Blind Justice (15 page)

AT 9:15 ON Tuesday morning, Judge Adele Wegland turned to the twelve jurors and two alternates seated in the box and said, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Good morning,” they answered like kids in an elementary school classroom.

“You have been selected and sworn in as jurors in the case of the
People of the State of California v. Howard Patino.
I want to start by thanking all of you for accepting your duties as jurors. This is what people used to call a civic responsibility, and I, for one, still feel that way.”

Bully for you, I thought as I sat at counsel table. A judge who still believes in responsibility. I glanced back at the gallery. Janet and Fred Patino were seated there. Lindsay was not.

Triple C was seated on one side of Howie and I was seated on the other. Howie was looking down at the table. Triple C did not look like himself. He was wearing a coat and tie.

“This is a criminal case. The defendant has been charged with murder in the first degree. I’ll be telling you later on about what that means and what the law is that applies here. But it is your duty, and yours alone, to decide what the facts are. That’s not my job, and it’s not the job of the lawyers. It’s yours. That’s one of the cornerstones of our judicial system.

“Now, it’s my job to see that this trial runs smoothly. I’ll be called upon by the lawyers from time to time to make a legal judgment. I will also need to make judgments about time and scheduling and about the all-important lunch break.”

The judge paused like a comedian, and the jury, as if on cue, delivered polite laughter. I wondered how many times Judge Wegland had used that line.

“I’ll do my best in that regard. But when I make a ruling on an objection, or when the lawyers come up for what we call a side bar, you are not to speculate about the reasons. Don’t draw any conclusions because I sustain or overrule an objection or yell at the lawyers.”

The jury laughed again. Wegland knew how to play to the crowd.

“Let me tell you a little bit about the trial process. First of all, each attorney has the opportunity to address you with what is called an opening statement. That is their chance to give you an overview of what they believe the evidence will show after the trial is through. It’s important for you to remember that nothing the lawyers say to you is itself evidence, and you are not to take it as such. You are to judge the facts solely on what is admitted by me into evidence.

“After the opening statements, witnesses will be called to the stand, where they will testify under oath. There will be an opportunity for cross-examination of any witness. Exhibits and documents may be offered into evidence as well. The important thing is that you all keep an open mind about this case until all of the evidence has been presented, the lawyers have given you their closing arguments, and I have instructed you on the law. Do not form any final opinions about this case until you go into the jury room together and begin your deliberations.”

Inside, I laughed. Most jurors form strong opinions well before entering the jury room. Everyone knows this, including the judges who admonish them.

“And do not, under any circumstance, discuss the merits of this case amongst yourselves. During those times when court is in recess or adjourned, do not allow anyone to discuss the case with you. If anyone attempts to discuss the case, tell the person that you are a member of the jury and can’t talk about it, and ask the person to stop. If the person keeps talking about the case, leave the conversation and report the incident to my clerk, Ms. Wagner. She’ll bring it up to me, and I’ll decide what to do about it.”

A ritual hanging, perhaps? I wondered what awful justice Adele Wegland would mete out.

“You are not being sequestered in this case, which means you get to go home at night. Do not listen to any reports about this case on the TV or radio, and do not read any accounts in the newspapers or on the Internet. Don’t even talk about the case with your spouse or significant other. Let him or her give you a back rub instead. You’ll probably need it.”

The jurors laughed. Jurors like to laugh when judges make jokes.

“Now, in every criminal case the accused party is presumed innocent. To overcome that presumption, the burden of proof of guilt is placed on the prosecution. They must prove to you every element of the charge beyond a reasonable doubt. I’ll tell you exactly what that means when I explain the law to you. Also, in a criminal trial the accused has the absolute right, under the Constitution, to remain silent. He does not have to take the stand to testify. You are not to draw any inference of guilt if the accused so chooses. That must not influence your verdict in any way.”

Then why did I have the impression that Judge Adele Wegland was silently telling the jury she thought my client should go away for a long stretch in the pen?

“Again, I want to thank you for accepting the role of juror in this case. We will take a ten-minute recess, and when we come back, the lawyers will proceed with their opening statements.”

As the judge went back to chambers, Triple C said, “The show is about to begin. You ready?”

“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”

“Then speak the speech, I pray you, and fit the action to the word, the word to the action.”

“You got it.”

“Nice literary reference,” I said. “But only one thing bothers me.”

“What’s that?”

“Hamlet ends up dead.”

Because the state has the burden of proof, the prosecutor gets the first word to the jury. Benton Tolletson took that and more.

He seemed to own the courtroom. I was beginning to suspect he really did, along with all the judges in Hinton County and maybe a handful of the jurors too.

“Good morning,” he said to the jury. “As you know, my name is Benton Tolletson, and I am the People’s representative, the county district attorney. I’m standing before you today to speak on behalf of one of our own, Rae Patino, a young woman, a young mother, a working mother, who was trying to forge a new life for herself and her little boy here in the town of Hinton. You’re going to hear her story from those people who knew her, but mostly what you’re going to hear about is a jealous husband, one so jealous it drove him to plan the murder of his wife.”

Pausing for a moment in front of the jury box, Tolletson looked up and down the two rows of rapt jurors.

“You see, the defendant over there”—Tolletson pointed at Howie—“thought about how he was going to do it, how he was going to dispose of his wife, while he was five thousand miles away. He thought about it on the plane trip to Los Angeles, and he thought about it on the bus ride from Los Angeles International Airport up here to our town. He thought about it when he got off the bus, and he thought about it as he walked up White Oak Avenue.

“This defendant, you see, knew that Rae Patino had decided to move on with her life. This sometimes happens in a marriage. We all know that. And in this country, at least, when that decision is made by one party, the other party has to accept that.

“But this defendant couldn’t accept that. Wouldn’t accept that. And he decided Rae Patino was not going to get away with it.”

Tolletson was pacing up and down now, like a panther in a cage. His hands were clasped behind him, his head bowed slightly. I could see his neck turning a faint shade of red.

“The defendant knocked on the door and shouted out Rae’s name. There was no answer. There’s a reason for that. Rae Patino was scared of her husband. She recognized the voice and refused to answer the door.

“That did not stop the defendant. He went around to the back of the house where he was able to break in. Once inside, he made for the bedroom where Rae Patino lay in bed, no doubt afraid of the confrontation. Did she beg for her life? Perhaps. We don’t really know. What we do know is that the defendant got a knife from the kitchen and proceeded to stab”—Tolletson made a stabbing motion with his fist—“and stab and stab and stab”—he pumped his arm—“over and over again, until Rae Patino bled to death.”

Howie was motionless beside me. It was almost like he was in a coma. Maybe he was, in a way, lost in a catalepsy of torment.

“You will hear a lot of evidence in this case, ladies and gentlemen, but nothing you hear will be as important as what came out of the defendant’s own mouth. You will hear the words, ‘I did it! I killed her! I killed my wife!’ You see, the defendant had a moment when he just couldn’t hide the truth any longer. That’s because the truth just won’t go away.”

For another twenty minutes or so, Tolletson went over the evidence he was going to present. If this had been any other prosecutor and any other venue, I would have said he overplayed his hand, promising too much to the jury. When that happens, the other lawyer can usually do severe damage to his opponent’s case by reminding the jury about how much was told them during opening statement, and how the guaranteed evidence never materialized.

But we were in Hinton, where the people had elected Benton Tolletson to the office of the district attorney. Maybe the jury would believe him if he said pigs flew.

I heard my name called by Judge Adele Wegland. After a quick look at Triple C and Fred and Janet Patino, I stood up.

And almost fell down.

I don’t know what it was, or how it happened. A wave of nausea washed over me so suddenly and completely that I thought I was going to faint. I was either temporarily blinded or else had my eyes closed. Either way, I was in momentary darkness.

It was the darkness that scared me more than anything. Maybe it can be explained psychologically, maybe it was something more. Much more. But in those few moments, I was oblivious to everything except myself, feeling like I might pass out, but also something far worse—feeling I was in a blackness from which I would not emerge.

And then I heard a voice.

What happened next may have only taken a few seconds in real time in the Hinton County Courthouse, but it seemed like an hour in my head. The voice was audible in the way dream voices are, sounding in my brain without passing through the ear canals, without the physiological requirements needed to make an actual sound.

It’s all over,
the voice said.

Where was it coming from? A pickled part of my brain?

I felt Triple C take my arm. “Jake, what is it?”

“Mr. Denney,” said the judge, “are you all right?”

“Water,” I said. Triple C poured me a glass from the pitcher on the counsel table and handed it to me. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the courtroom, including the jurors, and could only wonder what they thought. Poor sap attorney can’t even get out the first words of his opening statement.

“May we have a short break, Your Honor?” I asked.

After a terse pause, Judge Wegland said, “All right. Fifteen minutes. And I want to see counsel in chambers.”

She got up and left the courtroom.