The Reversal

everything you know about Eddie Roman.”

Thirty-seven
    Thursday, April 8, 9:01 A.M .
    B efore the judge called for the jury, Clive Royce stood and asked the court for a directed verdict of acquittal. He argued that the state had failed to live up to its duty in carrying the burden of proof. He said that the evidence presented by the prosecutors failed to cross the threshold of guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. I was ready to stand to argue the state’s side, but the judge held up her hand to signal me to stay in place. She then quickly dispensed with Royce’s motion.
    “Motion denied,” Breitman said. “The court holds that the evidence presented by the prosecution is sufficient for the jury to consider. Mr. Royce, are you ready to proceed with the defense?”
    “I am, Your Honor.”
    “Okay, sir, then we will recall the jury now. Will you have an opening statement?”
    “A brief one, Your Honor.”
    “Very well, I am going to hold you to that.”
    The jurors filed in and took their assigned places. On many of them I saw expressions of anticipation. I took this as a good sign, as if they were wondering how in the hell the defense would be able to dig its way out of all the evidence the state had dumped on it. It was probably all wishful thinking on my part, but I had been studying juries for most of my adult life and I liked what I saw.
    After welcoming the jury back, the judge turned the courtroom over to Royce, reminded the jurors that this was an opening statement, not a listing of facts unless backed up later with testimony and evidence. Royce strode with full confidence to the lectern without a note or file in his hand. I knew he had the same philosophy as I did when it came to making opening statements. Look them in the eyes and don’t flinch and don’t back down from your theory, no matter how far-fetched or unbelievable. Sell it. If they don’t think you believe it, they never will.
    His strategy of deferring his opener until the start of the defense’s case would now pay dividends. He would begin the day and his case by delivering to the jury a statement that didn’t have to be true, that could be as outlandish as anything ever heard in the courtroom. As long as he kept the jury riding along, nothing else really mattered.
    “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, good morning. Today begins a new phase of the trial. The defense phase. This is when we start to tell you our side of the story, and believe me, we have another side to almost everything the prosecution has offered you over the past three days.
    “I am not going to take a lot of your time here because I am very eager, and Jason Jessup is very eager, to get to the evidence that the prosecution has either failed to find or chosen not to present to you. It doesn’t matter which, at this point; the only things that matter are that you hear it and that it allows you to see the full picture of what transpired on Windsor Boulevard on February sixteenth, nineteen eighty-six. I urge you to listen closely, to watch closely. If you do that, you will see the truth emerge.”
    I looked over at the legal pad on which Maggie had been doodling while Royce spoke. In large letters she had written WINDBAG! I thought, She hasn’t seen anything yet.
    “This case,” Royce continued, “is about one thing. A family’s darkest secrets. You got only a glimpse of them during the prosecution’s presentation. You got the tip of the iceberg from the prosecution, but today you will get the whole iceberg. Today you will get the cold hard truth. That being that Jason Jessup is the true victim here today. The victim of a family’s desire to hide their darkest secret.”
    Maggie leaned toward me and whispered, “Brace yourself.”
    I nodded. I knew exactly where we were going.
    “This trial is about a monster who killed a child. A monster who defiled one young girl and was going to move on to the next when something went wrong and he killed that child. This trial is about the family that was so fearful of that monster that they went along with the plan to cover up the crime and point the finger elsewhere. At an innocent man.”
    Royce pointed righteously at Jessup as he said this last line. Maggie shook her head in disgust, a calculated move for the jury.
    “Jason, would you please stand up?” Royce said.
    His client did as instructed and turned fully to the jury, his eyes boldly scanning from face to face, not flinching or looking away.
    “Jason Jessup is an