Authors: RANDY SINGER
After two hours, Jason checked his notes and looked at the witness. “Did I forget anything?” he asked.
“No,” Davids said. “I think I’m ready for the part where Ms. Starling and I get into a catfight.”
Kelly’s original strategy had been to ask Melissa Davids as few questions as possible on cross-examination. She had already grilled the witness on all the good stuff during the depositions that the jury had watched. Before the CEO took the stand, Kelly had even thought about saying, in a self-satisfied way, that she had already asked her questions in the deposition and would stand on that testimony.
But the longer Davids testified, the more angry Kelly became. By the time Jason sat down, the entire Green Bay Packers football team couldn’t have stopped Kelly from going after this witness.
“Cute answer,” Kelly said sarcastically. “You think this is a joke?”
Jason stood to object but Davids waved him off.
“Getting sued is never a joke,” Davids said. “I take it very seriously when somebody accuses me of causing another human being’s death.”
“Good. Because I have some serious questions.” Kelly prowled the well of the courtroom, a panther stalking her prey. “Let’s start with the types of weapons you sold in your nice little family business.”
“Objection, Judge,” Jason said. “Argumentative.”
“Sustained. Ms. Starling, we can do without the sarcasm.”
“Let’s start with the original design of the MD-9, a design that made it easy for customers to convert the gun into an illegal fully automatic assault weapon.”
“The MD-9 was a perfectly legal semi-automatic pistol,” Davids responded. And before Kelly could ask her next question, Davids tried to preempt her. “I know… next you’re going to ask whether I was aware that a large number of customers converted it into a fully automatic pistol and whether the ATF got involved and all that—am I right?”
The arrogance of the woman’s answer infuriated Kelly. “Your Honor,” she said, “please tell the witness to just answer the question.”
Garrison complied, delivering a stern little lecture to Melissa Davids.
“I was just trying to save us some time,” Davids said.
“You also had a run-in with the ATF over your sales of silencers; is that right?”
Davids nodded. “The ATF ranks right up there with trial lawyers.”
Kelly ignored the answer, firing off a series of questions about the way MD Firearms had circumvented the laws regulating the registration of silencers.
“You sold the outer tubes for the silencer, and other companies sold the internal parts, right?”
“If you’re talking about sound suppressors, that’s correct.”
“More than six thousand tubes sold by MD Firearms, and only four buyers registered their
suppressors.
Does that sound right?”
“Approximately.”
“What did you think folks were doing with all those suppressors?” Kelly asked. “Sneaking up on deer if they missed with the first shot?”
Davids smirked. “Do you think this is a joke?” she asked mockingly. “I thought we were going to ask serious questions here.”
“You seem to have a knack for providing criminals with the weapons they need,” Kelly stated.
“Objection!” Jason said. “That’s not a question.”
“I’ll withdraw it,” Kelly said.
“I’ll answer it,” Davids said testily. “We already had one court rule in our favor when the ATF sued us on the issue of the suppressors. Unless I’m missing something, you don’t get to appeal that decision here.”
The women dueled for a half hour, keeping each juror on the edge of his or her seat. For Kelly, it was like beating her head against a brick wall. She decided to end on a sure bet.
“The jury watched your first deposition, where you denied under oath ever thinking about whether you should stop selling guns to Peninsula Arms.” She handed Davids a copy of the memo from Case McAllister.
“Is that your handwriting at the top of this memo, which has been marked as Plaintiff’s Exhibit 27?” Kelly asked.
“Yes.”
“And this is a memo where the company’s attorney, that man right there, Case McAllister, was analyzing the pros and cons of whether you should discontinue sales to certain problematic dealers, including Peninsula Arms, right?”
“Objection. The memo speaks for itself.”
“Sustained.”
Kelly nodded, taking a step closer to Davids. “Why don’t you read Case McAllister’s conclusion and what you wrote right next to it?”
Davids studied the memo for a moment. “Case wrote, ‘A careful cost-benefit analysis suggests we should continue selling guns to all licensed and qualified dealers.’ And I wrote, ‘No kidding. Whatever happened to free enterprise?’”
“If Mr. McAllister had included in his memo the fact that keeping these gun dealers in business would cost many innocent people their lives, would you have come to the same conclusion?” Kelly asked.
“Objection,” Jason said. “Calls for speculation.”
Davids turned to Judge Garrison. “I’d like to answer the question if I could,” she said.
“I’ll allow it,” Garrison ruled.
“I would have told him that a lot of innocent people have already lost their lives on the field of battle to protect our rights as Americans,” Davids said, “including the right to bear arms as memorialized in the Second Amendment. I would have told Mr. McAllister that he should remember those lives the next time he starts weighing which side of the debate the innocent deaths stack up on.”
Kelly waited a few seconds before asking the next question. Now they were getting somewhere. “Does the Second Amendment say you have to supply shady dealers? Is the Second Amendment a license to kill?”
“The Second Amendment,” Davids said emphatically, “is a license to prevent tyranny, arm the innocent, and thwart criminals.”
“I have one last question, Ms. Davids. And I would appreciate a yes or no answer.” Kelly took another step toward the witness. She waited two or three seconds, absorbing the total quiet of the courtroom. “Was the Second Amendment in place on the date that Rachel Crawford was gunned down by Larry Jamison?”
“Of course.”
“Then maybe the Second Amendment is not enough. Maybe we need to use a little common sense and discretion too.”
“Objection,” Jason said.
“Withdrawn,” Kelly said, returning to her seat.
Jason ended the afternoon by calling Case McAllister to the stand. Case provided fewer fireworks than Melissa Davids and provoked a far less inspiring cross-examination. Maybe everybody was just tired. But by the time Case stepped down at 5:15, it felt like somebody had long ago let all the air out of the room.
Garrison issued his standard set of warnings to the jury and dismissed them for the weekend. “How many more witnesses does the defense intend to call?” he asked Jason.
“We should be done Monday morning.”
“That’s good to know,” Garrison said. He informed the lawyers that they would start closing arguments right after lunch on Monday. That way, the jury could begin deliberations Monday afternoon.
As they were packing their stuff to leave, Case gave Jason a note. “This is from Melissa,” Case said. “She had to run and catch some television interviews.”
Jason unfolded the note and read his client’s hurried handwriting.
You’re doing a great job. Thanks for hanging tough.
More encouragement from a grateful client. Given the circumstances, it only made Jason feel worse.
Jason was supposed to meet Bella and Andrew Lassiter at the office Friday evening to go over feedback from the shadow jury, but he no longer cared what they thought. Everything would change on Monday if Chief Poole took the stand. Jason called Bella and told her he wanted to postpone their meeting until Saturday morning.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Kelly Starling called,” Jason lied. “She wants to discuss settlement.”
“What? Does Mr. McAllister know?”
“Not yet,” Jason said. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything.”
“He’s not coming back in tonight. It’s just me and Andrew.”
Bella hesitated, probably considering whether she should push the point.
“What is it?” Jason asked.
“Well, with all due respect, I think some cases are basically a matter of principle. I like Mr. Crawford and all, but I really don’t think MD Firearms wants to pay him a dime.”
“I understand that,” Jason said. “But it never hurts to listen.”
After he hung up with Bella, Jason tried reaching Kelly Starling on her cell but had to leave a message. He drove to his cottage, changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and sat down in front of the TV.
He flipped from one channel to the next and then turned it off. If things didn’t change, on Monday morning he would put Chief Poole on the stand, and the trial would implode. Juror 7 would lead the charge for the plaintiff. Jason would have betrayed his client in order to protect himself, his father, and Matt Corey.
Jason wasn’t very religious and hated clichés. Nonetheless, this felt like the proverbial deal with the devil. Once Poole took the stand, Jason’s decision would be irrevocable. How could he live with himself if that happened?
Even if he wanted to do the honorable thing and not call Poole, there was no way to salvage the trial now. If Poole didn’t take the stand, Marcia Franks probably wouldn’t turn against him. But he would still be stuck with Juror 3, Rodney Peterson, meaning that the best Jason could hope for would be a hung jury.
And Luthor would still reveal to the world what had happened ten years ago. Jason would face potential disbarment, national shame, and the scorn of LeRon’s family, along with possible jail time. The Crawford case would be tried all over again by somebody else.
And that was the
best
case.
Jason’s only hope was to figure out Luthor’s identity. That was the real reason he needed to meet with Kelly. He was going to confront her about how she had obtained the incriminating information on Poole. He would mention Luthor’s name. He would watch the look on her face.
By the time Kelly returned his call, it was nearly nine. She had been doing some television interviews, and they had made her turn off her phone. “I like to try my cases in court, not on TV,” Jason said.
“Good then; I’ll see you there Monday.”
“Actually… I was hoping to get a few minutes of your time tonight.”
“For what?”
“Can I tell you when we meet? It’s not something I want to talk about on a cell phone.”
They agreed to meet at Catch 31, a bar and restaurant located on the ground floor of the Hilton. At a few minutes after nine, Jason found a spot in the 31st Street parking garage just across the street. He left his gun under the passenger seat and started walking toward the corner of the garage where the stairs and elevator were located.
His mind was on his meeting with Kelly. How would she respond when he mentioned Luthor? How much should he reveal?
The garage was dark and about half full on the fourth level where he had parked. He could hear people on the street below, a band playing at Neptune Park, Atlantic Avenue buzzing with tourists.
He was preoccupied with thoughts of the upcoming meeting and didn’t even notice that a few cars on this level were actually running. Without warning, two vehicles on the far side of the garage turned their lights on—high beams—putting Jason directly in their spotlight. He turned toward them, shielding his eyes with his hands.
The blow came from behind, something solid against the back of his skull. Jason tried to pivot, but his knees went weak. Before he realized what was happening, someone had grabbed him and yanked a hood over his head.
Almost simultaneously, someone drove a fist into Jason’s side, and he felt the wind leave his lungs, his ribs screaming with pain.
“Yell out, and you’re dead,” said a thick voice in his ear. The man pulled the hood tighter, cinching it around Jason’s neck.
A second person pulled Jason’s hands behind his back and snapped some plastic handcuffs on his wrists.
“Get in the car!” the first man hissed. He pushed Jason’s head down and shoved him into the backseat of some vehicle. Every breath Jason took sent pain shooting through his side. It felt like his ribs were broken, and he could only breathe in short, painful bursts.
“We told you not to settle.” The voice was hoarse and raspy. Jason didn’t recognize it. He was sandwiched between two men in the backseat.
One of them leaned over so his mouth was just a few inches from Jason’s ear. “With the heel of my hand, I once hit a guy so hard that I drove the bone from his nose all the way up into his brain. You have any idea what that feels like?”
Jason shook his head emphatically.
“Why are you getting ready to meet with Kelly Starling?”
Jason tried to catch his breath. “We had some things to go over for Monday. Just… logistical stuff—”
“Umph!” Another blow to the ribs sent the wind out of Jason’s chest. He doubled over in the seat and moaned in pain.
“Sit up!” One of the men jerked him back in his seat, causing a fresh wave of agony. The man pulled up the bottom part of the fabric covering Jason’s face and jammed the hard steel of a gun barrel into his mouth. Jason gagged. Cold sweat broke out on his back and forehead.
“Cross me again and you die,” one of the men hissed. “Understood?”
Jason nodded his head.
He froze when he heard the hammer cock back. “You still want to settle?”
Jason shook his head, trembling uncontrollably.
“Good boy,” whispered his captor. “’Cause I’m going to tell you a little secret.”
He waited, torturing Jason with the silence. “This gun is a revolver with three bullets in the chamber. Kind of like that
Dirty Harry
movie. You feel lucky?”