The World According to Vince - Jane Harvey-Berrick Page 0,77
Barclay was doing exactly what he’d accused Vince of—inciting a popularity contest between himself and Vince. He was seeking to influence the jury’s opinion against Vince because of the so-called copycat ‘crimes’ of rescuing more animals from shelters, when he knew full well that it would be impossible to bring that to Vince’s door. He was playing to the audience, and I’d expected nothing less. I’d prepared for nothing less.
I gave Vince an encouraging smile as I rose to my feet.
“Your Honor, and ladies and gentlemen of the jury: under the law the defendant is presumed innocent until proven guilty. Counsel is correct: this is a court of law, and yet you will hear no real evidence against the defendant. You will come to know the truth: that Vincent Azzo is a man of strong principles and unassailable ethics. The so-called ‘crime’ that he is being accused of is that of having a kind heart; he is a man who loves animals, a man who cares for those who cannot care for themselves, for those creatures who have no voice. He simply wished to save the lives of innocent animals who had been listed to be euthanized; in his eyes, to be murdered for being homeless. He wished to save them.”
I glared theatrically at Barclay.
“And since Counselor Barclay has claimed that the defendant has courted publicity, I would remind him that this passionate animal-lover has worked tirelessly to raise over half a million dollars for animal shelters in the State.” I turned to the jury. “Half a million dollars to…”
“Objection!” Barclay snapped, leaping to his feet. “Repetition and relevance. Fundraising efforts undertaken to make himself look good after the fact, does not erase the original crime and furthermore…”
Two spots of color flared in my cheeks. It was traditional for opening statements to be delivered without interruption. Barclay had seriously pissed me off—and Judge Herschel had seemingly condoned his rudeness.
Barclay gave a small, pleased smile as he sat down.
“I will prove,” I said, speaking as calmly as possible, as if his interruption meant nothing, “through evidence and witness testimony that the defendant is innocent of all charges, and I’m confident that you will find him so.”
I returned to my seat next to Vince.
“The guy’s a twat,” he whispered. “And you were fook hot.”
I suppressed my smile and nodded sagely. It was all about the performance.
Judge Herschel glared at Vince. “The prosecution may call its first witness.”
Barclay rose smoothly to his feet. “The People call Benson Luft.”
The bailiff took the witness to the witness stand, and the clerk spoke next.
“Raise your right hand. Do you promise that the testimony you shall give in the case before this court shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do,” said Benson Luft in a squeaky, nervous voice.
Barclay strode toward his witness with a reassuring smile. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Luft. Please tell the ladies and gentlemen of the jury your job title and role.”
“I, um, I’m the director of Barkalaureate Animal Shelter. We take in upwards of 6,000 stray and homeless animals every year that have been found or brought to us. On any single day, we can have between 20 and 40 animals waiting to be re-homed. I have one full-time and two part-time staff, but we rely on our team of volunteers to feed and exercise our animals. We do our best for each and every one of them, but the truth is that there’s never enough time or money, especially for veterinary bills. Every penny is spent on making the animals’ lives better. We have no budget for marketing. A volunteer runs our website. Every penny counts.”
“A very worthwhile, interesting and difficult task, no doubt,” said Barclay, patting Benson Luft on his shoulder in a warm and fraternal way.
Barf.
“Please tell the court, Mr. Luft, what happened the night of January 4th.”
“I’d had dinner with my wife, and was putting our son, Oscar, to bed. He likes a bedtime story. Um…”
“And you were interrupted in this homey scene, were you not?”
“Yes, the phone rang and Sylvia, my wife, said it was the police.”
“And when you talked to the officer, what did he say?”
“That someone had broken into the shelter and was stealing our dogs!”
“Stealing your dogs,” repeated Barclay, staring significantly at the jury.
“Yes! It was him! The Canine Crusader!”
“You mean the defendant, Mr. Vincent Azzo,” Barclay chastised gently, a flare of irritation in his eyes.