Closing Arguments
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury,” the tall, square shouldered, white haired, prosecutor said. “I think we can all find it in our souls to find compassion for this defendant, if we are so inclined. But the truth is, that to do so is to forget all compassion for the victim, Kevin James struck down in the prime of his life in cold blood by this man, Jay Davis who sits before you in this court room today.”
He paused and pointed at the defendant. He scowled and locked eyes with each jury member. Then, he lowered his hand and continued.
“And for what? ...A disagreement over a football team's chances on making it to the Super-bowl!”
He contorted his face as if disgusted and pointed again, violently.
“The truth is that the defense admits to the crime. That is so crucial to this case that I will say it again. Jay Davis admits that he willfully murdered Kevin James. And yet he's pled 'not guilty.'”
He paused and smirked before he scowled, as if in disbelief.
“'Not guilty by reason of insanity?' No. 'Not guilty because they got the wrong guy?' No. 'Not guilty because of coercion or self-defense?' No! Indeed, to my knowledge, in the history of jurisprudence, not once has any jury been asked to consider a defense of this nature.”
He paused, shook his head and lowered his voice nearly to a whisper and slowed his cadence.
“You see, ladies and gentlemen, the entirety of the defense's case rests on the presumption that Mr. Davis despite an admission of having committed the crime, is not mentally the same Mr. Davis, that used a baseball bat to kill Kevin James thirty-two years ago, before painstakingly wrapping Kevin's body into a sarcophagus of lye and plastic, breaking into another person's home, and heaving Kevin's lifeless body into a crawlspace in an attic where it remained hidden for three decades!”
He paused and looked around the court room. He raised his voice.
“And why did we find the body?”
He paused and looked around the room again, as if expecting the jury and members of the courtroom audience, like eager school children, to raise their hands, demanding a chance to answer their teacher's easy question.
“Because,” he continued. “Mr. Davis wrote a novel and he told us where it was.”
Now I cannot understate that fact. He told us where it was. Mr. Davis, a man whose brain injury 31 years ago supposedly left him with no memory of his life before the injury, told us, in his novel “Killing Time,” where to find the body, why he killed Kevin James, where to find the murder weapon, and the exact materials used to wrap Kevin's lifeless body so that it would not stink as it decomposed.”
Tears formed in his eyes, as if he'd been the deceased's closest friend. He lowered his voice to nearly a whisper.
“Make no mistake. This was a cold, calculated, brutal murder, and ladies and gentlemen, his exacting detail in recreating the crime, in his novel, is evidence that this man has used an injury to create a veil of innocence that simply does not exist.
It doesn't matter that after his injury he became an upstanding citizen, served as a council member, mayor, congressman, and before his arrest, gubernatorial candidate. It does not matter how many millions of dollars he has given to feeding the homeless, or helping people in third world nations to get the medicine they so desperately have needed.
This trial is not about whether or not Mr. Davis got his act together and became a good guy. We will concede and attest to the fact that he has proven himself to be an outstanding citizen. There can be no denying that.”
The attorney took a sip of water. Straightened his tie and spoke again.
“All of that may be true, but none of that will mitigate the fact that Jay Davis, while a beloved father, husband and member of his community, is also a murderer. This is not a case about whether or not Jay Davis is a good guy. By all accounts, he is. And contrary to what the defense will tell you, this is not a case about a brain injury. This, ladies and gentleman is a case about murder. It's a case to determine whether Mr. Davis, who has never denied the crime, in this court room or anywhere else, should be made to pay for willfully taking the life of the man he claims was once his best friend... a man whom he bludgeoned to death with a baseball bat....a man whose body he hid away in an attic to escape detection.”
The prosecutor put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.
“I dare say this is the easiest case that has ever been heard in this court. In fact, I don't even understand why we needed this dog and pony show.”
He pulled one hand from his pocket and pointed again at the defendant, this time focusing his gaze on the jury.
“If Mr. Davis were really the upstanding citizen he claims to be, then he would have pled guilty himself and saved us all of this trouble. He would have gladly taken his punishment for the crime. But he didn't do that. So here we are.”
He pointed toward an easel covered in pictures of the deceased.
“The evidence clearly shows what happened, and Mr. Davis who supposedly cannot remember the crime, recounted the details of the night he murdered Kevin James in exacting detail. He admits to killing the friend that trusted him. The fact is that no one, not even Mr. Davis himself has offered any evidence to suggest that Mr. Davis did not murder Kevin James.
The prosecutor returned his hands to his pockets, pursed his lips together and nodded his head. He sucked in a breath of air through his nostrils and then released it as if resigned.
“For that reason, and that reason alone,” he said slowly, “members of the jury you must, no matter how difficult it may be, find Mr. Davis guilty of murder in the first degree...and while we cannot, may God then have mercy on his soul. The prosecution rests.”
The court was silent as the prosecutor removed his glasses and took his seat before adjusting his tie. The defendant's lawyer, a sandy haired man in his mid forties, leaned over and whispered into the defendant's ear before picking up his stack of papers. He straightened them on the tabletop and set them down.
“Is the defense ready?” asked the judge.
“We are, your honor,” replied the attorney who stood and walked to the front of the court room. He studied each member of the jury before he began to deliver his rebuttal.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he began, “there is no doubt that this is one of the oddest cases in the history of jurisprudence. All of the evidence suggests that indeed the body of the man you see before you did, once upon a time kill a young man in a brutal and detestable manner.”
He lifted his palms as if to ward off an assailant.
“However,” he said. “I submit to you, that my client, Jay Davis is innocent of the crime and that one year after the incident that claimed the life of Kevin James, his killer was, himself killed by a drunk driver, despite that his body and name lived on and is with us here today.”
The attorney was silent for a moment. He looked toward the evidence board and then back toward the jury.
“Furthermore, I suggest that had it not been for that drunk driver killing Kevin's murderer, we would not have had the pleasure of knowing the man sitting in this courtroom today, fighting for his life.”
He gestured toward his client.
“If not for the man sitting before you, accused in this court room, literally millions of people would now be dead... victims of starvation and disease rather than living beneficiaries of my client's unmatched generosity. Simply put, the man sitting before you could never commit the crime of which he is accused.”
He looked toward his client, then to the judge and back to the jury.
“Jay Davis is not the man who killed a friend over a minor disagreement, no matter what man might have once upon a time resided within his body.”
He paused.
“And this isn't just a case of an older man having grown in wisdom. I submit to you that despite sharing DNA with the killer, Jay Davis is a different man, altogether. You see, ladies and gentlemen, when Jay woke up in the hospital thirty-one years ago, he had the knowledge base of a newborn child. He could not walk. He could not talk. He could not feed himself. He did not even recognize his own mother. He could not reason. He was an infant in a grown man's body.”
The attorney reviewed the jury, before he turned and approached the table behind which his client sat, expressionless.
He reached for a pitcher of water and a glass, poured a glass of water for himself and took a sip. He replaced the glass to the table top pointed at his client and spun back toward the jury.
“Over the next ten years Jay was forced to learn to do all of these things, and indeed, much as an adult only remembers bits and pieces from his first ten years of life, so too does Jay remember those first ten years, following his rebirth, in merely bits and pieces. Though you see a man before you who is fifty- two years old, the truth is that his life recollection is that of a man in his early thirties. He worked tirelessly to learn to speak, to read, and to write. He never regained his memory, but neither did he regain the personality or waywardness he lived before his accident. He wasn't merely given another chance in life, as the prosecutor has suggested. He was given a brand new life and a brand new personality, and he's conducted it admirably.”
He paused again, and nodded his head, as if resolved in judgment, and pleading for others to nod with him. He continued.
“Gone was the self-serving, angry wayward youth who had no regard for the law. In his place was a kindhearted, philanthropic man...with a zest for life and a penchant for the law...so much so that he became a legislator and helped to write the law. As a councilman, a mayor, and a U.S. Congressman he proved himself a man of integrity and a man with so few enemies that he ran unopposed for re-election to the United States Congress twice and before his arrest, he was slated to be the next governor of our state, with a 67% approval rating over the incumbent Governor. He has raised a lovely family. Whereas women that dated the previous incarnation of Jay Davis gave witness in this courtroom to his temper and violence, there are no witnesses that can attest to seeing him angry since the day of his accident. Indeed, his wife claims she has never so much as heard him raise his voice. I wish to God that my wife could say the same of me.”
He paused and shook his head. He raised his voice and continued.
“Does this man sound to you, ladies and gentlemen like the sort of man who could have, at any point in his life become so
angry that he would commit the crime for which he is accused? No sir! No Ma'am. I say to you again: This man is not merely a changed man. He is an entirely different man altogether than the man who killed poor Kevin James!”
The attorney lowered his voice.
“As an expert witness, Dr. Marcus Willaby testified to you, in this room, when my client wrote his novel, though it appears to be a latent memory, he thought he was writing from his imagination... a story of fiction, and he classified it as such. Our expert has shown you that this is a common, well documented anomaly that sometimes occurs in cases of severe head trauma and that it should not be construed as being the same as real memory...and the state's expert witness concurred. His novel is a story created from this man's imaginative process, not a true memory and not to be construed as a confession.”
He stared into the eyes of each jury member, and slowed the cadence of his speech.
“When you deliberate this case ladies and gentlemen, the question you will argue is not whether Jay Davis Killed Kevin James but whether the man who killed Kevin James and the man sitting accused in this courtroom are the same man. That's your case. That is what you must determine. For if there is reason to doubt that they are in fact the same man despite that they have shared a body, then dear jury members, you will have found the reasonable doubt necessary to acquit this case.”
He turned toward the judge. “The defense rests, your honor.”
The attorney took his seat. The courtroom was silent as all eyes moved toward the judge.
The robed moderator combed his fingers through his snow-white beard and lowered them.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said, “you have been given your instructions. All evidence in this matter will be forwarded to the jury chamber. May you find wisdom as you search for your decision. This court is adjourned until further notice."
The galley emptied quickly, a buzz of conversation filling the courtroom as the defendant was led away in handcuffs.
Nine days later, the courtroom was again filled to capacity. A CNN news camera rolled coverage when the jury filed in.
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury,” said the judge. “Have you reached a verdict?”
A tall, broad-shouldered black man with wisps of gray threatening his temples stood and replied. “We have, Your Honor.” He passed an envelope to the bailiff.
The bailiff walked the envelope to the judge who scowled before opening it and removing the contents. He read the verdict silently and then refolded the paper and stuffed it back into its envelope. He handed it back to the bailiff who returned it to the jury foreman.
“Mr. Foreman,” said the judge. "Please read the verdict."
The only sound in the courtroom was the sound of the foreman removing the paper from its sheath. He unfurled it and cleared his throat and then he began to read the verdict.
Wait..What? well that's not fair....