Sometime ago I wrote a short story about a notorious murder trial I was involved in. An old prospector Al Kulan, had been killed in a bar in Ross River Yukon with a single shot from a .357 revolver. He had been killed by his old friend John ‘Jack’ Rolls, my client.

These were my ‘John Grisham’ years. I was a character in one of his legal thrillers complete with villains, beautiful women and a compelling crime story. They didn’t last long which upon reflection is just as well. I’m not sure I could have taken much more of it but at the time it was fast paced living at its best. This is a fictionalized version of that story. The killing in a remote winter bound Yukon settlement was real. The characters are made up. This is Chapter 7 and 8. 

A YOUNG REPORTER

By the end of the first week the trial was well underway, the prosecutor meticulously recreating the events surrounding the shooting of Hank Woods, painstakingly recreating the actions of Joe Stokes.

He was good. Gallagher knew Beau’s main strategy and he aimed to drive a stake right through it. Any fact, no matter how insignificant, any fact that could possibly contradict the suggestion that Joe was ‘out of his mind’ was entered into evidence. Anything that would support his argument that Joe intended to kill Woods was introduced to the jury. It was exactly why Beau had agreed to admit that Joe had killed Woods, he’d wanted to prevent just what was happening. He’d wanted to prevent the jury hearing all of the evidence and any suggestion that Joe acted intentionally.

But Gallagher had seen him coming a mile away. The case against his client was mounting.

The weekend couldn’t come soon enough. Beau needed the time to assess the damage and rethink his case.

But that could wait for the moment. First order of business was a good meal, a nice bottle of wine and some time to himself. He found a nice table in the back corner of the Klondike Rib & Salmon on 2nd Avenue.

The tensions of the week were starting to wash off, no doubt something to do with the bottle of wine that had gone down just fine.

“You know what you’re doing is wrong.” Beau looked up and surveyed the young man who stood over him at the table, “You know Stokes is guilty. How can you defend that man!”

Normally, Beau would have resented the interruption. It was not just intrusive, this guy was aggressive and on the attack. But in fact, Beau was thrilled. He recognized right away this must be the young reporter behind all the negative coverage of Joe Stokes and the death of Hank Woods. He had met the enemy and the enemy had walked right up to his table. Perfect.

Beau had not known how he could find out about the Whitehorse Star and the reporter who had covered this story since the beginning. He had all of the clippings and suspected that the press coverage could become significant in the second trial. Beau didn’t know how yet but he trusted his instincts and here he was, this unsuspecting young reporter was right here in front of him. His own star witness.

“Beau Jackson, lawyer for Joe Stokes” he put out his hand,

“What’s your name?”

“Peter Franklyn, journalist for the Whitehorse Star.” A little pretentious thought Beau but that fits.

“Well Peter Franklyn, journalist for the Whitehorse Star, I want to suggest to you, and your boss, your publisher that you might want to tone down the opinion in your biased coverage.” Beau wanted to poke the beast, he was patronizing and he knew it. His tone of voice feigned concern for Peter and his paper and the young journalist was having none of it.

He took the bait, “The people of Whitehorse deserve the truth, they deserve to know the facts in this case. Stokes has already been convicted once and now he’s back for another trial. It’s ridiculous. The only thing that has changed are the lawyers. It’s not right!”

Beau saw himself in Peter; when he was a young lawyer he was brash and aggressive, driven by the righteous indignation of knowing he was right. Peter was yet to learn that can be a tripwire if you don’t mind where you’re stepping. He got Peter, he knew what made him tick.

“Peter, I agree with you.” Beau replied, disarming him for a moment, “I agree that the people of Whitehorse deserve the facts. Your paper is powerful and influential, it is the Yukon’s paper of record, reporting on all the important events that touch the lives of Yukoners. Been ever so. And for sure this trial is an important event. But Peter, what your readers deserve are the facts, stopping to emphasize his point, the facts, not your version of the facts and not what you want the people of the Yukon to think about those facts.”

He could see that Peter was furious, struggling to remain composed. Beau pressed his advantage, “You and your publisher need to be careful. You care too much. You want my client to be convicted of first degree murder again. And if you’re not careful you’re going to interfere with a fair trial for my client. You’d better be careful.” he repeated. Peter was wordless but his flushed cheeks and the tension in his face betrayed his anger.

Mission accomplished thought Beau.

Peter turned on his heels and left, “See you in court.”

Every word had been intentional. Beau had wanted this young reporter to leave the meeting furious with him, even better if he returned to the Star and reported the conversation word for word to his publisher. Beau knew that warning any journalist “to be careful” would be taken as an insult, even a threat, a red rag to a bull.

Challenge accepted.

During his trial prep Beau had recognized he needed to keep an eye on the editorial bias he’d recognized in the Whitehorse Star. He’d meticulously read and kept all the articles and editorial opinions for over a year now and brought them with him, just in case. But now, he thought to himself, as he reflected on this encounter with Peter, now I have to get this on the record.

Chapter Eight

MISTRIAL

No judge wants to order a mistrial. Their most fundamental responsibility in any trial, all the more so in a criminal trial, is to ensure the fair administration of justice. Armed with rules of evidence and procedure, intelligence and common sense, judges are typically vigilant in ensuring a fair trial. And to order a mistrial is to acknowledge that the defendant can’t get a fair trial in the judge’s court. Beau always thought it must feel as though they have personally failed in that responsibility.

After the weekend, and with the prosecution set to continue with witnesses, Beau rose from his seat, brandishing a copy of the Whitehorse Star, “a motion for mistrial, m’ Lord.”

“I beg your pardon Mr. Jackson!” spat the judge not even bothering to conceal his anger, “What an earth do you think would support a mistrial.”

“Thank you m’ Lord” Beau had anticipated the cold reception. To win the motion at this stage of the trial was not his goal, to get it on the record was. And the judge’s response reminded him this would not be easy.

Gallagher saw his opening, “Speaking for the Crown, m’ Lord if I may, and with respect, my learned friend is being obstructionist. There is nothing in the conduct of this trial that warrants such a motion.

Gallagher was hoping the judge would summarily reject this specious application.

“Proceed Mr. Jackson but let me be clear I will not look kindly on some sort of trial balloon, not in my court. Go ahead, if you must.”

Beau had his opening. “This is today’s copy of the Whitehorse Star my Lord. The headline on the front page reads, ‘COLD BLOODED KILLER GETS LIFE’. The story actually has nothing to do with the Yukon. The victim was not from the Yukon, neither was the killer, and the crime didn’t happen anywhere in the Yukon. It is a story about an Ontario man, killing an Ontario drug dealer in Toronto. And it happened two months ago! This headline and story in today’s Whitehorse Star was intentional.”

“Surely you’re not suggesting that I admonish the publisher of the Star for reporting on a serious crime in Canada.”, the judge was not receptive.

“M’ Lord, the Whitehorse Star is the paper of record for the people of the Yukon and Whitehorse and it is the most influential media in the region. This headline today, in the middle of the Stokes trial was intentional. There is no need to report that story on the front page of the Star. Why is it the Star chose to report on it today, in the middle of this trial? There can be only one reason. They want to influence this jury, the Whitehorse Star wants to ensure my client is convicted again for first degree murder.”

And it was on the record. The judge was right, it was nothing yet. Beau knew that before he made the motion. But it could not be unheard.

“That is a preposterous stretch Mr. Jackson.” not hiding his impatience, “You had better be careful making empty claims in my court. And let me say this about mistrials, lest it inform you going forward. I have been on the bench for over twenty five years and not once in all that time, not once, have I ever granted a motion for mistrial. You might gather from that Mr. Jackson, that I am not about to begin anytime soon.”

Beau knew that was a warning, a knuckle wrapping in the understated judge to lawyer exchanges of criminal courts.

This was not the first judge Beau had infuriated and it would not be the last, “Mr. Jackson, Chambers now!” had often preceded a very direct dressing down by any number of judges over the years. It was never fun and Beau took no pleasure in them, but if this was the way he needed to advance his clients defence, then so be it. It was however, a fine line.

He was only too aware that a judge can sanction any lawyer in his court if he thinks his conduct has brought the administration of justice into disrepute; making meritless mistrial motions would fit into that category.

Beau gathered himself.

“My Lord I mean no disrespect. I can tell you I thought long and hard before I made the motion. But why is the Star reporting it today? It is intentional and all part of a pattern of editorial influence. The Whitehorse Star has an obvious bias.”

“Enough Mr. Jackson, not another word. Call your next witness Mr. Gallagher.”

Beau looked back at the gallery. Peter Franklyn and his publisher were seated at the back, barely contained smirks on their faces. Beau exchanged a glance with the young reporter; he supposed they figured he’d been put in his place and that had pleased them both.

Gallagher went in for the kill. He’d had a good hand dealt from the beginning; the victim, the weapon, a confession and eye witnesses. And Beau knew he was taking obvious pleasure nailing every damaging fact to the wall, giving the jury no doubt whatsoever as to the guilt of Joe Stokes. If Jackson wouldn’t plead Stokes guilty to first degree, which Gallagher knew was the inevitable result, he would at least suffer a painful loss in open court.

And Beau couldn’t do much about it, right then at least. He had acknowledged as a matter of fact that his client Joe Stokes had killed Hank Woods. And he’d gone further, he’d acknowledged that Joe confessed and that he’d threatened to kill Woods. Beau could hardly challenge any of the witnesses who Gallagher put on the stand to testify to those things.

Beau knew he would have done the same thing if he’d been prosecuting this case in front of a jury. He had agreed to those facts to avoid them being proven in minute detail with testimony delivered day after day. He knew that by the end of the Crown’s case the jury’s mind would be well on the way to being made up.

He had to give it to Gallagher. He had seen Beau coming a mile away, all too happy to accept the admissions of fact on the record, never for one minute thinking he wouldn’t build his case in front of this jury one painstaking fact after the other, as though not one admission of fact had been made. He was the director, his case was strong and he had the floor. Beau would just have to bide his time.

As the weekend approached and with it the end of the prosecution’s case Beau knew he was facing the most difficult decision of any criminal trial: Do you put the defendant on the stand? The case against him was compelling and strong and ordinarily that leaves little choice, you put your client on the stand and hope they can survive cross examination. But Beau was not so sure. He would need to think more on that.

One thing he did know though. He was beat, exhausted after several weeks of intense preparation and the first two weeks of the trial. He needed a break.

Jury trials are marathons. They are exhausting intellectually, emotionally and physically, particularly one’s like this stretching over several weeks; away from home, ever alert during trial, dousing flair ups with witnesses and judges and the prosecutor, evenings generally spent revisiting testimony, recalibrating strategy, thinking about the next day. Beau had learned long ago that getting away from it all was important, essential if he was to stay sharp. The weekend had arrived and not a minute too soon.