difference between killing in cold blood and in hot blood. Killing in hot blood is when you’re protecting someone you love, or when you’re defending yourself. Abraham Wilson killed in self-defense, and I tell you now that any of us in this courtroom, under identical circumstances, would have done exactly the same thing.
“The District Attorney and I agree on one point: Every man has the right to protect his own life. If Abraham Wilson had not acted exactly as he did, he would be dead.” Jennifer’svoice was ringing with sincerity. She had forgotten her nervousness in the passion of her conviction. “I ask each of you to remember one thing: Under the law of this state, the prosecution must prove beyond any reasonable doubt that the act of killing was not committed in self-defense. And before this trial is over we will present solid evidence to show you that Raymond Thorpe was killed in order to prevent his murdering my client. Thank you.”
The parade of witnesses for the State began. Robert Di Silva had not missed a single opportunity. His character witnesses for the deceased, Raymond Thorpe, included a minister, prison guards and fellow convicts. One by one they took the stand and testified to the sterling character and pacific disposition of the deceased.
Each time the District Attorney was finished with a witness, he turned to Jennifer and said, “Your witness.”
And each time Jennifer replied, “No cross-examination.”
She knew that there was no point in trying to discredit the character witnesses. By the time they were finished, one would have thought that Raymond Thorpe had been wrongfully deprived of sainthood. The guards, who had been carefully coached by Robert Di Silva, testified that Thorpe had been a model prisoner who went around Sing Sing doing good works, intent only on helping his fellow man. The fact that Raymond Thorpe was a convicted bank robber and rapist was a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect character.
What badly damaged Jennifer’s already weak defense was the physical description of Raymond Thorpe. He had been a slightly built man, only five feet nine inches tall. Robert Di Silva dwelt on that, and he never let the jurors forget it. He painted a graphic picture of how Abraham Wilson had viciously attacked the smaller man and had smashed Thorpe’s head against a concrete building in the exercise yard, instantly killing him. As Di Silva spoke, the jurors’ eyes were fastenedon the giant figure of the defendant sitting at the table, dwarfing everyone near him.
The District Attorney was saying, “We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man—”
And Jennifer’s heart suddenly leaped. One word that Di Silva had said had given her the chance she needed.
“—We may never know the reason for the defendant’s vicious attack, but one thing we do know, ladies and gentlemen—it wasn’t because the murdered man was a threat to Abraham Wilson.
“Self-defense?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “Your Honor, would you please direct the defendant to rise?”
Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer. “Does counsel for the defense have any objection?”
Jennifer had an idea what was coming, but she knew that any objection on her part could only be damaging. “No, Your Honor.”
Judge Waldman said, “Will the defendant rise, please?”
Abraham Wilson sat there a moment, his face defiant; then he slowly rose to his full height of six feet four inches.
Di Silva said, “There is a court clerk here, Mr. Galin, who is five feet nine inches tall, the exact height of the murdered man, Raymond Thorpe. Mr. Galin, would you please go over and stand next to the defendant?”
The court clerk walked over to Abraham Wilson and stood next to him. The contrast between the two men was ludicrous. Jennifer knew she had been outmaneuvered again, but there was nothing she could do about it. The visual impression could never be erased. The District
“The District Attorney and I agree on one point: Every man has the right to protect his own life. If Abraham Wilson had not acted exactly as he did, he would be dead.” Jennifer’svoice was ringing with sincerity. She had forgotten her nervousness in the passion of her conviction. “I ask each of you to remember one thing: Under the law of this state, the prosecution must prove beyond any reasonable doubt that the act of killing was not committed in self-defense. And before this trial is over we will present solid evidence to show you that Raymond Thorpe was killed in order to prevent his murdering my client. Thank you.”
The parade of witnesses for the State began. Robert Di Silva had not missed a single opportunity. His character witnesses for the deceased, Raymond Thorpe, included a minister, prison guards and fellow convicts. One by one they took the stand and testified to the sterling character and pacific disposition of the deceased.
Each time the District Attorney was finished with a witness, he turned to Jennifer and said, “Your witness.”
And each time Jennifer replied, “No cross-examination.”
She knew that there was no point in trying to discredit the character witnesses. By the time they were finished, one would have thought that Raymond Thorpe had been wrongfully deprived of sainthood. The guards, who had been carefully coached by Robert Di Silva, testified that Thorpe had been a model prisoner who went around Sing Sing doing good works, intent only on helping his fellow man. The fact that Raymond Thorpe was a convicted bank robber and rapist was a tiny flaw in an otherwise perfect character.
What badly damaged Jennifer’s already weak defense was the physical description of Raymond Thorpe. He had been a slightly built man, only five feet nine inches tall. Robert Di Silva dwelt on that, and he never let the jurors forget it. He painted a graphic picture of how Abraham Wilson had viciously attacked the smaller man and had smashed Thorpe’s head against a concrete building in the exercise yard, instantly killing him. As Di Silva spoke, the jurors’ eyes were fastenedon the giant figure of the defendant sitting at the table, dwarfing everyone near him.
The District Attorney was saying, “We’ll probably never know what caused Abraham Wilson to attack this harmless, defenseless little man—”
And Jennifer’s heart suddenly leaped. One word that Di Silva had said had given her the chance she needed.
“—We may never know the reason for the defendant’s vicious attack, but one thing we do know, ladies and gentlemen—it wasn’t because the murdered man was a threat to Abraham Wilson.
“Self-defense?” He turned to Judge Waldman. “Your Honor, would you please direct the defendant to rise?”
Judge Waldman looked at Jennifer. “Does counsel for the defense have any objection?”
Jennifer had an idea what was coming, but she knew that any objection on her part could only be damaging. “No, Your Honor.”
Judge Waldman said, “Will the defendant rise, please?”
Abraham Wilson sat there a moment, his face defiant; then he slowly rose to his full height of six feet four inches.
Di Silva said, “There is a court clerk here, Mr. Galin, who is five feet nine inches tall, the exact height of the murdered man, Raymond Thorpe. Mr. Galin, would you please go over and stand next to the defendant?”
The court clerk walked over to Abraham Wilson and stood next to him. The contrast between the two men was ludicrous. Jennifer knew she had been outmaneuvered again, but there was nothing she could do about it. The visual impression could never be erased. The District
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