CHAPTER XXI

The court room slowly filled up. This was only the arraignment, a hearing to determine if there was enough evidence to bring Damon Powell to trial for the murder of Marilyn Watson. But sentiment was running high in the case. The citizens of Cathcart were horrified at what had transpired in their midst, in the very best part of town, no less. If the young woman murdered had been a prostitute from the wrong side of the tracks, not nearly as much interest would have been generated.

But this had been one of their own. Not only that, it appeared to be the handiwork of the same villain who had killed Vivian Seymour some five years earlier. Many believed that Damon Powell had been involved in the first incident and had, through trickery and connivance, gotten off scot-free.

Now the same murderer had struck again, or so it seemed. This time the killer must be forced to pay for his crimes. If Damon wasn’t guilty, as his defenders claimed, then who was? No one in their right mind wanted someone running around loose who might strike again, at any time, and wreak havoc at will.

So the citizens filled up the seats quickly, following in behind the main players and, of course, the press, who took up a full row just by themselves. A sketch artist had been brought in, as well, since TV cameras were not allowed.

The room buzzed with excitement, just like a hive of angry bees, thought Gail, as she took her seat at the defense table, Connie beside her, and Charles and Hugo seated in the row immediately behind.

She glanced over at the prosecutor’s area. Yes, just as she thought, there was Turner, smiling broadly at his supporters surrounding him. Behind the table, one whole row was taken up with Charlie Hudson and his crew. They all seemed very sure of themselves, she thought, and pondered the revelations the day’s questioning would bring, and how they all would react.

“All rise,” the bailiff called out, and there was the usual scraping of feet and rustling of clothing, as the entire court room rose to greet Judge Harriman as he entered and took his place at the head of the bench. Once all were seated again, and the judge had looked over the file placed in front of him, he took a sip of water, cleared his throat and began:

“Damon Powell,” he said. “You are charged with the crime of murder in the first degree. How do you plead?”

Damon responded in a steady voice, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

“Do you have representation?”

Gail stood. “Yes, Your Honor. The firm of Osterwitz and Brevard are acting as defense for the defendant.”

Harriman looked down again and was silent for a moment before directing his attention to the prosecutor’s table. “Is the prosecution prepared?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Turner Redland’s voice rang out. “Turner Redland for the People.”

“Opening statements, then. Ms. Brevard? Are you ready to proceed?”

“Sidebar, if you please, Your Honor?” Gail felt a little quiver of excitement run through her as she contemplated her next words.

“So soon,” Harriman sighed. “Oh well, then, come forward.” He gestured to Redland as well, and the D.A., his assistant, Connie and Gail all moved to the bench.

“What’s this about, Ms. Brevard? Surely we could at least get started before you start throwing up problems.”

“Your Honor, the defense would like to move for an immediate dismissal and declaration of a mistrial.”

“On what basis?” Turner was nearly shouting in anger. “What is your basis for a mistrial?”

“Your Honor, if you’ll give me a chance….”

“Cease!” Judge Harriman stood and gathered his robes. “My chambers, all of you, now!”

They followed him back to his private chambers and entered the room behind him. He flung off his robe, took a seat behind his desk, and glared at Gail.

“All right, now. Ball’s in your court, Ms. Brevard. What in blazes is this all about?”

Turner spoke up quickly. “I’d like to put in an objection here, Your Honor. We’ve received no prior notification from the defense concerning anything which might be relevant to a mistrial….”

“We’ve only just discovered this situation during the last twenty-four hours, Your Honor. We had to be sure of our findings, and we’ve only just this morning confirmed an alarming lapse on the part of the prosecution in the handling of crucial evidence in this case.”

“Mr. Redland,” intoned the judge. “Please be seated and let’s hear the lady out.”

Turner sat back down, a scowl on his handsome face. He exchanged a questioning look with his ADA, who shrugged her shoulders. They had no idea what Gail was going to say.

“Thank you,” Gail said. She stood and faced the others in the room. “This is somewhat complicated, so if you will just allow me to tell the story from the beginning without interruption, I think our reservations about this case will all come clear.”

“Go ahead, Ms. Brevard,” Judge Harriman said. “We’re all ears.”

“Very well. I need to start with an incident which took place the same afternoon Mr. Powell was arrested. Just after I had met with him and the arresting officer for his preliminary questioning, I received an unsettling personal message.”

Turner Redland started to object, but a glare from the judge quieted him.

Gail hesitated. The next few minutes would be crucial.

“I was informed that my brother, Erle Norris, had been picked up and detained by two off-duty officers and taken to Community Hospital for observation….”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to agree with Mr. Redland, here, Counselor,” Judge Harriman interrupted. “I don’t see how this tale has any bearing at all on Mr. Powell’s case.”

“Oh, but it does, Your Honor, and I have every bit of proof to back it up, if you’ll just allow me to continue.”

“Go ahead. But you must make a connection shortly, or I’m afraid I’ll have to move this back into the court room.”

“Yes. You may or may not know that my brother is a special needs person. He is an adult chronologically, but he has never advanced beyond the level of a very young child mentally and emotionally. It would not be an exaggeration to say he is gullible and easily manipulated.”

“Yes, yes, but what does this have to do with Mr. Powell’s case?”

“I’m trying to put this as succinctly as possible, Your Honor, but I assure you this information is all very crucial to this trial.”

She reached into her brief case and pulled out a small file folder. “This is the medical record released by the hospital to my family just yesterday. It confirms my brother was checked by a doctor for frostbite, his vitals were taken, and then he was released to the custody of my family.”

“And? What on earth….?”

“This is the important part. The off-duty officers who picked him up knew him on sight, and they also knew he was my brother. They spoke to my colleague, Hugo Goldthwaite, at the hospital, saying they were concerned about ‘suspicious’ scratches my brother had on his back. As you might imagine, this was very upsetting to us.”

“Go on,” Harriman said. This was getting interesting.

“The nurse who was in charge on the day my brother was examined has stated, without equivocation, that there were no scratches on Erle’s body whatsoever when he was treated. She also stated that at some point, the off-duty officers asked to speak to him privately, before he was released to us, and a room was provided for them to do that.

“When Erle was returned to us later, he did have scratches on his back. And I saw them.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with this case,” Turner said. “I repeat my previous objection. I think this is all just a waste of time and defense is trying to throw up some sort of smoke screen….”

“Ms. Brevard?” Judge Harriman looked at her sternly. “What say you about Mr. Redland’s objection?”

“I haven’t gotten to the most important aspect of this whole scenario,” Gail said. “There is a preliminary report from the Coroner’s Office concerning the autopsy of Marilyn Watson. I’m certain the prosecution by now has had access to it, but we were not given a copy.”

Turner started to object again, but Gail cut him off.

“However, through various sources, we were able to see a copy of that report, which I’m certain was going to be produced at some point today in order to blackmail my firm into agreeing to some sort of plea bargain for Mr. Powell.”

“That’s absurd!” cried Turner Redland, jumping to his feet. “Are you crazy? What in the world are you talking about?”

Gail stood quietly, watching him with emotions that varied from distaste to amusement at his consternation.

“Your Honor,” she said, handing him a document from her folder. “Here is one page of the preliminary autopsy report which purports to match scrapings from the fingernails of the deceased with the DNA of my brother, Erle Norris. The problem is, Your Honor, we know Marilyn Watson confronted her slayer on the night previous to the afternoon my brother was examined by the hospital. At that time, and the charge nurse on duty at the time will testify to this, he had no scratches on his body at all. Later, when he was returned home, after the off-duty officers had interviewed him privately, there were scratches on his back, and they looked to be fresh.”

There was total silence in the judge’s chambers. Gail stared at Turner Redland. His normally robust complexion had gone ashen. There was a look of disbelief on his face, and he sat quietly.

This had not gone how he expected.

“And so, Your Honor,” Gail resumed. “On the basis of our proof that the authorities have tampered with the evidence, I would like at this point to ask for a dismissal of this trial and a complete exoneration of my client.”

“Return to the court room,” Harriman said. He, too, looked stunned. “Ms. Brevard, I’ll keep this sheet, if you don’t mind. I’ll inform you of my decision shortly.”

And with that, they all tromped out, leaving Judge Harriman staring off into space. None of them envied him.

As soon as the attorneys re-entered the court room, Turner Redland marched to the row behind his table and loudly called Detective Charlie Hudson forward to the prosecutor’s table. Hudson, puzzled, complied and the two sat huddled in conversation. Redland’s face was vivid with anger and Charlie’s arms waved towards two uniformed men seated near the end of the first row.

One blurted out something and started to rise, thought better of it, and sat back down. The other officer said and did nothing.

Charlie Hudson rose, approached the bailiff and whispered a few words, gesticulating at a paper in his hand. The bailiff immediately called over two burly guards and gave them instructions. Without any argument, the two unidentified officers were taken into custody and marched away to a holding cell. Hudson returned to his seat, and Turner Redland, red-faced and seething, slammed his brief case shut and waited for the judge’s return.

Gail patted Damon’s hand and smiled. “It’s nearly over,” she said.

The bailiff announced Judge Harriman’s return. Once again, the court rose in unison and took their seats again.

“Occasionally,” Harriman began, “an anomaly takes place within the context of a hearing which must be dealt with legally, but may not, on examination, have anything to do with the crime in question.”

“Uh, oh,” Gail whispered to Connie. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“We have such a situation before us today. It is my understanding that pre-trial evidence has been tampered with by a party or parties unknown. I’ve deliberated over the issue and have come to the decision that, as serious as the tampering is, it does not materially alter the facts of the case before us. A heinous crime has occurred in our community. An individual has been apprehended and questioned in regard to that crime. I believe the tampering of evidence is a side issue and has no bearing on the guilt or innocence of the party charged. Therefore my ruling is that the arraignment is still in session. Any further evidence as to the likelihood of the accused’s innocence or guilt should be presented by his defense at this time.”

“Your Honor,” Conrad Osterlitz stood in response. “The defense wishes to register an objection to this ruling in anticipation of an appeal.”

“So granted, Mr. Osterlitz. Do you have any further evidence to present, as to why your client should not stand trial?”

“Yes, we do.” Connie paused for effect. “The defense calls…Oliver Kincaid.”

The audience immediately buzzed with anticipation. The Kincaids were leading lights in the Cathcart community. He was currently in charge of the Chamber of Commerce, and Mrs. Kincaid was president of the Woman’s Club.

What in the world did they have to do with this?

“And,” he added, as the well-dressed, gray-haired gentleman was escorted in from the holding area to be sworn in, “we wish permission to treat Mr. Kincaid as a hostile witness.”

“Granted,” said Harriman.

Once Kincaid was sworn in and recited his name for the record, Connie proceeded:

“Mr. Kincaid, you and your wife currently reside in the Long Hills area.” He stated this as a fact, not a question.

“Yes.”

“How long have you lived at your present address?”

“We’ve been on the same property for approximately 25 years.”

“Can you give an approximation of the distance from your front entrance, say, to the home of Harold and Marilyn Watson?”

“As the crow flies? Very close, about 100 yards at most. It’s a little longer than that, if you go down our drive, down the main street and back up their driveway. But a straight shot, from our house to theirs? About the length of a football field would be my guess.”

“At present, you and your wife reside in your house, along with several servants?”

“Yes.”

“And you also have a daughter?”

“Laura, yes. But she’s away at school right now. Fall term.”

“Just the one daughter, yes. And what school is she attending? How far is it from Cathcart?”

Oliver Kincaid hesitated and looked at the judge. “Do I need to answer these questions, Your Honor? I hate to have my daughter’s information put out all over….”

Connie spoke up. “Your Honor, please direct the witness to answer the questions. I will connect my line of questioning with the case at hand.”

“Very well, Mr. Osterlitz, continue. But I’m warning you. You must connect all this quickly. You may answer the question.” Harriman directed the last toward Kincaid.

“Laura is attending the Culinary Institute in Brockhurst,” he said finally. “It’s about a day’s drive from here.”

“Does she return home from time to time? Weekends, holidays and the like?”

“From time to time. Not if she is studying or has some function to attend at school, but yes, from time to time she comes home for the weekend.”

“When was the last time she came home.”

Kincaid paused. He appeared to be thinking back about when such an event occurred, but he could also be giving himself time to come up with a suitable answer.

“I believe she was last at home two weeks ago. But I’d have to ask my wife to be sure.”

“We might do that, if necessary.”

Connie turned back to the table and reached for some papers. “Do you recall, a point in time, some five years ago, when Ms. Brevard came to your house, at your wife’s insistence, and spoke with your daughter?”

“Uh…I’m not sure what you mean?”

Turner was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. This has got to be the wildest fishing expedition we’ve ever witnessed. What on earth does any of this have to do with the present case?”

“I’m asking myself the same question, Mr. Redland. Mr. Osterlitz. Does this have anything at all to do with your client’s defense?”

“I’m trying to get there, Your Honor. With the court’s indulgence, I will make a connection.”

“Very well. But make that connection…and make it quickly.”

Connie turned back to Oliver Kincaid.

“Do you recall the conversation during which your daughter made it clear to Ms. Brevard, in no uncertain terms, that she was sharing an intimate moment with Damon Powell on the very night Vivian Seymour was murdered?”

The gasp rippled through the court room. The judge gaveled for quiet and waited until it was still once more.

Turner Redland scrambled to his feet. “Objection! Objection! This information has nothing whatsoever to do with our present case!”

Connie spoke quietly, but with authority. “On the contrary, Your Honor. We believe this has everything to do with the present case. And what’s more, we intend to prove it.”

“Silence!” shouted Judge Harriman, as the court burst into an uproar. “I’m taking a short recess. Everyone back in half an hour, and be prepared to maintain absolute decorum on your return!”

As the court emptied, Gail and Connie gathered their crew together. “I think we’ve established doubt,” she said uncertainly. “But as to a dismissal? I don’t know if we can accomplish that or not.”

“We’ll do our best,” Connie said. “That’s all we can do. Then let the chips fall where they may.”