The Verdict: Veritas Et Justitia

By Bryant R. Camareno

The Verdict
Veritas et justitia, the motto by which the criminal justice system seeks to achieve justice. But in the city of Tampa, Florida, after a disturbing crime has taken place, the ensuing trial seems to obscure the quest for determining what is the truth and what is justice.
The Verdict examines the psychological impact the trial has on the jurors, as well as the physical and mental exhaustion the lawyers have to endure. But the emotional impact of the trial also extends to society at large.
After months of trial preparation, several weeks of testimony and after many days of sequestered deliberation, the trial ends with a verdict that is certain to shock the community.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514418284

Bryant R. Camareno

Bryant R. Camareno is a first-generation American of Costa Rican descent. He is a practicing attorney in Tampa, Florida, where he resides with his wife of thirty-plus years and their four children.

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Copyright © 2015 by Bryant R. Camareno.

Library of Congress Control Number:   2015917284

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-5144-1830-7

                Softcover        978-1-5144-1829-1

                eBook             978-1-5144-1828-4

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 01/14/2016

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Contents

Acknowledgment

Prologue

BOOK ONE

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

BOOK TWO

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty-One

Chapter Sixty-Two

Chapter Sixty-Three

BOOK THREE

Chapter Sixty-Four

Chapter Sixty-Five

Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Seven

Chapter Sixty-Eight

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Chapter Seventy

Chapter Seventy-One

Chapter Seventy-Two

Chapter Seventy-Three

Chapter Seventy-Four

Chapter Seventy-Five

Chapter Seventy-Six

Chapter Seventy-Seven

Chapter Seventy-Eight

Chapter Seventy-Nine

Chapter Eighty

Chapter Eighty-One

Chapter Eighty-Two

Chapter Eighty-Three

Chapter Eighty-Four

Chapter Eighty-Five

Chapter Eighty-Six

Chapter Eighty-Seven

Chapter Eighty-Eight

Chapter Eighty-Nine

Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety-One

Chapter Ninety-Two

Chapter Ninety-Three

Chapter Ninety-Four

Chapter Ninety-Five

Chapter Ninety-Six

Chapter Ninety-Seven

Chapter Ninety-Eight

Chapter Ninety-Nine

Chapter One Hundred

Epilogue

D edicated to my

wife, Raquel, and my wonderful kids, Bryant Christopher, Alexa Cristina, Michael Anthony, and Nicolas Andrew. My inspiration.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

S pecial thanks to my editors, James Johnson and Jorge Leon Chalela and the editors at Xlibris. You all took the time to read my early drafts and your insights were invaluable. Patricia Phelps, thank you for listening to all of my stories and giving me the confidence to write them down. A special thanks to the Tampa Bay Liars Club (Anthony Gonzalez, Danny Alvarez, Tony Morejon, Joe Valdez, Defiant Daniel Hurtado De Mendoza and the rest of the group) for your tremendous support! Finally, a special thank you to Mike Giasi. You encouraged me to go ahead and go for it!

That the saints may enjoy their beatitude and the grace of God more abundantly they are permitted to see the punishment of the damned in hell.

St. Thomas Aquinas

PROLOGUE

W ithin moments after the reading of the verdict, many of those who were involved in the trial began suffering from the effects of their respective participation in the trial. These people included the judge, the lawyers, the clerk, the bailiffs, the court reporter, and the jurors. The trial even affected the community at large. It wasn’t so much that these people were shocked by the nature of the crime, but it was the reason behind the crime. The motive behind the crime was so deeply embedded into their psyche that they would be haunted forever.

For the lawyers, it was also the culmination of eighteen long months of pretrial preparation: a year and a half of sleepless nights, tireless investigation, and endless, repetitive reading of depositions and police reports. The lawyers were both physically and mentally exhausted and swore to themselves that it would be a very long time before they would set foot into a courtroom again.

For the judge, the bailiffs, the clerks, and other court personnel, it was an experience they had never expected. These were veterans of the criminal justice system and had seen all types of crimes. This crime, however, was the first of its kind; it was a crime that these veterans would never forget.

But undisputedly the ones who suffered the most were the jurors. Many of the jurors actually began experiencing the ill effects of their experience days into the trial, while others did not feel the effect until many months after the trial was over. Despite the judge’s well-intended gesture to have the county pay for their therapy after the trial, the counseling sessions had no effect on those who even bothered to go.

In all, there were scores of people who observed, lived, and breathed the trial from day to day for the entire eighteen months. None of these people ever expected, much less desired, the suffering they received; but such was the result of their participation in the trial.

Their agony was brought on not only by who were the victims but also by who the defendants were and why they committed the crime. The pain and suffering endured by the jurors and the court personnel was indescribable, and they each had to bear the agony of reliving this horrendous crime, day after day, long after the trial and for perhaps the rest of their lives.

In the fall of 1993, in the relatively quiet city of Tampa, Florida, this case was considered the crime of the century. It sent shock waves throughout the community. There was a crime that had been committed. There were victims of that crime, and there were those who were responsible for that crime. However, time would soon reveal that the punishment was suffered by those who had nothing to do with committing the crime.

BOOK ONE

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CHAPTER ONE

T he fire was magnificent. Despite the intense damage that it was causing to the southernmost part of the single-story building, its flames were brilliant. It amazed the neighborhood spectators how something so dangerous could be so beautiful. The fire brightly lit the predawn night; its flames could be seen for miles. The unbearable heat kept the firefighters at bay for the first hour, forcing them to disperse the high-pressured water from a safe distance. Within the hour, the fire was contained, and the majority of the building could be salvaged; it was a testament to the craftsmanship of the builders of this structure when they constructed this building nearly a century ago.

Streams of water dripped from the ceiling as three firemen entered the building looking for any signs of what caused the fire. They shone their fluorescent lights to scan the area for clues. Finding nothing, they continued to make their way through the building, making their way toward a portion of the building unscathed by the fire and stopping at a heavy wooden door. The lead fireman, Master Chief Terry O’Neal, removed his glove and placed his bare hand against the door, ensuring that there were no unseen fires waiting to engulf them by the sudden gust of fresh air. Sensing nothing, Chief O’Neal slowly opened the door that led into a small room. He didn’t even bother to enter; instead, he removed his mask to witness the horror first hand. The two behind him followed suit. The three men stood there in awe. In over twenty years of collective training and experience, these three men were never prepared for what they saw. They had no idea what to do or how to react. They stood there in awe for several minutes.

Chief, we should be doing something… , said one of the men. Chief?

Chief O’Neal? inquired the other man. Terry! What do we do?

The sudden outburst brought Chief O’Neal back into the moment.

What can we do? he replied, gazing at the scene. There is nothing we can do.

The other two men recognized the truth in his words. They both thought the same thing: there was no hope. There was nothing they could do despite their collective experience to change what they had seen.

CHAPTER TWO

T he twelve jurors were outraged beyond imagination, angry that the judge would not let them go home just for the weekend. They had spent the last sixty days listening to evidence and the last four days deliberating. The deliberations went on for days, filled with seemingly endless bickering and fighting. Each day, during the deliberation, the judge compelled the jurors to come in no later than eight o’clock in the morning and go on straight until no later than close of business, straight with no lunch break, eating courthouse sandwiches and warm sodas from a defunct soda machine that always managed to steal their money. As each day went by, the judge refused to let them go home until they were one step closer to unanimity, but as each day passed, they only seemed to grow farther apart. It was now Friday and past eight o’clock, and the judge was livid that they had not yet reached a decision. He was not going to recess for the weekend until they reached a verdict. Hearing this news only served to anger the jurors even more. The jurors simply wanted to go home.

That was about the only thing that the twelve jurors could agree on—they wanted to go home. Finally, sometime after midnight, they all agreed that there would be no more fighting, no more tension, no more anger. Yes, everyone agreed that it was time to go home and that one way or another, they would be going home that night.

The primary obstacle still remained, however, which was that not everyone agreed on the verdict. The lives of three young men hung in the balance. The split was virtually down the middle. Their discordance came to light from the very moment they were excused for deliberation and entered into the jury room. It took them two hours just to choose their foreman, finally settling on juror number 10, a retired marine who insisted on being the foreman from the beginning. It was between him and juror number 5, a married mother of three who conceded defeat after realizing that she was too tired to fight for the spot anymore. The former marine gladly accepted the position but would later rue that decision. By the end of deliberation, he was the one juror who would comment the least.

The four days of deliberation was the culmination of sixty-four days of grueling testimony and of total sequestration. These twelve men and women were kept isolated from the rest of the world, but more importantly, they were cut off from their families and loved ones. Just before the beginning of deliberation, the jurors had already shown signs of depression and fatigue. Despite his current insensitivity, the trial judge was so concerned over their well-being that he made arrangements for them such that once the trial was completed, they were to go to a psychiatrist to oversee their mental health through group sessions. However, no counseling would ever overcome the emotional distress that they were suffering.

During each day of deliberation, the jurors would be driven by van to their individual rooms, many of them continued their debate into the evening even though they were specifically prohibited from doing so. This caused many of the jurors to be even more fatigued than the weeks prior. The sleep deprivation caused them to be less tolerant of the other juror’s opinions and bitter toward the process.

The closed, cramped quarters greatly added to their distress. The moment they entered into the jury room, they were surprised by how small it was. The room was just the right size to hold a medium-sized conference table, but that left barely enough room to comfortably accommodate all twelve jurors. For the majority of those four days, many of the jurors chose to stand throughout the deliberation. The room was not well-ventilated, and it greatly contributed to the tension. The average length of each of the first three days of deliberation was ten hours because the judge wanted the trial to end right away. During those tense days, there were outbursts of violence among the jurors, pushing would lead to slapping, and on at least one occasion, the slapping would lead to full-blown punching. The violence would be subdued by the jurors themselves, specifically prohibiting the bailiffs from intervening.

The bailiffs and other court personnel stood by and could not avoid but hear the excessive yelling and screaming coming from within the room. At any other time the court personnel would have found their bantering amusing, but the court personnel were exhausted themselves. They too had suffered from the trauma of listening to the horrific testimony over the course of the last two months. They too had become emotionally invested in the outcome, and they too were split as to what the true and just outcome should be. During the deliberation, the staff would kill the time engaging in their own debate, and sometimes they would find themselves engaging in the same threats of violence that was going on between the jurors. The only thing that kept them from acting out on their hostility was the fear of losing their job. They were all too grateful that they didn’t have to carry the burden that those poor jurors were enduring.

The jurors endured that final day of deliberation suffering from the exhaustion of not having slept for almost two months, but nothing was more daunting than those last few hours. On that final day, the jurors came in resigned to the fact that they would have to abandon their ideals and perhaps concede to the others’ decisions. Many of the jurors broke into tears feeling that they had violated their oath to render a true and just verdict.

During those final hours, there were moments of deafening silence that would be broken by the occasional voice of a juror who would try to justify one decision or another. This was in stark contrast to their behavior in the last few days. But all that tension would be over soon, and there would be no more deliberating.

Up to this point the only consensus was that if they did not reach a verdict, then the case would result in a mistrial, and then some other poor, misfortunate jury panel would have to go through the same damning ordeal. They all understood that they could not allow the same experience happen to upstanding, civic-minded people.

One way or another they had to reach a verdict. The two differing camps agreed a mistrial would result in an injustice.

So what are we going to do? most of them asked. Again, there was no agreement. Finally, juror number 5 spoke out and said that she wanted to hear the doctor’s testimony again.

Once again, there would be dissension, Why would anyone want to hear that sickening testimony again?

Because there was something that the doctor said, that same juror commented, something about the crime itself. There was something that the juror remembered hearing but did not seem important enough at the time to write down. That juror knew it was something that was subtle yet important enough to bring her to pause even if it was only for a second.

The juror insisted on hearing that testimony again. As a result, the jurors summoned the bailiff who in turn notified the judge of their request.

CHAPTER THREE

T o say that the judge was furious was an understatement. From inside his smoke-filled private chambers, the judge was vociferous in his objection. Over his dead body would he waste everyone’s time and the county’s money in having the jurors go over that testimony. The judge’s face was bright red from frustration, and his smoke-damaged voice was so coarse from all of his yelling that all of the lawyers thought he was going to stroke out any minute. Over his dead body was about to happen , the three defense lawyers thought to themselves.

That was two and a half days of testimony! he shouted. "Why in the world would they want to hear that! He pounded his fist on his desk. No way, and that’s final!" He was indignant and was determined to be steadfast in his ruling.

No sooner had he said that than one of the defense lawyers spoke out. Sir, on behalf of my client, I do object. I insist that the jury be allowed to hear the doctor’s testimony again.

Despite his tone, the judge was not surprised. Really? And if I don’t allow it? The judge rose from behind his desk, practically baiting the lawyer. The judge never liked this particular lawyer, with his fancy suits, slicked back hair, and thick accent. Everyone in that room knew that this judge was an old-school, southern country boy who hated minorities, especially minorities that were much more educated than he was.

Before the first lawyer could respond, the female lawyer spoke out. Then I’ll be asking for a mistrial, and we will just start the whole damn thing all over again. By now the judge was visibly shaking. He hated smart lesbian lawyers even more.

"I’ve already denied your motion for mistrial three times!"

I still can’t believe you won’t give this jury an Allen charge. The female lawyer continued, It’s obvious that this jury is deadlocked. I move for a mistrial again.

Denied… again!

You are going to be reversed so quickly that your head will spin. She surprised herself with her unruliness.

The judge said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, and then gazed at the third lawyer. "And what do you want!"

The third lawyer stood there quietly and appeared more timid than ever before. He said nothing.

Coward! The judge thought to himself. He hated cowards above them all. "No! It is a complete waste of time! This farce ends now!’

At that point, no one dared to challenge the judge, but the lead prosecutor stood there silently. The prosecutor’s absence of comment spoke volumes to the judge. The judge and the prosecutor gazed at each other, and it became abundantly clear to both of them that a failure to grant the jury’s request would in fact lead to a motion for a mistrial by the defense, and that a failure to grant a mistrial would result in an automatic reversal of a conviction on an appeal. And just like the female lawyer warned, they would assuredly be trying the case again.

This is bullshit! The judge slammed his fist on the table and stared angrily at all of the lawyers. The judge yelled out to his judicial assistant who was calmly sitting at her own desk in the outer office. "Judy, get me the court reporter in here right now!"

Judy, his dutiful judicial assistant, had been with the judge for over twenty years, and his yelling had no effect on her. She had nothing to fear because she knew exactly to whom his anger was directed. Knowing her judge too well, she had already spoken to the court reporter and expected her to come into judge’s chambers at any minute.

She’s on her way, Judge. She then stood up and reached for her purse. She was heading out the door and casually told the judge that she was going home for the evening. She didn’t have to ask him for his permission. It was past eight in the evening, and the jury’s request made it abundantly clear that nothing would be