CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

“Please state your name for the record,” Judge Robinson’s clerk said after administering the oath.

“Thomas P. Dunham, Captain, Westport Police Department.”

Aileen Shapiro’s voice drew Dunham’s attention toward the end of the empty jury box, where she was standing behind a small podium.

“Captain, you’ve been called before this investigative grand jury to provide testimony concerning your department’s investigation of the murder of Helen Carmichael. At His Honor’s request, I will direct the questioning, but Judge Robinson will also ask questions, as he wishes. Do you understand?”

“Yes ma’am, yes sir,” Dunham said solemnly, turning his head to nod at the judge and then back to the prosecutor. He wore his dress uniform with his gray hair newly cut short, his ruddy face clean shaven.

The State’s Attorney asked a series of questions to have Dunham lay out the basics of the case: the crime scene, including lab results, the blood on Nora’s car, the murder weapon in Nora’s kitchen drawer, the Need to talk text from Helen to Nora shortly before the murder, the cell phone video of the two women kissing on the sidewalk.

“Is what we have just reviewed a fair summary of the evidence gathered so far?” Aileen asked.

Dunham leaned back in his chair, interlacing his fingers across his midsection. “Yes ma’am, it is,” he said with a faint smile.

Judge Robinson’s voice made Dunham drop his hands and turn toward the judge’s bench, which was slightly behind and to his right. “So you think that’s enough?” the judge asked.

“Seems like plenty to me, Your Honor.”

“I see,” Judge Robinson replied. “Tell me more about your motive evidence?”

“Absolutely, Judge,” Dunham said, now fully turned in the witness chair. “It’s obvious to us that the victim and the suspect had a secret romantic thing between the two of them prior to the murder.”

“And how is that obvious?”

Dunham’s neck was turning pink. “Well sir, you saw the video. The secret kiss in the dark and everything. Also, the suspect is clearly the aggressor there.”

Judge Robinson glanced toward Aileen. “Is there more to the video than what you showed here?”

“No, Judge,” she answered.

He looked back at Dunham. “I see a kiss, singular. I see no ‘everything,’ although I have no idea what that means and nothing in that video looks like aggression to my eyes. Do you see something else, Captain?”

“Uh, no, Judge. I mean we all see the two women having some kind of physical contact of an intimate nature there and it must have been a secret because everyone questioned says they had no idea there was a romantic relationship between those two. That’s all I meant.”

“When was that video taken?”

“We don’t know, Judge. As I said, it came to us anonymously and there’s no metadata. But there’s no doubt it’s them.”

The judge looked again toward Aileen. “And Ms. Shapiro, in the event this case were charged, what would be the prosecution’s theory of admissibility for an anonymous video like that?”

“I’m not sure, Judge,” she answered. “I suppose we could argue that it’s self-authenticating because witnesses could identify the two women depicted.”

Judge Robinson raised his voice. “No, no, not in an era of deep fakes you can’t. Without someone saying they filmed this or someone saying they were there and this represents what they actually saw with their own eyes, there’s no way you get that in as evidence at a trial.”

He turned back to Dunham, who seemed confused. “But forget all that, Captain. Tell me again why this is proof of motive?”

“Again, Judge, sir, like I said. If they had a thing going on, love scorned is the oldest motive we have for murder.”

The judge smiled tightly. “I’m not sure that’s right. I think ol’ Cain would deny he was in love with Abel. But tell me the evidence for the scorned part?”

Dunham hesitated, looking confused by the vaguely familiar biblical names. “Well, I’d need to check with the detective on the case, but this Carleton woman being involved with a victim found dead in her canoe supports a fair inference that they had a falling out. That’s how we see it.”

The judge’s smile was gone. “So your belief that Carleton is guilty allows you to see that the relationship was a likely motive.”

“Yeah, Judge, that sounds right.”

“But isn’t motive evidence something we look for to determine whether someone is guilty?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Judge, sir.”

“Well, we’re trying to figure out who killed Helen Carmichael. As I hear your testimony, you believe it was Nora Carleton. When I ask you why she would do such a thing, you are essentially telling me that she did it because you know she did it.”

“Oh, no, Your Honor, sir. I’m saying this is a slam dunk because of the canoe, the car blood, and the knife at her house.”

“Got it,” the judge replied with a pained look. “So tell me again, why should I believe that Ms. Carleton killed her friend and coworker? And ‘Judge’ will do, or ‘Your Honor.’ I don’t need the ‘sir’ as well, Captain.”

Dunham gestured toward the video screen. “Well, Your Honor—” He paused to stifle the “sir.” “—there’s gotta be some kind of passion related to their secret relationship. A secret lesbian relationship has its own complications in the real world, if you know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t know what you mean, Captain, this not being the 1950s. So what, exactly, is the evidence, beyond this anonymous inadmissible video, that these two people had a romantic relationship and that it generated enough passion to lead to murder?”

“We don’t have that at this point, Your Honor, but given the strength of the physical evidence, it seems we are good to move forward with an arrest. With your permission, sir, I mean Judge.”

Dunham paused, then added, “Oh, and the text the night of the murder is evidence that they were in contact the night of the murder and Ms. Carleton must be lying about that. That Need to talk thing makes it clear that the victim reached out specifically to our suspect to talk that very night.”

“But didn’t they work together, Captain?”

“They did.”

“Have you ever told coworkers you needed to talk to them when it did not involve a potentially violent romantic falling out?”

Dunham’s brow furrowed deeply. “I’m not sure what you mean, Your Honor. I’m a happily—”

Judge Robinson cut him off. “Never mind. Ms. Shapiro, do you have further questions for this witness? If not, perhaps he can be excused and you and I can confer.”

“Certainly, Judge,” she replied. “I have no further questions. Captain, you may step down.”

When the door had closed behind Dunham, Judge Robinson cleared his throat. “Ms. Shapiro, as I understand Connecticut law, we are not obligated to transcribe conversations between myself, as the one-person grand jury, and you, as counsel for the grand jury. Is that your understanding?”

“It is, Your Honor.”

He smiled at his clerk. “Well, then, that completes the audio recording for today and you can go, with the thanks of the grand jury.”

When the clerk was gone, Judge Robinson came down from the bench and slumped into a chair in the jury box, putting his feet up on the railing. “Are you kidding me, Aileen? This thing has holes bigger than the Lincoln Tunnel.”

He gestured toward the closed courtroom door. “And that moron is driving this bus?”

“No, no, no, he is not,” she answered. “You are, with my assistance, and a very able detective from Westport. And, yes, we have some major holes in our case against Carleton, but there is strong physical evidence.”

Judge Robinson tilted his head to one side. “And that physical evidence is so stupidly strong that it makes those gaps even larger. If I knew a bigger tunnel than the Lincoln, I’d go with that. I need to understand why a woman as smart and accomplished as Nora Carleton would do something like this and do it in the dumbest way imaginable. And please don’t tell me your theory is that she implicated herself so she would not be implicated. I’m not up for an episode of frickin’ Murder, She Wrote.”

“That is not my theory, Judge. I simply want to assist you in making an honest assessment of this case. Based only on the evidence.”

He tapped the center of his chest, fingertips sinking into the black robe fabric. “So for this grand jury, let’s talk about how you’re going to get that kind of evidence of motive—or demonstrate its absence conclusively.”

He paused and looked around the courtroom. “And speaking of this grand jury, we need to change it up in here so it feels less like a bench trial and more like I’m trying to investigate something, with your help. Next time, let’s you and I just sit and face the witness. And I’m going to drop the robe business.”

“Whatever you like, Judge. You are the grand jury.”