From the Eyes of a Juror

  Chapter 76 – The Crime of the Century (Twenty Two Pages)

  Wednesday morning June 18, 2008 – 4:50 AM

  In the blink of an eye, Frank Newlan suddenly decided that it was about time to rise up out of his posturepedic bed. It wasn’t even 5 o’clock in the morning yet, but Newlan figured that he may as well get on with this endless night which had somehow turned into dawn. Looking on the bright side of the equation however, he reckoned that at least for one night anyway, he wouldn’t have to deal with the madness of an ugly, faceless gunman haunting his dreams. Newlan had no fear of this recurring theme of a nightmare for one simple reason and one reason only; and that was due the fact that he hadn’t had a moment of sleep all night long, not even a wink.

  Perhaps it was fear, perhaps it was confusion, or perhaps it was something a lot more complicated than that, but whatever it was, Newlan’s mind refused to drift off into unconsciousness, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many sheep he counted.

  The bottomless pit that was Newlan’s stomach had been tying itself into knots ever since he returned home to his condo after the Celtics game only to be greeted by the words “T & M Willis” lit up on his caller ID over and over again; and as a result, as a directly related byproduct of his nerve-wracking insomnia, the flashing letters had stayed, physically and mentally, etched upon his brain all night long like a red hot brand being burnt into his skin. By 3 AM, Newlan’s gurgling tummy, along with the rest of his soma, had woven itself into a basket case as he worried himself silly, and he wondered deep into the night why Marianne Plante would call him repeatedly and never leave a message. He wondered whether somebody really had been tailing him last night or whether he was just being a paranoid fool as usual. He wondered why his subconscious had gotten him all roiled up in series of bad dreams, with each subsequent vision somehow producing worse and more lifelike apparitions than the previous one.

  And just when Newlan had wondered about Marianne Plante until he could wonder no more, he turned his attention towards the John Breslin murder trial. He wondered about the red car until he was blue in the face. He wondered about the garage in Newton and his irrational, claustrophobic fear of closed-in spaces. He wondered about the larger than life aura which seemed to be calling out his name. He wondered about the stronger than death chokehold which seemed to be taunting him from afar. He wondered about the Newton garage, the scene of Fred Miller’s assassination no less, and how it seemed to be luring him into a trap with the scent of blood as its bait.

  Newlan wondered about Tracy Stone and how he would love to be able to just sit down with her over a cup of coffee and calmly discuss her ordeal like two mature, consenting adults. He wondered about the life and times of Fred Miller and how they had so much in common. He wondered about how it was all going to end for Miller’s wandering spirit, not to mention his own restlessly tortured soul.

  Newlan wondered about his dear childhood friend, Karen McDermott, tragically knocked down in the prime of her life by an unfortunate car accident. He wondered about his mother and father and how he loved them so very much, and how he missed them more with each passing day.

  Newlan could feel himself falling apart again and he wondered why he was suddenly unable to shed a tear. Why now, when he wanted more than anything to cry like a baby, had he become so numb to the world? Why now, when he was finally ready to release every ounce of pent-up emotion that had built up inside of him, had he become so dead inside? Why now had his heart become so empty?

  Newlan wondered all night until he could wonder no more, and at that point he dragged himself out of the sack and fiddled with his guitar for a while, scratching out the chords to a few Beatles songs. And miraculously enough, somehow, the soothing sound of the twanging metal strings echoing across the living room relaxed him and put him into a state of deep meditation.

  After an extended session of guitar playing and soul-searching, Newlan ultimately mustered up the strength to forage his way out the door, but not before first replacing the Springsteen CD with another selection from the “S” section, and fittingly, this time he chose another album by the 70’s super-group Supertramp, entitled “Crime of the Century”.

  Oddly enough, for someone who had been gallivanting about the city all night, for someone who had been boozing until the break of day, for someone who hadn’t had a minute of sleep in the last 24 hours, Newlan was surprisingly alert as he made his way towards the elevator. However, although his mind may have been vigilantly attentive, his lack of sleep had left him irritable, and so he never even peeked over at Saeed Kahn as he crossed the lobby and headed down to the garage in search of his red Mercury.

  “Fuck him and the horse he rode in on,” defiantly muttered Newlan as he hopped into his car and blasted the speakers for all they were worth while at the same time a joint dangled from his mouth.

  As Newlan sparked up his cigarette lighter, the Supertramp tune “Bloody Well Right” blared in the background, and once again all was right in the world of our weary troubadour, if only for a few minutes.

  The title track of the album kicked in just as Newlan pulled into the courthouse parking lot and he instantly concluded that there was no way he could abandon the cozy confines of his car just yet. As the piano chords rang out from his straining speakers, he decided straight-out that before making his way into the courthouse he just had to listen to at least the first verse or two of the multi-part opus before the tune drifted off into its long instrumental jam section. And afterwards he was still humming the all too relevant lyrics out loud to himself in sing-song fashion while he stood waiting for the guard to escort him into the complex.

  “Hmmm, I wonder whether Breslin and Sammy the Fox were truly planning the crime of the century, or whether this mess can all be explained away somehow?” pondered Newlan’s good side, but naturally his bad side was quick to offer up a reply. “Well if Nancy O’Brien is to be believed, then they were definitely up to no good.”

  Like clockwork, Newlan was the first arrival of the day. However, the next person to arrive at the courthouse on this fine sunny morning was not Patty as was usually the case, but none other than Billy the Court Officer looking for all the world as if he had just dragged himself out of bed ten minutes ago.

  “Billy, you eyes are even more bloodshot as mine. Don’t tell me, let me guess…you were watching the Celtics game and you stayed up for a few too many celebratory drinks,” correctly postulated Newlan. Although, when you consider the fact that at least half the adult population (not to mention a good share of the teenagers) in the State of Massachusetts had partaken in a few victory toasts the previous evening, it didn’t take a genius -- or a psychic -- to make such a bold prediction.

  “You got it. Well…it went something like that anyway, and now I’m paying for it,” groaned Billy in his heavy Boston accent.

  “I know you’re not gonna believe this but I ended up going to the game,” bragged Newlan as he showed off his ticket-stub.

  “You hot shit you! That ticket must have cost you a fortune,” exclaimed Billy.

  Newlan shrugged his shoulders in a “what are you gonna do” manner, while Billy, not so serendipitously, got down to the business of keeping his shady Northtown associates happy.

  Billy tried his best to play the part of nonchalant conversationalist, but sure enough, Newlan’s legendary radar went up as soon as the slovenly-attired court officer began picking his brain in search of his opinions regarding the trial.

  However, Billy, who was quiet skilled at putting people at ease after all these years of calming down reluctant jurors, playfully assuaged Newlan’s fears by taunting him into submission.

  “Relax my man. We’re just two adults having a conversation. Besides, it’s like they say in Vegas…what goes on in the courthouse stays in courthouse,” assured Billy, and little-by-little Newlan opened up until he overwhelmed the worn-out court officer with a swarm of details regarding red cars, unreliable
witnesses, evidence that appeared to be a little too perfect, and last but not least, the possibility that maybe, just maybe, someone else besides John Breslin wanted Fred Miller dead as well.

  “I guess I got more than enough out of him to keep the Northtown boys happy...and just in time too,” thought Billy as he drew up a copious list of mental notes in his brain while at the same time in through the out-door walked none other than juror number 2, Mike the reticent car salesman, looking even worse than Newlan and Billy combined.

  “Hey, you’re in early, don’t tell me…Celtics game hangover?” correctly guessed Newlan for the second time while Mike nodded his head in confirmation. But as usual he didn’t say much of anything. And on top of that, he didn’t dare even look Billy in the eye, what with the memory of his close encounter still fresh on his mind.

  Before long the rest of the jurors began to trickle into the room and they immediately sensed that something was amiss with the early arrivals. Maybe it was the puffy red eyes, or maybe it was the droopy eyelids, or maybe it was the stale stench of alcohol on their breath, but regardless of what had given their secret away, the jurors easily spotted the lack of sleep that was etched upon the faces of the late night partiers. And furthermore, most everyone surmised that the Celtics victory was at the root of their problem. But since they were all equally giddy over the now paid-in-full prospect of another championship banner being fitted for the Garden rafters, the overindulgence of the three revelers was disregarded, and when Newlan went around the room showing off his Celtics ticket-stub to anyone who got within earshot, they were all one big happy family for a change.

  Dan the handicapped juror rolled into the waiting room at precisely quarter to nine, and with a full cast of characters in place, they were ready to head upstairs and face another day of dreary witness testimony. But just as they were about to file out of the waiting room and onto a waiting elevator, a headcount by Billy revealed a missing person, and after a hurried roll call they realized that Peter, the absentminded software engineer in seat number 12, had yet to arrive.

  “I wonder if he’s still stressed out over his watch going off in the courtroom yesterday?” speculated Jane with a laugh, but as it turned out, the cause of Peter’s absence was far more serious.

  At about that same time, Donny radioed downstairs with news that Peter had called in with an alibi, and the mitigating circumstances behind his absence were more than justified.

  “Death in the family…he’s already been excused by Judge Gershwin,” explained Donny.

  “Ten four, we’re on our way up,” groggily answered Billy.

  The jurors were genuinely sorry for Peter in his time of despair, and they pressed Billy to obtain his home address so that they could send out their condolences. They weren’t even aware of who had died, but they felt bad about the situation nonetheless. Although for the sake of full disclosure, it must be pointed out that more than a few jurors not so secretly wondered whether Peter had conveniently conjured up a dead relative just so that he could get himself excused from the case.

  For his part, it was apparent to Newlan that the stress of the trial had begun to take its toll on Peter, perhaps an even greater toll than the havoc it was reaping on his own life. But in the end, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that Peter had faked someone’s death just to get out of seeing the trial to its conclusion.

  Of course the loss of another juror had another obvious implication, which Annie, the feisty little HR clerk, was quick to point out.

  “Oh rats, that means we’re down to two alternates,” lamented Annie, and the same thought had also crossed Newlan’s mind as well. Over the last couple of days, he had once again secretly concluded that he’d just assume be chosen as an alternate juror (but this time he wasn’t about to admit it, lest he get himself embroiled into another argument with his good friend Jane). He figured that when the time came to roll the dice, he’d just pray like crazy and hope for the luck of the draw. But then again, at the rate they were losing jurors, he seriously doubted whether there would be any alternates left for the picking by the time deliberations rolled around.

  In any event, alas we must say goodbye to Peter. But for the remaining members of the John Breslin murder trial jury, justice trundled on, and after the usual delays they were marched into the courtroom for another grueling movement in life’s bittersweet symphony.

  The now monotonous morning ceremony had the suddenly exhausted Newlan feeling as if he were repeating the same day over and over again, just like Bill Murray in the movie “Groundhog Day”, and he rubbed his eyes vigorously in an attempt to stay alert, while at the same time Nancy O’Brien, who was impatiently waiting on the witness stand, fidgeted restlessly in her own right. And after being reminded by Judge Gershwin that she was still under oath, renowned Defense Attorney R. J. Gleason got right down to business.

  Gleason had been itching to interrogate Nancy O’Brien ever since Day One of the trial, and as such, he came storming out of the gates, leaving O’Brien looking like a hypnotized deer who was about to be run over by a Mack truck; it was a look that would remain in place throughout the course of the morning.

  Newlan, who was beginning to get second wind, had been anxiously anticipating Gleason’s cross as well, and the venerable defense attorney didn’t disappoint. As rundown as he was, the drama that was about to unfold in front of his very eyes kept him focused to the point where he felt as if he was watching a riveting, pulse-pounding movie.

  Gleason started O’Brien off with a few softball tosses before bringing on the heat. First he reestablished the fact that she was a single mother and the primary financial provider for her two children, and then he went on to document her marital issues which included a restraining order that she had obtained against her ex-husband.

  And as Newlan intently listened in, he wryly thought to himself, “Sounds like her marriage was almost as bad as the Breslin’s.”

  Just like Tracy Stone before her, O’Brien appeared to be caught off guard by some of the information that Gleason had dug up, which as far as Newlan was concerned, only went to show that the dedicated barrister was doing his homework.

  “Ms. O’Brien would it be fair to say that you’d do anything for your children?” asked Gleason in an understanding tone.

  “Of course,” replied O’Brien while at the same time Newlan silently surmised, “he’s definitely going somewhere with this line of questioning,”

  However, when Gleason’s probing moved on to O’Brien’s interviews with the police in the month of March 2006, Newlan’s hunch didn’t immediately pan out, although he would soon be proven right as usual.

  “Ms. O’Brien when the police interviewed you for the first time in March of 2006, would you say that they were polite and professional, and that their questions were just general in nature?” Gleason speculated, and O’Brien thought long and hard about her practice sessions with DA Lyons before proceeding on cautiously.

  “I’d say that’s true, but they did ask me a lot of detailed questions about Johnny’s situation with his wife.”

  “I see, and what did you tell them?” continued Gleason, and O’Brien went on to list a litany of conversations that she had had with Breslin.

  “I told them that Johnny was going through a divorce, but that around Christmas of 2005 he thought that they were gonna be able patch things up…and then just as quickly, things fell apart again. I told them that I advised Johnny to stay at home and take care of his kids until he was legally forced to leave. I told them that I thought Tracy was just going through some sort of a mid-life crisis. I told them that Johnny couldn’t understand why Fred Miller would want to get involved with a woman who had three young kids at home to take care of.”

  Gleason then responded in kind with his own list of questions.

  “Now Ms. O’Brien, I’m going to read directly from the police report of your first interview, and I’d like to know whether you recall m
aking any of these statements,” explained Gleason before continuing.

  “Didn’t you tell the police that John Breslin did not appear angry when discussing Fred Miller?”

  “When the police asked you whether John Breslin ever said that he wanted Fred Miller killed, didn’t you reply, ‘no, not to me’?”

  “When the police asked you whether John Breslin owned a gun or could get hold of a gun, didn’t you respond, ‘no, not that I’m aware of’?”

  “And when the police asked you whether you had any knowledge of Fred Miller’s murder, didn’t you answer, ‘none whatsoever’?” recited Gleason.

  O’Brien hemmed and hawed her way through each and every question, claiming that she couldn’t remember her exact responses since it had been over two years. But Gleason countered by having her read the written police report, and finally she reluctantly agreed that she had made the statements he had attributed to her.

  And while many of the jurors appeared to be unfazed by O’Brien’s apparent inconsistencies, the exchange led Newlan to jot down a very pertinent annotation into his notepad:

  Gleason’s laying the groundwork to show that O’Brien changed her story quite a bit over the course of her many interrogations.

  “Now Ms. O’Brien I’d like to move on to the unannounced visit that the detectives made to your home a week later…wouldn’t you say their demeanor was a little more forceful?” asked a knowing Gleason.

  O’Brien took a quick peek out into the audience where her attorney was seated, hoping for some sort of advice in the form of a hand signal, but when none was forthcoming she admitted that the detectives were much more demanding of her than they had been in her previous meetings with them.

  O’Brien had a major dilemma on her hands. On the one hand, if she wasn’t completely truthful, she ran the risk of forfeiting her immunity deal and winding up in prison. But on the other hand, if her answers didn’t conform to the story that she had rehearsed with the detectives and DA Lyons, then her goose would be cooked just the same. The detectives in question, Carolyn Curran from the Newton Police Department and William Donavan from the Massachusetts State Police, could not be in attendance because they were also scheduled to testify in the case, but they assured O’Brien that someone would be monitoring her every word.

  Unfortunately for O’Brien however, Gleason’s inquiries were not going to be as easy to answer as were the prosecution’s questions, which shouldn’t be surprising considering the fact that she had been studying DA Lyons’ list of queries for weeks on end.

  “Ms. O’Brien, didn’t the police tell you that there were rumors running around Tex-Ray about you…where you were claimed to have said that you had connections to the Irish mob…that you knew people who could get things done?” continued Gleason. And when O’Brien didn’t immediately answer, he flashed a devious smile as he added, “Keep in mind that I have the police reports from your interviews on hand just in case you need to refresh your memory.”

  Newlan, who had long since come away impressed by the forthright defense attorney’s panache, silently urged him on with a “way to tighten the screws Gleason” chant, while at the same time O’Brien reluctantly recalled the detectives’ questions. But not to be outdone, she denied that there was any truth whatsoever to her co-workers innuendos regarding her association with the mob.

  “Ms. O’Brien, would it fair to say that the police pressured you to reveal as of yet unsupplied information to them, and that they accused you of not being completely forthcoming?” demanded Gleason, while a frightened sounding O’Brien muttered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Very well…very well…” countered Gleason, before adding in a barking tone, “…well, didn’t the police say that you could lose your children? Didn’t they say that you could be charged as an accessory to murder if you didn’t cooperate?”

  “Ah ha, I had a feeling that the questions about her kids had a purpose,” thought Newlan, while at the same time O’Brien insisted that she didn’t quite remember exactly what the police had said to her.

  Truth be told, Gleason didn’t actually possess any record of precisely what strategy the police had used on O’Brien to get her to talk, but from all his years of experience, he pretty much knew how the game went.

  “And Ms. O’Brien, during a subsequent interview, these same two detectives asked you all about Sammy Fox, didn’t they? They wanted to know how you met. They wanted to know how long you dated. They wanted to know whether you were aware of Mr. Fox’s prison record. They wanted to know the intimate details behind all of the cards and letters you sent to him while he was incarcerated from 2002 to 2005. And finally they wanted to know if you gave Sammy Fox’s phone number to John Breslin…and I believe your exact words were, ‘I don’t give out Sammy’s number,’ isn’t that what you told them?” demanded Gleason as he read directly from the police report. And in return, O’Brien softly admitted, “Yes that’s what I said.”

  “And then after enduring another round of pressure-packed interrogations, again, administered by the same two detectives, Curran and Donavan, you finally told them for the first time that you recalled John Breslin stating that he hoped Fred Miller got in a motorcycle accident and died a painful death. You told them that John Breslin said he hoped that somebody would come along and beat the shit out of Fred Miller, give him a dose of what he deserved. You told them that you thought John Breslin had gotten a hold of Sammy Fox and picked his brain about what it would take to have Fred Miller murdered. You told the police that you attempted to talk both John Breslin and Sammy Fox out of harming Fred Miller. Did you or didn’t you tell them all of these things?” growled Gleason.

  “Yes, yes sir I did,” politely replied O’Brien.

  Gleason then went with his incredulous tone as he held O’Brien’s notebook up over his head and added his Doubting Thomas observation regarding her ever-evolving story.

  “And yet a few days earlier you handed the police this notebook, filled with twenty two pages of notes, TWENTY TWO PAGES, and never once in any these notes did you EVER mention that John Breslin asked Sammy Fox to kill Fred Miller. Never once, and I should know since I’ve scoured through these pages many, many times, Ms. O’Brien.”

  Gleason paused for effect and then he asked O’Brien pointblank whether she had mentioned Breslin’s IRS check in her notes, and in turn she stared blankly ahead in an apparent state of confusion, while at the same time DA Lyons objected profusely, mainly over procedural issues, but also to stem the tide of the assault, like a timeout during a basketball game.

  After a lengthy pause of consideration by Judge Gershwin, Lyons’ objection was sustained which led to the first of the day’s many sidebar battles.

  As was the case more often than not, the jurors were eventually asked to leave the courtroom and Judge Gershwin declared that they could consider this respite to be their morning break.

  O’Brien’s thus far contradictory testimony had pretty much reduced the jurors into a state of astonished silence, and they used most of the break-time to line up for their turn in the bathroom…and when they were returned to the courtroom, the arguments and objections resumed almost immediately, which led Newlan to scribble down the following observation into his notepad:

  Gleason is trying like hell to get the jury to hear what’s in (or more precisely what’s not in) O’Brien’s notes, but DA Lyons keeps successfully objecting.

  Gleason then offered O’Brien’s notebook up as an exhibit and once again Lyons objected, which led to another sidebar and another victory for the DA as Judge Gershwin explained to the jurors that the notebook was considered to be hearsay.

  Gleason then had another brainstorm. He requested that O’Brien read the notes to herself, and of course Lyons objected again. However, this time Judge Gershwin didn’t immediately rule in the tenacious DA’s favor.

  Judge Gershwin questioned Gleason regarding what purpose he hoped to serve by having O?
??Brien read her own notes, and his eyes lit up as he jumped at the chance to respond to the judge’s inquiry.

  Gleason was standing in close proximity to the witness stand while this wit-matching exchange with Judge Gershwin was taking place, and Newlan’s conveniently favorable positioning afforded him an unobstructed view of the renowned defense attorney’s expression, as with a wry smile he calmly stated, “one word your honor, impeachment.”

  And just like that, Gleason’s reply sent the entire courtroom into a tizzy. But oddly enough, DA Lyons objections desisted, perhaps out of fear that her star witness’s entire testimony might be expunged if she continued to push too hard. The buzz in the courtroom was so overpowering that Judge Gershwin actually had to resort to banging on her gavel and shouting for “order in the court.”

  For Newlan, the scene was reminiscent of a Perry Mason episode, and he couldn’t resist the temptation of leaning over towards Natalie and whispering, “Wow, just like TV.”

  Meanwhile, in her infinite wisdom, Judge Gershwin did indeed allow Nancy O’Brien to reread her notes, and as such, the jurors, along with everyone else in the courtroom, had to sit in silence as she slowly wound her way through twenty two pages of handwritten notes.

  As O’Brien concentrated on the task at hand, Gleason patiently paced back-and-forth and to-and-fro, circling the witness stand as he went, and his scattered movements caused O’Brien to occasionally gaze up from her note with a bewildered look splattered across her face.

  “He’s obviously distracting her,” whispered Newlan as he leaned towards Natalie, while at the same time Gleason came dangerously close to invading O’Brien’s personal space.

  Whether Gleason’s intentions were malicious or not we cannot say, but Newlan for one, was finding his shtick to be somewhat comical, and at that moment he was also feeling pretty darned good about the fact that he had managed to coax a smile out of his attractive neighbor, Natalie, in seat number 7.

  As the minutes ticked on by, the situation was becoming rather uncomfortable for all involved, and Newlan noticed that more than a few jurors were squirming in their seats while they waited out the excruciating silence

  However, just when it seemed that a mutiny amongst the ranks of the jurors was inevitable, finally after nearly 25 minutes, O’Brien looked up from her notes and signaled that she had completed the rereading of her gripping twenty-plus page essay.

  And with the wheels of his plan now fully in motion, Gleason wasted no time attacking O’Brien’s credibility.

  “Ms. O’Brien, did you mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin said he hoped Fred Miller got into a deadly accident on his motorcycle?” demanded Gleason. But DA Lyons immediately objected before O’Brien ever had a chance to answer.

  It seemed that the manner in which Gleason was posing his questions deemed them to be inadmissible, and so he attempted variation after variation of the same question, but each attempt was met with a successful Lyons objection, and Judge Gershwin was practically chuckling as she repeatedly announced, “Sustained.”

  Judge Gershwin even offered Gleason a hint as to where he was going wrong, which led a frustrated Newlan to whisper, “just tell him what the friggin’ problem is and let’s move on.”

  Gleason, as one might suspect, was exponentially more frustrated than Newlan could even begin to imagine, but the message eventually got through to him; a message which stated that he was required to pose his inquiries regarding O’Brien’s notes in the negative for them to be admissible, all of which left Newlan feeling as if he were watching the TV game show, Jeopardy.

  Gleason repeated his query one last time, but this time in a legal form that finally past the muster of the nitpicking Judge Gershwin.

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin said he hoped Fred Miller got into a deadly accident on his motorcycle, did you?”

  “No, I did not,” whispered O’Brien as a smiling Judge Gershwin nodded her head in approval.

  With one successful inquiry in the books, Gleason was now on a roll, asking question after negative question, and with each query he got O’Brien to admit to the fact that another one of the statements she later made to the police was not present in her handwritten notes.

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin told you Fred Miller needed to be killed so there would be no evidence, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin and Sammy Fox were concocting a plan to murder Fred Miller, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin paid Sammy Fox even a single penny in return for the murder of Fred Miller, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin paid half the money up front and that the other half was to be paid after the job was done, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin used the proceeds of his IRS refund check to finance the murder, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin informed you of the fact that he had taken to using pay phones so that his calls could not be traced, did you?”

  “Ms. O’Brien you did not mention anywhere in your notes that John Breslin asked you not to tell the police that you had given Sammy Fox’s phone number to him, did you?”

  And as Gleason spat out question after question, each one louder than the last, Newlan was furiously scribbling into his own notepad, trying as best he could to keep up with the now hard-charging advocate. During a brief break in the action, he even took it upon himself to inject a bit of his own commentary into the proceedings, jotting down the following opinion:

  Gleason is scoring points on this for sure!

  It was also at this point that a germane question dawned on Newlan; if none of the crucial information regarding Breslin’s alleged self-implicating statements was contained in O’Brien’s synopsis, then what the hell was in her notes, all 22 pages of them? But unfortunately, since the annotations were not allowed into evidence, the jurors would never become privy to the exact nature of the entries which O’Brien had scrawled into the mysterious notebook.

  Gleason finally concluded the notebook affair with one last broadsided swipe at what he considered to be a deceiving and possibly perjuring witness.

  “Ms. O’Brien not once in your 22 pages of notes did you EVER mention any information directly linking John Breslin and Sammy Fox to the murder of Fred Miller, did you?” shouted Gleason in a booming voice.

  “No sir,” whispered a beaten O’Brien for the umpteenth time, just as she had done in response to each and every question regarding the passages in her ‘diary’ so to speak.

  “And yet a mere two days after authoring these extensive notes, you suddenly recalled all sorts of intricate details. Details which, for some reason, were never mentioned anywhere in your notes…details which, for some reason, eluded your memory up until that point,” speculated Gleason.

  O’Brien shrugged her shoulders as she rather unconvincingly attempted to explain her amnesia and sudden recovery.

  “I was scared…I wasn’t thinking straight…but as I got a clearer head, some of the details started coming back to me.”

  “Ms. O’Brien isn’t it true that when you testified before the grand jury, you chose to invoke your 5th amendment right on the advice of your attorney?” continued Gleason who had now reverted back to a calmer tone.

  “Yes sir,” whispered O’Brien.

  “And isn’t it also true that your attorney negotiated and immunity deal with the police and the prosecutors?” inquired Gleason.

  “Yes sir,” once again replied O’Brien.

  “No further question your honor,” exclaimed Gleason, and he appeared to be walking on air as he made his way back to the defense table.

  However, before Gleason even had a chance to sit down, DA L
yons bustled towards the podium for her shot at rebuttal, and she guided O’Brien though her paces as she reiterated how frightened she was, and how an unidentified vehicle had been following her, right up to her doorstep, and how someone had repeatedly called her home and left her threatening messages, and how she contacted Trooper Donavan for assistance.

  With Lyons’ gentle guidance leading the way, O’Brien went on to confirm that her notes were never meant to be a comprehensive recapitulation of her many conversations with John Breslin, and that no one ever instructed her as far as what to write or what not to write in these notes.

  O’Brien insisted that many of the discussions she had had with Breslin and Fox regarding Fred Miller came back to her over time and that she didn’t deliberately try to mislead the police.

  “And Ms. O’Brien isn’t also it true that when the immunity proffer was made to you, the police were of the opinion that on the 13th day of January 2006 you had no knowledge whatsoever regarding the murder of Fred Miller, and that the most you could have been charged with was being an accessory after the fact?” continued Lyons.

  “Yes,” nodded O’Brien.

  Lyons went on to pose a few more questions and each question made use of the word “proffer” which led Newlan to thinking; “What the hell is a proffer? I don’t even know what that means.”

  Judging by the puzzled looks emanating from his colleagues, Newlan wasn’t the only juror who was confused by the word “proffer”, but luckily Judge Gershwin seemed to notice that something was amiss in the jury box, and as if on cue she came to the rescue.

  The thoughtful judge turned to the jurors and with a warm smile she admitted, “ladies and gentlemen of the jury, sometime, as judges and attorneys, we utilize language that the average normal person doesn’t use in everyday life.”

  Judge Gershwin then turned back towards DA Lyons and requested that she take a moment to explain words such as “proffer” to the jurors.

  Newlan had to laugh, because after all of Judge Gershwin’s efforts, DA Lyons never did get around to expounding upon the meaning of the word proffer, and she continued to use the same verbiage as she wrapped up her rebuttal of Nancy O’Brien. This oversight led Newlan to make a note to himself that he absolutely had to look up the word proffer in the dictionary as soon as he got home.

  Meanwhile, Gleason took another whack at Nancy O’Brien and once again he got her to reiterate the fact that she had replied “no, not to me” when the police initially asked her whether John Breslin had ever said that he was going to have Fred Miller murdered.

  This back and forth went on between Lyons and Gleason for another few rounds of question and answer, but their points had already been made; Nancy O’Brien was either a frightened single mother who was in possession of volumes of relevant information regarding the murder of Fred Miller, or she was a reluctant fabricator, manipulated by the police into saying exactly what they wanted to hear.

  Mercifully, Nancy O’Brien finally stepped down from the stand at just before 1 PM, which led to some very interesting lunchtime conversation back in the deliberation room. Although, in sharp contrast to what was about to go down, the jurors respite began playfully enough, with Ron and Jane mocking Judge Gershwin’s comments regarding the use of the word proffer.

  “Was it just me, or did Judge Gershwin insult us?” wondered Ron.

  “Oh no, it’s not her fault that we’re just normal average people,” teased Jane to hoots of recognition.

  The mood in the room was unmistakably lighthearted until the spunky Annie, who just couldn’t leave well enough alone, decided to pick up where she left off yesterday, unmercifully lambasting Nancy O’Brien into a pulverizing pulp; all of which led more than a few jurors to come rushing to O’Brien’s defense.

  “The poor thing was scared…I don’t blame her for not tipping her hand,” concluded Jane, while the wheelchair-bound Dan added, “yeah, you could tell that she knew what was going on right from the very beginning, a lot more than she was letting on, but she was too afraid to say anything to the police.”

  A handful of jurors went on to make similar comments, which led Annie to angrily rant, “She’s full of baloney…and so are all of you too.”

  The battle raged on for quite some time, but Annie held her ground even though she was woefully outnumbered.

  And while the combatants continued to shout each other down, Newlan was quietly taking in the action for a change, when out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Mike was sound asleep at the back table.

  Newlan, who could have used some peace and quiet of his own right about then, was getting quite a kick out of the contrasting scenes, which led him to envy his slumbering colleague, and he thought to himself, “I wish I could fall asleep in the middle of World War Three, just like Mike.”

  The anger toward Annie had reached a noisy crescendo when Newlan finally decided that he had had enough, and despite his best efforts to keep out of the fray, he just had to join in on the festivities.

  “As far as I’m concerned her entire testimony is disqualified,” announced Newlan rather matter-of-factly, in sharp contrast to the fevered pitch of his colleagues.

  “How can you say that?” protested Jane.

  “It’s simple really…I honestly don’t know whether she just went along with everything the police told her to say or whether she was truly scared. All I know is that she changed her story a million times so I choose to believe none of it,” explained Newlan.

  “So you’re saying the police told her what to say, and she was lying to save her own skin?” concluded Pam the freelance web designer.

  “I’m saying it’s a possibility…or at the very least, they persuasively guided her in the right direction,” answered Newlan.

  “Oh come on, the police don’t do stuff like that,” scoffed Mark, the lanky young network security specialist. Of all the jurors, Newlan had hit it off with Mark from Day One, but regardless, he wasn’t about to be swayed by what he believed was a very naïve statement on Mark’s part, and he responded in kind.

  “Believe it or not, I’ve witnessed stuff like that, first hand…but hey you can believe what you want to believe and I’ll believe what I want to believe,” insisted Newlan, and much to his amazement, his colleagues took his advice for a change and they reluctantly came to a fragile truce.

  Meanwhile, as the jurors were in the process of being hauled back into the courtroom, Newlan was feeling pretty good about the fact that at least one juror still seemed to be unconvinced of Breslin’s guilt, namely the elderly but forceful Annie.

  After the fireworks of the morning, the afternoon session was rather uneventful, and it started off with more employees from Tex-Ray Defense Systems taking the stand.

  First up was Tex-Ray’s Manager of Information Security, a soft spoken woman by the name of Donna Murray.

  Ms. Murray patiently explained to DA Lyons how the State Police contacted her seeking information regarding John Breslin and Nancy O’Brien, and that after the detectives had obtained a court order, she provided them with records of Breslin and O’Brien’s network log on/log off times, their phone records, their instant messenger (IM) records, their email records, and their internet activity records.

  Gleason was quick to have Ms. Murray point out that the police had also obtained a wiretap on Breslin and O’Brien’s phone lines, as well as on their email and IM accounts, while at the same time Newlan vaguely recalled Gleason mentioning the wiretaps of Breslin’s phones in his opening statement. It seemed like ages ago, but Newlan memory banks suddenly opened up, and he distinctly recalled Gleason stating that the wiretaps didn’t produce a shred of evidence, so it was no small wonder that he wanted to make sure that the jurors were aware of the wiretaps, which DA Lyons conveniently neglected to mention.

  And as he had done with the obnoxious Jim Wheeler from RKN Telecommunications, Gleason also had Ms. Murray verify that there was no way to distinguish between live
phone calls, hang-ups, and voice mail messages, when reviewing telephone records.

  The next few statements came from various Tex-Ray employees whose phones were commandeered to either place or receive calls to/from Sammy Fox’s cell phone. One by one, Lyons got each of the employees, such as IT Specialist Suzanne Regan, to testify that they weren’t familiar with anyone by the name of Sammy Fox. Lyons then used phone records to show that Ms. Regan’s office phone had been used to call Fox’s cell phone number on numerous occasions during the month of December, 2005.

  Gleason attempted to rebuff this evidence by asking whether Ms. Regan was familiar with Nancy O’Brien, and when she answered ‘yes’ he also established that O’Brien’s office was situated in close proximity to Regan’s office. Gleason also went on to have Ms. Regan verify that there were no special security codes on her telephone and that anyone could have used it undetected if she wasn’t around.

  Although Gleason never came right out and said it, his implications were clear; Nancy O’Brien could have made those calls to Sammy Fox just as easily as Breslin, and since she was Fox’s former girlfriend and he was an ex-con there may have been some underlying reason why she didn’t want to make use of her own phone.

  Not all of the jurors were buying into Gleason’s inference, but his connotations seemed clear to Newlan and he scribbled down the renowned defense attorney’s theory in his notepad for good measures anyway.

  The next witness delivered pretty much the same story as Ms. Regan, which seemed to illicit only a halfhearted effort from DA Lyons, and no questions from Gleason.

  The third of the Tex-Ray phone call witnesses was an elderly Administrative Assistant by the name of Ms. Ethel Dement, and Lyons had her describe the multiple wrong number phone calls she received on the date of Friday January 13th, 2006. Lyons produced phone records that proved the calls were placed from the cell phone belonging to one Mr. Sammy Fox, and for the record Lyons had Ms. Dement state that she too didn’t know anyone by the name of Sammy Fox.

  Gleason didn’t even bother challenging Ms. Dement’s statement, and it was on to the next round of witnesses who were all employees of the Waltham Massachusetts branch of the Pilgrim Bank where Mrs. Sandra Breslin had gone to cash her son’s IRS refund check.

  For some inexplicable reason DA Lyons called upon three different bank employees, a teller, a branch manager, and a senior investigator, just to establish a fact that no one seemed to be questioning. The only tidbit of information that Newlan found mildly interesting was the fact that, technically speaking, the teller shouldn’t have cashed the IRS check that Mrs. Breslin brought forward to the counter without one of the payees, either Tracy or John Breslin, present. But interesting though it may have been, he still didn’t see the relevance of the details being presented by DA Lyons, although by now he had come to expect this overflow of minutia as being an integral component of her modus operandi.

  Mercifully Gleason had no questions for any of the bank witnesses and the jurors were released for the day at approximately 4:25 PM.

  While they were waiting to be escorted down to their cars, Ron the banker made use of his own experience to expound upon the many nuances of the banking industry which were overlooked by the last few witnesses.

  Jane however, preferred to focus on the fact that Sammy Fox seemed to be randomly calling phones at Tex-Ray Defense Systems on the morning of January 13, 2006 in an apparent desperate attempt to get a hold of John Breslin. But naturally, the ever contrarian Frank Newlan on the other hand, saw things through a different shade of lenses.

  “I admit it seems suspicious, but why would Fox be calling Breslin at his office if he had just murdered Miller, knowing full well that the calls could be traced?” wondered Newlan.

  “I’ll tell you why, because he’s stupid, that’s why,” countered Jane.

  “Well maybe, just maybe, Fox heard about the murder on the news and he stupidly, but innocently, decided to call Breslin to find out if he knew anything about it,” theorized Newlan.

  “Please…don’t insult our intelligence,” scoffed Jane, and her snide remark found Newlan’s face bursting into a bright shade of crimson.

  Newlan respected Jane’s opinion, even if he didn’t agree with everything she said, but her attitude was beginning to annoy him, and to his credit, Stan, the mild mannered software sales rep, sensed the tension, so he amicably threw out a sensible suggestion.

  “Here’s an idea, why don’t we wait until after deliberations begin before we start going public with our opinions.”

  Although it took the intervention of a third party, both Jane and Newlan realized that Stan was one hundred percent in the right, and they promised to at least try to keep their opinions to themselves. They even ceremoniously shook hands as a goodwill gesture meant to ratify their uneasy ceasefire, and when Billy finally led the jurors down to their cars, they were unanimously thankful to be outdoors, breathing in the warm summer air.

  By now Newlan was literally and figuratively exhausted, and he was just dying to get back home. All he could think about was cracking open an ice cold beer, turning off the telephone, and vegetating on his black leather sofa with the hope that a brand new morning might bring about a better day.

  As Newlan started up his car, the Supertramp song “Crime of the Century” picked up just where it had left off, with co-lead singer and keyboardist Rick Davies eerily predicting his future as he sang of lewd, gluttonous masked men and love stories gone awry.

  Newlan fished out the remnants of the morning’s half-smoked joint from his ashtray which helped to calm his nerves during the traffic-jam filled ride home, while at the same time he contemplated the hidden meanings behind the esoteric Supertramp song…and not surprisingly, once again, his mind suddenly became fixated on…the only woman…he ever loved.