“The prosecution calls Detective John Tatupu to the stand.”
Tatupu is the criminal defense attorney’s worst nightmare: a good cop. Born to full-blooded Hawaiian parents on Molokai and raised in the poorer sections of Oahu, he overcame a speech impediment to become a highly decorated officer with the Honolulu Police Department. Tall, well built, with boyish good looks and distinguished gray hair, he has the female jurors’ attention before uttering a word. Well dressed and as articulate as any police officer I’ve ever met, he will make a formidable witness.
Word is that Tatupu is a genuinely good man, who has stood up in the face of corruption, risking his career and his own safety to preserve the integrity of the department. He is friendly and polite, and worse yet, he exudes sincerity. All of this makes my job more difficult. My job is to discredit him on cross-examination, to criticize his techniques and undermine his experience, to put into question his virtue and decency. I have gone toe-to-toe with a lot of cops. The bad ones make it easy, even fun. Nothing is sweeter than embarrassing a bad cop on the stand. But grilling a good cop is like giving a small child the middle finger. It makes you feel like shit, and everyone in the room hates you for it.
Dapper Don Watanabe walks Tatupu through the preliminaries while Jake takes a nap at the counsel table. I assure Joey that it’s all part of the plan, but that I can’t discuss the plan with him until the trial’s over. Luckily for us, Jake doesn’t snore.
The body, Tatupu says, was discovered at dawn by a group of early-morning surfers at the far end of Waikiki Beach, near Diamond Head. One of the surfers called Emergency Services from his cell phone. Tatupu, who was at the Honolulu Police Department’s Waikiki service station, was the first officer on the scene, less than three minutes from the time the call came in.
Tatupu checked the victim for a pulse, although there clearly was no need. The color and feel of her skin told Tatupu that the girl was already long dead. Paramedics arrived and made the formal pronouncement at 6:27 a.m.
A crowd quickly gathered, and Tatupu immediately directed his team to secure the crime scene by roping off a small portion of the beach. The crowd proved difficult to disperse, but his team controlled the crowd and prevented any unnecessary moving of things and walking about.
Photographs were taken of the victim and the surrounding area. Gasps resonate from the jury box as a picture of Shannon’s bloodied corpse is passed around like some Fabergé egg at a second-grade show-and-tell.
Footprints were evidently washed away by the tide. The only fresh prints in the sand were those of the surfers that discovered Shannon’s body.
The murder weapon was a bloodstained piece of reef. Discovered by Tatupu a few feet from the body, it contained no usable prints.
The lifeguard station, also swept for fingerprints, yielded only those of the two lifeguards who had complete access to it. However, during a follow-up investigation, police technicians discovered a single, full lip print on the inside Plexiglas of the station.
A pair of sneakers, believed to belong to the defendant, was discovered hidden behind some plant life near the scene of the crime. Lab results conclusively showed that the shoes contained traces of the victim’s blood. Furthermore, video from the Hawaiian Sands hotel clearly showed that the defendant left the hotel in bright white Nike sneakers and returned in a pair of black flip-flops.
Tatupu was put in charge of the investigation. He quickly learned that the victim had spent the evening between two bars, Margaritaville and the Bleu Sharq. He interviewed the bartenders at both spots and learned that the victim was last seen leaving the Bleu Sharq at approximately 2:45 a.m. with a local man named Palani Kanno.
Tatupu questioned Palani, who admitted to having sex with the victim and getting into an argument, resulting in a physical altercation. Palani stated that he left her for the Waikiki Winds hotel, where he worked as a doorman. And that when he left her, she was very much alive.
Palani was cleared as a suspect after his story of going to the Waikiki Winds to buy marijuana and then taking over a shift was confirmed by witnesses and video from the hotel’s surveillance cameras. And after witnesses, a pair of honeymooners, came forward and attested to seeing the victim alive, though bruised and bleeding, at a time after Palani had already begun to work his shift.
Once Palani was cleared as a suspect, Tatupu continued his investigation by contacting friends and family members of the victim through local law enforcement back East. A young woman by the name of Cindy DuFrain admitted to police that she informed the victim’s ex-boyfriend Joseph Gianforte Jr. of the victim’s destination a short time after dropping Shannon off at the airport.
Tatupu soon learned that the defendant took a flight from Newark shortly thereafter and arrived in Honolulu just hours after Shannon.
Surveillance cameras at the Hawaiian Sands hotel captured the defendant leaving his hotel in the early evening and returning shortly before sunrise. Another camera at the Kapiolani Surf Hotel put the defendant in close proximity to the crime scene less than one hour before Palani left the victim on the beach.
Tatupu and his department followed all other leads, including a professor from the victim’s law school named Jim Catus. The professor volunteered to police that he was in Honolulu to meet with the victim, and that he arrived a day earlier than she expected. The professor also admitted to seeing the victim with another man, and later soliciting a prostitute at the Leilani Inn.
Yes, Tatupu and his department followed all leads, but in the end, all roads led to the defendant.
Dapper Don’s direct examination of Detective Tatupu lasts for more than three hours. During those three hours, as Jake napped and Joey sat in fear, I made a decision. I would not risk losing credibility with the jury by pursuing half-cocked theories about the professor, or Palani hopping on his moped to finish off his victim. I would not pursue the motiveless J. J. Fitzpatrick or the Fed-protected Tony Bitch-Tits and Lazy Eye Sal. I would, instead, do what I did in the trial of People versus Brandon Glenn. I would follow my gut instinct and pursue only the one suspect that I knew had both motive and opportunity. The one suspect who could conjure in the minds of this jury a certain reasonable doubt. I would pursue only Paolo “Small Paul” Nicoletti, alias Victor Trozzo.
The courtroom is restless as Dapper Don takes his seat. Narita calls for order in the courtroom. He bangs his gavel, awakening Jake with a start.
“Mr. Corvelli,” says Narita from the bench, “it is nearly time to break for lunch. Would you like to begin your cross-examination of Detective Tatupu after the recess, or would you prefer to start and stop?”
“Your Honor,” I say, “my cross-examination of the detective will be very brief. If it pleases the Court, I’d like to conduct my cross-examination now.”
A collective groan comes from the courtroom, and Narita bangs his gavel again. I don’t eat lunch when I’m on trial. My stomach is too tied in knots. But I’m sure the jury is bored and hungry, so I do my best to sweeten the deal, even though I know I am out of line.
“Judge, perhaps if I finish before lunch, the jury can have the rest of the day off?”
Grudgingly, Narita and Watanabe agree. I walk to the podium and check my watch. Twelve oh two.
“Good afternoon, Detective.”
“Good afternoon, Counselor.”
“I’m curious. Approximately how many homicides occur each year on the island of Oahu?”
“I would say approximately twenty, give or take.”
“Only twenty?” I comment, neither asking for nor getting a response. Ordinarily, I would hammer this point home. Homicide detectives get relatively little action here on the islands, making them inevitably less experienced than most urban homicide detectives. Ordinarily, I would remark about the hundreds of homicides in New York City each year. But the jury loves this guy. I can see it in their eyes. Attacking him would only alienate them from me, and it would do my client no good. I’ll let the jury make the inference on their own.
“Detective,” I say, “I would like to discuss the sneakers. Those that allegedly belong to Joseph Gianforte and purportedly contain trace evidence of the victim’s blood. Can you tell me precisely how and when the victim’s blood came to be on those sneakers?”
“I assume when he struck her.”
“You assume. Do you, in fact, have any physical evidence that shows that Joseph Gianforte struck the victim at all?”
“You mean aside from the dead body?”
“Detective, the body of the victim is evidence only that someone struck her. It is not at all evidence that Joseph Gianforte struck her. So I ask you again, did you, during the course of the extensive investigation you described during direct, discover any physical evidence whatsoever that indicates that Joseph Gianforte struck the victim?”
“Nothing other than the circumstantial evidence I mentioned earlier.”
“Ahhh, the circumstantial evidence. Well, let’s consider that. Is it possible that the victim’s blood could have ended up on those sneakers by some way other than Joseph Gianforte’s striking the victim?”
“Anything is possible.”
It is the testifying officer’s fallback position. It infers that what I am asking skirts on the edge of the realm of possibilities. In other words, yes, what you are asking is possible, just as it is possible that aliens in UFOs really abduct people for their experiments and then return them to the earth. Just as it is possible that hired mediums such as television’s John Edward really communicate with the dead. Just as it is possible that the Bush administration really believed there to be weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.
“You testified,” I say, “during direct examination that Palani Kanno gave you a statement. Is that correct?”
“It is.”
“And in that statement, Palani Kanno admitted to engaging in an argument with the victim on the beach. Is that correct?”
“Yes. It is.”
“And he also admitted to engaging in a physical altercation with the victim on the beach, did he not?”
“He did.”
“And he admitted to striking the victim, didn’t he?”
“He said that it was in self-defense, yes.”
“Did he tell you whether his striking the victim caused her to bleed?”
“He said it did not.”
“You also testified during direct that you were contacted by witnesses, honeymooners I believe you said, in connection with this case. Is that correct, Detective?”
“That is correct.”
“And those honeymooners told you that they observed the victim alive on the beach after Palani Kanno left her there to go to the Waikiki Winds hotel, correct?”
“Correct.”
“Would you please remind the jury what else the honeymooners told you?”
Tatupu knows what I am searching for and doesn’t want to give it to me. But he has to, or else it will appear as if he is trying to conceal it. His concealing it would work better for me because it would allow me to drag it out of him in front of the jury. But he’s too smart for that.
“The honeymooners told me that they observed Miss Douglas weeping, and that she appeared slightly injured. She was bleeding from a cut on her face.”
“She was bleeding. So is it possible, Detective, that Joseph Gianforte came across the victim subsequent to Palani Kanno’s striking her, but before she was struck with the death blow, and that was how and when those sneakers came to have on them traces of the victim’s blood?”
“As I said before, anything is possible.”
“Is it possible then, Detective, that Joseph Gianforte discarded the sneakers simply because they were soaking wet from the surf and covered with sand?”
“Objection,” says Dapper Don. “Calls for speculation.”
“Withdrawn, Your Honor,” I say. “The detective would only have told me that anything is possible anyhow.”
“Objection!” cries Dapper Don again.
“Sustained,” says Narita. “Further commentary will not be tolerated, Mr. Corvelli.”
I ignore the judge and return my attention to the witness. “Detective, would you remind the jury where the sneakers were found in relation to the victim’s body?”
“In some greenery, maybe ten yards from the deceased.”
“During direct examination, you inferred that the fact that Joseph Gianforte’s sneakers were found with traces of the victim’s blood on them near the scene of the crime increased the likelihood that he was the perpetrator, did you not?”
“I did.”
“And, Detective, you stated that perpetrators routinely hide items that might link them to their crimes, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And you stated, Detective, that it is the traces of blood found on the sneakers that link these sneakers to this crime, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Considering the proximity of the spot where these sneakers were found to the victim’s dead body, would you say that these sneakers were well hidden?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Would you please remind the jury how far the ocean is from where the victim’s body was discovered?”
“Just a few feet.”
“Then let me ask you this, Detective. Assuming Joseph Gianforte owned these sneakers and assuming he committed the crime in question, why would he have tossed the sneakers with the blood still on them only ten yards away from the victim’s body, instead of simply washing them off a few feet away in the surf?”
Tatupu eyes Watanabe, but Dapper Don can offer no help. We wait while the detective thinks.
“It was very dark,” Tatupu says. “He probably didn’t see the blood.”
“I see,” I say. “But, Detective, you made it clear to this jury that Joseph Gianforte discarded these sneakers and hid them in the plants because they linked him to the crime by virtue of the fact that they were spattered with the victim’s blood. So, Detective, if he didn’t see the blood on them, why would he have discarded them at all?”
I do not ask the judge to compel the witness to respond. I let the question hang in the air. The longer the silence the better.
I have just two more questions for Detective Tatupu. Two questions I have committed myself to asking, the consequences for doing so be damned.
“Detective,” I say, “are you familiar with the name Victor Trozzo?”
Tatupu looks around, thinking over the question, swirling the name around in his head like a connoisseur tasting a fine wine. He doesn’t know where I am heading, and this troubles him. But there is only one answer he can give.
“No, I am not.”
“Detective, are you familiar with the name Paolo Nicoletti?”
This time his answer comes quicker. “No, I am not.”
“Maybe you should be, Detective. Your Honor, I have no further questions at this time, but I reserve the right to recall this witness during the defendant’s case-in-chief.”
I turn and face my counsel table. Jake is awake and nodding his approval with his head. Joey stares at me, his eyes wide, frozen in a look that conveys an unequivocal fear. I have seen the look of fear in those eyes before, fear from the grim specter of life imprisonment. But that look of fear pales in comparison to the look of fear he wears now, at the mere mention of his uncle’s name.