AFTER THE MONTHS OF BUILDUP, the endless coaching and strategy sessions, the arguments, disagreements, accords, and prognostications, Evan Scholler's time on the witness stand was really quite brief. Washburn saw no point in having his client go over again all of the reasons he might have had to loathe the victim. That had all been well-established by earlier witnesses. There were really only a couple of lines of inquiry that Washburn thought stood any chance of traction with the jury, if only because they provided an alternative theory to the case, and he got right to them.
"Evan," he said, "why did you break into Mr. Nolan's home?"
"First, let me say that that was wrong. There's no excuse, I shouldn't have done that. I should have advised the homicide detail of my suspicions about Mr. Nolan."
Mills got to her feet. "Your Honor, nonresponsive."
"Sustained." Tollson's glare went from Washburn over to Evan. He spoke to the defendant. "Mr. Scholler. Please only answer the questions that the attorneys put to you. You're not here to make speeches."
"Yes, Your Honor. Sorry."
"All right, Mr. Washburn, go ahead, and carefully, please."
Washburn posed the question again, and Evan responded. "Because I had found out about the Khalil murders from the paper, and then more about them from Lieutenant Spinoza. I had gone on a mission with Mr. Nolan when we were in Baghdad together, and he'd used frag grenades at that time. Then, knowing that Mr. Khalil was of Iraqi descent, and knowing what Mr. Nolan did for a living, it occurred to me that he might have had something to do with those murders."
"Why didn't you simply, as you say, go to homicide?"
"Because I might have been wrong, which would have made me look stupid both to the lieutenant and to Tara, and I couldn't have that."
"Why was that?"
"Well, one, I was a policeman myself. Two, I was hoping to reconnect with Tara."
"All right. So you broke into Mr. Nolan's home?"
"I did let myself in, yes."
"Trying to find evidence that Mr. Nolan had been involved in the Khalil murders?"
"That's right."
"Didn't you think that was a bit far-fetched?"
"Not at all. I'd seen Mr. Nolan kill other people."
Mills raised her voice. "Objection."
"Your Honor," Washburn responded. "Mr. Nolan was a security officer. Sometimes his job was to kill people. Mr. Scholler knew him in that setting in Iraq. There is nothing pejorative about it."
Tollson put his glasses back on. "Objection overruled."
"All right," Washburn continued. "Now, when you went into Mr. Nolan's home, Evan, did you find anything which in your opinion might have been connected to the Khalil murders?"
"Yes."
Evan ran through his actions and motivations in a straightforward manner-the frag grenades, touching the gun both in the backpack and in the bed's headboard, the computer files. As Washburn had coached him, he kept bringing his narrative back to the jury, and particularly-without being too obvious-to Mrs. Ellersby, three over from the left in the second row.
"So you copied the photographic computer file?"
"Yes."
"Presumably, now, you had your proof, or at least some possible proof, of a connection between Mr. Nolan and the Khalil murders. What did you do next?"
"Well, I didn't want to take away any of the proof, so that it would still be there when the FBI searched the house-"
Mills pushed her chair back with a resonant squeal and said under her breath, "Give me a break."
Tollson banged his gavel with some force. "If I thought you'd done that on purpose, Ms. Miille, I'd hold you in contempt right now. There will be no histrionics in this courtroom! You will live to regret the next outburst of any sort and I'm admonishing the jury to disregard your unprofessional comment." Then, to Evan, "Go ahead, Mr. Scholler."
Evan let out a long breath, for the moment apparently, and perhaps actually, unable to remember where he'd been in his testimony.
Washburn took advantage of the moment. "I'm sorry, Your Honor, my client seems to have blacked out for a second."
"Oh, Christ!" Mills whispered.
Bam! Bam!
"That's it, Ms. Miille, you're in contempt. We'll talk about what the sanction is going to be outside the presence of the jury." His mouth set in a hard line, Tollson pointed to both attorneys. "This ends here, I'm warning you. Mr. Washburn, does your client need a minute to compose himself?"
"Evan?" Washburn asked. "Are you all right?"
"Fine."
"All right," Tollson said, "let's have the reporter read back the last question, please."
The question got Evan back to where he was saying that he didn't want to take away any of the proof, so that the FBI would find it when they searched the house. "So I decided to make a copy of the photo file on the computer that held what I was sure was a picture of the Khalils' house. So I took one of the diskettes and made the copy and brought it home."
"Now, wait a minute. You were a policeman and you had what you considered strong evidence of a murder, and yet you didn't contact homicide?"
"Right, I didn't."
"And why was that?"
"Because I couldn't tell them what I'd found without admitting I got it in an illegal search. None of it would have been admissible in court."
"So what did you do?"
"I mailed the diskette to the FBI, who I heard were investigating the Khalil murders."
"And then what happened?"
"And then Mr. Nolan came home and must have realized that somebody had been in his house."
"In fact, he must have realized it was you, Evan. Isn't that so?"
"Well, the way it worked out. Yes, apparently. So he turned it all around to make it look like it was me who'd planted the evidence at his place and also, incidentally, killed the Khalils."
Washburn knew this was all inadmissible speculation but was betting that Mills, still reeling from the contempt citation and the reaming she had taken in front of the jury, would be keeping a low profile, at least for a while. He pressed on. "And did you, in fact, kill the Khalils?"
"No, I did not."
"Were you ever charged with killing the Khalils?"
"No."
"Did you at any time send fragmentation grenades or any other type of arms, ammunition, or ordnance from Iraq to the United States?"
"No, I did not."
"At any time, did anyone ever present you with any evidence that you had tried to send these items from Iraq to the United States?"
"No."
"Now, when you heard that Mr. Nolan had turned the tables on you and reported to the FBI, what was your reaction?"
"I was furious. I wanted to confront him and fight him."
"You did not want to kill him?"
"That never entered my mind. I was mad. I wanted to hit him."
"With brass knuckles?"
"I just happened to have them with me that night, and when I got there, I thought I might need them. Mr. Nolan had a great deal of training in hand-to-hand combat, more than me, and I wanted to level the playing field."
"So, by fighting him, did you want to stop him from telling his story to the FBI?"
"No. It was too late for that. He'd already done it." This was another critical point related to Evan's alleged motive. There would be no point in killing Nolan to stop him from turning over evidence to the authorities if that had already happened, which it had.
"So let me get this straight, Evan. On the evening of June third, two thousand four, Tara Wheatley told you that she had ended her relationship with Mr. Nolan and wanted to pursue one with you, is that correct?"
"Yes."
"And on that same night, you learned that Mr. Nolan had already supplied the FBI with evidence that supposedly connected you to the Khalil murders, right?"
"Right."
Washburn threw an open glance at the jury. Could his point be more plain? But it was, of course, necessary to nail it down in all its particulars so there could be no misunderstanding at all. "In other words, Evan," he said, "did you have any motive to kill Ron Nolan on account of your relationship with Ms. Wheatley?"
"No, I did not."
"And did you have any motive to kill Mr. Nolan to prevent him from talking to the FBI?"
"No. He'd already done that."
"So you had no motive to kill Mr. Nolan, is that right?"
"I had no reason to kill him."
Washburn cast one last sidelong glance at the jury box, fixed on Mrs. Ellersby for a second, and was pleased to note that she was nodding soberly, as if newly convinced of something. Evan's testimony had, he was sure, made a strong impression on her. And if on her, then maybe on one or more of the others.
***
MILLS ROSE SLOWLY from her table, her brow creased, her face set in an expression of deep concern. She came and stood in her spot and brought her right hand to the side of her face, then let it down. "Mr. Scholler, as you've testified, on June third, two thousand four, you went up to Mr. Nolan's townhome with the intention of fighting him, and then you did in fact engage in a fight with him, am I right so far?"
"Yes."
"What did you do after that fight ended?"
"I don't remember."
"You don't remember? Did you black out?"
"I don't remember."
"So it is not your testimony that you suffered a blackout, after all. Is it?"
"No. Whether I did or not, I don't remember."
"You suffered quite a beating yourself in this altercation, did you not?"
"Yes."
"And yet, with all the problems you've had, particularly with traumatic brain injury, you did not seek medical help?"
"Apparently not, but I don't remember."
Washburn raised a hand at his desk. "Your Honor, objection. Badgering. If he doesn't remember anything, it follows that he doesn't remember particulars."
This satisfied Tollson, and he nodded. "Sustained."
Mills pursed her lips and paused to phrase her question so it came at things from a slightly different angle. "Mr. Scholler," she said finally, "what is your first memory after you sustained your injuries on Wednesday night at the hands of Mr. Nolan?"
"I remember waking up in a hospital bed, I think it was the Saturday night."
"So Wednesday night through Saturday night is a complete blank, is that right?"
"That's right."
"All right." Mills paused for another second or two, and then-just like that!-her posture changed. Her back straightened perceptibly, a wisp of a grim smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Obviously, she had reached some decision, as though she'd done everything in her power to get to this point, and now the time had come to commit irrevocably to her strategy. "So now, Mr. Scholler, as you are sitting here in front of me and the members of this jury, maybe you killed Mr. Nolan and maybe you didn't. You just don't remember. Is that right?"
Evan sat with the question for a long moment.
"Mr. Scholler," she prompted him. "It's a yes or no question. Can you tell me that you did not kill Mr. Nolan?"
Evan's eyes went to Washburn, who returned his gaze impassively. Coming back to face his prosecutor, Evan leveled his gaze at Mills. "I don't remember," he said at last.