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I’m especially proud that despite all the time that Wren and I have spent together, we’ve been able to keep from talking about the case. Indeed, we’ve found each other as an escape from the facts of the case. She is my refuge from this terrible, harsh world and I’m her safe harbor. We’ve managed to do our duty and provide each other with a respite.
It’s still difficult not to touch her even as she’s seated next to me in the courtroom.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see her breathing evenly, I can tell she’s concentrating on everything the prosecution is saying.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Mrs. Ellen Jacobsen”—the prosecutor points to the defendant—“had motive. She and the victim were married for twenty-five years, and half of those years were known to be contentious. They quarreled frequently. You’ve heard witnesses say under oath that she told them, in no uncertain terms, that she wished her husband would drop dead. That she would do it herself if she knew she wouldn’t be caught. We know she was taking pain pills and sleeping pills, and would often wake up in the middle of the night not knowing what she was doing. You’ve heard expert testimony and seen the scientific evidence. She is a danger to society. If you let her go free, she will marry again, and the same thing will happen. Don’t let her get away with murder.”
Wren and a few of the other jurors shift uncomfortably in their seats when the crime scene photos are flashed at them again.
“The state senator’s final moments were filled with horror, confusion. He did not die surrounded by his family, but perhaps he was crying out, fighting back. Maybe he was even crying out for help from the woman he thought loved him. The woman he spent his life caring for. He died never knowing she was the one who ended his life. Carry out justice for the sake of Senator Jacobsen.”
To me, it doesn’t matter what the defense attorneys have to say at this point. That woman surely did it. There was no other explanation.
Still, I have to sit and listen.
I have to admit, the defense team makes a pretty decent argument.
“My client was asleep on the night her husband died. Had Mrs. Jacobsen been drinking?” begins the defense attorney. “Yes, by her own admission, she had had too much to drink. She knew taking her medication along with consuming alcohol would have adverse effects. Since Mrs. Jacobsen did not want to wake up her husband, she slept on the sofa that night. Did they have a bad marriage? I could not say. But we do know they had their arguments with the windows open. People heard them. Certainly neighbors called the police. Things got messy and this started a paper trail. Were they physically abusive toward each other? There’s no evidence of that. Did she ever hit or choke her husband? Also, no evidence of that. The number one way that women murder their husbands is by poison. The autopsy showed that Senator Jacobsen had taken one of his wife’s sleeping pills, but nothing more than that. That's not poison, even if it was not his prescription to take.
“The prosecution points to no forced entry. But what they didn’t tell you is this was an unseasonably warm night and the crime scene photos showed the windows were open. The family dog had been found asleep. Police never investigated to see if the dog had been tranquilized by an intruder.
“Now, the forensic evidence. Of course, the scant amount of fingerprints from the pillowcase were hers. She did his laundry, and as she stated, folded their sheets, and made their beds for twenty-five years. Of course there were traces of her own DNA on those pillowcases.
“Finally, I would argue that in her inebriated state, Mrs. Jacobsen—a petite, impaired woman—would not have been able to asphyxiate her husband—a large man, a healthy man. A small, inebriated woman who, as evidence shows, was asleep on the sofa at the time of his death.
“Let the record show that the senator had enemies. He had passed bills that many people did not like. He received death threats via email. Some of those were investigated and those investigations resulted in a few citations and arrests, but not all. And none of those people who had threatened him in the past were interviewed in the murder investigation.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to consider that someone laid in wait for the senator, and it was not his wife. Someone planned ahead. Someone knew she would be at her neighbor’s home at this time. They wanted it to be quick, no mess, and quiet. Climbed in through an open window. Killed the victim with great force. Got startled when she came home early and ran away the same way they came in. Do justice for the senator. Send the message to the police and to the DA that they need to go and find the real killer; he or she is still out there.”
When closing arguments are finished, we retire to the jury room to deliberate.
To my surprise, the group votes for me as foreman.
Although I don't relish it, I feel like this won't take long.
“All right then, let’s take our first vote. Raise your hand if you think the defendant is guilty.”
To my complete shock, everyone raises their hands. Everyone, but Wren.
I stare at her. My heart races. Is she messing with me?
“Ma’am?”
“All those who think the defendant is not guilty, raise your hand.”
Wren raises her hand.
People around the table mutter. A few utter curses under their breath.
“Of course that one has to disagree.”
I have to control the urge to backhand that dude. “Ms. ... I mean, Juror Number 12, explain why you think the defendant is not guilty.”
She looks around timidly. I feel bad. But she’s got to convince us. It’s the only way to avoid a hung jury.
“Well,” she says. “It just doesn't make sense. I think she had ample opportunities to kill him, many of which would have been better. They owned guns. She had a pharmacy full of drugs in her medicine cabinet. There were any number of less personal ways for her to kill him. And she wasn’t even in a fit of rage at the time. She was drunk, and everyone she knows tol
d us she was a happy drunk. They’d never seen her physically act out.”
