If looks could kill, Karpinen would be the one on trial.
“Your Honor, you expressly refused to grant Mr. Lafayette a court order to obtain fingerprints. And he has done the very thing you prohibited. The fingerprints that Mr. Lafayette obtained must not be admitted into evidence.”
“Slow down, Gus,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Lafayette, did these people give you permission to take their fingerprints?”
Burr turned to Lindstrom. “Your Honor, it’s well established that fingerprints obtained in a public place are admissible.”
“I asked you if they consented,” Lindstrom said.
“Your Honor, the rule of law is that being in a public place is implied consent.”
“Balderdash,” Karpinen said.
“Balderdash?” Burr said.
“This constitutes an illegal search and is prohibited by the Fourth Amendment. You expressly forbid this, Your Honor.”
“Lordy, Lordy, Lordy,” Lindstrom said. “Gus, I had no idea you were so concerned about my authority.” Lindstrom chewed on his cheek. Then he studied his fingertips. Finally, he said, “Mr. Lafayette, did these people give you their express consent to have their fingerprints taken?”
“Your Honor,” Burr said.
“A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Your Honor...”
“Yes or no.”
Except for Anne, Burr’s defense turned on Mueller and the fingerprints. He couldn’t afford to lose on this. “It’s well established that…”
“I take that as a no,” Lindstrom said. “Mr. Lafayette, you may question Mr. Mueller about the fingerprints obtained by the sheriff’s department and about any fingerprints you obtained with the express consent of the person fingerprinted. If you cross the line by so much as your big toe, I will remove you from these proceedings until they’re ice fishing on the straits.” Lindstrom studied his fingertips again. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
My goose is cooked.
“Proceed, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said. “If you’re done with the witness, I’ll give the prosecutor his turn.”
Burr was tempted to get Jane’s and Worthy’s names tied to the fingerprints, but he thought that if he did that, Lindstrom probably would throw him out. If he was careful, he might be able to salvage something.
“Mr. Mueller, you testified that there were three sets of fingerprints on the Christmas lights that belonged to people other than Mr. Halverson. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
Burr looked at the jury to make sure they were following along.
“So, Mr. Mueller, in spite of what Detective Conti testified, you found the fingerprints of three other people on the alleged murder weapon?”
“That’s right.”
“So that means, if Mr. Lyons actually was strangled by the Christmas lights, it’s possible that one of the three sets of fingerprints you found on the lights could belong to the murderer.”
Karpinen launched himself out of his chair. “Objection, Your Honor, that is sheer speculation.”
“Sustained,” Lindstrom said.
“I have no further questions.” His point made, Burr walked to his chair with a victory, however temporary.
Karpinen marched up to Mueller as best he could with a bad knee. “Mr. Mueller, why did you leave the state police?”
“I retired.”
“And how long had you worked there?”
“Twenty-nine years.”
“Twenty-nine years,” Karpinen repeated. “Isn’t it customary to retire after thirty years?”
“I don’t know what’s customary.”
“Mr. Mueller, isn’t it true that you were forced to retire because of failing eyesight?”
“Objection,” Burr said. “This isn’t relevant to Mr. Mueller’s qualifications.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Lafayette, I would say that eyesight is fundamental to the qualifications of a fingerprint expert,” Lindstrom said. “You may continue, Mr. Karpinen.”
Karpinen straightened his tie. “Did your failing vision have anything to do with your retirement?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Mr. Mueller, how did you get all the way up here from, where is it, some place called Fish Point?”
“It’s by Sebewaing.”
“Wherever that is,” Karpinen said.
Burr thought it the height of reverse snobbery for a Yooper to want to know where someplace in the Lower Peninsula was.
“How did you get here?”
“In a car.”
“Let me make this painfully clear,” Karpinen said, “did you drive yourself here?”
“No.”
“How did you get here?”
“My sister dropped me off.”
“Do you have a driver’s license, Mr. Mueller?”
“No.”
“You can’t see well enough to drive but you can identify fingerprints. Is that right?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my close-up vision.”
Karpinen pressed on. “Mr. Mueller, did you lift the fingerprints you’ve told us about from the Christmas lights?”
“No.”
“Did you personally examine the string of lights?”
“No.”
“Then how, may I ask, could you possibly conclude that there were other fingerprints on the lights – much less whose they were?”
“I examined the fingerprints lifted by the sheriff’s department.”
“I see,” Karpinen said. “The professionally trained Mackinac County Sheriff’s Department couldn’t identify any other prints. But you, who can’t see well enough to drive a car, found three other sets of fingerprints.”
“I don’t think the sheriff’s department knew what they were doing.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Karpinen said.
“I thought that’s what I was here for.”
Bravo, Stanley.
“Mr. Mueller, if there were, in fact, fingerprints on the lights other than Mr. Halverson’s, how many total fingerprints did you find?”
Watch yourself, Stanley.
“I don’t know. Maybe eight or nine.”
“Altogether?” Karpinen said.
Be careful, Stanley. He’s going to come after you now.
Burr tried to get Mueller’s attention, but his blind as a bat expert didn’t see Burr waving.
“Yes,” Mueller said.
“Damn it all,” Burr said.
“Quiet,” Lindstrom said to Burr.
Now it was Karpinen’s turn to move in for the kill. “Mr. Mueller, if you were going to strangle someone with a string of lights, wouldn’t you need to hold them with both hands?”
“I suppose so.”
“And wouldn’t that leave many fingerprints?”
“I told you I didn’t look at the lights themselves, I looked at the prints taken from them.”
“That’s right,” Karpinen said. “You’re looking at second generation evidence, which may well be corrupt.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Burr said. “This is the very evidence the sheriff’s department used. If you want to toss out all the fingerprint evidence, that’s fine with me.”
“Sustained,” Lindstrom said.
This didn’t seem to bother Karpinen. “Mr. Mueller, could you identify all of the fingerprints on the Christmas lights?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“Some of them were smudged,” Mueller said.
“Smudged,” Karpinen said. “Is it possible that you identified smudges as belonging to other people when, in fact, they were smudges and couldn’t be identified at all.?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“Please,
Mr. Karpinen,” Lindstrom said.
“I have not further questions.”
* * *
Lindstrom adjourned them for the day. Burr was afraid he may have wasted all the time and money he’d spent on the fingerprint fiasco. This was the second time in as many murder trials that the judge had no idea what the law was.
Burr boarded the Star Line for the island, the only ferry still running this time of year. He had a date with Carole, but he needed her help more than her company, especially now. Twenty minutes later, they set off on bikes to find Toad. Burr still had Anne as his star witness, but he didn’t think he could afford to leave anything to chance.
They climbed the hill behind the Grand and entered the woods in the twilight. Burr smelled the cedars and the fallen leaves.
Three-quarters of a mile later, the woods opened up to Stonecliffe, an early twentieth century Tudor, now a restaurant. Carole took his hand and led him and Zeke inside a paneled lobby, the paneling so dark it was almost black.
“What’s Toad doing here?” Burr picked up a menu.
“We’re not here to eat.” Carole took his hand again, smiled at the maître d’, and led Burr through a door and down a flight of stairs. There was a rumbling like thunder, a crashing sound, laughter, silence and then it started over.
What’s going on?
The stairs opened on a bar with a bookcase full of liquor behind it. Then the crashing sounds again. It was a bowling alley. A single lane in the basement of Stonecliffe. A bowling alley in a windowless basement where the noise bounced off the walls and echoed on itself.
An overly affectionate preppy couple was bowling, and there was Toad at the business end of the alley setting the pins, with three other college-age men.
There’s about three too many pinsetters.
“Isn’t it grand?” Carole clapped her hands.
How unlike her.
“It’s the oldest bowling alley in the state and the only one with pin boys.”
I don’t have time for this.
Burr caught the sweet smell of burning hemp.
He’s going to burn the place down.
Carole waved at Toad. He strolled up to her, smiling until he saw Burr. “What’s he doing here?”
“We need your help.”
“No, I’m going to set pins and Murdo’s going to go to jail.” Toad started back to the alley.
Carole took Toad by the hand and led him to the bar.
I’m here with Wendy, Peter Pan and the Lost Boys.
They climbed up on bar stools. A younger, pudgier version of Toad appeared behind the bar. Burr saw a Labatt tap and couldn’t resist. Toad had a Coke. Carole passed.
“Was all the crew on the list you gave me?” Burr said.
“All the crew?” Toad said.
“Did you leave anyone off?”
“No.” Then, “I don’t remember.”
Burr reached into his pocket and pulled out the reservation list from the Chippewa and passed it to Toad.
“These ten names. Is that it?”
“Yep, it is.”
“What about Ronnie Cross? Jimmy reserved a room for him. But you didn’t tell me about him.”
“He’s nobody,” Toad said.
“Tell me who nobody is.”
“He’s nobody.”
“I’ll make it simple. Tell me who Ronnie Cross is now or you can tell me in court tomorrow.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Toad jumped down from the bar stool and hustled back to the bowling alley with the Lost Boys. Burr reached around to the bar and poured himself another Labatt. Carole joined him this time. Three beers later, Toad tapped him on the shoulder.
“He goes to U of M,” Toad said.
Burr handed him two twenties.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Burr sat next to Murdo at the defense table and looked out the window. It was gray and cloudy. Most of the leaves on the tree had fallen off, and the branches looked like a spider web. Jacob had left for Ann Arbor early that morning in search of Ronnie Cross. He’d told Burr that this field trip was yet another of Burr’s boondoggles. Burr hoped Jacob was wrong, but what if the third set of fingerprints did belong to Ronnie Cross and what if he was the murderer? What if elephants could fly, Jacob had said. Burr thought he might well be grasping at straws, but after Lindstrom had refused to let Mueller identify Jane’s and Worthy’s fingerprints, Burr wasn’t feeling too good about his chances, Anne’s alibi notwithstanding. And he still didn’t have Buehler’s prints.
Henry Crow called them to order.
Lindstrom entered and sat. “Mr. Lafayette, I believe you have more witnesses.”
“The defense calls Jane Lyons,” Burr said. He’d have been disappointed if Jane had looked any different than she did. She had pulled her hair back from her face and pinned it behind her head. No lipstick, her full, red lips gone. No makeup whatsoever. And of course, a black dress, an A-line, knee length dress. The only hint of fashion, a single string of pearls.
Burr wondered who dressed her. Karpinen? Worthy? Or was it do-it-yourself? No matter. The look was perfect.
The bailiff swore her in.
“Mrs. Lyons, how long were you and Mr. Lyons married?”
“Seven years.”
“Children?”
“No. Unfortunately, no.”
He’d have to be careful with her. She looked so sympathetic. “Mrs. Lyons, you were in The Pink Pony the night your husband died. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And you were sitting with your husband and Mr. and Mrs. Halverson?”
“Yes.”
“And you had a few drinks. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“More than a few?”
“I don’t remember.”
She’s been well coached, but not by me.
“You didn’t race with Mr. Lyons. You met him on the island. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you staying?”
“We had a room at the Chippewa.”
“That’s the hotel where The Pink Pony is located. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you stay with your husband until the bar closed?”
“No.”
“Why was that?”
“I was tired.”
“What did you do?”
“I went up to bed.”
“Did anyone see you go to your room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you see him again that night?”
“I never saw him again.” She paused. “Alive.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Lyons.”
She put her hands in her lap.
“Weren’t you concerned when your husband never came up to bed?”
“I thought he went back to the boat.”
“I see.”
Here goes.
“After you drove all the way to the island, you left the celebration early because you were tired, but you stayed long enough to put your bra and panties on the Christmas tree. Isn’t that true?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” said the ever-vigilant Karpinen. “This is not necessary.”
“Your Honor,” Burr said. “Mrs. Lyons’ lingerie has been identified as being on the Christmas tree. We can introduce it as evidence.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said, “but if you’re going to continue with this, you must demonstrate how her lingerie is relevant.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
The demure Mrs. Lyons has a little color in her cheeks.
“Mrs. Lyons, you had come to Mackinac Island to meet your husband and help him celebrate. You drank with him and the Halversons in The Pink Pony. Yo
u took off your lingerie in public and decorated the tree with it.” Burr looked at the jury. They were mesmerized with the widow Lyons. “All in all, a jolly celebration.” Burr turned back to Jane. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress and squeezed her knees together. “But then you left. Well before the party was over. Why was that?”
“I already told you. I was tired.”
“You were tired,” Burr said. “Could it be that you were jealous? Perhaps jealous of Mrs. Halverson? Because she sat on your husband’s lap? Were you so jealous that you got mad and left? Were you so jealous that you came back down from your room later and murdered your husband?”
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“I merely asked a question,” Burr said.
“He’s harassing the witness,” Karpinen said.
“Stop it, Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said. His cheeks were redder than Jane’s.
“I would like an answer to my question,” Burr said.
“Mr. Lafayette, you have pushed the limits of decorum. If this continues, I will expel you from these proceedings,” Lindstrom said. “I am sorry, Mrs. Lyons, but I am afraid you must answer the question.”
She looked Burr right in the eyes. “No.”
“Mrs. Lyons, would you say that you and Mr. Lyons were happily married?”
“Yes.”
Burr turned around and walked to the defense table. He picked up a file and returned to the witness stand. “Mrs. Lyons, I have in my hand a complaint for divorce filed by your husband.”
Jane lost the color in her face. She looked down at her hands, then at Burr. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Your Honor, this is a divorce complaint filed by Mr. Lyons. He died before it could be served.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Karpinen said. “This is inadmissible.”
“It was filed in Oakland County Circuit Court and is, therefore, admissible,” Burr said.
“Just because it was filed doesn’t mean Mrs. Lyons knows about it,” Karpinen said.
“Your Honor, I move to introduce this as Defense Exhibit One,” Burr said.
“Mr. Lafayette,” Lindstrom said, “I’m afraid that I must allow this to be admitted, but I find your methods despicable.”
Thank you.
Burr handed the complaint to the court reporter. He’d considered bringing up the whole Fujimo business, but he thought that would be pushing it, even for him. He turned back to the widow Lyons. “Mrs. Lyons, let’s assume that you didn’t know about the complaint. Even so, how could you say you were happily married?”
The Pink Pony Page 23
