FiFty Fifty

Chapter Twenty - Eight

I glanced at Harry, he returned the look.
It was working.
'Your Honor!' cried Dreyer. 'These are matters for another time, perhaps?
There are more pressing issues than Mr. Flynn's disregard for this court. We wouldn't want to give him ammunition to make an unfounded claim of bias against you.'
Shit.
Harry sighed.
It had almost worked.
We had planned to make Stone explode. He had a weak pressure valve. All
racists and bigots do. One word against Harry or me and we were going to make an immediate motion for Stone to recuse himself from the trial on the grounds of bias. He would've denied the motion, we would have had a chance for an immediate appeal, which would have been successful. No appellate judge would take the risk of sending a defendant for trial before a potentially biased judge, because if they were convicted they would be straight back to a higher appellate court, complaining not only about the initial judge but the appellate judge who let the trial go ahead. If the motion for a new trial judge had been granted, any other judge but Stone would split the trials, giving Sofia a fair chance.
Dreyer had spotted our play and took out the quarterback before he could release the ball. Goddamn, but Dreyer was quick-witted. I made sure I would not underestimate him again.
Judge's Stone's eyes narrowed in realization. He worked out that Dreyer was warning him. It took a while, but Stone got there. He sat down, said, 'If there are any further outbursts or episodes of insubordination I shall refer this to the superior judge and he can deal with you two after the trial. Is that clear?'
Harry and I both nodded.
I whispered to Sofia that our attempt at removing this judge and splitting the trial hadn't worked out. It had always been a long shot, and she appreciated this. We would just do our best. She knew the risks and we figured it was worth it, considering the major risk to Sofia was in a joint trial.
At least now Stone was aware of the danger of a bias claim; he would be seen to be fair to the defense in order to distance himself from any such allegation. We wouldn't get an easy ride, but Stone would be careful not to prejudice our client in any of his statements and perhaps give me some extra leeway with my cross-examination. Nothing had been lost with the play. Stone was never an ally. If Judge Stone was in your corner, then you probably needed to take a long hard look at yourself.
'Jury keeper, let's have the jury in court. It's time to get this trial started,' said

the judge.
A door opened to our right, and the jury was led in. I was reasonably happy
with the jury when we finished selection last week. They looked to be a fair split of people who were as impartial as I could have wanted. Men and women. Some were religious, some weren't. They had a broad spread of backgrounds, careers, and ethnicities. I didn't care about anyone's background. They were all Americans. They were ordinary people who were now under a tremendous burden. They alone would decide this case. I just had to make sure they made the right decision.
Dreyer stood and introduced himself. He had dressed more demurely than usual. He looked formal and plain. Gray suit, white shirt and dark tie. An instrument of the state.
'Members of the jury,' he began. 'I thank you for your service to this court. At the end of this case I will ask the judge to excuse all of you from ever having to serve on a jury for the rest of your lives. Have no doubt, this case will change you. You will see images in this courtroom that will haunt your dreams. You will never be the same. Because for the next few days you will be in the presence of evil. Before you are two women. Sisters. Take a look at them, please.'
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Harry leaning forward to watch the jurors. I tried to focus on their faces too. I wanted to know if any eyes lingered on either of the defendants. So far, most of their attention tended to focus on Sofia. Her sister, dressed in a black business suit that complimented her tan, and with her blonde hair tied back, appeared the confident, professional woman. Before this day had come, I had meant to ask Harper to take Sofia shopping for a trial outfit – I knew she wouldn't really bother otherwise. She was not confident about her appearance and I could tell she was conscious of the network of scars on her forearms. With Harper gone, I'd forgotten to speak to Sofia about her outfit for court. That's what happens when you don't flip the switch. Sofia wore black pants, and a long-sleeved black sweater. Her dark hair contrasted her pale skin. Alexandra looked as though she'd just come off a private jet after a fruitful Paris business meeting. Sofia looked like she'd just come from an AA meeting.
'The prosecution will show you evidence that ties both women to the brutal murder of their own father – a great patron and public servant of this city – former mayor of New York City, Frank Avellino. Now, take a real good look at these women. They murdered Frank Avellino, their own father, in cold blood.'
Dreyer let that hang there, and the jury took their time to make their evaluations of the defendants. Judging by the looks on the jurors' faces, they

didn't seem too impressed – least of all with Sofia.
'These sisters are blaming each other for their father's murder. They will seek
to cast doubt on the prosecution evidence, but the evidence in this case can't lie. Both women are tied, by our forensic officers and crime scene specialists, to the murder. We will show you that evidence. It's up to you to evaluate it, make up your own mind and come to a verdict.'
The jurors were still new to the case. They hadn't heard any evidence, hadn't been bored or confused by experts, hadn't had the worry of when the case would be finished so they could get back to their jobs and their lives. Every juror gave Dreyer their undivided attention. And he used every second to the full.
'Last October fourth, a knife was taken from the block in the kitchen. A twelve-inch long kitchen knife made of good steel. One used to prepare family meals. The type of knife any of us could have in their home. This bloodied knife was found in the bedroom. The fingerprints of both defendants were found on this knife. The prosecution accepts that it's possible the prints may have gotten on the knife in a manner not connected with the murder, but they may not. That is up to you to decide. What is clear, is that knife was taken up to Frank Avellino's bedroom, and one or both of the defendants did this to him.'
He walked away, back to the prosecution table, and an image flashed up on the projector screen.
Juries aren't supposed to talk. They stay silent. This jury looked at the screen, and they were silent no longer. One juror, a middle-aged woman who worked in home design, let out a wail as she covered her mouth, and then her eyes. Expletives, gasps, even a muted scream erupted from one of the jurors but I couldn't tell which one.
On the screen was a picture of hell.
Frank Avellino lay on his back in his bloodied deathbed. His shirt had been ripped open, and it hung in tatters as if a wild bear had ripped into him with both claws. He no longer had a face, just a mass of tissue and exposed bone and teeth. His eyes were gone, only what looked like dark red pool balls in his sockets.
'Both defendants had the victim's blood on their clothing. Again, this could be because one of them touched him, or tried to revive him in that dark bedroom without realizing he was dead. It's up to you to decide if you accept that explanation. One or both of the defendants murdered this man. This case should result in at least one conviction for one of the defendants. It can end in convictions for both. The evidence against Sofia and Alexandra Avellino is clear.'
He paused, pointed at the picture and concluded his speech with a flourish.
'I know some of you are not religious and that doesn't matter in this courtroom,' said Dreyer. 'But I defy any of you to look at Frank Avellino and say you don't believe in evil. Ladies and gentlemen, that evil is in this room. With you. Right now. Don't let it go unpunished.'