"And can you please tell the jury a little about your background and experience?"

Jack turned to the jury, just as he had rehearsed it with Brent, and spoke to them as if he were hosting them at a dinner party in his home. However, he couldn't shake the military-type cop talk that he had been using for years, especially in the courtroom.

"I hold Bachelor's and Master's Degrees in Criminology from California State University Long Beach. After leaving CSULB, I worked for about five years as a police officer for the LAPD. Then I worked for 21 years for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles office, the last ten of those in the Violent Crime Division, where I served on several serial killer task forces, including the Night Stalker case."

"Showing you what has been marked for identification as Defense Exhibit A, can you identify this document?"

"Yes, that is my resume."

"Your Honor, I move that Defense Exhibit A be admitted into evidence."

"Objection?"

Chernow's lips pursed and the Judge paused. He looked like he was finishing a bite of food or something.

"No objection, Your Honor," he finally conceded.

"Exhibit A is received."

"You were hired by the defense in this case, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And you are being paid for your services?"

"Yes."

"What was your assignment in this case?"

"To investigate the death of Ms. Barbara Densmore."

Jack told the jury, albeit in his cop-like jargon, of his interviews with the Goldstein's, Keith Michel and Frances Templeton, but when he told about the stakeout of Keith Michel's house, this is where Chernow sought to get even with the objections.

"Objection, Your Honor," said Chernow, savoring every word of his argument. "This is irrelevant, immaterial, and highly prejudicial to the People's case."

"Counsel please approach."

At the bench, Chernow couldn't stop hurling objections. Finally, Brent interrupted.

"Your Honor, may I be heard please?"

"Yes, Mr. Marks."

"Your Honor, this witness is necessary to lay a foundation for half of the witnesses on my witness list. Whether or not this raises reasonable doubt as to my client's guilt is for the jury to decide. However, just as the People were allowed to connect up their foundational evidence, I would ask for the same indulgence from the Court."

"I'm going to allow it," said the Judge. Chernow looked like a little kid whose dad had taken a lollipop away from him.

Jack described the stake out, the ensuing shoot out and chase, and the subsequent arrest of Felipe Corral on suspicion of drug smuggling and assault. Then he was prompted to describe his investigation of Gary Goldstein.

"Objection, Your Honor. This has gone far beyond foundational and is definitely prejudicial to the People's case, not to mention irrelevant and immaterial."

Then don't mention it, thought Brent.

After another lengthy bench conference, the Judge declared, "Overruled, I will allow it."

Finally, Jack left the witness stand unscathed, having paved the way for the "suspects" to come.

And they came. First to testify was Gary Goldstein, who had been sitting in the gallery fuming, looking like he had a severe case of indigestion, and an even stronger case of impatience. He was with his lawyer, Richard Hannaford, an octogenarian attorney whose reputation and experience were almost as big as his nose. He was one of the most respected criminal attorneys in Santa Barbara. Brent did not expect the testimony to last long. Hannaford sat at the defense counsel table with Brent. He couldn't bear the thought of sharing a table with the prosecution, having never been on that side of the courtroom. It would be like fish swimming in tomato juice.

"Mr. Goldstein, you reside in the Orange Grove townhome development at 4440 Orange, is that correct?" Brent asked.

"Yes, I do."

"And you are here because the defense served you with a subpoena, isn't that correct?"

"Yeah, your investigator, Jack Ruder did."

"Mr. Goldstein, did you know the victim, Barbara Densmore?"

"Yes, she was the president of the Homeowners Association."

"Isn't it true that, during her tenure as president, you had several altercations with her?"

"Your Honor," said Hannaford, who stood up, cleared his throat, and put one hand in his pocket. With those two words, the jury was locked on Hannaford like he was E.F. Hutton, and so was the Judge.

"Your Honor," he repeated, "While, of course, Mr. Goldstein respects this Court and is here in full compliance with the subpoena, after due consultation with counsel, and an abundance of caution, he has decided to exercise his Fifth Amendment Privilege against self-incrimination."

Anyone who has ever seen a police detective movie has heard the line, "you have the right to remain silent." This was that right in action, and it was more of a gift to Brent than Goldstein's testimony would have been. The jury had no idea what trouble went on between Goldstein and Densmore and never would. But that would not keep them from speculating what it was, and now they had another possible guilty party they could point the finger at.

Not only that, Nancy would not be exercising her right to remain silent. As much as the jury could be instructed not to hold a defendant's silence against them, that it did not constitute an admission of anything, and that the People were the only ones obligated to prove anything in the case, just the fact of Nancy speaking would weigh in on the reasonable doubt scale in her favor for the jury, unless, of course, she was destroyed on cross examination. The only regret Brent had was that he would not get to listen to the old man's cross examination. He was a legend.

Brent next called Felipe Corral to the stand. The jury had been prepared for his testimony by Jack Ruder, and it was a good thing because his attorney, Martin Katzenberg, a short little guy with a belly, graying hair and matching glasses, interposed his objection right away.

"Your Honor, Mr. Corral exercises his Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination."

"Very well, Mr. Katzenberg. Mr. Corral, you are excused."

"Your Honor, the defense calls Keith Michel."

Surf was up. Michel walked into court in a suit, with combed hair. He looked like a teenager at a relative's wedding. With him was a lawyer that Brent did not recognize. At this point, Chernow had another fit. "Your Honor, may counsel approach the bench?" he asked, as if out of the blue.

"Your Honor, this is highly prejudicial," said Chernow. "The defense is calling witnesses he knows full well will take the Fifth because of various other criminal activities, and the jury is drawing the inference that they may be guilty parties implicated in this murder. I move for the exclusion of Keith Michel as a witness."

"Mr. Marks?"

"Your Honor, they may be guilty parties implicated in this murder. As I understand it, the DEA and FBI are investigating Mr. Corral and Mr. Michel about their possible involvement. It would be malpractice for me not to call them as witnesses."

"Mr. Marks, I see your point, but I also see the People's point. I suggest you inquire of Mr. Michel's attorney if he intends to take the Fifth as well, because I'm not going to have you line up possible guilty parties who have nothing to say to the jury to try to rack up points."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"If he's taking the Fifth, he will be excluded."

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Chernow, gloating.

It was no surprise that Keith Michel's attorney would be taking the Fifth, so the parade of suspects came to an end, as did the day. The last one to leave, as usual, was Frances Templeton, who smiled at Brent, Nancy and Jillian as they walked by.

"Why does that woman come here every day?" asked Nancy.

"Maybe she has nothing better to do. Or maybe she has a morbid desire to see something bad happen to you."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR.

Brent was on the home stretch. He fully expected that he would rest his case the following day, and that the last day would be reserved for final argument, unless Chernow had any rebuttal witnesses. He spent a couple of hours with Nancy in his office, going over her testimony.

"Well, Nancy," said Brent, "This is it. How do you feel about it?"

"Honestly Brent, I'm so nervous I don't even think I can say my own name." Her hands were trembling. "What do I do?"

Brent put his hand on top of hers and said softly, "First, calm down. There's only one thing you can do, Nancy. You know how to do it and it will get you out of any jam in cross examination."

"What's that?" asked Nancy, wide-eyed and pensive.

"Just tell the truth. You know the old adage, the truth will set you free. Well, in your case, it will. If you tell your story, and tell it like you first told it to me, then you'll be fine." She looked like she had calmed down.

"Okay Brent. I trust you."

"Trust yourself, Nancy. I know you've heard yourself tell your story a million times, but you know what the best thing about the truth is?"

"What?"

"You don't have to remember what you said."

Nancy smiled relief.

"Just a few ground rules," said Brent. "Before you answer a question, make sure you understand it. If you don't, say you don't understand the question. That way you won't be tricked. If you don't remember something, say you don't remember."

"Alright, Brent. I will."

"Good. Now let's go over one more time all the possible questions I can think of on cross."

Brent had no dinner plans for tonight. Just himself, the cat, and his final argument. He polished the outline, knowing that he would look at it for the first ten minutes and then the rest of it would come naturally. He wasn't one to practice in front of a mirror or anything like that. He could hear it in his head.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE.

The gallery was packed with spectators, so many that the Fire Marshal had to order some of them to leave. The courtroom had runneth over with them. Word of the trial had spread through the newspapers and television, and there were more lookie-loos than Brent had ever experienced in a trial.

"Please call your first witness, Mr. Marks."

"Thank you, Your Honor. I call Dr. Jaime Orozco.

Dr. Orozco rolled up to the stand in his ancient, out-of-style suit with a rumpled tie, and his belly hanging over the belt line. He looked like big bear. Despite his slightly unkempt appearance and scraggly small beard, which he felt made him look more "distinguished," once Orozco made eye contact with the jury Brent could see they felt comfortable with the old guy.

"Dr. Orozco, what is your profession?"

"I am a private medical examiner."

"Can you please summarize for the jury, your background, education and experience?"

"Yes. I have over 30 years' experience as a pathologist and medical examiner. I hold an MD, a PhD, and a medical license in the state of California, where I am board certified in clinical, anatomic and forensic pathology. I also have a JD from Southwestern Law School and am a licensed attorney in California and New York. I am a Diplomate of the American Board of Pathology. I worked as a Chief Medical Examiner for the County of Los Angeles for ten years and another 10 years for the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"Have you testified as an expert witness in trials before?"

"Many times."

"How many times?"

"Too many to count, I'm afraid. I would have to say tens, maybe even hundreds of trials."

"How many autopsies have you done throughout your career, Doctor?"

"Too many to count. I would say many hundreds, maybe even into the thousands."

As Bradley Chernow had done with Dr. Perez, Brent had Dr. Orozco reveal that he was working for money, and that he had testified for the plaintiff's and the defendant's sides in many criminal and civil cases. His curriculum vitae was marked for identification and admitted as a defense exhibit.

"Dr. Orozco, please tell the jury what materials and reports you reviewed in preparation for today's testimony."

Dr. Orozco did just that. He talked to the jury as if they were in his living room, and they were all seated in front of the fireplace, listening to stories.

"I reviewed the autopsy report of Dr. Perez and the toxicology report."

"Did you have the ability to do your own autopsy on the victim?"