Finney has the hangdog look of a prosecutor who doesn’t want to call any more witnesses. What he does want to do is catch the next train out of town. He looks at a notepad and says, “Officer Boyd.” Boyd fired seven rounds that night. At the age of seventeen, he was convicted of a DUI but managed to get his record expunged later. Finney doesn’t know about the DUI, but I do. At the age of twenty, Boyd received a dishonorable discharge from the Army. When he was twenty-four, his girlfriend called 911 and complained of domestic abuse. Things were swept under the rug; no charges stuck. Boyd is also the veteran of two other botched SWAT raids, and he’s enthralled with the same video games that keep Keestler so occupied.
Getting Boyd on cross-examination could well be the highlight of my legal career.
Judge Ponder suddenly says, “We’re going to recess until Monday morning at nine. I want to see the lawyers in my chambers.”
As soon as the door closes, Judge Ponder glares at Finney and growls, “Your case sucks. The wrong person is on trial.”
Poor Finney knows it but cannot say so. In fact, at this moment he’s unable to say anything at all. The judge hammers away. “Do you plan to put all eight of the SWAT team on the witness stand?”
“As of now, the answer is no,” Finney manages to say.
I pounce with “Great, then I’ll call them as adverse witnesses. I want all eight to face the jury.” The judge looks at me fearfully. I have the absolute right to do this and they know it. Seconds pass as they try and imagine the nightmare of the other six toy soldiers facing the jury as I pound them like a madman.
His Honor looks at Finney and asks, “Have you thought about dismissing the charges?”
Of course not. Finney may be demoralized but he’s still a prosecutor.
Normally, in a criminal trial the judge has the right to exclude the State’s evidence and direct a verdict in favor of the defendant. This rarely happens. In this case, though, the statute declares that any person who fires upon a policeman who is entering his or her home, whether the cops have the correct address or the wrong one, is guilty of the attempted murder of an officer. It’s a bad statute, poorly conceived and dreadfully written, but in Judge Ponder’s opinion it does not afford him the option of dismissing the case.
We’re headed for a final verdict.
Over the weekend, one of the remaining six SWAT cops is suddenly hospitalized and cannot testify. One simply vanishes. It takes me a day and a half to annihilate the remaining four. We’re getting front-page coverage and the police department has never, ever looked so bad. I’m trying my best to savor this glorious moment because it’s unlikely to happen again.
On the last day of testimony, I meet the Renfro family for an early breakfast. The topic is whether or not Doug should testify. His three adult children—Thomas, Fiona, and Susanna—are present. They have watched the entire trial and have no doubt our jury will not convict their father, regardless of what some lousy statute says.
I explain the worst-case scenario: Finney will get under his skin on cross-examination and try to irritate him. He’ll make Doug admit that he fired five shots from his handgun and deliberately tried to kill the officers. The only way the State can win the case is for Doug to melt down on the stand, something we simply do not expect. The guy is solid, and he insists on testifying. At this point in any trial, the defendant has the right to testify, regardless of what his lawyer thinks. They press me on this. My instincts are the same as any criminal defense attorney: If the State has failed to prove its case, keep the client off the stand.
But Doug Renfro will not be denied.
I begin by asking Doug about his military career. Fourteen years in uniform, proudly serving his country, without a blemish. Two tours in Vietnam, one Purple Heart, two weeks as a prisoner before being rescued. Half a dozen medals, an honorable discharge. A real soldier, not the dime-store variety.
A law-abiding citizen with only one speeding ticket on his record.
The contrasts are stark and speak for themselves.
On the night in question he and Kitty watched television until 10:00, then read for a few minutes until they turned off the lights. He kissed her good night, told her he loved her as always, and they fell asleep. They were jolted from their dreams when the assault began. The house shook, shots were fired. Doug scrambled for his pistol and told Kitty to call 911. In the frenzy that followed, he ran into the dark hallway and saw two shadows rising quickly from the stairwell. Voices were coming from downstairs. He hit the floor and began firing. He was immediately hit in the shoulder. No, he said emphatically, no one ever yelled out anything about the police. Kitty screamed and ran into the hallway and into a volley of bullets.
Doug breaks down when he describes the sounds of his wife being hit.
Half of the jurors are crying too.
