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I’m staring at the back of Tess Hardy’s perfect blond head. She’s up next.
The judge shuffles some papers, then looks her way. “Ms. Hardy, we’re ready for the defense’s opening statement.”
Hardy nods, but for a few seconds, she doesn’t move.
Just when the judge seems about to give her a verbal nudge, she stands up slowly and deliberately, head held high and empty-handed. No notes. Heels clicking on the floor, she walks past the lectern and stops in front of the jury box.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Tess Hardy. I’m here to disprove all the so-called evidence Mr. Bastinelli talked about and show you that the man at that table”—she turns and points at Cole Wright—“is here because of who he is and not because of anything he’s done.” She turns back, giving the jurors a warm smile.
“But first, I’d like to extend my thanks to the good people of New Hampshire for welcoming a lawyer ‘from away,’ as the New England expression goes.”
I see some of the jurors smiling back. Some even angle toward her.
She’s good.
“Over the past few weeks, I’ve spent a lot of time preparing my opening remarks, writing, practicing, memorizing—but you know what? After what we heard from the deputy attorney general this morning, I’ve decided to toss my presentation and try something else.”
Now even the judge is leaning forward.
“Who here has seenMy Cousin Vinny?” Hardy asks.
Judge Dow clears his throat. “Ms. Hardy, this is not a quiz show.”
Hardy smiles. “It was a rhetorical question, Your Honor. We’ve all seen it.”
Nods from the jurors confirm that.
“So we all recall how Joe Pesci’s character, the attorney defending the two young men—‘deese two yutes’—responds to the local prosecutor’s opening statement.” She alters her body language and actually does a pretty solid Pesci impression: “‘Everything that guy just said is—’” She stops there. “I can’t finish the line in this courtroom, but you all remember it.”
Smiles and nods from the jury. Chuckles and a few laughs from the gallery.
Judge Dow raps his gavel again, and, like everybody else in the room, I add the final word in my head.
The word isbullshit.
“Did you know, ladies and gentlemen, that the American Bar Association’s own publication, theABA Journal,rankedMy Cousin Vinnyas number three on its list of the greatest legal movies ever made? That’s because it got so much right in its portrayalof the legal system, including when a prosecution attorney tries to make a case out of… well, you know.”
The jury’s with her now. I can feel it.
Hardy turns serious. “It saddens me to say that, because I have so much respect for prosecutors and what they do. But this case should never have come to trial, ladies and gentlemen. The truth—the real truth—is that the government has no case against Cole Wright.”
She starts ticking off points on her fingers. “There are no witnesses to this alleged crime. There is no DNA evidence connecting Cole Wright to this alleged crime. There is no physical evidence connecting him to this crime. There are no video or audio recordings of my client threatening or injuring Miss Bonanno.”
Now she steps even closer to the jury box. “Yes, there are a few witness statements alleging some harsh or aggressive words from Cole Wright at a time when he was in a very aggressive line of work. Might some of that aggression have spilled over into his personal life? It would be surprising if it didn’t.
“And let’s all remember that this was over seventeen years ago. When you hear these witnesses, ask yourself: How confident areyouof exactly what you heard or saw nearly two decades ago? Would you bet on it? Would you send an honorable man to prison based on it? Or might you have some reasonable doubt?”
Damn. I see why the Wrights hired her. As a talking head on TV, Hardy can sometimes seem a bit glib. But here, in person, she’s a force of nature.
She walks to the lectern for the first time and picks up a glass of water from a shelf in the back of it. She takes a long, slow sip like she’s got all the time in the world. Then she puts the glass down and goes on.
“Now, I’m sure most of you are thinking,Why would the State bring such a weak case against the First Gentleman?For what purpose? Is it for justice?” She turns toward the prosecution tablewith raised eyebrows, then turns back to the jury box. “Or could it be something else? Let’s think about it. Earlier, Mr. Bastinelli referred to New Hampshire’s traditional position as the first-in-the-nation primary state.” She points to the jurors one by one. “In fact, all of you probably know more about politics than most people in this country. Every four years, you see it happen on your front porches, in your living rooms, in your neighborhood diners.
“Now, I don’t know what your personal politics are, and I don’t care. But you all know that President Wright barely won this state in the general election three years ago. That’s not a partisan statement—it’s a statistical fact. And you all know that the next election isn’t far off. The timing of this trial is no coincidence.”
She points back at Cole Wright.
“My client played NFL football for three years. He has the battle scars to prove it. And I believe he would tell you that it wasnothingcompared to the blood sport of national politics, where people will do anything and everything to gain an advantage over the competition. Like rehashing old rumors. Trolling for coincidences. Playing on sympathies for a beautiful young woman who died too soon. Somebody has to pay, right?