Proof of Intent: A Charley Sloan Courtroom Thriller (Charley Sloan Courtroom Thrillers) by William J. Coughlin & Walter Sorrells

Author:William J. Coughlin & Walter Sorrells [Coughlin, William J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

“Bravo!” I said enthusiastically, clapping my hands three times in slow succession. “What a courageous and self-effacing fellow we have in our prosecuting attorney.”

I smiled broadly and approached the box. “Isn’t that brave of Mr. Olesky? He’s not even going to make a case against my client. He’s just going to . . .” I did a quick little shuffle step to the side, felt my left knee creak. Stash Olesky is half a dozen years younger and a great deal more graceful than I. “He’s just going to step aside. He’s going to let the evidence speak!”

I aimed my most aggrieved smile at the prosecuting attorney.

“Well, folks, I want you to do something before I tell you what our evidence will show. Ladies? Gentlemen? If you would, just turn your heads and look to the back of the courtroom.” I pointed at the Court TV camera that was aiming directly back at me. The jury members turned and looked. As did everybody in the courtroom, craning their heads, trying see where I was about to take them. “Right back there you will see the biggest liar in this courtroom. The TV camera. During my statement, during this trial, during every moment you weigh the evidence in front of you I want to you to remember one thing. Remember that camera.”

I let a few moments pass. “Now, let’s get back to the evidence. You notice Mr. Olesky, in his rather brief statement, didn’t tell you a whale of a lot about that evidence, did he? Oh, he talked about me. Said a great deal about me. Threw in a few nasty asides about my client, too. Told you how horrible this crime was. But, my gracious, when it came down to brass tacks, to the facts of the case, he just said there was—what was the word? A mountain of evidence? When he got to the part where he had to draw a line connecting my client and the actual commission of the crime, well, he just stood mute, didn’t he? What arrogance! As though it might bore you to actually hear the nature of the case he plans to present against my client.” I gave him a hard stare.

“I give Mr. Olesky credit for one thing, though. He and his vast array of state-employed minions have indeed assembled a mountain. A mountain of distortions. A mountain of half-truths. A mountain of insinuations. A mountain of hype. A mountain of . . . well, decorum doesn’t permit me to use the term that springs immediately to mind.” I winked at the hatchet-faced old farmer in overalls, Dahlgren, who sat on the front row of the jury box. He grinned back. Every defense lawyer needs an ally, an emissary into the jury room—and I planned to make Dahlgren mine.

“No, I take that back. In fact, there is a word. There is a single, simple, clear word that encompasses Mr. Olesky’s entire case against Miles Dane.” I stalked across the room and

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