From the Eyes of a Juror

  For the most part, Melissa Green’s testimony corroborated what Ann White had already stated, and her exchange with DA Lyons was largely uneventful, except for the fact the she too began to cry when she described finding Fred Miller slumped over in his car.

  Green testified that she arrived to work at around 8:00 AM on the morning of January 13th, 2006 and parked to the left of Miller’s car. But she also made it perfectly clear that she wasn’t aware of anything in the garage being the least bit amiss as she got out of her car and walked towards the nearby office building.

  DA Lyons went on to display a photo for Ms. Green’s viewing pleasure, depicting the rear end of her car, with the license plate clearly visible, and she asked her to identify the picture; a request which of course she complied with undisputedly. Lyons apprised the jurors that the photo was taken by one of the detectives on the day of the murder, and she requested that it be entered as an exhibit; she would follow the same routine for every witness who testified that they had a car parked in the garage on the fateful day that Fred Miller was murdered.

  Other than that, Lyons had no further questions for Melissa Green.

  However, Gleason picked up on what he thought was an important point in Green’s testimony and he pounced on the unsuspecting witness.

  “Ms. Green is it possible that Fred Miller wasn’t in his car when you arrived to work on the morning of January 13th, 2006?”

  “I don’t know for sure. All I know is that I didn’t notice, one way or the other, whether he was in the car,” replied Green with a shrug. But Gleason pressed on.

  “Ms. Green when you pull into a parking spot next to a car which you recognize to be that of a co-worker, wouldn’t you notice whether or not that co-worker was in their car?”

  “What can I say, it was dark in the garage, and maybe I was distracted,” replied Green rather rudely.

  Green wasn’t sure what Gleason had up his sleeve, but she wasn’t planning on playing along with this bastard lawyer who, in her mind, was trying to get the guy who killed her friend out of jail by making her look bad.

  “Your honor I request that you instruct the witness on how to answer questions under cross-examination,” demanded Gleason.

  Judge Gershwin appeared to be a bit put off by Gleason request, but nonetheless she turned toward the witness stand and patiently explained the rules of cross-examination to Melissa Green.

  “Ms. Green when a witness such as yourself is questioned under direct examination, you may give descriptive answers, whereas when you are questioned under cross-examination, and the question can be reasonably answered with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response, then you must answer accordingly. If you feel that you cannot reasonably answer the question with a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ response, then you should say that you cannot fairly answer the question. Is that understood Ms. Green?”

  “Yes your honor,” replied Green in a tone that was reminiscent of a schoolgirl who was being lectured to by the principal.

  “I side with Green on that one,” reasoned Newlan, “how the hell was she supposed to know those rules?”

  But while Newlan was silently ruling in Ms. Green’s favor, Gleason was going right back on the attack.

  “Again Ms. Green I repeat, when you pull into your workplace parking lot, next to a car which you recognize to be that of a co-worker, isn’t it fair to assume that you’d notice whether or not your co-worker was in the car?”

  “I cannot fairly answer that question,” replied a now defiant Melissa Green.

  “Well let me put it another way. You testified that you didn’t see Mr. Miller in his car when you got to work at around 8:00 AM on the morning of January 13th, 2006, so isn’t it possible, Ms. Green, that he in fact wasn’t in his car?”

  “I suppose it’s possible,” Green finally conceded.

  “And Ms. Green did you notice whether a car was parked on the other side of the garage, directly opposite from where Mr. Miller’s car was parked?”

  “No sir, I really didn’t notice one way or another,” unenthusiastically replied Green.

  “No further questions your honor,” declared Gleason, and as he sat down at the defense table, he whispered to Breslin, “so far, so good.”

  “Wow, this guy is something else. On the one side we have DA Lyons who was obviously going to try and set up the timeline of events with her fancy drawing. But then here comes Gleason, swooping in, and he’s already poking holes in the government’s theory like a bird of prey clawing into a rat,” mumbled Newlan to himself as if he were announcing a basketball game.

  The next witness, Ms. Marta Coffman, worked as a receptionist for Newton Chiropractic Associates whose offices were also located at 435 Commonwealth Ave.

  Coffman testified that she arrived to work just after 8 AM on January 13th, 2006, and that she parked in her usual spot in the garage. She stated that she didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, but she also went out of her way to make it clear that it was very dark within the bowels of the garage.

  Coffman went on to recount how she had heard a commotion coming from the offices of the Barron Insurance Agency at around 9 AM, but that she was too busy to investigate what was going on, and she didn’t realize the magnitude of the situation until the police interviewed her later that same day.

  There didn’t seem to be much Gleason could get out of Coffman under cross-examination, but he had read her police report, and so he decided to take a crack at her anyway.

  “Ms. Coffman isn’t it true that you complained on numerous occasions about the lack of lighting in the garage?”

  “Yes and no one ever listened to me…until after the murder that is. Then the building owners finally decided to install new lighting. Too little, too late, if you ask me,” groused Coffman.

  ‘Interesting…it was still kind of dark inside that garage when we visited there yesterday. Even after a murder, the cheapo owners still didn’t spring for decent lighting,” concluded Newlan, while at the same time Gleason had no more questions for Ms. Coffman, so it was the prosecution’s turn at bat again.

  “Your honor the government calls Mr. Steve Barron,” announced Lyons as the 65 year old owner of the Barron Insurance Agency walked somewhat unsteadily towards the witness stand.

  Unbeknownst to anyone in the courtroom, Mr. Barron had had a couple of shots of bourbon at lunch to assist him in calming his nerves, but unfortunately for him, his solution didn’t seem to be working, and if anything, the liquor only served to make him even more jittery than he already was.

  Based on Barron’s fancy designer suit, It was apparent to Newlan that he was probably a man of wealth, and this was confirmed when he appeared to come across as a braggart while proudly name-checking his BMW during Lyons’ direct examination.

  As a result of DA Lyons’ prodding, the jurors learned that when Steve Barron arrived to work at 7:30 AM on the morning of January 13th, 2006 and parked in his usual spot near the front of the garage, Fred Miller’s car was nowhere to be found under the covered parking lot.

  As a matter of fact, there was only one other car in the garage when Barron arrived to work on that foreboding morning, and he recognized the vehicle as belonging to one of his employees, Ms. Sandra Short.

  Lyons handed Barron a long wooden pointer and asked; “Mr. Barron, to the best of your recollection, could you point out in this drawing of the garage, where your car was parked and where Ms. Short’s car was parked.”

  “Who the hell cares what spot he parked in so why bother having him point it out,” complained Newlan to himself. He was becoming frustrated by the slow pace of Lyons’ questions, and on top of that, her comportment was beginning to irritate him again.

  But regardless of Newlan’s silent griping, Lyons methodically moved on to the next phase of her interview.

  “Mr. Barron did something happen at around 8:30 AM on the morning of January 13th, 2006?”

  “Yes, I was in my office preparing
for a meeting, but suddenly I thought I heard someone screaming by the receptionist’s desk, so I went over to find out what the problem was…and that’s when I saw that two of my employees were crying hysterically and bemoaning the fact that something was terribly wrong with another one of my employees, Fred Miller. So at that point, I got out my emergency kit and I directed the receptionist to call 911. I then asked another one of the office managers, Norman Michaels, to take a walk down to the garage with me. Mr. Michaels was very concerned that there might be someone in the garage with a gun, but when we didn’t spot anyone lingering around the general vicinity of Fred’s car, we cautiously approached. The first thing we noticed was that the windows of the vehicle were extremely dirty or foggy, but as we got closer, we were able to detect that Fred was inside the car, slumped over in the driver’s seat. Fred was motionless and bleeding from his mouth and left cheek, so I opened the door and shook him by the shoulder, and I asked him if he was OK, but there was no response…no signs of life,” explained Barron who was also beginning to get choked up.

  “I can see that this is gonna be one big crying party,” complained a beleaguered Newlan, although if truth be told, at times he was having trouble keeping his own emotions in check.

  “Mr. Barron at that point what did you do?” continued Lyons.

  “I backed off, and by then, Dr. Barnett, who has a dental practice in our building, had arrived with a defibrillator, and a few other people began milling about the car. Dr. Barnett asked everyone to stand back and not to touch anything. She proceeded to check Fred’s pulse, and then she turned to me and said, ‘Steve, this man is dead’,” recalled Barron. He had momentarily recomposed himself, but in the blink of an eye he began welling up again while he was still in the process of relaying Dr. Barnett’s assessment of Fred Miller’s condition to the jurors.

  “Objection,” shouted out Gleason, and Judge Gershwin thought about it for a moment before submitting a reply.

  “She may have it,” came back the response from the honorable judge; a response which Newlan found to be curiously off kilter.

  “She may have it…that’s not your usual courtroom phrase…I never heard that one on Court TV before. Why didn’t she just say overruled? And why the hell did Gleason object in the first place?” wondered the sarcastic Newlan before attempting to answer his own question.

  “Hmmm, maybe he objected because a dentist was pronouncing a guy dead at the scene of a murder when she should have been checking out his dental records…who the hell knows?”

  And like Ms. Coffman before him, Barron went on to discuss the lighting, or lack thereof, in the garage

  Lyons then prompted Barron as to whether he was aware of any personal problems in Fred Miller’s life, and he simply answered, “No.”

  At that point in the proceedings, Lyons presented Barron with a side-angle photo of Fred Miller slumped over in his car with the driver’s door open, and she asked him if he recognized the snapshot. And when he said “yes”, she asked that the picture be marked as the next exhibit.

  The shot wasn’t a close-up, so it was hard to tell whether it was a picture of someone who was sleeping or someone who was dead, but Lyons would gradually introduce photos which were more and more graphic, with each one being gorier than the last, until she got the reaction that she was looking for.

  Lyons then turned it over to Gleason who didn’t have too many questions for Mr. Barron, but the questions that he did ask, hit home with Newlan, and he wondered whether any of the other jurors were following where Gleason was going with his line of questioning.

  “I sure hope they do…otherwise our deliberations are going to get real interesting,” predicted Newlan who was getting a little bit ahead of himself, seeing as how they had a long way to go before they could even begin to think about deliberations.

  “Mr. Barron you testified that there was only one other car in the garage when you arrived to work on the date in question, isn’t that right?” asked Gleason.

  “Yes sir,” replied Barron.

  “And do you remember whether the other car was a red car?”

  “No it was not,” answered Barron.

  Gleason already knew that the car belonged to one of Mr. Barron’s employee, and that it wasn’t red, but his goal was to put into the minds of the jurors the fact that the government couldn’t prove exactly when this mysterious red car arrived onto the scene; or for that matter when it left the scene.

  “Now Mr. Barron you also testified that you opened the door of Mr. Miller’s car…isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes… well I had to open the door to be able to check on him,” explained Barron.

  “Fair enough,” replied Gleason in an understanding tone and he then added, “and Mr. Barron did you touch any other parts of the car?”

  After a long pause Mr. Barron replied, “Yes, at one point I went over to the passenger side of Mr. Miller’s car and I opened up that door as well.”

  “Did you open the passenger door for any specific reason?”

  “No…looking back on it now, I’m not really sure why I opened the passenger door. I guess I was just confused and scared, and I wasn’t thinking straight,” tearfully whispered Barron.

  “Please Mr. Barron, you need to speak up so that the court reporter can record your testimony,” requested Judge Gershwin in a cold tone. It was as if she had been hardened by years of dealing with crying witnesses, which was in sharp contrast to the revered way in which she typically treated her jurors.

  Gleason wasn’t as harsh with Barron as Judge Gershwin was, and he tried to reassure him that he had done nothing wrong.

  “That’s an understandable reaction Mr. Barron.”

  However, in his own mind Gleason was gleefully thinking, “Wait until I get a hold of that fingerprint expert.” But before he lost his focus, he reminded himself that he still needed to do a bit more follow-up work with Mr. Barron.

  Gleason paused to allow Barron to compose himself again, before asking; “Mr. Barron were you wearing gloves when you went down to the garage to check on Mr. Miller?”

  “No sir…although the emergency kit that I brought down to the garage had a pair of Anthrax gloves in it, in the confusion I forgot to put them on.”

  “Very well Mr. Barron, I just have one final question. Do you have any idea why Mr. Michaels thought that there might be someone with a gun in the garage?”

  “Come to think of it…I have no idea,” replied Barron with a confused look etched upon his face.

  “No further questions your honor,” announced Gleason, and as he returned to the defense table, there was an unmistakable bounce in his step.

  “That last question sounded like a left jab setting up a right cross,” muttered Newlan, using an old boxing analogy, which Jane and Natalie apparently didn’t find amusing, judging by the dirty looks that they once again leveled in his direction.

  Next on the stand was Ms. Kathy Boyd, a spunky 42 years old mother of two who was yet another employee of the Barron Insurance Agency.

  According to her testimony, Boyd arrived at work and parked in the garage sometime between 7:35 and 7:40 on the morning of January 13th, 2006.

  Boyd stated that she recognized Sandra Short and Steve Barron’s vehicles already parked in the garage, and that she also noticed an unfamiliar red car, parked backend in, about half way down on the left hand side of the garage.

  “Ms. Boyd could you point out to us in this drawing of the garage, where you were parked,” requested Lyons, and Boyd aimed a finger at a parking spot which was located near the front of the garage.

  “And where was the red car parked in conjunction to your car?” wondered Lyons.

  And while Boyd immediately pointed to the parking spot opposite Fred Miller’s car, Lyons conveniently produced a red magic-marker and neatly printed the words “red car” onto the diagram, as if she were putting the finishing touching on a masterpiece painting.

&nbs
p; “This particular garage has no reserved spots, and parking is strictly first come first serve, isn’t that correct Ms. Boyd?” continued Lyons.

  “Yes, besides the two handicapped spots, one on either side of the garage, all the other parking spaces are open to anyone.”

  “And is there a specific reason why you parked in the front of the garage?”

  “Well yes, mainly because it is closer to the exit, and being closer to the street, the lighting is better. You see, the back of the garage is very dark in some spots, especially at night when we’re leaving work,” explained Boyd.

  Lyons then got down to the critical section of Boyd’s testimony.

  “Ms. Boyd, do you remember anything about the red car?”

  “Yes, I remember that it was a maroon-colored, mid 90’s model Mercury or Ford which appeared to have a number of scratches on the front bumper, or possibly it could have been that the paint was peeling. I think it may have been a Ford Taurus. You see, I recognized the details of the car because at one time I myself once owned a 1995 Ford Taurus,” disclosed Boyd.

  “Holy crap! She could almost be describing my car, right down to the make and color and year…and even the scratched paint on the bumper. I better come up with an alibi for January 13th, 2006 just in case,” wryly presumed Newlan (as we might remember, Newlan drove a red 1995 Mercury Mystique 4 door sedan that had a dinged-up front bumper).

  Newlan then nodded his head from side-to-side and whispered to himself, “Man, you can’t make this shit up.”

  Of course, Newlan’s ownership of a red car meant nothing to Lyons as she pressed Boyd for more details.

  “Now did something happen when you got up to your office that morning, Ms. Boyd?”

  “Yes, I was reviewing my emails and enjoying a cup of coffee when I heard a loud bang. I wasn’t sure what caused the noise, but I thought that the sound might have come from the garage.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  “Our office is on the fourth floor, so I went over and took a peek out the window which looks down on the garage…but I didn’t notice anything unusual, and since we’re on a busy street, I really didn’t think anything of it. And so I went back to my desk and I didn’t give it another thought,” acknowledged Boyd.

  “About what time did this occur?” asked Lyons to which Boyd replied “I’d have to say around 7:50, maybe 7:55 AM.”

  Lyons then produced a handful of photographs which depicted the view of the garage from Boyd’s office and she introduced them as exhibits.

  But as far as Newlan was concerned, all the photographs proved was that the inside of the garage wasn’t visible from the vantage point of Boyd’s office, and so he wasn’t sure why Lyons was making such a big deal over something that really didn’t help her case.

  “And did something else happen a bit later that same day?” continued Lyons, oblivious to Newlan’s unspoken critique.

  “Yes, at around nine thirty or so, I heard that there was some sort of incident in the garage involving one of my co-workers, Fred Miller, so I decided to take a walk down to the garage to see what was going on. But by the time I got outside, there were a couple of police officers blocking the entrance to the garage, and they politely instructed us to go back up to our offices,” recalled Boyd.

  “Did the police interview you that day?”

  “Yes…a Newton Police detective came up to our office that morning and took us aside and asked us all a few general questions, and he told us that there would be detectives from both the Newton and State police homicide units coming up to talk to us.”

  “And did the homicide detectives talk to you?”

  “Yes, two detectives stopped by the office later that afternoon and they paired off and took each of us, one by one, into separate conference rooms. For the most part, the detective I spoke with asked the same questions that the Newton Police had asked us earlier in the day, but she also delved into greater detail regarding some of my answers.”

  “And were you able to provide the detective with any information?”

  “Yes, I told her about the loud bang, and then just as the two detectives were leaving I again recalled the unfamiliar red car that was parked in the garage, so they took me back into the conference room and I told them all about the red car as well. Also, one of my job duties is to service and maintain all of the computers in our office, and I was asked to help remove Fred’s computer for the detectives…which of course I gladly did.”

  “Thank you Ms. Boyd…no further questions,” intoned Lyons. She was cautiously optimist that Boyd’s testimony went over well with the jurors. But meanwhile, Gleason was chopping at the bit to get at the witness.

  “Ms. Boyd didn’t you tell the police that you thought the loud banging sound you heard may have been a car backfiring?”

  “Well I wasn’t sure what it was, and I was just trying to come up with some sort of possible explanation,” acknowledged Boyd, and after a few more basic questions intended to get the witness to lower her guard, Gleason moved on to the red car.

  “Ms. Boyd isn’t it common for visitors to park in the garage?”

  “Yes, of course,” cautiously replied Boyd who appeared to be intimidated and suspicious of Gleason right from the outset.

  “And isn’t it fair to say that unfamiliar cars are often parked in the garage?” assumed Gleason, and Boyd responded with muted agreement.

  “And isn’t it also fair to say that you wouldn’t have noticed the details of every unfamiliar car that ever parked in the garage?” continued Gleason, and based on Ms. Boyd’s facial expressions, one might have gotten the impression that the councilor for the defense was speaking in a foreign language.

  Boyd wasn’t entire sure what Gleason had up his sleeve, but whatever he was up to, she wasn’t willingly going to cooperate, and so she boastfully replied, “well I consider myself to be a very observant person.”

  “Mrs. Boyd did you work yesterday?” innocently asked Gleason, and again Boyd wasn’t sure what his intentions were with this line of questioning. But nevertheless, she was proud of her attendance record and she contentedly acknowledged as much.

  “Yes I worked all day…came in at 7:30 AM and left precisely at 5 PM.”

  “Now Ms. Boyd if I were to tell you that I had arranged for a car to be parked yesterday in the spot next to where you park every morning…and that this car was there when you arrived at work, and that it was there when you left work, would you be able to provide me with any details regarding this particular vehicle?” demanded Gleason.

  Not surprisingly, Boyd was stunned by this sudden turn of events. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, but finally she hesitantly stammered, “I’m sorry but I don’t remember a car being parked next to me yesterday at all.”

  “And yet you remembered precise details about an arbitrary red car parked roughly 30 yards away from you on the morning of Mr. Miller’s murder, is that what you’re telling us Ms. Boyd?” challenged Gleason.

  “Yes, I certainly did,” insisted Boyd. And then in rapid fire succession Gleason asked, “Ms. Boyd did you get the license number of this red car?” “Did you see anyone standing outside of the car?” “Did you see anyone or anything inside the car?”

  And much to Gleason’s delight, Boyd replied just as rapidly, answering, “No”, “no” and “no” to each and every one of his questions. On top of that, she went on to make Gleason’s day even more of a success by adding, “It was dark at that end of the garage, and I was too far away from the red car to be able to make out the type of details you’re asking about.”

  “And yet you testified earlier today that you were able to distinguish that there was paint peeling off the front bumper of the red car,” skeptically inquired Gleason.

  “Absolutely,” strongly asserted Boyd who was now beginning to react angrily to Gleason’s sarcastic tone.

  It was right about this time that Gleason decided to use Lyons’ draw
ing of the garage to his own advantage for a change, and he had Boyd again point out where she was parked in relation to the unidentified red car.

  “Ms. Boyd from that vantage point it appears that at best you would only have a side view of the red car, and you wouldn’t be able to see the front bumper at all, isn’t that correct?”

  “Well I may have looked back at the red car as I was walking towards my office building,” replied Boyd who wasn’t giving in an inch.

  “Ms. Boyd, this is very important, a man’s life is at stake here. I need to know what you did, and what you saw…not what you may have done, and what you may have seen,” shouted Gleason who was beginning to get a bit testy in his own right over what he perceived to be a witness who was trying to play games with him.

  “I’m sorry, but I just don’t remember the precise details that you are looking for, Mr. Gleason,” stubbornly replied Boyd. Although, deep inside what she was really thinking was; “a man’s life is at stake…ha…a man who was responsible for the death of my friend and co-worker.”

  With his point made, Gleason decided that it was time to move on.

  “Ms. Boyd, do you remember the name of the detective you talked to on the day of the murder?”

  “Why yes, of course…I spoke to Detective Curran of the Newton Police,” confidently answered Boyd.

  “Detective Carolyn Curran?” clarified Gleason.

  “Yes,” tersely replied Boyd. She didn’t like Gleason, and it was coming through loud and clear to the jurors, or at the very least it was obvious to Newlan anyway.

  “And Ms. Boyd, have you spoken to Detective Curran since January 13th, 2006?” wondered Gleason.

  “Yes, I spoke to Carolyn before my grand jury testimony,” hesitantly replied Boyd who was suddenly unsure of herself.

  “Interesting…she’s on a first name basis with Detective Curran,” gathered Gleason as he continued to interrogate Boyd, and ironically Newlan was thinking the exact same thing.

  “And when was the last time you spoke to Detective Curran?”

  Boyd was tempted to lie, but she was concerned that Gleason might catch her in the act, and that she would end up getting herself in trouble, so she came clean.

  “I believe I spoke to Detective Curran two days ago.”

  “That would be June 3rd, 2008?” added Gleason.

  “Yes,” snarled Boyd. She was annoyed with Gleason for constantly filling-in the holes of her answers with what she thought to be unnecessary details and her facial expression told the story as much as her angry responses did.

  “And Ms. Boyd do you remember what you told the police, and later Detective Curran on January 13th, 2006, specifically in regards to the red car?” inquired Gleason who had resumed his patient demeanor.

  “I believed I told them that it was an older car, possibly a Ford Taurus or a Mercury Sable, and that I picked out the make of the car because I recognized the front grille, which was similar to an old 1995 Taurus that I once owned. And I told them about the paint peeling off the car. And I told them that maybe it could have been road salt as well,” recounted Boyd.

  “Road salt, that’s a new development. Road salt which could be washed off, and which would render the car unidentifiable,” mused Gleason as he made a mental note to himself to remember this detail for possible future ammunition. But for now he didn’t want to break his momentum by stopping and writing down his thoughts.

  “Ms. Boyd you provided the police with all of these details on January 13th, 2006?” asked Gleason in a doubting tone.

  “I can’t remember my exact words but that was the substance of our conversations, yes,” replied Boyd.

  It was at this opportune point in Boyd’s testimony that Gleason turned towards Judge Gershwin and politely asked, “your honor may I approach the witness?”

  “You may,” replied the judge who had been listening intently and taking notes just as the jurors were doing.

  “Ms. Boyd, I am holding a copy of the report from Newton Police Detective, Gerald Tarani, who interviewed you on the morning of January 13th, 2006, and I’d like you to read the sentence that I’ve highlighted,” requested Gleason as he handed Boyd the report.

  Boyd squinted at the report, and with a sour face and an even more acidic tone she slowly read the document.

  “The witness stated that she saw a small red car parked in the garage, in the general vicinity of the victim’s vehicle.”

  “Ms. Boyd I also have the report of your interview with Newton Police Detective Carolyn Curran from the afternoon of January 13th, 2006…would you please read to the jurors the sentence that I have highlighted in this report,” added Gleason, and he seemed to have a slight smirk on his face as he presented Boyd the stapled pieces of paper.

  Gleason enjoyed turning up the heat on people who were being uncooperative, or worse lying, and forcing them to eat their words. And so he was deriving immense pleasure from observing Boyd squirming up there on the witness stand.

  Boyd grabbed the report roughly out of Gleason’s hand and reread the accentuated sentence at a rapid pace.

  “The witness mentioned seeing a small red car, possibly a four door sedan, parked in the garage when she arrived to work on the morning of January 13th, 2006.”

  Boyd then practically tossed the report back toward Gleason who purposely let it fall to the floor.

  “Sorry,” offered Boyd, albeit rather unconvincingly.

  “Quite all right,” pleasantly replied Gleason as he bent over to pick up the critical document, which, by rule of law, had been thankfully preserved for prosperity.

  “Ms. Boyd I have read both of these reports from top to bottom and nowhere in the almost 10 pages of your words as transcribed by the very capable Newton Police is there any mention of the details which you provided us with this morning. Nowhere do you mention a 1995 Ford or Mercury,” exclaimed Gleason.

  “I’m quite sure that I brought some very specific details to the attention of the detectives, on the very day of the murder, mind you. Maybe they just didn’t write them down,” surmised Boyd with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “I see Ms. Boyd…and wouldn’t it be fair to say that your memory regarding this red car would have been most accurate on January 13th, 2006 when it was freshest in your mind?” asked Gleason while as the same time forming a probing expression with his eyebrows.

  “I suppose,” replied Boyd in an uninterested tone.

  “But for some reason, there was no mention made of these facts over the course of two interviews with the Newton Police on January 13th, 2006. And yet here we are two and a half years later, and somehow you are just now shedding light on all sorts of important details. Is that what you are telling these jurors, Ms. Boyd?” shouted Gleason as he pointed towards the jury box.

  “I guess it’s possible that maybe some of these observations came to me later…and let’s not forget that I also provided many of these same details during my grand jury testimony which was quite a while ago,” admitted an insolent Boyd.

  “Your honor I have no further questions for this witness,” railed Gleason who went with a disgusted tone in hopes that the added drama might stick in the jurors’ minds.

  Gleason never came out and said it, but the insinuation was loud and clear; someone provided Boyd with additional details regarding the red car…and he had a good idea of just who that someone was.

  “For pure entertainment value that had to rank as a 10,” insisted Newlan who was eating up every minute of the standoff between Gleason and the belligerent witness, Ms. Boyd.

  Furthermore, Newlan was drinking the Kool Aid that Gleason was selling, and he was totally convinced that Boyd’s testimony had somehow been compromised. Unfortunately for Breslin however, not all of the jurors were as impressed with Gleason’s performance as Newlan was.

  Meanwhile, DA Lyons was aghast. The blistering cross-examination of Ms. Kathy Boyd caught her uncharacteristically off guard; s
he had wanted to object just to stop the bleeding, but for the life of her, she couldn’t come up with anything valid to object about.

  However, through it all, Lyons was undeterred and her confidence never wavered. She knew full well that she still had a few aces up her sleeve if she could just get past the next witness, Norman Michaels.

  Lyons realized that Michaels was going to present a challenge, but her attitude had always been such that the best way to face a problem was to tackle it head on.

  “Here goes nothing,” muttered Lyons as she announced, “your honor the Commonwealth calls Mr. Norman Michaels to the stand.”

  Norman Michaels was a stressed out 54 year old single father of four teenage sons who had worked for Steve Barron and his family in some capacity for over 20 years, and he also just so happened to be Fred Miller’s supervisor.

  When it came to appearance, the untidy Mr. Michaels was the complete opposite of his boss Steve Barron. Michaels showed up in the courtroom wearing a crumpled polo shirt and wrinkled jeans, and he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days which only added to his disheveled look.

  Michaels’ eyes seemed to be darting in a million different directions and he was obviously on edge as he took the stand. But for the most part he offered nothing new to the case…until the tail end of his testimony that is.

  Michaels testified that he got a ride to work from his son who dropped him off in front of the garage at around 8:15 AM on the morning of January 13th, 2006, and that he didn’t notice anything of significance as he walked up to his office.

  Michaels’ deposition pretty much mimicked that of Steve Barron, including the fact that he also placed his hands on Miller’s car (which Gleason once again made note of). But at that point, Lyons’ questions took an utterly unexpected left turn down the dark alley of surprise.

  Speaking in a low monotone, and trying to be as un-dramatic as possible, Lyons asked, “Mr. Michaels how would you describe your relationship with Fred Miller?”

  “I would say we had a courteous, professional, business relationship, but at the same time we were also friendly towards each other. You know strictly co-workers, but we also occasionally went down the street for a couple of beers,” explained Michaels.

  “Mr. Michaels, was Fred Miller dealing with a disgruntled customer?” nonchalantly inquired Lyons, trying to get through the final questions for Michaels as quickly as possible.

  “Yes, as Fred’s manager he kept me posted regarding a client who was causing him some difficulties,” replied Michaels.

  “And did you tell the police about this particular client?”

  “Yes, I made both the Newton Police and the State Police aware of the situation since I thought it might be relevant to the case,” reasoned Michaels, and just like that, Lyons was done with her interview.

  “Jeez, she brings up this disgruntled customer and then she doesn’t ask any follow-up questions…what’s up with that?” wondered Newlan, but then he smiled to himself as he added, “Although I’m pretty sure that R. J. Gleason will have a few follow-up questions for Mr. Norman Michaels.”

  And of course R. J. Gleason did have a few follow-up questions for one Norman Michaels. In fact Gleason, who had been looking forward to speaking to Mr. Michaels all day, had quite a few follow-up questions for him.

  Gleason didn’t even bother asking Michaels whether he was wearing gloves when he touched Fred Miller’s car. Instead he cut right to the chase, hoping to capture the attention of the jurors and leave them with something to think about at the end of what was turning out to be a very long day.

  “Mr. Michaels do you remember how you described this disgruntled client to the police?”

  “I believe I characterized him as unstable,” replied Michaels after a moment’s thought.

  “And why did you use the word unstable?” wondered Gleason.

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure why I used that word…it just seemed appropriate I guess,” replied Michaels.

  “Could you please at least make an attempt to tell the jurors why the word ‘unstable’ seemed to be such an appropriate adjective to describe Mr. Miller’s client,” requested Gleason who was being very polite with Michaels.

  “Well, the gentleman came in one day to meet with Fred and me regarding his life insurance policy, and at times he was rambling incessantly and he was almost incoherent. It was as if he may have been affected by drugs or alcohol,” recalled Michaels.

  “And when did this meeting take place,” asked Gleason, to which Michaels replied, “I’d say it was sometime around early December of 2005.”

  Gleason then asked, “Mr. Michaels, did you share a voice mail message, which was left to you by this malcontented customer, with the police?”

  “Yes, Fred had confided in me that this particular customer was becoming worrisome to him and that he had left him a couple of bizarre and sometimes threatening messages on his voice mail. But unfortunately Fred had deleted the messages, so I instructed him that the next time this gentleman called, to please transfer him over to me, which he did.”

  Michaels paused momentarily, and then proceeded on, unprompted by Gleason, “and yes, I did share a couple of digital recordings with the police.”

  After another short pause, Michaels clarified his comments by adding, “…and actually they weren’t voice messages, but conversations I had recorded while talking to this gentleman on the phone.”

  “So you were concerned enough about this customer’s behavior that you decided to record your conversations with him?”

  “Well yes…I was alarmed by some of the things that he had said to me in a previous conversation, and I felt it might be prudent to record any future calls with him for legal purposes,” replied a hesitant Michaels who was well aware of the fact that it was illegal to record his conversation with the petulant customer without first telling him.

  “Great, now I’ll probably be indicted, or even worse, sued because of this damned recording,” thought Michaels as he cautiously awaited the next question from Gleason.

  In an earlier hearing, minus the jury, Judge Gershwin had declared that the recorded conversations between Mr. Michaels and the irritated customer were inadmissible and irrelevant to the charges against John Breslin. Naturally, Gleason obviously disagreed, and now he wanted to delve into the details of these recordings using any means possible. But first he had to ensure that he fastidiously approached Michaels’ testimony in a manner that wouldn’t cause an objection from DA Lyons, and of course he didn’t want to incur the wrath of Judge Gershwin either. As such, Gleason hesitated for a good thirty seconds of deliberate contemplation before pressing on.

  “Mr. Michaels, could you tell us what was said in your conversations with the disgruntled customer which would cause you to become so alarmed.”

  Gleason held his breath, expectantly waiting for an objection, and he was actually quite surprise when one never came.

  Michaels described the suspicious comments from the sulky client as follows; “well, he told me that Fred was being a disrespectful wiseass, and that he had a mind to submit a formal complaint to the Better Business Bureau, or maybe even come down there and personally settle the score with that ‘punk’, referring to Fred.”

  “Was there anything else Mr. Michaels?” pressed Gleason.

  Michaels was momentarily unresponsive and he was obsessively fidgeting in his chair, but finally he stammered, “uhm…no.”

  “Are you sure?” insisted Gleason.

  “Nothing that I can recall,” whispered Michaels.

  Gleason was now facing a dilemma; he had listened to Michaels covert recordings countless times, and Michaels had clearly left out one crucial statement which Gleason was determined to have the jurors hear.

  Up until now, Michaels had been a good witness; he had thoughtfully answered each and every question from both sides of the aisle, and he was very detailed in his responses, so why, wondered
Gleason, is he leaving out the most important detail of all?

  Gleason was suddenly irritated and he thought to himself, “Because someone got to Michaels and told him not to mention it, that’s why.” And once again, he had a very good idea of just who that someone was.

  Gleason knew in advance that his question was going to cause an outburst, and he fully realized that he’d probably be admonished by Judge Gershwin. But he could play dirty too, and now was the time to do it, so out of nowhere, with a booming voice, he exclaimed, “Mr. Michaels, did this disgruntled customer say to you, ‘I do my best work with a 38’?”

  “Objection your honor…for God’s sake,” screamed Lyons with her familiar scowl in top form as gasps and whispers echoed throughout the courtroom.

  “Order in this courtroom,” shouted Judge Gershwin, and she demonstratively pointed towards the attorneys as she angrily demanded, “I will see you at sidebar.”

  Judge Gershwin’s order was followed by another heated conversation which Newlan watched with much interest until she called for another break, and the jurors were once again escorted out of the courtroom.

  While the jurors were out of listening range, the stalemate was somehow miraculously resolved, and when they were finally returned to the courtroom after about 15 minutes, Gleason was allowed to ask, “Once again Mr. Michaels, did this disgruntled customer say anything else that caused some trepidation on your part?”

  Michaels peered into the courtroom as if he were looking for advice, or possibly some sort of unspoken signal, but when none was forthcoming he sheepishly replied, “Yes…now that you mention it, I do recall this gentleman saying, in a threatening manner, that he did his best work with a 38.”

  “No further questions you honor,” announced Gleason in a respectful tone, but inside he was joyfully thinking, “I got what I wanted and it was well worth the risk of being held in contempt of court by Judge Gershwin.”

  DA Lyons preferred not to end the day with such a volatile exchange so she felt obligated to ask a rebuttal question.

  “Mr. Michaels, do you speak to this disgruntled customer on January 13th, 2006?”

  “Not that I can recall,” replied Michaels.

  “That seems kind of odd…you would think that he’d definitely remember something like that, one way or the other,” surmised Newlan who made a note in his pad to that affect and underlined it several times.

  Gleason then followed up with his own rebuttal.

  “Mr. Michaels did you speak to this disgruntled customer at any time after the murder of Fred Miller?”

  “Yes I did,” replied Michaels in a timid tone. At that point Gleason decided to quit while he was ahead, and once again he announced that he had no further questions.

  “Sure…leave us hanging. What good was that exchange if we don’t know what Michaels and the pissed-off client discussed after the murder?” contemplated a frustrated Newlan. Nonetheless, he jotted down in his notepad:

  Gleason attempts to raise reasonable doubt by showing that someone else held a grudge against Miller. Could it be that simple??? PROBABLY NOT!!!

  “I believe that this would be a good spot to break for the day,” announced a weary Judge Gershwin, while at the same time Newlan was still furiously scribbling away into his pad of paper. She then looked toward the jury box with a smile and added, “ladies and gentlemen please do not discuss the case with anyone…have a safe trip home and we’ll see you promptly at 8:45 AM tomorrow morning.”

  “All rise,” shouted Billy, and as the jurors entered the deliberation room, he growled, “Wait here and I’ll be back in a few minutes to escort you down to the garage…and make sure you don’t take your notebooks with you.”

  Newlan immediately tossed his notepad over to the wheelchair-bound Dan who was in charge of collecting them, and Billy happened to notice that Newlan’s court issued pencil wasn’t in the metal binder of the notepad, which prompted him to ask in a gruff tone, “where’s your pencil?”

  “I’m gonna take it home and sharpen it. I’ve been taking notes all day, so it got really dull around the edges…just like I did,” explained the smart-alecky Newlan.

  Billy didn’t say anything, although his glare spoke for him; his glare made it clear that he was offended. However, Newlan wasn’t disturbed in the least, and he thought to himself, “Jeez, what’s the big deal…it’s only a damn ten cent pencil?” But the next morning he noticed that an electric pencil sharpener was sitting on the window sill of the juror deliberation room, so he figured he must have done something right.

  Pencil sharpeners aside, as the jurors waited to be ushered out to their cars, some of them, including Jane, were gossiping about the day’s events, and debating why Gleason always seem to make such a big deal out of the littlest of details, such as whether or not Melissa Green observed Fred Miller sitting in his car when she showed up for work on the morning of the murder.

  Of course they weren’t supposed to be discussing the trial in the first place, but Newlan couldn’t resist replying to Jane.

  “Gleason’s setting this up so that he can question the timeline that the prosecution is trying to present.”

  “Oh…interesting theory…you’re smarter than you look,” replied Jane jokingly.

  However the “dumb like a fox” Newlan didn’t take the bait, and he ignored Jane’s insults; seeing as how many of the other jurors, including Natalie, were looking at him with what he thought might be a newfound sense of respect, he didn’t want to say anything to upset the rest of his colleagues.

  Newlan’s only comment in return was, “as Gleason said about the government’s case, it’s only a theory….just a theory.”

  The door to the juror deliberation room happened to be open while this conversation was taking place, and Brandon, who overheard every word of it, sternly requested that they not discuss the case any further.

  After getting the scolding out of the way, Brandon paused and added, “look, we’re all adults here, so what you discuss when the door to this room is closed is your business, but you have to watch what you say in front of the court officers…understood?”

  “Sorry we won’t discuss the case anymore,” replied the jurors almost in unison. But the reality of the situation was that it was nearly impossible for 16 people to stay mum for days on end while the explosive details of a murder trial were unfolding right before their very eyes.

  “From the eyes of a juror…no man escapes unseen,” exclaimed Newlan in a stream of conscious fashion. And although his cryptic comment may have had some sort of extemporaneous religious overtones buried in its roots, his words nevertheless left Brandon and a majority of the jurors shooting him a look as if to say, “this guy’s nuts.”

  And upon glimpsing the reaction that his unintended wisecrack triggered from his fellow jurors, Newlan added with a smile; “I’m not sure what that even means…but I like it.”