He promised.
In his opening statement, defense attorney Larry Tipton stood before the jury and made a promise. Brian Walshe would testify. He would take the stand, raise his right hand, and explain what happened to his wife Ana. The jury would hear directly from the man accused of murdering and dismembering her. They would understand why a husband would dispose of his wife's remains in dumpsters across Massachusetts. They would learn the truth about that terrible New Year's morning.
He would tell his story.
Today, nine days into the murder trial, Brian Walshe broke that promise. He chose silence.
When Judge Diane Freniere asked defense attorney Larry Tipton whether the defense intended to call Brian Walshe, the answer was two words. "We do not." Just like that, the promise evaporated. The explanation that was supposed to give the jury an alternative to murder, the testimony that was supposed to bring the "sudden death" theory to life, the words that were supposed to humanize Brian Walshe and make jurors question whether this man could really be a killer, none of it would happen.
The judge asked if the defense intended to call any other witnesses. Again, just three words. "We are not."
The defense rested without calling a single witness.
This was not how this trial was supposed to end. This was not the strategy the defense promised. For eight days, jurors heard the prosecution's case. They heard about Brian's lies to police. They saw the Google searches about dismemberment and body disposal. They watched crime scene technicians describe blood evidence found on hacksaws and hatchets. They heard a medical examiner describe what was recovered from trash bags. They saw the trail of purchases at Home Depot and Lowe's. They heard from Ana's best friend about a marriage in trouble, about a wife who had "fallen out of love."
Through all of this, the defense had one card left to play. Brian himself. The man who could look jurors in the eye and tell them what really happened. The husband who could explain why he dismembered his wife's body if he did not kill her. The father who could make the jury understand that terrible decisions made in panic are not the same as murder.
That card stayed in his pocket.
Think about what his testimony was supposed to accomplish. The defense's entire theory hinges on an alternative explanation. Brian did not kill Ana. She died of sudden natural causes. He woke up, found her dead, and panicked. He thought about his federal fraud conviction. He thought about how it would look. A convicted felon whose wife dies mysteriously on New Year's morning. He thought about losing his children. And in that panic, he made catastrophically bad decisions. He hid her death. He lied. He disposed of her body in ways that defy comprehension.
That story needs a human voice. It needs Brian looking at the jury and saying: I loved her. I would never hurt her. I found her dead and I lost my mind with fear. It needs jurors to see the man behind the Google searches, to understand that someone can make monstrous choices without being a monster. It needs the kind of explanation that only the accused can provide.
Without that testimony, the sudden death theory is just an argument. It is words from a lawyer, not a story from a husband. The jury must decide whether reasonable doubt exists based on cross-examination of the prosecution's witnesses and the gaps in the prosecution's case. They will not hear Brian's version of that terrible morning.
Ana Walshe was 39 years old. She was a real estate executive who commuted between her home in Cohasset, Massachusetts and her job in Washington, D.C. She was a mother of three young boys. She was a Serbian immigrant who had built an American life. On New Year's Day 2023, she disappeared. Her body has never been found. But pieces of her, blood and tissue and hair, were recovered from dumpsters and trash facilities across the South Shore. Her husband Brian has pleaded guilty to misleading police and improperly disposing of her remains. The only question for this jury is whether he killed her.
Today, that jury learned they would never hear Brian's answer.
The judge conducted a formal colloquy with Brian to establish that his decision was voluntary. He was sworn in. He confirmed he had not consumed alcohol or drugs in the past 24 hours. His mind was clear. He understood what was happening. He had discussed the decision with his attorneys. He knew the pros and cons of testifying. No one had threatened him or promised him anything to stay silent.
When Judge Freniere asked him directly what his decision was, Brian Walshe spoke the words himself. "I will not testify."
The judge found his waiver was freely, voluntarily, knowingly, and intelligently made. He had chosen this. Not his lawyers. Him.
But here is what makes today truly extraordinary. It was not just Brian's silence that defined this day. It was what happened after the jury left. In a charge conference that lasted over an hour, the judge and attorneys worked through the jury instructions. And buried in that technical legal discussion was a revelation that changes everything about how this trial will end.
There will be no manslaughter instruction.
The jury will not be told that voluntary manslaughter is an option. They will not be instructed on heat of passion. They will not learn that if Brian killed Ana in a sudden rage, triggered perhaps by a confrontation about her affair, that would not be murder. The defense did not ask for it. The prosecution did not offer it. The judge will not give it.
This jury has two choices for the killing itself. Murder. Or acquittal.
Nothing in between.
The defense has made the biggest gamble in this trial. They are not just betting on reasonable doubt about whether Brian killed Ana. They are betting that reasonable doubt is the only path to freedom. If a juror believes Brian killed Ana but is not convinced it was premeditated, that juror cannot compromise with manslaughter. That juror must either convict of murder or acquit entirely.
This is all or nothing. Life in prison or walking free. There is no middle ground.
Ana Walshe's three sons will watch as a jury decides their father's fate with only these two options. The family who loved her, her mother who Brian allegedly saved from a medical emergency just two years before, will sit in that courtroom knowing the jury cannot split the difference. The system that is supposed to deliver justice for Ana will deliver it in binary terms.
Guilty of murder. Or not guilty of anything.
That is what Day 9 was really about. Not just Brian's silence, though that matters. Not just the broken promise, though that will echo in closing arguments. It was about the choice the defense made to narrow this trial to its sharpest edge. To force the jury into a corner where doubt about premeditation means acquittal, not a lesser conviction.
Tomorrow, closing arguments. Then jury instructions. Then deliberation.
And then twelve people will decide if Brian Walshe murdered his wife.
Or if the state simply could not prove it.
Day 9 began with routine housekeeping. Judge Freniere noted that the defense had raised five separate issues the day before regarding Brian's expected testimony. Those issues were now moot. There would be no testimony. The five legal questions that had kept the judge researching through the night were suddenly irrelevant.
But one issue remained. The prosecution had filed a motion to exclude evidence of Brian's guilty plea. Before the trial began, Brian had pleaded guilty to two charges: misleading police in their investigation and improperly conveying human remains. He stood in this same courtroom and admitted he lied to investigators on January 4th, 5th, 7th, and 8th of 2023. He admitted he disposed of Ana's body. Those pleas are facts. They are on the record. They carry their own sentences.
The defense wanted the jury to know about those pleas. Their motion, filed the morning of Day 9, argued that Brian's admission to disposing of remains was relevant to the murder charge. If Brian already admitted to disposal, why hide it from the jury? If he already pleaded guilty to the cover-up, does that not help his case by showing he accepts responsibility for what he actually did while maintaining he did not commit murder?
Judge Freniere denied the motion. Her reasoning was precise and legally sound. The defendant's guilty plea to misleading police and improper disposal is not relevant to whether he committed murder. The inclusion of that evidence would risk introducing "extraneous factors" into the jury's deliberation. It would invite a "results-oriented verdict."
The judge cited Massachusetts case law establishing that jurors must decide guilt or innocence "without regard to the possible consequences of their decision." If the jury knew Brian had already pleaded guilty and faced sentencing on those charges, they might factor that punishment into their murder deliberation. They might think: he is already going to prison for something, so why convict him of murder too? Or they might think: he admitted to part of this, he must be guilty of all of it.
Either way, the verdict would be influenced by something other than the evidence of murder. That is not how trials are supposed to work.
This creates a strange asymmetry. The jury heard extensive evidence throughout the trial that Brian lied to police and disposed of Ana's remains. They saw the Google searches. They heard the recorded interviews where Brian told investigators Ana left for work. They saw the surveillance footage of Brian buying trash bags and tarps. They know what he did after Ana disappeared.
But they cannot be told he already admitted to doing it.
The prosecution cannot mention the plea. The defense cannot mention the plea. The jury will deliberate without knowing that Brian has already accepted criminal responsibility for the cover-up. They will evaluate his lies and his disposal activities as if those facts are still contested, even though Brian himself has conceded them in open court.
This is the law operating as it should. Each charge must be evaluated independently. Evidence of one crime cannot be used as proof of another crime simply because the defendant admitted to it. But it creates a peculiar situation for jurors who have watched this trial unfold. They know Brian is a liar. The prosecution has proven that beyond any doubt. What they do not know is that Brian agrees with them.
With the plea issue resolved, the judge turned to the colloquy. This is a formal procedure required whenever a defendant chooses not to testify. The judge must confirm on the record that the decision is the defendant's own, made freely and with understanding of the consequences.
Brian was sworn in. He answered the preliminary questions clearly. No alcohol in the last 24 hours. No prescription medications. No legal or illegal substances. His mind was clear. He understood what they were discussing: whether he would testify at his own murder trial.
He confirmed he had discussed the decision with his attorneys. He had enough time to consider it. They had explained the pros and cons. He understood what they told him. No one had threatened or promised him anything.
Then came the question that mattered. "Have you made a decision about whether you wish to testify at this trial?"
"Yes, I have."
"And what is your decision?"
"I will not testify."
Four words that closed a door the defense had promised to open. The judge found the waiver was knowing, voluntary, and intelligent. Brian Walshe had chosen silence. Whatever explanation he might have offered, whatever story he might have told, whatever humanity he might have shown the jury, it would remain locked inside him.
The jury was brought in at approximately 17 minutes into the proceedings. Judge Freniere asked her standard four questions. Had they avoided speaking to anyone about the case? Had they avoided any research? Had they stayed off social media and news media? Did they still have open minds? All answered yes.
Then the pivotal moment.
"Does the defense wish to call any witnesses in this case?"
"We do not. Defense rests."
Judge Freniere immediately reminded the jury of something crucial. The defense has no burden in this case. They have no obligation to produce any evidence. The burden lies entirely on the Commonwealth to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt. That burden never shifts.
This instruction matters. Jurors are human. They heard a promise in opening statements that Brian would testify. They expected an explanation. Now they are being told his silence cannot be held against him. Legally, that is correct. Practically, psychologically, emotionally? Jurors will wonder. They cannot help but wonder. Why did he not tell his story?
The judge explained what comes next. Tomorrow morning, she will give preliminary instructions on the law specific to the charge of murder. Then the attorneys will deliver closing arguments. Then she will return with additional instructions. The jury will have the law and the arguments before beginning deliberation.
She reminded them to follow the rules they had followed all trial. Do not speak to anyone about the case. Do not do any research. Stay off social media and news. Keep open minds through the closing chapters of this trial.
Then she sent them home.
What the jury did not see was what happened next. After they filed out of the courtroom, the judge and attorneys began the charge conference. This is where jury instructions are finalized. It is technical, procedural, and usually boring. Lawyers argue about word choices and legal standards. Judges explain why they are including or excluding particular instructions.
But in this case, the charge conference revealed the defense's ultimate gamble.
The discussion began on page 6 of the draft instructions. Attorney Typton, representing Brian, lodged an objection to the timing of premeditation language. This was a renewal of arguments made in earlier filings. The defense wanted certain language about when premeditation can form to be removed. The judge denied the request, noting that the model instruction was proper and had been developed through "countless hours" of review by legal experts.
Then came a more consequential objection. Page 9. The use of a dangerous weapon instruction.
The defense argued this instruction was "very prejudicial and misleading." There was no direct evidence, they said, that any weapon was used to cause Ana's death. No murder weapon was ever identified. No cause of death was ever established. By telling the jury they could consider whether a dangerous weapon was used, the judge was "inviting the jury to speculate."
The prosecution pushed back. They pointed to what the judge called "breadcrumbs." The Google searches. On January 1st, 2023, at 9:34 a.m., someone searched: "Is it possible to clean DNA off of a knife?" Later, at 11:52 a.m., another search: "Does the dishwasher clean blood?" And another: "Is it possible that a knife which had blood on it remains contaminated with HIV after it's been washed with hot water and dishwasher soap?"
These searches happened before Brian's trip to Lowe's, where he bought supplies that would later be linked to the disposal of Ana's remains. The prosecution argued this was circumstantial evidence that a knife, a dangerous weapon, was used in whatever happened to Ana.
The judge agreed to keep the instruction. This case has always been circumstantial. The prosecution has always relied on pieces of evidence that, taken together, paint a picture. The knife searches are part of that picture. The jury can decide what they mean.
The defense asked for additional language warning the jury not to speculate about whether a knife was used. The judge said she would consider it, noting that prohibitions against speculation are already covered elsewhere in the instructions. But she acknowledged the concern. "I'm mindful of what you say," she told the defense attorney.
The conversation moved to impeachment instructions. There had been confusion about whether certain instructions applied given that Brian did not testify. Language about impeaching a testifying witness was removed. Language about prior inconsistent statements was debated and ultimately removed because no witness had been formally impeached with a prior statement.
Then came the discussion of prior and subsequent bad acts. This is where things got complicated.
The prosecution had wanted certain evidence admitted under a bad acts theory. Brian's federal art fraud conviction from 2018. His lies to police. His disposal of Ana's body. His lies to his federal probation officer. These are all "bad acts" that the jury heard about. The question was how the jury should be instructed to use this evidence.
The defense actually wanted this instruction. They wanted the jury told explicitly that Brian was not on trial for these other acts. They wanted jurors reminded they could only use this evidence for limited purposes, not as proof that Brian has a criminal personality or is the type of person who would commit murder.
The judge worked through the language carefully. She would tell the jury: "The only charge the defendant is now facing is the charge of murder." She would list the other acts: the federal art fraud case, lying to the police, disposing of Ana's body, lying to his federal probation officer. She would instruct them that they cannot use these acts as "substitute proof" that Brian committed murder. They cannot consider them as proof that he has a "criminal personality or bad character."
This instruction cuts both ways. It reminds jurors that Brian did terrible things. It lists them explicitly. But it also tells jurors they cannot convict him of murder simply because he is a liar and a fraud and a man who dismembered his wife's body. They must have separate evidence that he killed her.
The consciousness of guilt instruction drew significant attention. Page 27 of the draft. This instruction tells jurors how to interpret evidence that Brian may have tried to cover up the crime. His false statements. His attempts to conceal Ana's body.
The defense objected to this instruction entirely. They did not want the jury told that Brian's lies and cover-up could be evidence of guilt. Their argument was consistent with their trial strategy: Brian covered up Ana's death because he panicked, not because he was guilty of murder. A man who finds his wife dead and fears no one will believe him might make the same terrible decisions Brian made, even if he is innocent of killing her.
The judge was not persuaded to remove the instruction. But she worked with both sides to refine the language. The prosecution wanted changes to make the instruction more direct. The defense wanted additional context about how consciousness of guilt evidence can have innocent explanations.
The instruction would explain that evidence suggesting someone tried to cover up a crime can be considered as consciousness of guilt. But it would also caution that such evidence has limited value. A person might lie or hide evidence for reasons other than guilt. Fear. Panic. Embarrassment. The jury would be told they cannot convict based on consciousness of guilt evidence alone.
This framing is important for the defense. Their entire theory depends on the jury believing Brian's cover-up was motivated by something other than guilt. If the jury understands that innocent people sometimes make guilty-looking decisions, that understanding could create reasonable doubt.
Think about what this means in practice. The prosecution will argue that Brian's behavior proves he knew he was guilty. Why else would he lie about Ana's whereabouts? Why else would he search for how to dispose of a body? Why else would he dismember her and throw her in dumpsters? Innocent people do not do these things. Only someone who knows they committed murder would act this way.
The defense will counter with the instruction. The jury must consider alternative explanations for consciousness of guilt evidence. Brian was already facing federal prison for fraud. He was on home confinement. If his wife died mysteriously, who would believe him? A convicted felon whose wife dies on his watch? He panicked. He made terrible decisions. But panic is not guilt. Fear is not murder. The cover-up does not prove the crime.
The jury will have to decide which framework makes more sense. Is Brian's behavior only explainable by guilt? Or could an innocent man, terrified and cornered, make these same choices?
Then the conference turned to what may be the most consequential issue of the entire trial. What could the prosecution argue in closing about the defense's failure to deliver on its opening statement promises?
The defense had filed a motion asking the court to prevent the prosecution from arguing that Brian broke his promise to testify. They did not want the prosecution telling jurors: "Remember when they said he would explain? He did not explain. Draw your own conclusions."
The prosecution indicated they would not pursue that argument aggressively. They were not going to make a direct comment about Brian's failure to testify. That would be improper burden-shifting. But the judge noted there were "parameters" established by case law about what is permissible.
The judge had researched this issue. She cited several cases. Commonwealth v. Ahern. Commonwealth v. Nelson. Commonwealth v. Tavaris. These cases establish that while prosecutors cannot comment directly on a defendant's failure to testify, they can comment on the state of the evidence. They can point out what evidence exists and what evidence does not exist.
Here is where it got specific. The judge suggested the prosecution could argue there is "no evidence that Ana died of any natural causes." That is not a comment on Brian's silence. That is a comment on the evidence in the record. The defense introduced the sudden death theory in opening. They cross-examined the medical examiner about it. But they presented no evidence to support it. No expert testified that Ana could have died of Sudden Unexplained Death Syndrome. No medical professional connected sudden cardiac events to a healthy 39-year-old woman.
The defense countered. They argued they should be allowed to point out there is no direct evidence of homicide either. "No direct evidence that anything that came into evidence, the acts of disposal, the acts of the use of tools, occurred after the death of Miss Walsh." Their argument was that the prosecution's circumstantial case proves only what happened after Ana died, not that Brian caused her death.
The judge agreed both sides could make their arguments. The prosecution can say no evidence supports natural causes. The defense can say no evidence proves homicide. The jury will decide which argument is more persuasive.
But then came the moment that revealed the defense's true gamble.
The judge pressed the defense. If you want to argue Ana died of sudden natural causes, what evidence supports that argument? The defense attorney acknowledged the limitation: "There's absolutely none of that that ties it to Anna Walsh. There's no testimony before this jury that ties sudden unexpected death to Anna Walsh."
This was a remarkable admission. The defense's entire theory, the alternative explanation that could create reasonable doubt, has no evidentiary support specific to Ana. Yes, the medical examiner admitted on cross-examination that sudden unexplained death occurs in healthy adults. Yes, the defense elicited testimony that people sometimes die without any apparent cause. But no one testified that Ana showed signs of conditions that cause sudden death. No one testified that her reported exhaustion and sleep changes indicated a cardiac condition. No one connected the medical literature to this specific victim.
The defense strategy became clear. They are not trying to prove Ana died of natural causes. They are trying to create doubt about whether the prosecution proved she was murdered. The burden is on the state. If the state cannot prove murder, Brian walks free. The defense does not need to prove an alternative theory. They just need to make the murder theory uncertain.
This is textbook reasonable doubt defense. Do not prove innocence. Challenge the prosecution's proof. But combined with the no-manslaughter decision, it becomes something more. It becomes all-or-nothing.
Throughout this entire charge conference, there was no discussion of voluntary manslaughter. Neither side raised it. The judge did not mention it. The model jury instructions include provisions for voluntary manslaughter as a lesser included offense to murder. Under Massachusetts law, if there is "any view of the evidence" that would support a manslaughter verdict, the instruction should be given.
There was evidence in this case that could support heat of passion. Brian knew about Ana's affair. He searched the name of her alleged lover multiple times on Christmas Day 2022. His mother had hired a private investigator to follow Ana in Washington. Text messages between Ana and her lover came in on New Year's Eve. If Brian confronted Ana about the affair that night, if an argument erupted, if things escalated and he killed her in a rage, that would be classic voluntary manslaughter. Not premeditated murder. A killing provoked by discovering or confronting infidelity.
But the defense did not ask for this instruction.
Why? Because it would require conceding that Brian killed Ana. You cannot argue heat of passion without arguing that your client did the killing. The defense strategy has been to deny murder entirely. Brian found Ana dead. He panicked. He disposed of her body because he feared being blamed. That is their story. Asking for a manslaughter instruction would contradict it.
The consequence is that the jury has no middle ground. If they believe Brian killed Ana but are not convinced it was premeditated, they cannot convict of manslaughter. They can only convict of murder, either first-degree with premeditation or second-degree without it, or they must acquit.
Under Massachusetts law, the Commonwealth has the burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt that there were no mitigating circumstances that would reduce murder to voluntary manslaughter. This is not something the defense has to prove. The prosecution must disprove heat of passion. But without a manslaughter instruction, the jury is never told this. They are never given the option to find that Brian killed Ana in sudden rage rather than with cold premeditation.
Consider what this means for a juror. Suppose a juror believes, based on the evidence of the affair, the Christmas Day searches of the lover's name, the private investigator, that Brian discovered something on New Year's Eve. Suppose that juror believes Brian confronted Ana, they fought, and he killed her in that fight. That juror might believe this was a crime of passion, not a planned execution. Under Massachusetts law, that would be manslaughter. But the jury will not be told that option exists. That juror must either vote to convict of murder or vote to acquit entirely.
Second-degree murder in Massachusetts carries a life sentence with the possibility of parole after fifteen years. First-degree murder carries life without parole. Voluntary manslaughter carries a maximum of twenty years. By not requesting the manslaughter instruction, the defense has eliminated the possibility of a verdict that could mean significantly less prison time.
This is an extraordinarily risky decision. A juror who believes "he killed her but it was not planned" might vote guilty on second-degree murder rather than let Brian walk free entirely. That juror might think: he killed his wife, he dismembered her body, I cannot let him go free just because I have doubts about premeditation. Without manslaughter as an option, that juror has no middle path. The defense is gambling that such a juror will choose acquittal over murder conviction.
This is the gamble. The defense is betting everything on acquittal. They believe reasonable doubt exists. They believe at least some jurors will not be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that Brian killed Ana. They are willing to risk a murder conviction to pursue outright freedom.
If they are wrong, Brian Walshe will spend the rest of his life in prison. There is no middle outcome anymore. He will either walk out of that courthouse or he will never walk free again.
The jury experienced Day 9 as a brief and somewhat anticlimactic conclusion to the evidence phase. They were brought in, asked their four questions, told the defense was resting, and sent home. The entire experience in the courtroom lasted perhaps five minutes.
But what happens in a jury's mind during those five minutes is anything but brief.
These twelve people and alternates have spent eight days watching the prosecution build its case. They have seen dozens of exhibits. They have heard from crime scene technicians, digital forensics experts, surveillance specialists, store employees, friends of the victim, a medical examiner. They have watched hours of recorded police interviews where Brian lied repeatedly about Ana's whereabouts. They have seen the Google search history that reads like a disposal manual.
Through all of this, they knew, because the defense told them in opening, that Brian would explain. The defense made a promise. Brian would take the stand. He would tell his story. The jury would finally hear the defendant's version of events.
Then the defense rested without calling him.
Judge Freniere immediately reminded them that the defense has no burden. Brian has no obligation to testify. His silence cannot be held against him. The prosecution must prove its case regardless of what the defense does or does not present.
These are the correct legal instructions. But jurors are human beings with human psychology. They heard a promise. That promise was broken. No matter what the judge tells them, some part of their brain is asking: why did he not explain?
The prosecution will exploit this in closing. Not by directly commenting on Brian's silence, which would be improper, but by commenting on the state of the evidence. There is no evidence supporting the natural death theory. There is no explanation for the Google searches. There is no innocent reason for the lies. The evidence stands unrebutted.
The defense will counter by emphasizing the burden of proof. Brian does not have to explain anything. The prosecution has to prove murder beyond a reasonable doubt. If they have not done that, Brian must be acquitted regardless of what he did or did not say.
The jury will have to reconcile these competing frameworks. Do they evaluate the evidence as it was presented, ignoring the unfulfilled promise? Or does that promise, that expectation, color how they see Brian's decision to remain silent?
There is also the visual element. For eight days, Brian Walshe has sat at the defense table. The jury has watched him. They have noted his reactions, his demeanor, his expressions. They have formed impressions. Now they know those impressions are all they will have. They will not see him under cross-examination. They will not watch him answer questions about the searches, the purchases, the disposal. They will not be able to judge his credibility as a witness.
Instead, they will judge his credibility based on absence. Is his silence the silence of a guilty man who fears exposure? Or is it the strategic choice of an innocent man whose lawyers correctly identified that cross-examination would be devastating?
Consider what cross-examination would have looked like. The prosecution would have started with his federal fraud conviction. You pleaded guilty to selling fake Warhol paintings, correct? You lied to wealthy art collectors and took their money, correct? You were on home confinement for that fraud when your wife disappeared, correct?
Then they would have moved to the lies. You told police Ana left for a work emergency, correct? You told them she took a ride-share, correct? You told them your son Thomas saw her leave, correct? All of those statements were lies, correct?
Then the Google searches. You searched for how long before a body starts to smell, correct? You searched for how to dispose of a body, correct? You searched for cleaning blood off clothing, correct? You searched for dismemberment techniques, correct?
Then the purchases. You bought tarps at Home Depot, correct? You bought trash bags, correct? You bought a hatchet, correct? You bought rubber gloves, correct?
Then the disposal. Your wife's blood was found on that hatchet, correct? Her DNA was on items in the dumpster, correct? You threw away her remains in trash bags, correct?
Every answer would have damaged him. Every admission would have built the prosecution's case. And if he tried to explain, to contextualize, to humanize his decisions, the prosecution would have pressed harder. If you are innocent, why did you lie? If you found her dead, why not call 911? If you panicked, why were your actions so methodical? If you loved her, why did you put her in a dumpster?
The defense apparently calculated that nothing Brian could say would help him more than the damage cross-examination would cause. Better to remain silent and argue the prosecution has not proven murder than to testify and have every lie, every search, every purchase, every act of disposal thrown in his face.
The jury also heard, at the very end of their time in the courtroom today, that closing arguments would happen tomorrow. The judge explained the sequence: preliminary instructions, then arguments, then final instructions, then deliberation. The end is near. The jury knows they will soon be responsible for deciding Brian Walshe's fate.
That knowledge changes how they process everything. The case is no longer theoretical. It is no longer a story being told to them. Very soon, they will have to choose. Guilty or not guilty. Murder or acquittal. Life in prison or freedom.
And now they know there will be no middle ground. No lesser charge. No compromise verdict. Just the stark binary that the legal system has constructed for them.
My father, Steven M. Askin, spent his career teaching people that the burden of proof is not just a legal formality. It is the foundation of a fair system. The prosecution must prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. The defendant does not have to prove innocence. The defendant does not have to explain anything. The defendant can remain completely silent and still walk free if the prosecution fails to meet its burden.
This principle exists because the alternative is terrifying. If defendants had to prove their innocence, innocent people would go to prison simply because they could not afford good lawyers, or because circumstances looked bad, or because they made poor decisions after a tragedy they did not cause. The burden of proof protects everyone, including the guilty, because we have decided as a society that it is worse to convict an innocent person than to let a guilty person go free.
My father learned this the hard way. He was twice prosecuted by the system he fought against. The first time, for refusing to testify about conversations protected by attorney-client privilege. The second time, for teaching people their constitutional rights from a coffee shop. The Berkeley County Prosecutor who opposed his law license reinstatement said she feared he would "disrupt the legal system" by training young lawyers to insist on constitutional protections. The system that is supposed to protect due process came after him for demanding due process be followed. That is why this principle matters so much. It is not abstract legal theory. It is the difference between freedom and incarceration, between justice and its opposite.
When I watch Brian Walshe exercise his right to remain silent, I think about what my father would say. He would not be defending Brian. He would be defending the principle. The right not to testify exists precisely for moments like this. A defendant facing overwhelming circumstantial evidence, certain to be destroyed on cross-examination, has every right to say nothing. The system cannot punish that choice. The jury cannot hold it against him. That is the rule.
Brian Walshe's decision not to testify is that principle in action. He has exercised his constitutional right to remain silent. He has forced the prosecution to prove its case without his cooperation. Whatever we think about Brian, whatever the evidence suggests, this is exactly how the system is supposed to work.
But here is where Day 9 reveals something more complicated about that principle.
The defense's decision not to request a manslaughter instruction is also a strategic choice. It is the defense controlling the menu of options available to the jury. By removing manslaughter from consideration, the defense has forced an all-or-nothing verdict. They have made the burden of proof higher in a sense, because now the jury cannot compromise. If they have any doubt about murder, they must acquit entirely.
Is this what the burden of proof was designed for? The principle protects defendants from being convicted without sufficient evidence. Does it also allow defendants to gamble with the jury's options, eliminating lesser charges that might otherwise provide a path to conviction?
This is not a criticism of the defense. They are doing their job. They are advocating zealously for their client. If they believe Brian has a chance at acquittal, they should pursue it. If they believe a manslaughter instruction would make conviction more likely by giving hesitant jurors an off-ramp, they are right to avoid it.
But it reveals something about how trials actually work versus how we imagine they work. We picture trials as truth-seeking exercises. The evidence is presented, the jury weighs it, and justice emerges. In reality, trials are strategic contests. Both sides make calculated decisions to maximize their chances of the outcome they want. The rules of the game allow for this. Indeed, the rules require it. Defense attorneys have an ethical obligation to pursue the best outcome for their clients.
The result is a system where the truth may be subordinate to the strategy. A jury that believes Brian killed Ana in a heat of passion has no way to express that verdict. They cannot convict of what they believe happened. They can only choose between murder as charged or complete acquittal.
This matters for Ana. Her family came to this trial seeking justice. They believe Brian killed her. If the jury believes he killed her too, but cannot agree it was premeditated murder, what justice is delivered? A not guilty verdict does not mean the jury believed Brian was innocent. It means the jury was not convinced of the specific charge beyond a reasonable doubt.
This matters for Brian. He is betting his entire future on this strategy. If the jury convicts, there is no lesser sentence. There is no possibility of parole in twelve years for manslaughter. There is only life in prison. He will die behind bars. He is 50 years old. His three sons will grow up, have families, live their lives, all while their father remains incarcerated.
This matters for the system. Every trial is a test of whether our procedures actually produce justice. The Brian Walshe case tests whether a circumstantial prosecution without a body can meet the burden of proof. It tests whether consciousness of guilt evidence is enough when there is no direct evidence of the crime itself. It tests whether a jury can convict a man of murder based on Google searches and disposal evidence.
Tomorrow, closing arguments will frame these tests for the jury. The prosecution will argue that the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming. The lies, the searches, the purchases, the disposal, the blood, the testimony from Ana's friend about a troubled marriage. Taken together, they will argue, no reasonable person could doubt that Brian killed Ana.
The defense will argue that overwhelming evidence of cover-up is not the same as evidence of murder. Brian may be a liar. He may be a man who made horrific decisions after his wife died. But being a liar and a ghoul does not make him a murderer. The prosecution has not proven, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Brian caused Ana's death.
The jury will decide which argument is right. And because of the choices made during this trial, there is no middle ground where both can be partially right.
Day 9 brings us to the precipice of verdict. Nine days of trial. Dozens of witnesses. Hundreds of exhibits. Now it ends with closing arguments and jury deliberation.
This case has been unusual from the start. A no-body prosecution. A defendant who pleaded guilty to disposing of his wife's remains before trial. An opening statement that promised testimony the defendant ultimately refused to give. A defense strategy that conceded almost everything except the murder itself.
The prosecution entered this trial with significant advantages. They had the Google search history that read like a how-to guide for body disposal. They had surveillance footage tracking Brian's movements during the days after Ana disappeared. They had blood evidence on tools recovered from dumpsters. They had Ana's DNA on items Brian had handled. They had a clear motive theory involving the affair, the life insurance, the federal fraud case.
But they also had significant challenges. No body. No cause of death. No murder weapon definitively identified. No witness to the killing. Their lead investigator, Michael Proctor, was so tainted by misconduct in another case that he could not be called to testify. Their case was entirely circumstantial.
The defense strategy evolved to exploit these weaknesses. By pleading guilty to the disposal charges before trial, Brian took those issues off the table in a way. The jury would hear about the disposal, but they would also hear the defense say: yes, he did those things, but doing those things is not murder. It was a way of controlling the narrative. Admitting the indefensible to defend against the ultimate charge.
The sudden death theory emerged during cross-examination of the medical examiner. Dr. Richard Atkinson admitted that people do sometimes die suddenly without explanation. The defense seized on this. They did not need to prove Ana died of natural causes. They just needed to plant the possibility. If the jury believed it was possible, that might be enough for reasonable doubt.
But the defense never called an expert to support this theory. They never presented a medical professional who could say: given what we know about Ana's health, sudden death was a realistic possibility. They relied entirely on cross-examination of the prosecution's witness. The judge will likely allow the prosecution to argue in closing that there is no evidence specific to Ana that supports the sudden death theory.
The decision not to call Brian is part of this same strategy. He could have testified. He could have told the jury his story. He could have looked them in the eye and said: I did not kill my wife. I found her dead. I panicked. I made terrible decisions. But I am not a murderer.
The risk was too great. Brian has a federal fraud conviction. He pleaded guilty to lying to police multiple times in this investigation. The prosecution would have cross-examined him relentlessly. Every inconsistency, every implausibility, every moment where his story did not fit the evidence would have been highlighted. The jury would have seen him twist and struggle and potentially contradict himself.
Better, the defense apparently concluded, to let the evidence stand without rebuttal and argue that it does not prove murder. Better to rely on reasonable doubt than to put Brian on the stand where he might destroy whatever doubt exists.
This brings us to tomorrow. Closing arguments are each attorney's final opportunity to speak directly to the jury. To tell them what the evidence means. To explain why their side should prevail. To persuade twelve people who will then disappear into a room and decide a man's fate.
The prosecution will go first. They will walk through the timeline. The dinner on New Year's Eve with a real estate friend. Ana going to bed. The Google searches starting at 4:55 a.m. The trip to Home Depot. The trip to Lowe's. The surveillance footage showing Brian carrying heavy bags. The blood in the basement. The items in the dumpsters. The hacksaw and hatchet. The DNA.
They will argue that every piece of this puzzle points to one conclusion: Brian killed Ana, dismembered her body, and disposed of the remains. They will argue that an innocent man does not search for how to dispose of a body. An innocent man does not lie to police for days while they search for his wife. An innocent man does not throw pieces of his wife in dumpsters.
The defense will follow. They will remind the jury of the burden of proof. They will emphasize what the prosecution did not prove. No cause of death. No murder weapon. No witness. No direct evidence Brian killed Ana. They will argue that circumstantial evidence of disposal is not evidence of murder. A man who finds his wife dead and panics might do exactly what Brian did, even if he is innocent of killing her.
They will ask the jury to consider the possibility that Ana died of natural causes. They will remind them what the medical examiner admitted. People do die suddenly. It is rare, but it happens. If it happened to Ana, everything Brian did afterward makes sense without murder.
Then the jury will deliberate. How long? There is no way to know. A quick verdict usually favors the prosecution. Jurors who are convinced of guilt do not need much time to agree. A long deliberation suggests disagreement, which usually favors the defense. If some jurors have doubt, they may be able to convince others.
A hung jury, where the jurors cannot reach unanimous agreement, would result in a mistrial. The prosecution would then have to decide whether to retry the case. Brian would remain incarcerated on the charges he already pleaded guilty to while that decision was made.
For Ana's family, the wait will be agonizing. Her mother Milanka, who wrote that letter to the federal judge praising Brian for saving her life during a medical emergency, must now watch the system decide whether that same man killed her daughter. Ana's friends and colleagues, who testified about her dedication and her struggles, will wait to see if their words mattered. The victim's advocates who have followed this case will hope the system delivers what Ana deserves.
For Brian's three sons, the verdict will shape their entire lives. They have already lost their mother. A guilty verdict means they lose their father too, permanently or for at least fifteen years. An acquittal means the man accused of murdering their mother walks free, and they must somehow reconcile that. There is no outcome that restores what was taken from them on New Year's Day 2023.
Whatever happens, Day 9 marked the end of the evidence phase. Everything that will be considered by the jury has now been presented. The only things left are words. Arguments. Instructions. And then twelve people, locked in a room, deciding whether Brian Walshe murdered his wife.
Tomorrow is closing arguments and jury instructions. This is the final chapter before deliberation.
Watch for how the prosecution handles the broken promise. They cannot comment directly on Brian's failure to testify. But they can comment on the evidence. Listen for phrases like "uncontested" and "unrebutted." Listen for references to what the evidence shows and what no evidence supports. The prosecution will try to make Brian's silence felt without explicitly referencing it.
Watch for how the defense handles reasonable doubt. They have no testimony to point to. They have no expert who supported their sudden death theory. All they have is cross-examination and argument. Listen for how they frame the burden of proof. Listen for how they characterize the gaps in the prosecution's case. Listen for whether they explicitly tell the jury they do not have to believe the sudden death theory, only that they have to doubt the murder theory.
Watch for the jury instructions. The judge will explain what murder requires. She will explain deliberate premeditation. She will explain circumstantial evidence. She will explain consciousness of guilt. She will explain that the burden never shifts. Each instruction will shape how the jury processes the closing arguments they just heard.
Watch for questions during deliberation. Jurors sometimes send notes to the judge asking for clarification on legal issues or asking to review specific evidence. The questions can reveal what the jury is focusing on. Questions about premeditation might suggest they believe Brian killed Ana but are uncertain about the degree of murder. Questions about burden of proof might suggest some jurors have doubt.
Watch for the length of deliberation. This is a complex case with significant evidence. A very quick verdict, same day or next morning, would suggest the jury found the case clear one way or another. A multi-day deliberation would suggest genuine debate and possibly close division.
And watch for the verdict itself. Guilty of first-degree murder means the jury believed Brian killed Ana with deliberate premeditation. Life without parole. Guilty of second-degree murder means they believed he killed her but not with premeditation. Life with parole eligibility after fifteen years. Not guilty means they were not convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that Brian killed Ana at all.
There is no manslaughter option. There is no lesser charge. The jury must choose from these options or be unable to reach a unanimous verdict.
Whatever happens, this is the final stage. The trial that has consumed nine days, generated thousands of pages of transcripts, and brought dozens of witnesses before the jury is about to conclude. Brian Walshe's fate will be decided. Ana Walshe's family will learn whether the system delivers justice for their loss.
Justice is a process. We have watched that process unfold for nine days. Tomorrow, we see how it ends.