The Pink Pony

by Charles Cutter

  “Your Honor…”

  Lindstrom cut him off. “That’s it. One more of those teeny-weeny points of order and I’m going to throw you out. And if I do, your bashful friend will take over.” Karpinen wagged at him again. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Burr sat.

  Karpinen limped back and forth in front of Conti, establishing the conduct and procedures of the sheriff’s department. Absolutely top drawer, at least according to Detective Conti. Karpinen asked Conti to identify Murdo’s tortoise-shell glasses, which the prosecutor introduced into evidence. On cue, Murdo made a show of putting on his new wire-rimmed glasses.

  But then Karpinen got to the meat in the sandwich. “Detective Conti, did you examine the Christmas lights used to strangle Jimmy Lyons for fingerprints?”

  Burr started to stand, then sat.

  Lindstrom’s right. I just can’t help myself.

  “I did,” Conti said.

  Karpinen limped to his table and picked up another file. Back at the witness stand, he opened the file and handed a square of paper to Conti. “Detective, would you please identify this?”

  Conti scrunched his rat nose over the paper. “These are the fingerprints found on the Christmas tree lights.”

  “Thank you.” Then to the clerk, “Please enter this as People’s Exhibit Two. Then to Burr, “Counselor?” Burr waved him off.

  “Please identify this,” Karpinen said, handing Conti another paper, also to be introduced into evidence.

  “Those are the defendant’s fingerprints.”

  “And how do you know this?”

  “I watched him being fingerprinted.”

  “Where was that?”

  “At the jail.”

  “At the jail,” Karpinen said.

  Burr knew Karpinen would do everything he could to link Murdo to murder, defendant, crime scene, and jail.

  Karpinen introduced Murdo’s prints into evidence. “Detective Conti, what can you tell us about these two sets of fingerprints?” Burr knew a good lawyer wouldn’t ask an open-ended question unless he knew the answer. Burr didn’t like Karpinen much, but he thought the prosecutor was a pretty good lawyer.

  Conti sat up straight, thrust out his shoulders, such as they were, and stuck out his chin, which was missing in action. He cleared his throat.

  Drum roll.

  “The fingerprints on the Christmas lights match those of the defendant.”

  “Are you saying that the defendant Murdoch Halverson’s fingerprints are on the murder weapon?”

  “Yes. I am.”

  The jury shuddered.

  “No further questions.”

  Burr walked up to the detective. “Mr. Conti, were you the first law enforcement official to arrive at The Pink Pony?”

  “No,” Conti said, quietly.

  “I see,” Burr said, taking a step back. “Did someone from the Mackinac County Sheriff’s Department arrive before you?”

  “No,” Conti said, slightly louder.

  “Really? But your department conducted the investigation. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” he said, a little louder.

  “Mr. Conti, what law enforcement officer was the first to arrive at The Pink Pony?”

  “Arthur Brandstatter, the Mackinac Island Chief of Police.”

  “Is that the fudgie cop?”

  The jury snickered.

  “Objection,” Karpinen said.

  “Stop it, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said.

  Burr continued. “Who called you?”

  “Chief Brandstatter.”

  “I see. Mr. Conti, when you arrived, was there yellow tape on the doors?”

  “No.”

  “Was there yellow tape anywhere?”

  “No,” Conti said. Burr had backed up halfway to his table. “I’m sorry I can’t quite hear you.”

  “No, there was no tape anywhere.”

  “Where was Mr. Brandstatter?”

  “He was in the lobby.”

  “What was he doing?”

  Conti looked at his shoes, then at Burr. “He was drinking a cup of coffee.”

  “I see,” Burr said. “Mr. Conti…”

  “It’s Detective. Detective Conti.”

  “Of course, it is.” Burr had finally gotten under the rodent’s skin. “Is it possible that someone or perhaps multiple people could have been in The Pink Pony before you arrived?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. Conti … ” Burr said, “… excuse me, Detective Conti, was there anyone standing guard at any of the three doors when you arrived?”

  “No.”

  “So, it’s possible that the evidence could have been corrupted?”

  “No.”

  Burr put his hands in his pockets. “Come on, detective. The head cop on Mackinac Island is drinking coffee when you get there. There are no guards. There’s no police tape, but you say that there’s no possibility that anyone may have gotten inside the bar?” Burr took a step toward Conti. “Come on, detective. This is inexcusable police work and you know it.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Karpinen barked at the judge. “The witness already answered the question.”

  Burr turned to Karpinen. “I’m surprised you waited so long.” He turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, I think it’s clear that any evidence found in The Pink Pony may well have been corrupted by the shoddy police work done by Mr. Brandstatter.”

  “What’s that?” Lindstrom said, also barking.

  Burr turned back to Karpinen. “Nothing, Your Honor.”

  “Look at me when you’re speaking to me,” Lindstrom said.

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Burr looked at Conti and moved in for the kill. “Detective Conti, were there any other fingerprints on the Christmas lights?”

  “What?” This startled Conti.

  “I said, were there any other fingerprints on the Christmas tree lights?”

  “No,” Conti said, not too sure of himself.

  “Really?” Burr looked at the jury, then back at Conti. “Detective, could you identify every fingerprint on the lights?”

  “No.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well,” he said, “some were smudged.”

  “Smudged?” Burr arched his eyebrows. “So, there were some fingerprints that you could not identify. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  Burr had him now and Conti knew it. “So it’s possible, Detective Conti, that there may have been fingerprints of other people on the lights?”

  “They were the defendant’s fingerprints, but they were smudged.”

  “If they were smudged, how do you know they were Mr. Halverson’s?” Burr stepped right up to Conti. “You don’t, do you?”

  “Objection,” Karpinen said. “Calls for speculation.”

  I was hoping he’d say that.

  “Your Honor, this isn’t speculation. I asked a simple question that requires a yes or no answer. Either he knows or he doesn’t.”

  Karpinen glared at Burr. Burr, who was doing a lot of smiling, smiled at Karpinen.

  “Answer the question,” Lindstrom said.

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “No, I don’t know.”

  “No, you don’t know what?”

  “No, I don’t know who the smudges belonged to.”

  Burr turned to the jury. They nodded at him.

  * * *

  Predictably, Karpinen dredged up Patrick Gurvin, the Casanova on the beach who said he saw Murdo sneak out the back door of The Pink Pony after it had closed. Burr thought the prosecutor got the boy’s testimony about as skillfully as he could, considering what Gurvin had been up to. Burr, artfully, but as directly as he could, did his best to di
scredit the red-faced lad, even though Lindstrom stopped him well before Burr reached the coitus interruptus part of the story. From the tittering of the twelve, Burr was sure that the jury had more than a pretty good idea of what had taken place on the sands of Mackinac Island that night.

  Burr thought that Karpinen had been smart not to call Brandstatter, even though the prosecutor had the chief on his witness list. Burr would take care of that when he presented his defense. Carole, despite Burr’s coaching, had been a much better witness for Karpinen than Brandstatter would ever have been.

  What Burr couldn’t understand was why Karpinen hadn’t called Karen Vander Voort, the bartender who had the most damning testimony at the preliminary exam. Not only had she poured the shots for Jimmy at the bar, she’d also poured the drinks for Jimmy’s table. Worse, she’d been close enough to their table to witness all their shenanigans, including Murdo rearranging the lights around Jimmy’s neck. Not to mention the lingerie debacle. Worse yet, she’d testified that she was sober as a judge, which surely put her in a class by herself. But she did say she was the last one out and had locked all the doors. Maybe that was why Karpinen didn’t call her.

  Thank God for that.

  But his prayers weren’t answered for long.

  “The state calls Detective Emil Conti.”

  “Did you forget something, Mr. Karpinen?” Lindstrom sneered at his sometime colleague.

  “Your Honor,” Karpinen said, “Detective Conti is necessary to establish some additional testimony.”

  “Why didn’t you think of that before?”

  “Your Honor, if you permit me to examine Mr. Conti, it will become very clear, very quickly.”

  “Very well, but get on with it,” Lindstrom said. He pointed at Burr. “Don’t say a word. Your objection is noted and overruled.”

  Conti took the stand again. He smiled at Karpinen as though they were the best of friends, which, Burr thought, they probably were. “Detective Conti, I’m sure you’re aware that you are still under oath.” Conti nodded. “Detective Conti, you interviewed Karen Vander Voort about what she saw on the night that Jimmy was killed. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell us what she told you.”

  Burr jumped to his feet like a jack in the box. “Objection, Your Honor. This is hearsay.”

  Lindstrom pursed his lips.

  The old goat might finally agree with me.

  “Mr. Karpinen?” the judge said.

  “Your Honor, we can’t seem to locate Ms. Vander Voort. That’s why we need to question Detective Conti.”

  “Your Honor, that’s the whole point of the hearsay rule. If the prosecutor wants to question Miss Vander Voort, he needs to find her.”

  “I know what hearsay is, Mr. Lafayette.” Lindstrom looked at Karpinen.

  “Miss Vander Voort has somehow disappeared,” Karpinen said.

  Burr, still on his feet, said, “It’s a fundamental constitutional principle that the accused have the opportunity to confront their accusers. Your Honor, secondhand testimony is very likely to be inaccurate.”

  “Your Honor,” Karpinen said, “Miss Vander Voort testified at the preliminary exam. We have her transcript.”

  “Why don’t you start with that,” Lindstrom said.

  Karpinen picked up a folder from his table.

  Damn it all.

  Karpinen introduced the transcript into evidence as People’s Exhibit Three, then he turned to a paper-clipped page. “Detective Conti, please read from here.”

  “Your Honor,” Burr said. “Having a policeman read from the transcript gives the testimony more credence than it should have. The clerk should read the testimony.”

  “Stop with your namby-pamby objections, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said. “Detective Conti, please read whatever it is that it seems to be so important to everyone.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  Conti read aloud. “The four of them, the two couples, sat at a table next to the bar. At first, they were all having a good time. Then the wife, Mrs. Lyons, got mad and left.” Conti stopped, then looked up at Karpinen, who nodded to him.

  They practiced this.

  Conti continued. “Do you know what she was mad at? Then Miss Vander Voort said, ‘I think she was mad at Mrs. Halverson’. Why was that? you asked, ‘Because she was flirting with Mr. Lyons.’”

  “Your Honor,” Burr said, “this is ludicrous. We can’t possibly tell who is saying what to whom about anything.”

  “Mercy, mercy, mercy,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Karpinen, you read your questions. Detective Conti, you be Miss Vander Voort.”

  “This is like a tryout for the St. Ignace civic players,” Burr said.

  “I didn’t hear that Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said. “Continue, Mr. Karpinen.”

  The detective and the prosecutor went back and forth. The point of all this silliness was that if Karen Vander Voort was right about what she saw, there was little doubt that more than enough alcohol had been served, that Jimmy and Anne had something for each other, and that Murdo was jealous.

  Burr popped up again. “Your Honor, we have no idea if Mr. Halverson was jealous. That’s the opinion of a missing witness.”

  “You’re quite right, Mr. Lafayette,” Judge Lindstrom said.

  “That is precisely my point. And since she’s not here, I can’t question her,” Burr said.

  “You could have questioned her at the preliminary exam,” Lindstrom said.

  “Your Honor, that’s not what happens at a preliminary exam.”

  Lindstrom shooed Burr away with his hands. “Are you quite done, Mr. Karpinen?”

  “Not yet, Your Honor.” Karpinen turned to another paper-clipped page. “Detective Conti, please read from here.” Karpinen pointed to the middle of the page.

  “Then Mr. Lyons came back with a little Christmas tree, a short one. It was nailed to two little slats so it would stand up. He set it on the bar. Everyone thought it was funny.”

  “What happened then?” Karpinen said.

  “Well, Mr. Lyons had some Christmas tree lights, the big old-fashioned kind. C-9’s, I think.”

  Burr shook his head.

  Conti read on. “By the time Mr. Lyons was done, the tree had lights wrapped around it. I plugged them in.”

  “Then what happened?” Karpinen said.

  “Women started decorating it with their underwear.”

  “Really, and who started this?”

  Conti read from the transcript. “Mrs. Halverson,” he said.

  “Could you elaborate?”

  “Well, Mrs. Halverson reached up under her top and took off her bra. Then she put it on the tree. Like an ornament.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Then some of the other women did it. Pretty soon, I saw Mrs. Halverson come back to the tree. She reached up under her skirt and took off her panties. She put them on the tree, too.”

  Conti looked at Judge Lindstrom. “Now Mr. Lafayette says something.” Should I read his part?”

  Burr flew out of his chair. “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Would you like to read your own part?” Lindstrom said. Burr could barely contain himself.

  “Thank you, detective,” the judge said, “I think we’ll skip that. You may continue.”

  Conti started again. “Before Mr. Lyons put the lights on the tree, Mr. Halverson wrapped another string of lights around Mr. Lyons’ neck.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Burr shouted at the judge. “That is not in the transcript.”

  “Mr. Karpinen?”

  “Your Honor, this is what Miss Vander Voort told Detective Conti.”

  “You mean it’s not in the transcript.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Exactly in or exactly out?”


  “Miss Vander Voort told this to Detective Conti when he interviewed her.”

  “So, it’s not in the transcript?”

  “No,” Karpinen said.

  Burr stood again. “Your Honor, I move that this entire testimony be stricken from the record. There’s no way to know what really happened. For all we know, Miss Vander Voort might have been mistaken as to what really happened. Not only is the prosecutor trying to mislead the jury, this is hearsay at its worst.”

  “Strike that testimony from the record,” Lindstrom said.

  “What testimony is that, Your Honor?”

  “I’ve seen that movie, Gus. Strike it all.” Lindstrom slammed his gavel. “We are adjourned for the day.”

  But the damage had been done.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The next morning, Burr sat at the defense table and looked out at the maple tree. The wind was blowing and leaves were falling off the tree. Karpinen was questioning Lionel Worthy, Jimmy Lyons’ lion-maned attorney. His white shirt set off the ruddiness in his face, and his nostrils flared when he spoke.

  “Mr. Worthy,” Karpinen said, “was Mr. Halverson suing Mr. Lyons?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Objection,” Burr said. “Mr. Halverson was not suing Mr. Lyons.”

  “Mr. Worthy,” Karpinen said, “was Mr. Halverson’s company suing Mr. Lyons’ company.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, there was a lawsuit between the two companies.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thank you,” Karpinen said. “Mr. Worthy, did you ever see Mr. Halverson get angry at Mr. Lyons?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he make any threatening remarks?”

  “He did.”

  “Such as?”

  “We were standing outside a conference room during a break at a deposition. Mr. Halverson told Mr. Lyons that if he, Mr. Lyons, so much as looked at Mrs. Halverson again, he would kill him.”

  “So, the threat had nothing to do with money,” Karpinen said. “Mr. Halverson was jealous.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Worthy. I have no further questions.”

  Burr tapped his pencil. He walked up to Worthy, who still smelled like an ashtray. He took a step back. “Mr. Worthy, how much was Mr. Halverson’s company suing Mr. Lyons’ company for?”