all that," he says.

This has been taboo from the start. The specifics of his work have been placed out-of-bounds since we took the case.

"If I told you the details of what I was working on, I might as well tender my resignation from the university. They would fire me, in a minute, in a heartbeat. Even with tenure I would not survive," he tells us.

"I'm sorry.

You'll just have to trust me."

"That's becoming difficult," says Harry.

"If you want me to get another lawyer .. ." says Crone.

"That's not necessary." I cut him off.

"You don't think they're gonna fire you if you're convicted of murder?" asks Harry.

"I'll have to take my chances."

"And if we put you on the stand? What are you going to tell the prosecutor when he asks you about these papers?" I ask.

"We'll have to cross that bridge when we get to it."