horse?"
"Who?"
May dipped his head and looked over the rim of his tortoise-shell glasses at the DA. "Let's not play games, Alton," he said, his smile taking on a wry aspect. "We've done this dance too many times to be coy, you and I, don't you think? Dollar gives you ten you went to Minkhaus for an opinion." He raised his eyebrows. "And you didn't like what you heard."
McBride snorted. "I'm confident with my case."
"As you should be. Your cross was precise. Your closing argument elucidative, to be sure. You've certainly shown culpability, commission, and even intent, I don't deny that. But there's a fly in your ointment, isn't there? The sticky little fact that the victim of my client's crime is, by all strictest legal interpretation, no other than himself."
Again May looked over the rim of his tortoise-shells.
"And my money says that's exactly what the old judge told you."
"You can't predict the jury, James," said the DA, breaking eye contact.
"True. But we have the appeals process, which you lack, my friend, in the event of an acquittal."
"Enough," said McBride sharply. "Let's talk resolution."
"Okay. What'd you have in mind?"
"We drop the Murder One and your man cops to Attempted Suicide."
"Suicide? Is that still a crime in this state? I really do need to update my law review subscription."
The DA's eyes flashed steel. "It remains a common law felony."
May pushed his lips out and nodded. "Granted," he said, his head bobbing minutely as he digested the idea. "Sentence?"
"One year. Out in six months."
May studied the DA, running his tongue over the front teeth beneath his top lip.
"Six months, out in three."
"Fine, six months. State mental hospital. He'll be out in four or five."
May shook his head. "No. That's a non-starter, Alton. No psyche eval. No mental health intervention, period. Six months, minimum security. General population."
"Come on James, you know I can't do that. Case like this."
May shrugged. "Okay then. Good talk, Alton." He began to turn in the direction of the courtroom.
McBride stopped him with a palm on his chest. "Wait," he said, taking a deep breath and releasing it through his nose. "Six months, medium-high security. That's the best I can do."
"Medium-low."
McBride's jaw moved laterally, like he was grinding grain between his molars, his eyes focused intently on May's shirt-front. He finally lifted his eyes to meet the defense attorney's.
"Let me run it up the flagpole."
May patted his shoulder. "Better hurry," he said as he started toward the courtroom, "my closing argument is succinct."
James Scott May strode to the jury box and smiled serenely. In his peripheral he watched the DA hurrying down the aisle towards his seat, cell phone being deposited into his inside pocket as he went, and a scowl on his face.
"Ladies and gentleman, let me begin by thanking you for your service. I know these past weeks have disrupted your lives considerably and my client and I thank you deeply for your willingness to serve our venerable justice system."
He walked to the end of the rail and leaned casually on the post.
"I won't take too much of your time. My noble colleague, District Attorney McBride, and his exceptional team have proved beyond all doubt that a body was killed, and that my client did the killing. We do not dispute these facts. They have shown, quite well I might add, that my client had premeditated reason to want to rid himself of this other, and that in a moment of passion he did act upon that inclination. Again, we do not dispute this. They have also been good enough to independently validate the findings of Dr. Stein in proving the identity of the victim to be Mr. Bartell himself, and we thank them for that. There is however one item with which we must take issue."
May paused with an index finger held in the air.
"And that is the question of whether a murder took place."
May spoke to the jury in a subdued, almost familiar, tone. He chose not to pace theatrically
"Who?"
May dipped his head and looked over the rim of his tortoise-shell glasses at the DA. "Let's not play games, Alton," he said, his smile taking on a wry aspect. "We've done this dance too many times to be coy, you and I, don't you think? Dollar gives you ten you went to Minkhaus for an opinion." He raised his eyebrows. "And you didn't like what you heard."
McBride snorted. "I'm confident with my case."
"As you should be. Your cross was precise. Your closing argument elucidative, to be sure. You've certainly shown culpability, commission, and even intent, I don't deny that. But there's a fly in your ointment, isn't there? The sticky little fact that the victim of my client's crime is, by all strictest legal interpretation, no other than himself."
Again May looked over the rim of his tortoise-shells.
"And my money says that's exactly what the old judge told you."
"You can't predict the jury, James," said the DA, breaking eye contact.
"True. But we have the appeals process, which you lack, my friend, in the event of an acquittal."
"Enough," said McBride sharply. "Let's talk resolution."
"Okay. What'd you have in mind?"
"We drop the Murder One and your man cops to Attempted Suicide."
"Suicide? Is that still a crime in this state? I really do need to update my law review subscription."
The DA's eyes flashed steel. "It remains a common law felony."
May pushed his lips out and nodded. "Granted," he said, his head bobbing minutely as he digested the idea. "Sentence?"
"One year. Out in six months."
May studied the DA, running his tongue over the front teeth beneath his top lip.
"Six months, out in three."
"Fine, six months. State mental hospital. He'll be out in four or five."
May shook his head. "No. That's a non-starter, Alton. No psyche eval. No mental health intervention, period. Six months, minimum security. General population."
"Come on James, you know I can't do that. Case like this."
May shrugged. "Okay then. Good talk, Alton." He began to turn in the direction of the courtroom.
McBride stopped him with a palm on his chest. "Wait," he said, taking a deep breath and releasing it through his nose. "Six months, medium-high security. That's the best I can do."
"Medium-low."
McBride's jaw moved laterally, like he was grinding grain between his molars, his eyes focused intently on May's shirt-front. He finally lifted his eyes to meet the defense attorney's.
"Let me run it up the flagpole."
May patted his shoulder. "Better hurry," he said as he started toward the courtroom, "my closing argument is succinct."
James Scott May strode to the jury box and smiled serenely. In his peripheral he watched the DA hurrying down the aisle towards his seat, cell phone being deposited into his inside pocket as he went, and a scowl on his face.
"Ladies and gentleman, let me begin by thanking you for your service. I know these past weeks have disrupted your lives considerably and my client and I thank you deeply for your willingness to serve our venerable justice system."
He walked to the end of the rail and leaned casually on the post.
"I won't take too much of your time. My noble colleague, District Attorney McBride, and his exceptional team have proved beyond all doubt that a body was killed, and that my client did the killing. We do not dispute these facts. They have shown, quite well I might add, that my client had premeditated reason to want to rid himself of this other, and that in a moment of passion he did act upon that inclination. Again, we do not dispute this. They have also been good enough to independently validate the findings of Dr. Stein in proving the identity of the victim to be Mr. Bartell himself, and we thank them for that. There is however one item with which we must take issue."
May paused with an index finger held in the air.
"And that is the question of whether a murder took place."
May spoke to the jury in a subdued, almost familiar, tone. He chose not to pace theatrically
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