Gravewriter by Mark Arsenault Page B

between the defendant and his victim broke down, and turned into murder.
    â€œAnd let us not hesitate to dispense justice in this case, even though the victim was also a brutal murderer, and not deserving of our compassion.” Dillingham paused, stopped his pacing, and turned to the jury. “Because if this defendant is capable of murdering a coldblooded killer like Garrett Nickel, imagine what he could do to you. Or to your family. Or to your neighbor.” In a low voice, he informed the jury, “This is a very bad, very dangerous defendant.”
    Several jurors shifted in their seats, shooting glances at Peter Shadd. Dillingham might have been melodramatic, but he could be effective.
    â€œThe state will prove,” he continued, “that Garrett Nickel, this defendant, and another inmate escaped together from prison. You will hear testimony from the defendant’s former cell mate. You will hear how the defendant quickly returned to his old ways after their escape, and pulled a gun on his cell mate in Roger Williams Park, torob him of money he had hidden there. That gun was the same caliber of weapon that was used to shoot the victim in this case.
    â€œYou will hear from the medical examiner, who will tell you that Garrett Nickel was shot first in the back, no doubt betrayed by a confidant.” He pointed and his voice boomed. “Betrayed by this defendant.” He paced again. “You will hear about the gunpowder residue on this defendant’s hands, which could only have been there if he had fired a weapon. And you will hear about his arrest, in a drug-induced stupor, in the basement of an abandoned boathouse, with his veins stuffed full of heroin, and his pockets”—he paused a beat—”stuffed full of cash.”
    Dillingham looked silently to the floor for a few moments, gathering himself.
    It had been an impressive opening statement.
    Billy glanced to the defense table. Martin Smothers, the lawyer, was scribbling notes like a madman. His black felt-tip pen squeaked against the paper. What was he writing?
    â€œWhen all the evidence is in,” Dillingham said, projecting a sense of fatigue, as if there was so much evidence that it exhausted him just to talk about it, “I’m going to ask you to return a verdict of guilty of murder in the first degree.” He scanned the two rows of seven jurors, looking each person briefly in the eye.
    Then the prosecutor stepped to his chair, slowly pulled it out, and sat. The jury turned its attention to the defense table, and to Martin Smothers.
    Martin had scribbled furiously on his legal pad, trying to distract the jury as Dillingham brought his opening statement to its big finish. His hand was on automatic, writing, “Ethan Dillingham is a selfabsorbed prick. Ethan Dillingham is a …” His attention was tuned to the prosecutor’s description of his case.
    Dillingham intended to push hard on Peter’s character and criminal history, which Martin had expected since the pretrial motions, when Judge Palumbo had ruled that Peter’s full criminal record would be admissible at the trial. Painting Peter as a dangerous thug would camouflage the shortage of direct evidence in the case—if the jury believed Peter were capable of killing Garrett Nickel, well, who the hell else would have done it?
    Damn, Martin thought, listening to Dillingham, he’s got his fastball today.
    If the jury had voted after Dillingham had finished, Peter would have been convicted on the spot. Martin’s opening statement would have to do more than point out holes in the evidence; it would have to plant doubt about Dillingham’s credibility, too.
    Martin waited until Dillingham was seated before he rose to give his opening—so that the jury wouldn’t see the taller prosecutor towering over him.
    He stood. Mustering as much authority as he could, Martin addressed the jurors.
    â€œWhen the witnesses get up on