Chapter 4

1:00 p.m.

Ninety minutes after we were sent to lunch, all parties were back in the courtroom. The judge turned to the defense table. “Okay, Counselor, you’re up.”

Crane stood and wobbled to the lectern, his feet shuffling across the floor as if gliding, but not as graceful. He reminded me of a penguin waddling on ice. Butterflies floated in my stomach as I feared the questions this man would be asking about my past. I knew my mother had an ulterior motive to getting Lucius out of prison. She had never been generous during the twelve years I knew her as my mother. Why start now? My head swam with questions. He turned a page in his yellow notepad then cleared his throat. The sound was deep, like that of a frog croaking. “Detective Watson, you stated the medical examiner indicated a knife killed the victim.”

He used victim instead of her name. He also said medical examiner instead of autopsy. Both were tricks to undermine the seriousness of the crime to the jury. Sometimes it worked. Hopefully not today.

I sipped some water to gather my thoughts to counteract this approach. I also wanted to put out the fire that remained in the pit of my stomach after the brief encounter with my mother. An idea came to me, whether it worked or not remained to be seen. I set the glass on the podium. “The autopsy report revealed a knife slashed Teri Gordon’s throat.”

His eyes flashed with anger, but I don’t think the jury noticed. He pointed a finger at me. “Your Judgeship. I asked a yes or no question. I request her response be stricken from the record.”

Veronica stood. “Attorney Crane stated the medical examiner reported the findings when in fact, a moment ago, Detective Watson told the jury she read this information from the autopsy report.”

Meeks turned to the prosecutor. “Asked and answered. You may be wise to be more specific in your questions, Counselor.”

Crane nodded, then scribbled several notes on his yellow pad. “And was a knife recovered from the crime scene?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it was recovered from the scene?”

“What are you getting at?”

“It’s a simple question, Detective. Did you recover the knife at the crime scene or was it discovered outside the home?”

“The knife was recovered in a trash can three houses down from the defendant’s home.”

“And was the knife discovered at the same time as the rest of the evidence was collected?”

“No. My partner, Sergeant Frank Hayes, is the one who found it.”

“How much time had passed between finding the knife and the rest of the evidence collected from my client’s residence?”

I flipped through the murder book. “Almost two hours.”

He scratched his scalp. “Hmm, doesn’t that sound suspicious?” He turned his attention to the jury. “Didn’t you have a lot of people searching the area for evidence?”

My stomach knotted. Veronica had opened the door to this with her presenting the metal tip recovered by the medical examiner. Not having any food in my gut would keep me from spewing salad across the floor. I was thankful for that for the moment. “Yes. We had techs from CSU, that’s the crime scene unit, as well as several other police officers canvassing the area.”

He puffed his bottom lip out. “And it took two extra hours after all the other evidence was collected before your partner found the knife?”

“When the trash can had been searched the first time, the person who looked inside didn’t notice the knife because it had wedged itself at the bottom.” The answer sounded ludicrous as the words left my lips, but I didn’t have any reason to discount my partner.

“Was the knife entered into evidence?”

“Yes.”

“And who took custody of the knife?”

“Sergeant Hayes.”

“So what you’re telling us is the person who found the knife several hours after the area had been searched by crime scene techs, you, and a number of police officers, and nary a knife was discovered, but somehow, two hours later it was miraculously discovered by your partner. Can you explain how Hayes pulled a rabbit out of a hat?”

Veronica stood. “Your Honor, the defense is merely stating an opinion.”

Crane waived a hand. “My apologies, Your Judgeship. I got carried away.”

Meeks squinted. “You need to stay on point, Counselor. Now ask your next question.”

Crane nodded, then turned to me. “How was this evidence transported back to the police station?”

“Sergeant Hayes placed it in the trunk of his car.”

“And is this normal protocol?”

“No. Usually it goes back with CSU, but they’d already left.”

“Did your partner go straight from the crime scene to the station?”

“No.”

Crane flipped a page. “And why not?”

“He was involved in an automobile accident.”

“Did Hayes sustain any injuries from the accident?”

“Yes. A drunk driver—”

“That’s not what I asked, Detective,” his voice boomed in the courtroom.

“Your Honor,” Veronica said, still seated. “The defense is badgering the witness. He didn’t even let Sergeant Watson finish her answer.”

The judge pressed his lips. “Sustained. Rephrase the question.”

“Yes, Your Judgeship. Did Hayes sustain any immediate injuries from the head-on collision?”

I stared at my hands on my lap. They were digging into my pants. A cold chill ran down my spine. I had been so focused on my anger I had walked right into his trap.

Veronica stood. “Objection. Calls for speculation.”

Crane shook his head. “Detective Watson arrived at the scene twenty-two minutes later. I want to know what she witnessed.”

“It’s based on hearsay,” Veronica stated. “She didn’t witness anything firsthand. The accident had already occurred.”

“That’s not true. Detective Watson viewed her partner’s injuries in the ambulance as well as the statements she received from the paramedics from the scene.”

The judge tapped a finger on the bench. “Overruled, but your questions can only relate to what Detective Watson observed.” Meeks turned to me. “Do you need the question read back to you?”

I could have said yes to stall things while I formulated a response, but it wouldn’t matter. Jurors like the police to be neighborly and good-humored, but I had failed up to this point.

No more letting this schmuck get the better of me.

“He had a gash along his forehead.”

“Did you see the gash yourself or did someone tell you?”

“The paramedics told me at first, but then I identified his body in the back of the ambulance.”

“Was there blood on his face, shirt or hands?”

“There wasn’t any blood on his face but there was on his shirt and hands.”

Crane gave a sideways glance. This looked cute when my dog Sam did it, but this man couldn’t pull it off. The rolls of fat along his neck were bunched up like a traffic jam. His jowls opened. “He had blood on his shirt?”

“Yes.” I managed to say, staring at his triple chin. A bead of sweat glistened along the edge. It hung there for a long moment before dripping to the floor.

“When he left the crime scene earlier that evening, did he have blood on his shirt?”

“No.” The answer escaped my lips too fast. Maybe I should have thought a little longer. Maybe no one would notice.

“Are you certain?” his question drawn out, with emphasis on the word certain.

I glanced at the jury. Twelve sets of eyes staring back at you can be intimidating. Anxiety lingered in my rib cage, hot and unyielding. It felt like one of those fireball candies had become lodged in my chest. I needed to extinguish the burn and fast.

“Asked and answered,” Veronica objected.

Thank you. Her objection felt like a cold glass of milk washing over the fireball, driving the anxiety back into my gut. The fire wasn’t out, but contained for the moment.

Counsel raised a hand in surrender before the judge chimed in. Crane then asked me, “Could he have gotten blood on his shirt before the accident?”

“Objection! Calls for speculation between the crime scene and the accident in which Detective Watson cannot ascertain due to she was not with Sergeant Hayes at that time.” The words spewed from Veronica’s lips as if she were reading them from a card.

Meeks sighed. “Sustained. Can you move it along, Counselor?”

“Were there any other occupants of the second vehicle?”

“Yes. The driver’s wife.”

I knew where he was going with the questions, but he was taking his time. A few of the jurors who had perked up when he started talking about the accident twenty minutes ago now seemed bored. With any luck it would remain that way.

“Were the first responders trying to get her out of the car?”

“No. She was sitting in the back of an ambulance by the time I arrived.”

He tapped his pen on the pad. “Hmm. The same one your partner was in?”

“No. There was a second ambulance on scene. That’s where they had her.”

“And what about the driver of the car?”

“What about him?”

The sarcasm caused a few of the jurors to laugh as well as some of the peanut gallery in the audience. Even the judge chuckled.

“Good one,” Crane said, trying to take the joke in stride. “Where was the driver of the car located when you arrived on scene twenty-two minutes later?”

I rubbed my clammy palms along my thighs. The jurors were about to get a wakeup call. Good for the defense—bad for the prosecutor.

“In the front seat.”

“I see. And was he able to get out of the car on his own?”

“No.”

“Were the firemen busy trying to get him out?”

“No.”

“Why not? I would think they would’ve got him out by the time you arrived twenty-two minutes later.”

Why did he keep hammering the fact I arrived twenty-two minutes later? My anxiety slowly crept up my esophagus. I sipped some water to wash it down.

“His head was located in the backseat.”

Several people in the courtroom gasped.

Crane turned and scanned the crowd gathered in the courtroom. “Will Sergeant Hayes be at this trial?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“He died that night at the scene.”

“Detective Watson, would you repeat that? I didn’t hear your answer.”

I looked at the glass of water and thought about taking another swig. Beads of condensation rolled down the sides and onto the arm of the witness chair. How I wanted to shrink and dive into the glass and be cooled by the icy liquid. Instead I swallowed hard. “He died that night at the scene. Heart attack.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” He said it in a way that didn’t carry any genuine concern. “Can you explain to the jury what happened?”

“After Sergeant Hayes was hit by the drunk driver, he got out of the car and rushed to provide aid to the other vehicle. The driver was already dead, but the wife screamed in the passenger seat. After calling nine-one-one, Hayes tried to get the door open, but the mangled car…” my voice trailed off.

“And how do we know this isn’t secondhand information you’re telling the court right now?”

“His actions were caught on tape by the dash cam.”

“Dash cam? What is that?”

“Every police vehicle, including detective vehicles, has dashboard cameras installed.”

He nodded. “Thanks for the clarification. Please continue.”

My stomach gurgled. I didn’t know if it was hunger or nausea. I hadn’t thought of this night in many years. My eyes began to water. I tried to keep the wetness contained, but a tear escaped and rolled down my cheek. I hate crying. It makes me feel helpless.

“Sergeant Hayes disappeared from the camera for a moment. I can’t swear to this, but it sounded like he opened the trunk to his vehicle.”

“Why do you say that?”

“When he reappears back in the video he has a tire iron in his right hand. He used it to smash the passenger window. After getting the wife out and away from the scene he went into cardiac arrest.”

“Isn’t it possible the knife became contaminated when he grabbed the tire iron?”

“I doubt it. We didn’t find any tears or holes in the bag.”

“Now when you say bag, is it paper or plastic?”

“You mean like the cashier used to ask at the grocery store?”

Laughter erupted in the courtroom.

“That’s enough,” Meeks said in a stern voice. “Check your sarcasm at the door, Detective Watson, or so help me I’ll find you in contempt.” So one sarcastic comment was the limit around here.

“Sorry, Your Honor. The bag was paper.”

Crane walked toward the jury box. “So, what you’re telling us is there’s no way the knife could have been contaminated from the accident?”

This was going from bad to worse to downright horrible. The scariest part is how fast it was happening. Suddenly, I felt all alone. Crane may be fat, but not stupid. I’d been three steps behind him during his cross-examination. I needed to find a way to get ahead of this guy. I would need to be patient though, bide my time until I found a crack in his armor. Then I’d be able to crawl inside, dig around, and uncover his agenda, his plan of attack, and use it against him.

Before I could answer Veronica said, “Asked and answered.”

Meeks agreed.

The defense attorney smiled. His perfect white teeth may have looked innocent to the jury, but I found the smile threatening. He leaned forward and spoke in a firm voice. “Then isn’t it possible the reason my client’s blood could have been on the knife is if your partner used some of the blood from the crime scene?”

My temper flared, but I knew he was baiting me. I sipped more water to cool down.

Veronica stood. “Objection. Calls for speculation.”

“Sustained.”

“Well apparently the Supreme Court didn’t think so.”

“Your Honor,” Veronica snapped.

The judge closed his eyes and opened them slowly. A vein throbbed in the middle of his forehead. “Mr. Crane, you will behave yourself or I will hold you in contempt.” Meeks turned to the jury. “You will disregard the defense’s last remark. It was out of line and very unprofessional.”

Crane tapped a pen on the legal pad. “Detective. Did you notice if the trunk of Sergeant Hayes’ vehicle was open or closed when you arrived twenty-two minutes later?”

“Open.”

Damn it. There it was. The reason we lost the knife…and maybe this case.

My heart pounded so hard I thought it might explode. A warm sensation rushed over me like a flood. It felt like I had sunk to the bottom of a deep lake, my legs stuck in the thick muck and mire. I tried to take a deep breath, but couldn’t.

The fat bastard waddled back to his seat. He slapped Lucius on the shoulder as if to say everything would be okay. And why not? He’d just steamrolled over me.

“Your Judgeship, since the hour is fast approaching 3:00 p.m., I’d like to stop here for the day and resume again on Monday.”

The judge tapped his gavel. “Court’s adjourned. We will recess until 9:00 a.m. Monday morning.”

Great. Now the jury would have all weekend to think about the twenty-two minutes.