Page 116 of The Right to Remain

“As the court is aware from the previous hearing, the prosecution’s theory is that my client shot Owen Pollard with a handgun and thentried to make it look like suicide. The speculation is that a twenty-two-caliber bullet ricocheted off his head and came to rest in their sheepdog’s thick coat.”

“Excuse me,” said the prosecutor, rising. “Our ballistics expert was not engaging in ‘speculation.’Based on sound scientific testing, Officer Gupta demonstrated that the bullet struck Mr. Pollard’s skull with the same kinetic force as a hammer to the head—not enough to kill him instantly, but enough to prove fatal sometime after he dialed 911. If our expert is less than a hundred percent certain, it’s only because the defendant blasted half of the victim’s head off with a shotgun trying to make his death look like suicide.”

“We can address those matters of proof at trial,” said the judge. “Mr. Swyteck, what is the ‘new evidence’ of the defendant’s innocence to support his pretrial release on bail?”

“Fingerprints,” said Jack. “If my client is the killer, his fingerprints should be on the handgun that was recently recovered from the crime scene. They’re not.”

The prosecutor returned to her feet. “Judge, that’s flat-out misleading. Our forensic analyst identified several prints belonging to the owner of the gun, Helena Pollard. But there is also a print that could not be identified. That extraneous print could belong to the defendant.”

“Except that it doesn’t belong to the defendant,” said Jack. “My fingerprint expert completed her examination over the weekend. She agrees that the unidentified print is not of sufficient quality to establish a match in the FBI database. However, it is clear enough to determine that it doesnotbelong to Helena Pollard or to my client.”

“Then whose print is it?” asked the judge.

“The defense can prove that it belongs to the victim’s business partner, C. J. Vandermeer.”

“This is ridiculous!” said the prosecutor. “Judge, if I was willing to write a big enough check, I could find a hired gun to testify that the unidentifiable print belongs to the victim’s dog. That is not ‘new evidence’ of the defendant’s innocence.”

“I tend to agree,” said the judge. “This isn’t a trial, Mr. Swyteck, but you need to do better than an expert report if you expect this court to reverse its decision on bail.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” said Jack. “I subpoenaed a witness for this morning’s hearing, and he’s waiting outside the courtroom. At this time, I’d like to call C. J. Vandermeer to the stand.”

“I have to object,” said the prosecutor.

“On what grounds?”

“Undue surprise.”

“Better to be surprised now than at trial,” said the judge.

The prosecutor dug in. “Judge, the proffered evidence proves nothing. It would certainly be evidence of the defendant’s guilt if his fingerprints were found on the gun. But the absence of his print doesn’t prove anything, except that he was careful enough not to leave a print.”

“Fair point,” said the judge. “Mr. Swyteck, what’s your response?”

Jack didn’t want to promise too much—Vandermeer was a loose cannon—but the judge needed to hear more.

“Mr. Vandermeer will testify that he gave the gun in question to Helena Pollard because she was afraid of her husband and needed protection from him.”

The prosecutor clearly didn’t like what she’d just heard, which prompted the predictable response. “Judge, the State of Florida strongly objects.”

“Hold that thought, Ms. Weller. Please, Mr. Swyteck, tell me more.”

Jack felt the momentum shifting. “Helena Pollard’s fear of her husband gave her motive to want him dead. Perhaps she acted in self-defense. Perhaps not. Either way, the prosecution’s theory appears to be that it was my client, not Helena Pollard, who shot the victim with Mrs. Pollard’s handgun. But there’s no explanation of how my client supposedly got his hands on that gun in the first place. There’s no fingerprint to show that he evertouchedthe gun. If Mr. Vandermeer is allowed to testify, the court will see that this case is full of holes and that Mr. Stafford should be released on bail today.”

“Judge, our case is strong,” said the prosecutor. “Austen Pollard testified that Elliott Stafford was at the Pollard house right before the murder. What was the defendant doing there? Selling vacuum cleaners, door-to-door? This is a murder case. The court correctly denied bail.”

The judge breathed a weary sigh, then spoke. “The objection is overruled. I won’t deny the defense an opportunity to present testimony from a witness who has obeyed a subpoena and is waiting right outside this courtroom. Bring in Mr. Vandermeer.”

The deputy stepped out. A moment later, the double doors opened at the back of the courtroom, and CJ entered. Jack felt a glimmer of hope, until the witness started down the center aisle. CJ was dressed like a revolutionary, sporting the same uniform he’d worn on the morning Jack had met him on the street, when tear gas and pepper spray had sent CJ and his band of demonstrators running for cover in Bayfront Park. The doors opened again, and in walked a long line of CJ’s followers. There were at least two dozen, all dressed the same: black sweatpants, black hoodies, black running shoes.

CJ passed through the swinging gate, approached the witness stand, and stopped. The bailiff asked him to raise his right hand.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?”

“No.”

Judge Garrison did a double take. “Excuse me, Mr. Vandermeer? Did I hear you correctly? Did you say no?”

CJ looked up defiantly at the judge. “That’s exactly what I said. I refuse to testify.”