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Kilpatrick’s final witness was the pole dancing prodigy, Vanessa Collins. She was dressed considerably more conservatively than when he’d met her before, but her manner was just as forthright and unapologetic. She established her identity, how she made a living, and her previous relationship with Harrison Coleman.
“When was your last contact with him?” Kilpatrick asked.
“The night he was murdered.”
“You saw him?”
“Not at first. He was busy. I went backstage at the theater. I knew he liked to hole up on opening night, reading or playing chess with himself. But to my surprise, on this occasion, he was not alone.”
“Who was with him?”
She pointed toward the defense table. “That boy. The one who claims to be Ossie Coleman.”
“Do you believe he’s Ossie Coleman?”
“I know Harrison didn’t. He told many people that if anyone was in a position to know who deserved to inherit the estate, it was him. And this kid wasn’t the one.”
“So Harrison was a major obstacle to the defendant inheriting the money.”
“I assume so. I had several reasons for visiting him that night. Found some of his clothes in the back of my closet I wanted to return. Plus I had a question I wanted to ask. Anyway, when I got to his office, I could tell immediately that he was not alone. The door to his office was closed, but I could hear people talking inside. Loudly.”
“And when you say you could hear them—who did you hear?”
“Harrison. And the defendant.”
“Could you make out what they were saying?”
“Perfectly. There was a lot of noise onstage, so maybe no one else heard, but when I pressed close to the door, it was clear as day.”
“What were they talking about?”
“Money, of course. The kid wanted Harrison to back his claim. And he refused. Harrison called him an imposter. The kid offered him money to—”
“Objection,” Dan said, rising. And here we go. Arguing a technical evidentiary matter of grave import to a judge who still wore training wheels. “This is hearsay.”
“But clearly an exception to the rule,” Kilpatrick said. “The declarant is deceased.”
“My client is not. He can testify about what happened during this meeting.”
Kilpatrick laughed out loud. “Yes, and I’m sure he’ll include every word, warts and all. With respect, your honor, we’re entitled to introduce another witness, one who has no stake in the matter. No incentive to lie. She’s a completely objective observer.”
There’s no such thing. “The fact that she was present demonstrates that she’s not completely objective. She had a relationship with the victim.”
“But none with the defendant. She has no reason to invent incriminating evidence.” Kilpatrick paused. “And this will be extremely incriminating.”
Judge Smulders frowned. “I don’t know...”
“Let me make it easier for you, your honor. Just let me introduce the recording. Then we’ll see if there’s a problem.”
According to Vanessa, once she realized she was eavesdropping on something hot, she pulled her phone out of her purse and started recording it. He’d filed a motion to exclude on various grounds, but the judge had not granted it. Apparently electronic eavesdropping did not offend Smulders as much as it did him. “We completely object to that, your honor. On numerous grounds.”
“But the recording eliminates the problem with unreliability,” Kilpatrick said.
“It’s wiretapping, your honor, which violates federal law.”
“It’s not like she tapped his phone. There was no opportunity to ask for consent.”
“But the fact remains, she didn’t obtain consent. Illegal recordings can’t be used in court.”
“Unless there are strong and valid reasons to do so. Like here. This is a murder case.”
“That does not change the law. Nor does it change my client’s constitutional expectation of privacy.”
“What privacy?” Kilpatrick spread wide his arms. “Your honor, they were shouting so loudly they could be heard outside the door.”
“That argument actually makes sense to me,” Judge Smulders said. “We all know everyone on earth has a cellphone that can record conversations. If you’re going to shout in a public place, you have no right to expect privacy. I’m going to allow the recording to be played for the jury.”
“Exception. Permission to take an interlocutory appeal.” He wondered if the judge even understood what he was saying.
“Whatever. We’re not going to delay the trial for you.” Which made it pointless. “Play the tape.”
Kilpatrick used the same AV system that had displayed the photos. Although the jury wouldn’t see any images during the playback, they would be able to read captions. Dan had reviewed the captions beforehand and agreed that they appeared to be accurate. He had also agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to post-production sound editing that removed much of the background buzz and made the recording easier to hear.
After some crackling static, the conversation gradually became comprehensible. Kilpatrick had edited it down to the parts he most wanted the jury to hear.
Ossie’s voice was much higher pitched than Harrison’s, so they were easy to distinguish. “You gotta back me on this.”
“Sorry, son,” Harrison replied. “That will never happen. I spent lots of time with Ossie. I loved that boy. And you are not that boy.”
“Without you, I got no chance.”
“Probably. The old man trusts me.”
“Help me. I’ll make you glad you did.”
“Sorry, no.”
There was a loud noise, as if furniture were being knocked over. “I won’t ask again!”
“Break anything you want. It won’t change my mind.”
“Will this?”
They heard a loud sickening sound. Even without a visual image, it was obvious someone had just been hit. The cry of pain that followed cemented that impression.
“Get out of here!”
“I won't leave till you promise you’ll help me.”
“I will not—ever—”
Another crashing sound, louder than before. It sounded as if Harrison had been knocked to the ground.
“I’ll—call someone.”
“Not if I can help it. Do you think I’m going to let you ruin everything for me? Do you?”
Harrison’s voice sounded weak. “I can’t...tell...”
“I won’t let you ruin my plans. I won’t!”
The jurors’ eyes widened. The looked from one to another, stunned, as if they had just heard a confession. If they could’ve voted then, he suspected, they all would vote to convict. And deliver the death penalty.
Kilpatrick switched off the recording and returned his attention to the witness. “What happened next?”
Vanessa looked distraught, as if she was hearing this for the first time. “I pounded on the door. Eventually, Harrison opened it. He assured me he was okay. I saw the defendant in there, glaring toward the door. I asked Harrison if he needed help, but he told me it was just a little disagreement and nothing to worry about.” Her lips tightened. “I wish to God I’d called the police then and there. But I didn’t. And look what happened.”
“You shouldn’t blame yourself. You had no way of knowing what would happen.”
“I should’ve. I should’ve stayed with him. But I didn’t. And now he’s dead.”
Kilpatrick nodded his head gravely. “No more questions. Mr. Pike?”
He knew he had to make an impression—fast—or this case was irretrievably lost. “I interviewed you shortly after I took this case, Ms. Collins. You never mentioned that you had a recording.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You knew I’d be interested.”
“But you didn’t ask. And the DA told you about it, so who cares anyway?”
“Were you hoping to get Ossie out of the way so you could inherit more of the estate?”
“Me? I’m not a beneficiary.”
“But you claim you were the common-law wife of Harrison Coleman. You could use that claim to get a piece of the action.”
“That’s absurd.”
“But you have made that claim, haven’t you?”
“All I want is what the law says I’m entitled to have.”
“I have to ask myself why you didn’t come clean with me when we first talked. Were you working with the police?”
“I wanted them to catch Harrison’s murderer, if that’s what you mean.”
“You said you saw my client in Harrison’s office.”
“That’s right.”
“How long did you see him?”
“Only a moment.”
“Were the office lights on?”
“No. I think a lamp had been knocked over.”
“How can you be sure who you saw?”
“I saw him and heard him. Voice analysis shows it was the defendant.”
“On the tape. But how can you be sure who you saw when you peered through the door?”
“I saw the defendant.”
“Have you talked to the District Attorney about your testimony?”
“Yes.”
“What about Conrad Sweeney? Have you talked to him?”
“No. I don’t know who that is.”
“Why did you record the conversation?”
“He threatened to murder Harrison!”
“Did he say the word ‘murder?’”
“It was obvious what he meant. Just listen to—”
“But you started recording before the alleged threat.”
“The conversation was already threatening. Dangerous. I used to be a teacher, and I always caution students, especially young girls, to take precautions. When you’re in a threatening situation, get your phone out. Take pictures, make recordings. I was just taking my own advice.”
“Of course, if you were that worried about it, you could have opened the office door earlier and intervened.”
“And then maybe I’d be the dead one.” She leaned forward, her voice forceful. “That man threatened to murder Harrison. And he said he’d done it before.”
“That’s not what Ossie—”
“This is not Ossie Coleman,” she said, loud enough to be heard in the next courtroom. “He’s a coldblooded killer. And I did not want to be his next victim.”
She whipped her head around toward the jury. “Lock that man up. Please! For everyone’s sake.” Her voice trembled. Her hands shook. Several members of the jury were visibly disturbed. “No one will be safe until you do. Lock him up before he kills again!”