Burden of Truth (Cass Leary Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by Robin James

  “Just a couple of questions, Your Honor,” Jack answered.

  “Let’s go then,” the judge said. “Then we’ll break for the day.”

  “Detective Bowman, do you have any reason to believe the defendant in this case confessed to protect someone else?”

  Bowman leaned into the microphone again. “I do not. No.”

  “And going back to the night of the murder. Do you have any concerns that the crime scene was not properly secured? At any point?”

  My pulse jumped, stunned that Jack had left that open for me.

  “Not a one,” Bowman answered.

  “Thank you, I’m finished.”

  “Your Honor.” I rose. “I just have one question for recross, if it pleases the court.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Detective, the victim’s body was found at approximately twelve fifteen. You yourself didn’t arrive on scene for almost an hour later. You can’t really directly testify about the security or even the condition of the scene for a full hour after the body was discovered, let alone when the actual murder took place, isn’t that right?”

  Bowman squeezed his eyes shut and let out a sigh. He realized the dog doo he’d just stepped in. It was minor, probably. But the goal post was reasonable doubt.

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  “Thank you, I have nothing further.”

  It was a small victory, but it ended Detective Bowman’s testimony and the first day of trial on a sour note for the prosecution.

  Except the jury would have Aubrey’s confession in their minds forever.

  Chapter 28

  First thing the next morning, Jack dealt with the cell phone forensics. He called Detective Marjorie Miller to the stand.

  “Detective Miller, can you please tell the jury how you became involved in this case?”

  Marjorie Miller was in her mid-thirties like I was, but looked far younger. She wore her platinum blonde hair in a sleek ponytail, the kind I could never in a million years achieve. She looked like she could be their daughter. Their sister. The younger male jurors might fantasize about asking her out. If I went after her too hard, they’d turn on me.

  “I’m a detective with the Detroit Police Department. I work on computer forensics. Smaller counties like Woodbridge often contract out their cell phone dumps to me as we have more state-of-the-art equipment.”

  “Dumps?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I was asked to retrieve cell phone data on both the victim in this case and a phone found at the scene.”

  Jack then spent the next thirty minutes on the science behind Detective Miller’s job. It’s mind-numbing stuff to any jury, but in the end, Jack cued the detective up to talk about the location of both Larry Drazdowski’s cell phone and Aubrey’s in the time leading up to the murder.

  In Aubrey’s case, it was a straight path from the end of her shift at Dewar’s to Shamrock Park. In Drazdowski’s case, there were no surprises either. He was home when he received the first texts from Aubrey. He then left home and stopped at a gas station at approximately ten p.m. Then he went to the park. Later, I knew Jack would call the witness who saw Coach D talking to Aubrey from his car just inside the park at ten thirty.

  The damning testimony came from the context of Aubrey’s texts. Jack methodically laid his foundation, then moved to admit the cell phone report including the transcripts of the texts. I had no solid legal basis to object to the entry so I saved my battles for later. Jack put the excerpt of the report containing the transcript up on the screen for the jury to see. He had Detective Miller read them into the record.

  7:52 p.m.

  Aubrey to Coach D: I’m ready to talk.

  7:53 p.m.

  Coach D: Glad to hear it. You can stop by my planning period on Monday.

  7:57 p.m.

  Aubrey: No. Now. Tonight.

  8:03 p.m.

  Coach D: I have a life, Aubrey. Anything school-related can wait for school hours.

  8:03 p.m.

  Aubrey: Stop it. I can’t take another second of this. You know what I told you. I wasn’t kidding around.

  8:04 p.m.

  Coach D: You need help, Aubrey. I’m not the person qualified to give it. Have you talked to your parents?

  8:07 p.m.

  Aubrey: Are you serious with me right now?

  8:07 p.m.

  Coach D: Absolutely. I’d be more than willing to meet with them too. I just don’t want you to do anything you can’t undo.

  8:07 p.m.

  Aubrey: You’re unbelievable. Pick up your damn phone the next time I call. I hate texting.

  8:07 p.m.

  Coach D: Under the circumstances, so do I.

  8:09 p.m.

  Aubrey: I get off work at 10. Meet me then.

  8:11 p.m.

  Coach D: I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that. Let’s set something up on Monday.

  8:11 p.m.

  Aubrey: You know exactly why this can’t wait until Monday. Come to Dewar’s. We’ll go to the diner across the street. Bernadette’s.

  8:20 p.m.

  Aubrey: ??

  8:25 p.m.

  Coach D: I’m not coming to Bernadette’s.

  8:27 p.m.

  Aubrey: Then where?

  8:28 p.m.

  Coach D: Why don’t you swing by my house on your way home?

  8:28 p.m.

  Aubrey: No way.

  8:31 p.m.

  Aubrey: Fine. Shamrock Park. The entrance to the bike trails by that stupid shamrock statue.

  8:41 p.m.

  Aubrey: I need an answer.

  8:45 p.m.

  Coach D: Fine.

  There was stony silence in the courtroom as the jury listened and read along. When she finished, Jack turned the witness over to me.

  “Thank you, Detective Miller,” I said. “In your report, you haven’t indicated whether there was any DNA found on Miss Ames’s phone. There wasn’t, was there?”

  “Um, no,” she said. “We did not test for that in my office.”

  “Thank you. So there was no blood on the phone?”

  “Objection,” Jack popped up. “The witness just indicated she’s not qualified to answer that.”

  “I think the witness is capable of speaking to her own qualifications, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Agreed,” Judge Castor ruled.

  Detective Miller leaned forward. “No. I didn’t test for blood on either the victim or defendant’s phone.”

  “Did you see anything on the phones that looked like it might have been blood?”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “Um … no. I don’t recall that.”

  “Thank you. One more question, Detective Miller: you can’t offer an opinion here today on whether the defendant committed this crime, can you?”

  “No, I cannot,” said Detective Miller.

  “Thank you. I have nothing further.”

  Jack stepped forward for redirect and did something that surprised me a little. “Detective, on this issue of blood on the phones. You just said you don’t recall there being blood on either of them. That means there could have been blood, correct? You just don’t remember?”

  “Objection, counsel is leading the witness,” I said. This was so sloppy on Jack’s part. The blood or absence of it was major straw grasping on my part. I knew it. Jack knew it. The witness knew it. I was pretty sure the judge even knew it. Jack’s question was bound to lead the jury to think this was a more important point than it really was. I just sat back and let it happen.

  “Rephrase, counsel.”

  “Okay.” Jack cleared his throat, realizing his error. “I’ll, uh … I’ll just withdraw the question. I have nothing further.”

  The witness stepped down. “Call your next witness,” the judge commanded.

  Jack called Amelia Trainor, Medical Examiner for the County of Woodbridge. This case was the first time I’d had dealings with Amelia but I already liked her. I just wished she weren’t about to deliver some of
the most damning testimony in the case.

  Chapter 29

  In her late sixties, Amelia Trainor was cool, confident, and fit every stereotype anyone ever had about a coroner. She was pale-skinned with light blue eyes. Tall, reed-thin, and she sat with her back so straight you’d think she had an actual stick up her ass.

  Jack laid his foundation with Amelia’s credentials. She’d been the Chief Medical Examiner for Woodbridge County for fifteen years. Before that, she worked in Wayne County. Before that, she’d spent almost a dozen years as an E.R. doc. The woman knew her way around gunshot and stab wounds.

  Jack entered the autopsy report and pulled up the crime scene photos again. He could have used the autopsy photos, but didn’t. It’s exactly the call I would have made in his shoes. It’s easier for a person to detach themselves from autopsy photos. In many ways, the bodies don’t look real, more like wax figures. But that picture of Larry Drazdowski’s dead eyes pleading with the camera had seared its way into the minds of the jurors.

  “Dr. Trainor, what was Larry Drazdowski’s cause of death?”

  “Cardiac arrest,” she answered.

  “Brought on by what?”

  “The victim suffered a fatal stab wound to the left side of his abdomen. The blade punctured his kidney and severed the left renal artery. Massive blood loss caused his heart to stop, Mr. LaForge.”

  One of the jurors gasped.

  “Doctor, can you estimate how long it took for Coach D to die?”

  “It’s hard to say exactly.”

  “Was death instantaneous?”

  “I wouldn’t think so, no.”

  “So, Coach D felt every inch of that blade going in.”

  “Objection …”

  Judge Castor put his hand up before I could even finish. “Let’s stick to the facts, Mr. LaForge.”

  “I’ll rephrase. In your expert medical opinion, Dr. Trainor, would the victim have lost consciousness immediately?”

  “Probably not, no. His heart would have still been beating after the initial stab wound. In layman’s terms, the victim bled out. As I indicated, his renal artery was severed. Without prompt medical attention, a wound like that is very often fatal, as it was in this case.”

  “Thank you,” Jack said. “And just to be clear, in your opinion, the victim was most likely awake while he bled out?”

  “I can’t say for sure how long he was conscious. But I would think for a period of time, yes.”

  “How long, in your educated guess?”

  She sighed. “This victim eventually lost over ninety percent of his blood volume. He most likely passed out before the point of medical death. He would have gone into shock. But, if you’re asking me if he would have remained conscious for a time after he was stabbed, the answer is yes. I can’t give you a precise countdown. Not hours. Seconds. Probably in the neighborhood of thirty seconds.”

  Jack let that answer simmer for the jury. Thirty seconds. In closing, he would of course have the jury imagine what those thirty seconds must have felt like for Coach D.

  “Was he in pain?” Jack asked. “Do you know that?”

  “No,” she answered. “Pain is subjective. You can ask a hundred stabbing or gunshot victims whether they felt their wound. Some will tell you they felt every second of it. Some will tell you they never felt a thing until much later. Shock and adrenaline are unpredictable things. But yes, I would imagine a wound like this victim’s would have caused a great deal of pain.”

  “Thank you. I have nothing further.”

  “Your witness, Ms. Leary,” the judge said.

  I straightened my skirt and rose. “Thank you. Good afternoon, Dr. Trainor. I just have a few questions. Were you able to determine what type of knife was used to stab the victim?”

  “Actually, yes,” she said. “The wound was consistent with a smooth-edged blade. No serration. About two inches wide and four inches long. It was a single, sharpened edge with a slight curve to it. This was a hunting knife, probably.”

  I hadn’t asked her that last bit, but she’d just given me a gift and Jack knew it.

  “Thank you. And you testified earlier, it’s in your report, there was just one stab wound?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “How tall was the victim? You may refer to your report if you need to.”

  “He was taller than average. Six foot five and a quarter. One hundred and one point six kilograms. That’s roughly two hundred and twenty-four pounds.”

  “Was he fit?” I asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Was the victim physically fit, in your opinion?”

  “Oh. I would say so, yes. He would have rated as overweight if we’re talking straight body mass index. But the victim had good, well-developed muscle tone consistent with someone who worked out regularly. I did appreciate some minor plaque build-up in one of the main arteries that feeds the heart, but he was remarkably fit for someone his age, in my opinion.”

  “Just so I’m clear again, you only found one wound. One stab wound.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Would you agree that a kill shot, or stab wound like that would have taken some strength to pull off?”

  She considered my question. Jack leaned in to whisper to his co-counsel.

  “Not necessarily,” Dr. Trainor answered. “The path of the wound went through all soft tissue. The knife went in up under the ribs without hitting any of them.”

  “Remarkable,” I said. “Can you estimate how close the victim was to the person who stabbed him when the knife went in?”

  “Objection, as to form.”

  “Let me rephrase. Doctor; in light of the trajectory and character of the wound, do you have an opinion on the position of the victim and the perpetrator?”

  “The blade went just past vertical.” Dr. Trainor gestured with her hand, holding it at about a twenty-five-degree angle. “The killer was close. This isn’t the kind of wound that would have been made by a lucky throw.”

  “Thank you,” I asked. “Nothing further.”

  “Just one question, Your Honor,” Jack said, straightening his tie. “Doctor, the stab wound you’ve described, could it have been made by someone who was in an embrace with the victim? Are we talking that close?”

  “Objection.”

  Castor made that now trademark stopping gesture with his hand.

  “You opened the door, counselor.”

  “Yes,” Dr. Trainor answered. “I suppose it’s possible that the killer was close enough to be in an embrace with the victim when the stabbing took place. But that’s just a guess. This was a quick, deadly jab, Mr. LaForge.”

  “Thank you, I have nothing further.”

  We broke for the day. As soon as the last juror left the courtroom, Aubrey broke down. Her face became a mass of purple blotches and she started to hyperventilate.

  To his credit, to all of their credit, the judge gave us the courtroom and Jack quickly took his team and left.

  “They think I did it. They won’t believe me. They think I … that I … hugged … that I …”

  “Aubrey, calm down. That’s your chief job right now. To hang in there. You’re doing great so far. You knew this would be a hard day. It’s over. You got through it.”

  There was so much harder to come. Dan Ames came to his daughter’s side. His face told me he already understood what I had to say next. Diane Ames had yet to show up in court. With everything else swirling around, that looked terrible. I made a mental note to have Jeanie try with her again.

  “Tell her,” Dan said to me. With just one look, I knew we were on the same page.

  “Aubrey,” I said. “You know we’ve debated this for weeks. Months. I think after today, there can be no more debate.”

  She surprised me by nodding. “I know. I know. Oh God. I can’t though.”

  “You have to,” I said. “The jury heard that confession. We’ve made a few dents today. Dr. Trainor actually helped us. I can feel it. The jury is
already trying to work out how someone your size could pull off a stab wound like that on someone of Larry’s size at close range.”

  “Because they think I was … that I’d let him touch me.”

  “Aubrey, you know I wouldn’t ask this if we had any other choice. But it’s time. Jack is getting close to wrapping up. I told you I’ve done damage, but I don’t know if it’s going to be enough. The jury has to hear from you. They have to know why you confessed. They have to know it all.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and let out a hard breath.

  “And Diane must be here for it all. Get her a Xanax, I don’t care. But the jury needs to see Aubrey’s mother just as much as they see the two of you.”

  Dan nodded and started to lead her away. Aubrey’s testimony might come as soon as tomorrow if Jack called no further witnesses. But I trusted Dan to manage his daughter. I needed her as fresh as possible. I gave him a grim-faced nod and let them leave the courtroom ahead of me. Three sheriff’s deputies would escort them to Dan’s car through the service entrance again.

  I gathered my messenger bag and looked back at the empty jury box. I hadn’t been to church in years, but I found myself praying now.

  Jeanie had gone on ahead. I pulled out my phone intending to call her. I’d parked two blocks over in front of the post office. On the third day of trial, the angry spectators had thinned out. I almost felt normal again as I waited for Jeanie to pick up.

  As I pulled out my keys, two of Coach D’s former players emerged from the side of the building wearing their letterman jackets. Jeanie had taken to calling his supporters the Lettermen. If she didn’t watch it, that would stick and end up in the newspaper.

  These particular Lettermen were pretty young. The numbers on their jackets indicated they were just two years past their graduating class. Aubrey’s classmates. I couldn’t breathe. I was back in my upturned car in that ditch by the side of the road. I was on the deck of the Crown of Thorne, the icy blue water coming up at me.

  “You’re a real bitch, you know that?” the taller of the two said. He had thinning blond hair that would likely disappear by the time he hit thirty. He stared at me with cold, blue eyes as his companion puffed his chest out and stood at his shoulder.