Practice to Deceive

something up here that he had to make right.”
    Greg Banks had begun his opening remarks by saying that, “Mr. Huden assassinated Russel Douglas; [and now] the evidence is in, and most assuredly, the evidence has shown what I said to be true. And I repeat now that the defendant did cold-bloodedly assassinate Mr. Douglas.”
    The prosecutor had spoken for just under an hour and a half. He obviously knew every facet of the homicide almost nine years earlier and he had reconstructed it flawlessly for the jurors.
    Matt Montoya responded for the defense. He scoffed at the state’s reasoning and evidence. Montoya used a phrase repeatedly that was difficult to grasp, as he asked the jury to think “critically,” and he praised Dr. Nordby’s expertise.
    “Facts are the enemy of the truth,” Montoya said. He asked jurors if the state had truly overcome the presumption of Jim Huden’s innocence.
    Facts are the enemy of the truth.
    In what way? I wondered. Perhaps Jon Nordby, whose PhD in philosophy had led him to teach that subject at Pacific Lutheran University, could explain it.
    Montoya said, “No one— no one can put Mr. Huden on Whidbey Island on December 26, 2003!”
    But what about the sales slip for the cigars that Peggy Sue Thomas had—the one with that same date on it? Peggy Sue had saved it so carefully . . .
    What about Jim’s and Peggy Sue’s story about returning Dick Deposit’s house key on that day?
    Over and over again, Matt Montoya’s point was that nothing Greg Banks said “made sense.” Why didn’t Huden throw the gun into the Sound, if indeed he had one? Who said that Huden was abused as a child?
    Facts are the enemy of the truth.
    Montoya had relied on the testimonies of Jon Nordby—indeed, gambling thirty-six thousand dollars on Nordby’s fee—and Ron Young, one of Jim Huden’s three best friends since their teen years. Young lived in Tukwila, Washington, at least two hours away from Freeland. He had said he saw Huden on December 26, sometime between noon and 1 P.M.
    “How could my client have arrived in Longview by five P.M. ?”
    Very easily. Even driving the speed limit, Longview wasn’t much more than two and a half to three hours away from the landing dock of the Mukilteo or Keystone ferries.
    That period between noon and 1 P.M. on the day after Christmas 2003 was vital.
    Maybe Montoya’s axiom works better backward.
    The truth is the enemy of the facts. No, that didn’t make sense either . . .
    Montoya was correct. Nothing matched. Jim and Peggy could not have been two places at once over the noon hour when experts believed Russel Douglas was murdered.
    “I ask you for a verdict of not guilty,” Matt Montoya finished.
    Greg Banks spoke once more.
    “Facts are stubborn things—there is no way they can be avoided. You need to look at the fact using common sense, while thinking critically. Don’t be distracted by any lack of phone records. They’re not always available and don’t always provide evidence. Regarding Ron Young; eight years later he recalls the time of day he saw Jim Huden when he’d seen him three or four times since, but can’t recall when.
    “The evidence is overwhelming. Focus on the facts—they are stubborn.”
    At approximately 1 P.M. on July 20—a Friday—the jurors retired to deliberate.
    It didn’t take long. By 11 A.M. on Monday, July 23, Judge Vickie Churchill’s courtroom was packed. A verdict had been reached. It seemed as though everyone who had waited for a verdict for so long was there, with the somewhat surprising exception of Brenna Douglas, the victim’s widow, and their children, Hannah and Jack.
    Peggy Sue Thomas wasn’t there, either—but that wasn’t surprising.
    Judge Churchill accepted the slip of paper with the verdict from the jury foreman.
    James Huden, fifty-nine, had been found guilty of murder, with aggravating circumstances in that a firearm was the weapon, and the victim was particularly vulnerable. Strapped into his car seat behind the steering wheel, believing he was there to pick up a package for his wife, he had seen a man approaching. Whether he had seen Huden before or if he was a complete stranger, no one might ever know for sure.
    Certainly, Russ Douglas had had almost no warning that would prepare him for what was to come.
    This was not a movie or television courtroom; there were no outcries or shouts. The room was very quiet, and Jim Huden kept his head down as he heard his fate read aloud.
    Russel