Cullen looked at the jury. “Murdered.” He walked back to his table and sat down. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Burr walked up to Starkweather. “Sheriff, was there much current in that stretch of the river?”
“Yes.”
“And were you swept downstream when you pulled the body to shore?”
“I suppose I was.”
“And then you had to drag Mr. Shepherd to the shore.”
“Yes.”
“And there were logs and rocks in your way.”
“Yes.”
“So by the time you reached the bank, both you and the body had a rough time of it.”
“We did.”
“Sheriff, isn’t it also possible that the bruising and trauma on Mr. Shepherd’s head was the result of being in the river for an extended period of time?”
“I don’t—”
Burr stopped him. “You have no way of knowing when the bruising and trauma occurred, do you?”
“No, but I’m sure I didn’t cause it.” Starkweather glared at him through his droopy eyes.
Burr pressed the attack. “Sheriff, you testified that you left for the river before the EMS crew arrived.”
“That’s right.”
“Why didn’t you wait for them?”
“They’re volunteers, and there was no way to know when they’d get there.”
“How, may I ask, did you get the body to the morgue?”
“I carried it to my cruiser.”
“You carried it?” Burr did his best to look astonished even though he had read the transcript of the inquest. “How far would you say that was?”
“About a quarter of a mile.”
“And how much would you say Mr. Shepherd weighed, fully clothed, soaking wet and full of water?”
“At least two hundred pounds.”
“You carried him all that way.”
“Yes.”
“Did you rest along the way?”
“I did.” Starkweather said.
“How many times?”
“Three. Maybe four.”
“Sheriff, is it possible that you banged up Mr. Shepherd’s head when you put him down?”
“No,” he said. “Plus, I saw the gash before I carried him.”
Damn it all, Burr thought. He pressed on. “Two hundred pounds is a lot to pick up and put down.”
“I was careful.”
“Of course, you were, but…”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “Asked and answered.”
“Sustained. Move on, Lafayette,” Judge Skinner said.
Burr looked over at the jury. He met their eyes, one by one. He was fairly certain he had hurt Starkweather’s testimony. If nothing else, he knew he had succeeded in confusing them. He had already gone from Mr. Lafayette to Lafayette with Skinner. It usually took him three or four days to get this far with a judge.
Burr walked back to his table. Eve handed him a file. “Your Honor, the defense would like to introduce into evidence the Crawford County Sheriff’s Office report of the accidental drowning of Mr. Quinn Shepherd on the night of June 21st.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “It has not been established that Mr. Shepherd’s death was an accident.”
“Your Honor, the sheriff himself determined it was an accident.”
“Sustained. For now let’s just call it a ‘death’,” Skinner said. “Let this be Defense Exhibit One.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I’ll be brief,” Burr said. He opened the report. “Sheriff, on page seven, you wrote that Mr. Shepherd’s death was accidental. But earlier you testified that you believed Mr. Shepherd was murdered, that he was struck by a canoe paddle and then drowned.”
Starkweather didn’t say anything.
“Sheriff?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, that’s what it says.”
“That what?” Burr, the ever-theatrical litigator, said.
“Please,” Skinner said.
“I’ll start over. Sheriff, earlier you testified that you believed that Mr. Shepherd was struck on the head with a canoe paddle. That he was then thrown in the river where he drowned. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“But here, Sheriff, on page seven of your report, you wrote that Mr. Shepherd struck his head on the rail of the boat and was unconscious. He then fell into the river and drowned. Isn’t that what you wrote in your report?”
“There was new evidence,” Starkweather said.
“In this report you said that Mr. Shepherd slipped and struck his head on the rail of his boat. He was knocked out. He got tangled up in the anchor chain of his boat and fell into the river where he drowned.” Burr looked over at the jury, then back at Starkweather. “You concluded that his death was an accident. Is that right?”
“That was before—”
“Is that what the report says?”
“Yes, but—”
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
Skinner adjourned them for lunch. Burr and his entourage descended on the Robin’s Nest, a diner in a dingy white building on old US 27, north of the courthouse.
Burr had picked the Robin’s Nest because Robin served breakfast all day and because she didn’t have a liquor license. There was no reason to tempt fate at lunchtime. He ordered the Robin’s Nest—two eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast and pancakes, from Robin herself, a thin, fortyish woman with short brown hair, who didn’t look like she ate her own cooking.
“How can you possibly eat all that?” Jacob dabbed at his oatmeal.
“Arguing always makes me hungry,” Burr said.
“It seemed like it went well this morning,” Wes said.
“It was genius to trap Starkweather the way you did,” Jacob said.
Wes cut into the steak part of his steak and eggs. Lizzie looked at her poached eggs, but didn’t touch them.
After lunch, Cullen called Margaret Winston.
That’s exactly what I would do. She had on those glasses with the black frames. He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He’d known that Cullen would call her, but he didn’t know his stomach would be in knots when it happened. Maybe it was the sausage.
The bailiff swore her in, and Cullen got right to the point. “Professor Winston, would you please tell us your occupation?”
“I’m a professor of ornithology at the University of Michigan.”
“An ornithologist?” Cullen said, his smile restored.
“I study birds.”
“Of course. And where were you on the morning of April 27th this year?”
“I was on the east side of the South Branch, downstream from Chase Bridge.”
“And what were you doing?”
“I was studying woodcock.” She paused. “Their nesting habits.”
“Thank you, Professor Winston. And did you find any?”
“I did.”
“They are small birds, aren’t they, Professor Winston?”
“A little bigger than a robin.”
Isn’t this just grand. Cullen practiced this with her.
“But with a long proboscis.”
“Proboscis?”
“Beak. Woodcock have a long beak.”
Burr had had enough. “I object, Your Honor. This is irrelevant.”
“Your Honor, I am about to show why this is important.”
“Overruled. You may continue, Mr. Cullen,” Skinner said.
Burr knew it was relevant. He wanted to stop Cullen’s momentum. Or was he jealous?
“I believe woodcock nest on the ground, don’t they?” Cullen said. “How could you possibly find their nests?”
“I have a dog. An English setter. She points t
hem.”
“I see,” Cullen said. “And did she find anything else that day?”
“She did.”
“Please tell us what happened.”
“We were working our way toward the river. When we got close, Finn, my setter, disappeared for a few minutes. Then she came back with a canoe paddle in her mouth.”
Cullen paused, then looked at the jury. He turned back to his witness. “A canoe paddle?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do?”
“I took it from her, and I looked it over.”
“Thank you, Professor Winston.” Cullen walked to the prosecutor’s table. He reached underneath it and picked up something wrapped in brown paper.
“I wonder what that could be,” Burr said to himself.
Cullen walked back to his witness. He made a show of unwrapping it.
“Do you recognize this, Professor Winston?” Cullen handed her the paddle.
“It’s the canoe paddle I found.”
“How do you know?”
“It has a jagged, damaged edge.” She held up the paddle and ran her finger along the splintered part of the blade.
“And what does this say?” Cullen pointed at the throat of the paddle.
“Q.S.”
“Could that stand for Quinn Shepherd?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Objection. Calls for an opinion,” Burr said. He didn’t object because he had a legitimate objection. He objected because he couldn’t think of anything else to do, and he thought he needed to do something to disrupt Cullen.
“Overruled.”
“Your Honor, the prosecution would like the court to admit this canoe paddle as State’s Exhibit One.”
“Bailiff, enter this as State’s Exhibit One.”
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “Professor Winston, what did you do with the paddle after you found it?”
“I took it to the sheriff’s department.”
Cullen took the paddle back from Maggie. “And what made you think to do that?”
“I read that Quinn Shepherd drowned a year ago. I thought it might be important.”
I thought she was on my side, but I suppose she should tell the truth.
“Indeed, it was.” Cullen turned to the jury. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is the murder weapon. This is the canoe paddle that the defendant, Elizabeth Shepherd, used to kill her husband, Quinn Shepherd.”
Burr jumped up. “Objection, Your Honor. There is no foundation for that statement.”
“I withdraw the question,” Cullen said, the damage done.
Margaret Winston started to get up.
“Just a few more questions, Professor.” She sat back down and crossed her legs. “Professor,” Cullen said, “you have a relationship, a personal relationship, with Mr. Lafayette. Isn’t that true?” Cullen pointed at Burr.
“I beg your pardon?” Maggie said.
“You’re dating. Isn’t that right?”
Maggie turned white. “I beg your pardon,” she said again.
Burr launched himself from his chair. “Objection, Your Honor. This is not only irrelevant. It is outrageous.”
“Your Honor,” Cullen said, “it is absolutely relevant. It lends even more credibility to Professor’s Winston’s testimony.” Cullen waved the paddle at Burr. “This canoe paddle is damning evidence. If anything, Professor Winston would want to play down the canoe paddle’s importance to protect the defendant and her lawyer.” Cullen pointed at Burr. “This man has committed such a breach of ethics. You can’t believe anything he says.” Cullen turned to the jury and looked at them one-by-one.
“I move for a mistrial,” Burr said. “The prosecutor has prejudiced this entire sham of a trial.”
“I’m going to allow the testimony,” Skinner said. “Anything further, Mr. Cullen?”
“No, Your Honor.”
Margaret Winston glared at Skinner, this part of the testimony obviously not part of the script she had practiced.
This is a fine mess. At least Skinner hadn’t pushed it. He probably didn’t want any more theatrics, but it’s too late for this. They hadn’t seen each other since he dropped her off, but that didn’t matter. Burr had a brand-new pencil, just like all the other ones. He broke it in two, just like all the other ones. He stood up and walked slowly to the witness stand. “Professor,” he said, “do you know where your dog found the paddle?” Burr smiled at her, a soft smile that no one else could see.
“Upstream from where I was.”
“And why do you say that?”
“That’s the way she came from.”
“What is the cover like there?”
“It’s thick.”
“How thick?”
“Very thick.”
“Is it possible that your dog could have found the paddle downstream, gone back upstream and then found you?”
“Objection,” Cullen said. “It doesn’t matter where the dog found the paddle.”
“Your Honor, it may well matter,” Burr said, but of course it didn’t matter. He was just trying to calm things down and confuse the jury.
Skinner shook his head. “You may answer the question.”
“I suppose that could have happened, but the only tracks I saw were upstream.”
“Thank you, Professor,” Burr said. “Does your dog like bones?”
“Bones?”
“Objection.”
“You may answer the question, Dr. Winston.”
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, she does.”
“Does she chew them?”
“Yes.”
“Does she like to fetch?”
“Yes.”
“So she likes sticks?”
“Yes.”
“Does she ever chew on them?” Burr said. “Like a bone?”
“Sometimes.”
“Professor Winston,” Burr said, picking up the paddle. “Is it possible that your dog, while out of your sight, found this paddle and chewed on it?” Burr ran his finger along the jagged edge. “Right here.”
“It’s possible.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Cullen said. “The prosecution will show that the paddle matches the wound on Mr. Shepherd’s skull.”
Burr looked at Cullen. “Let’s save that for another day, shall we?” Burr handed Cullen the paddle. “No further questions,” he said.
“You are excused, Professor Winston.”
Margaret Winston stood and smoothed her skirt. She walked past Burr without looking at him.
CHAPTER NINE
Burr woke to six inches of heavy, wet snow and no plows out on the roads. He started the Jeep and wrenched the gearshift on the floorboard forward, back, then forward again. The only way he could get to court today was in four-wheel drive, if he could get in gear. The Jeep’s gearbox ground, metal on metal. “Finally,” he said. He pulled down on the gearshift of the steering column and shifted into drive. “Off we go.”
Burr made it to court on time as did Cullen, the jury, and the spectators. A half an hour late, Skinner made his grand entrance. Apparently, he had had his own transportation problems. “Call your first witness, Mr. Cullen.”
“The people call Sergeant Boyd Wilcox.”
Burr watched Wilcox walk to the witness stand and sit down. He had forgotten how much his glasses looked like they were part of his face.
After Wilcox was sworn in, Cullen led him through his qualifications as a forensic medical examiner. He picked up the paddle, handed it to Wilcox. “Did you examine this canoe paddle?”
“I did,” Wilcox said.
“And what did you find?”
Here it comes.
“There was hair tangled on the jagged part of the blade.” Wilcox ran his finger along
the blade of the paddle. “Here.”
“And what did you find?”
“The hair matched the hair of the deceased, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Burr said. “There has been no foundation established to show where Sergeant Wilcox obtained the hair sample from Mr. Shepherd.”
“Sergeant, where did you obtain the hair sample?” Skinner said.
“When we examined the body at the exhumation.”
“And did you also find that the wound on Mr. Shepherd’s head was consistent with being struck by the canoe paddle?”
“Yes.”
Cullen took the paddle from Wilcox. He turned to the jury and held it out to them. “Is it your opinion that this is the murder weapon?”
“Yes,” Wilcox said. “Yes, in my opinion the canoe paddle was the murder weapon.”
“No further questions.”
Burr stood. Cullen had used the exhumation to get around Burr’s illegal search argument, so that was out. He really didn’t have much of anything except what he’d tried at the preliminary examination, but he knew he had to try something. “Sergeant, are you familiar with the autopsy conducted of Quinn Shepherd by Dr. Fowler, the Crawford County Medical Examiner?”
“I am.”
“Sergeant, you said you read the report. What was the cause of death?”
Wilcox jammed his glasses even harder onto his face. “I don’t remember.”
“Sergeant, you did say your read the report.” Burr paused. “Didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
Burr knew exactly what it said, but he wanted Wilcox to say it and contradict what he just said. “Sergeant Wilcox, I’m not sure how you could conduct a forensic examination with such a poor memory, particularly an examination of evidence over a year old.” Burr paused. He wanted the jury to think about what he had just said.
“Let me refresh your memory. Dr. Fowler concluded that Mr. Shepherd struck his head on the rail of his boat. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes.”
“So, the opinion of a medical doctor was that Mr. Shepherd’s death was accidental. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Dr. Fowler said it was an accident.”
“Yes.”
“An accident.”
“Objection, Your Honor. Asked and answered,” Cullen said.
“Move on, Lafayette. You’re beating this to death,” Skinner said.
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