The Viper

“In a desperate effort to link Mr. Slade to the murder, the prosecution came up with traces of contact DNA on a camo jacket and a cigarette butt. But key facts were conspicuously missing. We were told there was a match between DNA on the camo garment and Mr. Slade’s DNA. What we didn’t hear was the scientific confidence level attached to that match. Was it ninety percent? Eighty? Seventy? Less than that? We don’t know because we weren’t told. As for that cigarette butt, might not Mr. Slade have dropped numerous butts outside his lodge, and might not the real killer have picked one up and placed it by the grave—to create the sort of false impression the prosecution passed along to you today?”

“Objection!” cried Stryker. “That’s a slanderous characterization of prosecution motives.”

Wartz let out a heavy sigh. “Defense counsel is stretching the envelope to the breaking point. However, I am inclined to overrule the objection in this instance—in the interest of affording maximum leeway to closing arguments.”

“I appreciate Your Honor’s indulgence,” said Thorne, turning back to the jury.

“In my long career as a trial attorney, rarely have I seen a case give rise to so many areas of reasonable doubt. Especially when you realize that the police failed to investigate other plausible scenarios for this murder. Did it not occur to them that Lerman’s public bragging about his plan to extort money from Mr. Slade would provide the perfect cover for an enemy of Lerman’s to follow him and kill him? What about Lerman’s million-dollar life insurance policy? The prosecutor mentioned it in her opening statement, yet I didn’t hear a word about that from Detective Derlick, even though ‘follow the money’ is a foundational principle of sound investigative procedure. So many stones left unturned. So many questions unanswered.”

Thorne paused, making eye contact with each juror. “Faced with this mountain of reasonable doubt, the law demands that you acquit the defendant.”

After a brief silence, Wartz addressed Stryker. “Are you prepared to proceed with your closing argument?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Taking a deep breath, she approached the jury.

“Reasonable doubt.” She articulated the phrase with precision. “If I told you the sky was blue, I’m sure Mr. Thorne could conjure up a dozen reasons that you should doubt that simple fact. But none of them would be reasonable. Creating a smokescreen of doubt and confusion—making you wonder if the sky is really blue—is what defense attorneys are paid to do.”

Thorne shook his head with exaggerated weariness. “Objection, Your Honor. This is scurrilous nonsense.”

“Overruled,” said Wartz. “I’m giving the prosecutor the same leeway I gave you.”

Stryker shot a “gotcha” glance at Thorne before continuing. “The thing about reasonable doubt is that the doubt must actually be reasonable. Defense counsel’s distracting questions and wild suppositions are far from reasonable. He waves the term ‘doubt’ around as though it were magic dust that could make evidence disappear.”

Stryker paused before going on. “This is the moment in a trial when a prosecutor normally reviews all the key evidence and explains to the jury how it fits together. But I don’t think you need to hear it all again. This is a very simple case. So simple that I can sum it up in one sentence: ‘A poor man thought he could acquire a fortune from a rich man, but he had no idea how ruthless that rich man could be.’”

She took a step closer to the jury and spoke softly. “Lenny Lerman didn’t know what Ziko Slade was capable of. But you do. You do, because you saw the photograph of Lenny’s mutilated body—a sight none of us will ever forget—a sight that underscores your duty to find this defendant guilty of premeditated murder.”

9

BY THE TIME MADELEINE RETURNED HOME FROM THE Mental Health Crisis Center that evening, Gurney had viewed the trial video twice, all the way through to the jury’s concluding verdict: guilty of murder in the first degree.

After changing clothes, Madeleine asked about the chickens. Without admitting that he had forgotten about them, Gurney put on his barn jacket, picked up a sack of chickenfeed from the mudroom, and headed out through a chilling wind to the coop.

The five hens pecked at a scattering of cracked corn in the fenced run. Gurney entered the coop and found it acceptably clean. It smelled mainly of the straw spread across the floor and in the nesting boxes. He discovered two fresh brown eggs and slipped them into his jacket pockets. He refilled the feeders, then checked the watering device. It was half full and wouldn’t need replenishing for another day or two. He returned to the house and brought the two eggs to the sink island in the kitchen, where Madeleine was rinsing lettuce in a colander.

“I thought we could have our salad first,” she said, patting the lettuce dry with some paper towels. “Okay with you?”

“Fine.”

“You set the table. I’ll make the dressing.”