Means, Motive, Opportunity

After dinner I had to get away. I desperately needed time to think and process. It was Wednesday and that presented the perfect excuse. Without realising I was making the most life changing statement since I said, 'I do', I told Sandra that I was going to poker that night, and left after packing some things I needed.

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3 months, 5 days and 2 hours ago

I was arrested at work at 3PM the next day. I was charged with assault causing grievous bodily harm on Mr. John Bertram at that stage, but the policeman made it plain it could be upgraded to murder shortly. Thank god it wasn't Detective Carling who arrested me. That might have spoiled our blossoming friendship.

I smiled when the litany of injuries to the upstanding Mr Bertram were listed. Fractured skull, brain bleeding, causing paralysis to one side of his face. Broken face, ribs, both arms and two smashed knee caps. Both his testicles were removed. Seems some bugger stepped on them with all their weight.

At the station the same chief explained with obvious sympathy that he knew what I felt, but there was no excuse. Revenge attackers often got harsher penalties than ordinary attackers. That way anarchy lay. Very quietly he wished me luck. I didn't protest my innocence to him. Bizarrely I didn't want to lose the obvious respect he felt for me.

I was dragged before a judge late on Friday afternoon. I was really starting to develop a thing about 5PM Friday. Prosecuting counsel explained that I was a dangerous person with a history of violence. As it may well have been attempted murder and the victim was still alive, he feared for Mr. Bertram's safety if I was released on bail. The judge thus remanded me in custody until the trial.

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4 days and 2 hours ago

The last three months have been very hard. The remand centre was three hours away from home, so I saw Sandra and the kids at most once a week. As someone who lived for his kids, it was torture. During the visits we pointedly never spoke much about the case, just family stuff.

She found me a lawyer after my arrest. He recommended a brief and I got to know them well over time. My brief didn't seem very worried. During discovery, when the prosecution revealed their evidence against me, he pointed out that all the evidence was circumstantial, and juries rarely convicted in such cases. Bertram hadn't seen his attacker and the neighbour who scared the assailant away hadn't seen much detail in the dark.

This day was my final meeting with my guy. I detected the first signs of worry on his face and quizzed him. It seems that the prosecuting counsel wasn't some greenhorn, but an experienced guy who was really hoping for a seat on the bench soon. Shit, that was all I needed. A motivated opponent.

He'd brought in a razor and fresh clothes for me and pointed out in the nicest possible way that nature hadn't given me the ideal defendant look. At 6' 1'' of muscle, with a face a biker would be proud of, I was going to be pushing shit up hill to look like an angel. I'd always been thankful for my looks. As Billy Connolly once said, "You never get mugged when you look like a mugger." My brief congratulated me on the haircut and suggested I lose the beard tonight.

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3 days and 8 hours ago

My trial started at the crack of 10 O'clock the next day. I was quietly confident, although I was careful not to show it. I knew that convictions in purely circumstantial cases were relatively rare. Besides, our whole legal system is based on the premise that they would rather see 100 guilty men walk free than have one innocent man go to prison. Oh, I was confident all right. I enjoyed total faith in the legal system. Well, almost total. I still retained a niggling fear that I may just be deluding myself.

Jury selection took us to lunch time. As I studied the prosecutor's performance, I couldn't help thinking he was better than my guy. He was a slimy bastard, that's for sure. I couldn't help but remember the age old question. If a lawyer was eaten by a shark while swimming, would it be called 'death by misadventure' or 'cannibalism'?

I thanked Christ that I wasn't in the US. I think it was Ian Hart who summed up their legal system, with the American lawyers creed of, "Every man is innocent until proven broke."

The prosecutor opened the case after lunch with his address. He acknowledged that conviction was difficult in circumstantial cases, but prepared the jury by saying that in this case the evidence was overwhelming.

He then went on to outline his attack. He acknowledged that unless he could prove that I had the means, motive and opportunity, his attack would fail. If he failed in any of those, then it was their duty to acquit me.

My guy then retorted. But the prosecutor had already taken the wind out of his sails by admitting the difficulty of cases based solely on circumstantial evidence. He really wasn't very good. Was it too late to sack him?

Before the end of the day the prosecutor called his star witness. Me.

Phrasing his questions clearly as establishing either means, motive or opportunity, he launched into rapid fire questioning. I will only give you edited highlights.

"Mr. Brown, do you own a pick that has a handle similar to exhibit A? A weapon, I should add, that was found in a dumpster two blocks from Mr Bertram's house." He held up the bloodied tool handle.

"Yes, but......."

"Just answer the question, Mr. Brown!"

"Is that pick still in your garden shed?"

"I don't know, sir. I haven't looked since the Thursday morning I left for work. I've been locked up since then, you see."

"Hmmm. I have to tell you, Mr. Brown, that when the police searched your shed, they could only find a handle-less pick head."

Without a pause he continued his attack.

"Can you explain why your fingerprints were on said pick handle, Mr. Brown, along with blood identified as Mr Bertram's?"

I'd known this was coming, and the best excuse I could come up with was. "Someone must have stolen my pick." I knew it was weak, but, really, what could I say?

The shark smiled at the jury when I said this.

"Further on means, Mr. Brown. Is it true that you have a history of violence?"

My guy finally jumped to his feet.

"Objection your honour. Any non-prosecuted alleged violence on my client's part is just hearsay and any prosecuted violence is inadmissible."

"Quite right, Mr. Young. Objection sustained. Mr Sykes, please keep it clean. Jurors, you are directed to ignore the prosecutor's last question."

The prosecutor apologised but smiled at the jury anyway. He'd got his point across. I realised he was a dirty fighter, but that seemed to be the only thing we had in common.

"Mr. Brown, prior to the alleged assault, did you know Mr. Bertram?"

"Yes, sir. He was my wife's boss and we met several times."

"And did you know where he lived?"

"Yes, sir. Their office Christmas party was at his house last year."

I knew all this was damning, but I'm an honest guy.

"On the question of motive, Mr. Brown. Is it true that Mr Bertram had sex with your wife on the 24th of September, as part of an adulterous affair?"

Well, my brief got that wrong as well. He assured me that the prosecutor would play down the whole affair thing. Mr. Sykes apparently didn't care how Bertram looked here.

"Yes".

"Is it also true that you tried to get the police involved, alleging rape; but were totally frustrated when they took no action against Mr Bertram?"

This time I was prepared. I'm a quick learner, and was careful not to answer his question at the start of my reply. He'd asked me a question and had to wait until I answered it before butting in.

"They took no action against Mr. Bertram because although there was ample evidence of rape, using drugs, there just wasn't enough to guarantee a conviction. Was I frustrated about the process? My wife had been raped; so, yes, I was unhappy but not enough........"

"Thank you Mr Brown."

We adjourned for the night. I was relatively relaxed and still confident in the judicial system. But cracks were starting to appear. The next morning the prosecutor re-launched his assault.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Yesterday we demonstrated ample means to prove Mr. Brown assaulted Mr. Bertram. His fingerprints were on his own pick handle, along with Mr Bertram's DNA. I'm starting to think Mr. Brown isn't that smart, aren't you? By his own admission Mr. Brown knew where Mr. Bertram lived, and that was where the assault occurred."

"On motive, I have demonstrated that the accused knew that his wife was unfaithful with Mr. Bertram, and was frustrated by our legal system's response to his false accusation. But, after all, what role do the police have in sex between consenting adults, even if adultery is involved?"

Inside my head I was screaming. Do something, Young. He's just called my wife a slut. Mr. Young, my brief that I now regretted not sacking, didn't say anything.

"So, ladies and gentlemen. Revenge against his wife's lover, frustration over our legal system, two very good reasons to motivate the accused to assault poor Mr. Bertram. Mr. Brown, a man with a proven history.......I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to say anything about that am I?"

The judge aimed a huge frown at the back of the prosecutor's head but said nothing. He must have seen all sorts of games in his time.

"Let's get on to the question of opportunity. Are you aware, Mr. Brown, that your wife was interviewed by the police over your whereabouts during the night in question?"

"Not specifically, no."

"So you are unaware that she told the police that she thought you were at your weekly poker game with three upstanding witnesses."

"No, sir."

"Did you play poker that night, Mr. Brown?"

"No."

I heard a gasp from the gallery, turned and saw Sandra with mouth open and stricken look. Shit, even she thought I was guilty now.

"What did you do, Mr. Brown?"

"I just went for a drive, then parked somewhere quiet. I had a lot to think about."

"A lot to think about, Mr. Brown, or a lot to brood about? No, don't bother answering that. The place you went to 'think', did it have any witnesses or surveillance cameras perhaps?"

"No."

"No further questions for this witness, your honour."

My guy then spent two hours trying to repair the damage Sykes did to our case. He raised my police record of violence. One incident when I was 17. He raised most of the issues of the alleged rape of Sandra but carefully down-played the frustration angle. Sykes raised a few half-hearted objections, but again didn't seem to really care. Young pumped me to provide a lot of detail on the place I'd gone to think, while not pushing me on what I thought about while I was there.

Then Sykes called Bertram to the stand. Victim impact statements are only supposed to be used in sentencing, not during the trial. But Sykes invented a pretext to get him in front of the jury anyway. My guy objectioned the crap out of him, but it was enough for the jury to see the pathetic drooling creature slumped in his wheelchair. Bertram got to explain how he was lured out of his house onto his darkened porch and assaulted.

My guy got him to confirm he did not see his attacker.

The last witness for the prosecution was a Forensic Psychologist. He was asked to profile the person likely to have damaged Bertram. He answered with great confidence that especially due to the genital damage, the perpetrator was almost certainly a wronged husband.

Sykes was obviously so confident that he didn't even call police or forensic witnesses.

By the end of this assault, I pretty much knew that, one way or another, I was fucked. My only hope now was the 1:100 philosophy.

My guy didn't cross examine the prosecution witnesses that much. He did call three character witnesses though. They all testified what a great bloke, husband and father I was.

After closing prosecution and defence speeches, the judge summed up. He gave the jury a speech about circumstantial evidence. He instructed them on timing and conditions of verdicts and the usual stuff about the definition of 'beyond reasonable doubt', then asked them to retire. They were gone for only one hour and thirty four minutes.

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Today

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict, in which at least 10 of you agree?"

The foreman stood. "Yes, we have, your honour."

"And in the case of the state vs Mr. David Brown, on the charge of assault causing grievous bodily harm, how do you find?"

Without a glance in my direction the foreman stated, "Guilty, Your Honour."

My world crashed.

My faith in the legal system was crushed.

My delusions blew away.

You see, I knew something that only one other person in the world did. I knew I was innocent.

I'd also known for some time that there was only one other person with the means, motive and opportunity to commit this crime. And it wasn't Bertram's wife. She was in another state at the time. No opportunity.

So, when a female voice shouted, "It was me", from behind me, I didn't even have to look around. I just let my head sink into my hands and shook it.

Shit, Sandra. Why didn't you listen to my request not to come here today? Why, oh why didn't you let me take one for the team? The kids need a mother more than they need a father, for Christ's sake. Even as I thought those things, I knew Sandra's sense of responsibility and fairness would never allow me to do her time.

I glanced again at the shock on Bertram's face. How does it feel to know you've been crippled by a girl, shithead? For a rapist, whose motivation is all about power, it must really hurt.

Involuntarily, I thought back to that Wednesday night. The night I hadn't gone to poker and got three alibis. Maybe I should have told Sandra something different. I'd packed a six pack of thinking aids in a cooler and really gone somewhere quiet. At the end of my think, I'd come up with the outline of a plan. Ironically it was very close to Sandra's. Enlist poker buddies as alibi, go to next town in disguise and buy a new pick handle. Lure shithead out of his house at night after removing bulb from porch light. That's what I get for marrying someone of Irish descent, I suppose. If she'd thought before she acted then she wouldn't have used my pick handle, then panicked and dumped it. In my plan I was going to burn it.

It is a fairly sad reflection on the legal system that they hadn't even considered that Sandra was a victim as well and capable of seeking revenge.

Maybe we should go to couples counselling and improve our communications skills I thought. After all it would have been useful if we could have communicated our proposed acts of extreme violence with each other.

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D/Day + 62 Days

Well, I have to say the last two months have been bizarre. Sandra's outburst in court threw everyone into a flat spin. I was kept in the cells for two days while the ponderous legal juggernaut made up its mind what to do. I was released at the same time as Sandra was arrested, so I could look after the kids. The same afternoon I bailed her out. Go figure that. I was too dangerous to walk the streets but apparently a girl who inflicted the same damage was not a menace.

I ditched my lawyer, the useless toerag, and found a decent one for her. He immediately suggested Sandra enrol in an anger management program. Said it would look good in court. Although not in remand, Sandra was still being punished harshly. She was worried sick and the thought of being incarcerated and away from her children and I was weighing heavily upon her.

Today was her day in court, this time with her in the lonely dock and me in the gallery. She pled guilty as everyone expected. What wasn't expected was the judge deferring her sentencing to an unspecified date in the future. He rabbited on about something occurring concurrently that may have a bearing on the harshness of the sentence.

I've got a pretty good idea what that might be and it all stemmed from a visitor I'd received at work six weeks ago. My secretary ushered him into my office without the usual phone warning.

"Detective Carling, what a pleasant surprise."

We chewed the fat for a while, he apologised for the conclusions he had jumped to and I forgave him. It was like two old friends reminiscing about a fishing trip. Finally he came to the point of his visit.

"Dave, can I rely on your discretion?"

"Of course you can. You have my word."

"Well, since the publicity of your trial and your wife's sexual assault, two other former employees of John Bertram have come forwards and alleged the same thing happened to them. One was too embarrassed to report it to the police at the time, but the other did. At the time she came in she was tested for GHB and DNA. Because GHB can be out of the system within 6-12 hours, she tested negative. We did manage to take a DNA sample from sperm found on her panties, but with not enough evidence to even arrest Bertram, we couldn't get DNA from him. Like I said, both girls came in this week but didn't want to take it any further. Apparently neither of their husbands know about it. They refuse to testify against him. He is quite influential in this town you know."

"Why are you telling me all this Detective?"

"Well, sir, if you were to somehow be slipped the names of these two ladies and encourage them to testify, then we have an excellent case against Bertram."

"At the risk of sounding mercenary, Detective, what's in it for us?"

"A great deal, sir. If we can prove your wife was raped, by getting Bertram convicted, your wife will have an excellent case for mitigation."

Detective Carling then went on to some other issues, which I won't bore you with at the moment, then took his leave. At the door I sought to reassure him of my discretion.

"Thank you, Detective. Rest assured I will be discrete, I wouldn't want to get you in trouble with the chief."

He smiled. "Who do you think sent me to see you?"

I returned to my desk, which now sported an extra, folded piece of paper.

Over the next two weeks Sandra befriended both ladies, then with my presence, we all met both the husbands. I helped coach them through the shock of their wives revelations. Been there, done that, got the orange jumpsuit to prove it. At the end of the exercise, two determined couples marched into the police station. John Bertram's miserable life was about to go downhill again.

He was arrested again and his trial is in another month.

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D/Day plus 96 days

Well, fuck me. Sandra is free and clear. Shithead Bertram's trial only lasted two days. He pled not guilty but three brave women coming in one after the other hammered three very large nails in his coffin. I know Sandra loved it. She smiled at him the whole day.

He was sentenced to eight years. Now that's what scumbag rapists deserve. I can only hope he discovers the other side of rape continually for the next eight years. No, I shouldn't say that. I don't condone rape in any way, shape or form.

Sandra was a real mess after three months of waiting for the axe to fall. She broke down with relief when her sentence of three years was handed down, then immediately suspended. I guess the judge didn't like rapists either.

I was thankful that she didn't have to wait on the results of the third case linked to this whole affair. Before he left my office that fateful day, two and a half months ago Detective Carling let me into a couple more secrets. Seems he was a bit bemused after the second rape victim approached them. They couldn't find the file on her original complaint. Furthermore when they asked around why the DNA from Sandra's case hadn't been compared to the state database, they finally discovered it was because the public prosecutor hadn't signed the forms. That comparison would have exposed Bertram automatically.