“Could you make any conclusion, Dr. Grammatikos, as to whether these tapes, found in the locker, were at the crime scene at the time of the murder?”

“After analyzing the photographs of the pattern of blood on the floor and the walls of the crime scene, and then comparing the blood patterns on the labels, the best I can say is that it is quite possible that the videos were at the apartment at the time of the murder.”

“Your Honor,” I said, “I’d ask that these videos be placed into evidence, and then I ask that we be permitted to play these videos, in their entirety, to the jury.”

I said it calmly, matter-of-factly, I didn’t put any undue emphasis on the words, so it was rather interesting the reaction my simple statement received. As I expected, François jumped up in protest, shouting “Non, mon Dieu, non,” which I think is French for “My lawyer is screwing me up the ass.” Beth jumped up and stared at me as if I were an idiot. There was quite the commotion all through the courtroom, tittering from the jury and spectators alike. Only Mia Dalton surprised me by not joining the melee. She sat calmly, deep in thought, as the judge cut through the commotion with his gavel and his high-pitched voice and said, none too kindly:

“In my chambers, now.”

69

“I won’t let this happen, Mr. Carl,” said Judge Armstrong. “You will not turn my courtroom into a pornographic emporium.”

“Without the magazines or the twenty-five-cent peep-show booths,” I said, “it would hardly qualify as an emporium, Judge.”

“What possible purpose could be served by playing those tapes?”

“That’s a good question, Your Honor,” said Beth. “I’m curious myself.”

“Those videos,” I said, “not just their existence but the images captured on the magnetic tapes, are central to our defense. They are the reason that Leesa Dubé is dead, they are the reason my client is on trial for her killing.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Carl,” said the judge. “Explain how playing those tapes is crucial to proving your theory of the case, and you better dazzle.”

“It’s not enough for the jury simply to know that these tapes exist. They have to see them, Judge, they have to feel the revulsion that I felt when I first saw them and that the killer felt, too. The person who killed Leesa Dubé was trying to help her in her divorce case. Mr. Gullicksen had told Leesa she was in danger of losing her child. He testified that evidence such as these tapes would have helped her cause. She told someone of her problem, and this someone simply tried to help. First he broke into the defendant’s storage locker to find the tapes and then broke into Leesa’s apartment to give them to her. He thought he was giving her back her daughter. But something went wrong. Leesa must have awoken, must have been frightened by the stranger in her apartment. She grabbed her gun, confronted the burglar. A struggle in the darkness ensued, ending with the gun firing and a bullet piercing Leesa Dubé’s neck from close range. It was an accident, it was against all the intruder’s intentions, but accidents happen, and Leesa Dubé still was dead. After it was over, while she lay dead on the floor, blood all over the room, the killer took a photograph of the defendant and put it into her hand to frame my client. And then broke into my client’s apartment to plant the blood and the gun.”

“That’s your theory?” said the judge.

“That’s it.”

“That’s about the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But it’s more than just a theory,” I said. “It’s what actually happened.”

“And why would the killer frame your client?”

“To protect himself,” I said, “and also to protect the daughter. When you see the tapes, you’ll understand. Some of the actors are quite possibly underage. They provide not only the motive for the killer’s being in the apartment but also for the frame-up after the killing.”

“It all seems far-fetched, Mr. Carl. I don’t know how you’re going to prove it up or get a jury to buy it.”

“We have a plan,” I said.

“I suppose you do. I’ll have to preview these tapes before I decide, of course, but my inclination is that they have no business being played in my courtroom. Ms. Dalton, you have been unusually quiet in this debate. What is your position?”

“I have no objection, Judge.”

“Excuse me?”

“If these tapes are as Mr. Carl describes, and I’m willing to believe they are, pending my own review, then I have no objection to their being played. As a matter of fact, they only serve to strengthen the Commonwealth’s case.”

“How so, Ms. Dalton?” said the judge.

“Dr. Grammatikos testified that the tapes were in the victim’s apartment at the time of her death. We’ll accept that opinion. These tapes were surely something the victim intended to use in the divorce proceedings. If the defendant was aware that his wife had found the tapes, he would have immediately gone to retrieve them. He would never let his wife use them against him in the custody fight. So he went to find the tapes, fought with his wife, killed her, took the tapes, and put them in his private storage locker, still covered with blood. The tapes strengthen our case immeasurably.”

Just then I felt a sharp pain in my shin. I looked down. Beth had kicked me, she had kicked me hard, but she needn’t have bothered. I understood exactly what was happening, and all of it was bad. The judge was exactly right. As I explained my new theory of the case, it sounded far-fetched, even to me. And I knew Dr. Bob. How would it sound to the jury? Not so good, I realized. And Dalton was exactly right, too. The tapes did help her case, they provided a specific motive driving François Dubé to have killed his wife. I thought I was being clever, but as always when I thought I was being clever, I was too clever by half.

“If Mr. Carl doesn’t put the tapes into evidence and play them for the jury,” said Mia Dalton, “I will.”

“All right,” said the judge, shaking his head, not just at the argument but also at the state of the modern world. “Let me review the tapes in camera, and I’ll decide. I’m not happy, but if both sides want these tapes played, then I suppose I’ll go along.”

On the way out of the judge’s chambers, Beth said to me, “Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

“I thought I did,” I said, “but now I’m not so sure.”

“Why doesn’t that statement inspire me with confidence?” she said.

The next morning the courtroom was closed to the public and the press, though I noticed that a number of court clerks had wiled their way into the viewing. A cart with a television monitor and VCR stood in front of the witness stand. The first tape was inserted, the play button was pushed. There might as well have been popcorn.

All it needed was some cheesy organ music to accompany the embarrassment of moaning and groaning that came from the television’s tinny speakers.

Having seen and heard it all before, I didn’t have to look carefully at the videos again, thank goodness, so I spent my time calculating their effect on the courtroom inhabitants. The jury watched the dark, murky images on the screen with the general arc of emotions elicited by pornography in the uninitiated: first horror, then transfixion, then boredom. And then, as the tapes ground forward, it was horror again. I caught them taking quick glances at François, all trying very hard to hide their disgust even as their pinched mouths betrayed them. The judge was also scanning the jurors’ faces, to gauge their reactions and determine if he had made a mistake in allowing the tapes to be played. Dalton and Torricelli sat at the prosecution table with arms crossed, putting on a little show of shock and dismay. So alike were their postures and expressions, they must have practiced the pose together the afternoon before.