Grass Roots

by Stuart Woods

  “And, as such, did you conduct the autopsy of Sarah Cole and supervise the forensic investigation into her murder?”

  “I did.”

  “How did Sarah Cole meet her death?”

  “She was strangled, manually.”

  Hunter held up his hands. “You mean, someone put his hands around her throat and choked the life out of her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doctor, did you and your technicians examine a large piece of automotive carpeting removed from Larry Moody’s van?”

  “Yes.”

  Hunter went to the defense table, picked up a plastic bag containing a black sweater, and removed it from the bag. “Is this the sweater Sarah Cole was wearing when her body reached your morgue, one with a label from Rich’s department store?”

  The doctor examined a tag attached to the sweater. “It is.”

  “Is there any connection between this sweater and the carpet you examined?”

  “Yes, we found fibers on the carpet matching those from the sweater and fibers on the sweater matching those of the carpet.”

  “A double match?”

  “Yes. A double match.”

  “That increases your certainty that this sweater and the carpet had come into contact?”

  “It does.”

  “What else did you find on the carpet?”

  “Well, an attempt—a not very successful one—had been made to clean the carpet, but in addition to the fibers from the sweater, we found samples of blood, of type A positive blood.”

  “And what was the blood type of Sarah Cole?”

  “Type A positive.”

  “And what do you conclude from all this evidence?”

  “I conclude that Sarah Cole was in the back of Larry Moody’s van, and that she shed blood there.”

  “The prosecution enters the carpet and the sweater as exhibits one and two.” Hunter turned to Will. “Your witness,” he said.

  Will stood and walked around the defense table, his mind racing. “Doctor, had Sarah Cole had sexual intercourse shortly before her death?”

  “Objection!” Elton Hunter was on his feet. “Irrelevant. The defendant is not charged with rape, only murder.”

  “Your Honor,” Will said, “the prosecution has introduced evidence of blood on the van carpet and implied that it is the blood of Sarah Cole. Since Dr. Rosenfeld has testified that she was strangled, an act not usually associated with the shedding of blood, I think we’re entitled to know where the blood came from.”

  “Then ask the witness where it came from,” the Judge said. “Objection sustained. The jury will disregard any reference to rape, since the defendant is not charged with that crime.”

  “All right, Doctor,” Will said resignedly, “why do you believe Sarah Cole bled in the back of the van?”

  “Because she had been struck several times in the face, and she had bled from the nose.”

  At least, Will thought, the word “rape” had been introduced into the courtroom. The jury would not forget it. “Doctor, let me take your points one at a time. You contend that fibers from the carpet in Larry Moody’s van were found on the clothing of Sarah Cole. Is that correct?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Doctor, is that carpet in Larry Moody’s van unique?”

  “I … I don’t know.”

  Will picked up a document from the defense table. “Well, let me enlighten you.” He handed the document to the doctor.

  Rosenfeld looked it over.

  “Will you tell the court who signed the document?”

  “It appears to be the production manager of the General Motors assembly plant in Doraville, Georgia.”

  “Thank you. Now, will you read the text?”

  Dear Mr. Lee:

  In reply to your letter of January 2, I can give you the following information about the van. The model you mention is the most popular van in the Chevrolet line. In the model year you mention, we built 38,000 of these vans, in four colors. The color you mention, Sierra Brown, was the most popular of these colors, being used on 24,200 of the vans manufactured. The same carpet, from the same manufacturer, was used in all the brown vans. Our records indicate that 1,703 of the brown vans were shipped to dealers in the state of Georgia.

  “Thank you, Dr. Rosenfeld. Your Honor, we enter the document as defense exhibit one, and a copy of the records of the Meriwether County Tax Commissioner, indicating that thirteen identical vans are registered in Meriwether County, as defense exhibit number two.”

  Will turned and took a black sweater from the defense table and handed it to the doctor. “Doctor, I show you a black sweater with a Rich’s label. Would you say this sweater is identical to the one found on Sarah Cole’s body?” He also handed the man the prosecution’s sweater.

  The doctor examined the two sweaters. “They would appear to be identical.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Will handed both sweaters to the clerk. “We enter the sweater as defense exhibit number three, and, as exhibit four, a copy of the business records of Rich’s department store, showing that some thirty dozen identical black sweaters were sold in seven Rich’s stores in the Southeast as part of a special promotion last fall, more than four dozen of them in the Atlanta store.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Lee,” the clerk said. “Which is the prosecution sweater, and which is the defense sweater?”

  There was a low chuckle from the spectators as Will helped the man sort the sweaters.

  Will took a sheet of paper from the defense table. “Now, Doctor, let us deal with the matter of the blood on the carpet. Tell me, is type A positive a rare blood type?”

  “No. It is the second most common type, after O positive.”

  “So, we may assume that thousands of people in Meriwether County, male and female, have type A positive blood?”

  “Yes, that would no doubt be the case.”

  “And are you, Doctor, able to demonstrate that the sample of type A positive blood found on the carpet in Larry Moody’s van came from the body of Sarah Cole?”

  “No,” the doctor sighed, “I cannot.”

  “Now, Doctor, at the end of your questioning by the prosecuting attorney, you stated, and I quote, ‘I conclude that Sarah Cole was in the back of Larry Moody’s van and that she shed blood there.’ We have shown that there are tens of thousands of vans like Larry Moody’s in the country, hundreds in the state, and more than a dozen in this very county, fibers from any one of which might have been found on Sarah Cole’s clothing; we have shown that Rich’s sold hundreds of sweaters identical to that of Sarah Cole; and you have testified that thousands of people in this very county have the same blood type. Can you still support your statement?”

  The doctor looked embarrassed. “Perhaps I was too specific—still, the coincidence … ”

  “Coincidence is not your field, Doctor, science is. Scientifically, you cannot prove that Sarah Cole was ever in the back of Larry Moody’s van, can you?”

  “No,” the man said.

  “No further questions.”

  Elton Hunter stood up. “Redirect,” he said.

  The Judge nodded.

  “Dr. Rosenfeld, how long have you been in your present position with the Georgia State Crime Laboratory?”

  “Seven years, my entire medical practice.”

  “During those seven years, how many murders have you investigated forensically?”

  “More than four hundred.”

  “Based on your extensive experience as a forensic scientist in all these murder investigations, do you have any doubt whatsoever that Sarah Cole was in the back of Larry Moody’s van?”

  “No doubt whatsoever.”

  “That Sarah Cole was murdered in the back of Larry Moody’s van?”

  “Objection!” Will said.

  “Overruled,” the Judge replied. “The question is for his opinion. Witness will answer.”

  “No doubt whatsoever.”

  Elton Hunter turned to the Judge. “Your H
onor, the prosecution rests.”

  *

  After the lunch break, Will stood in the courtroom. “Your Honor, the defense calls Larry Eugene Moody.”

  Larry Moody, dressed neatly in a suit, his hair cut, his mustache shaved off, took the stand and was sworn.

  “Larry, what work do you do?”

  “I repair furnaces and air conditioners for Morgan and Morgan.”

  “On that Thursday afternoon before Sarah Cole was murdered, did you visit the Meriwether Counseling Center?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “They called the office and said their furnace wasn’t working. I squeezed in the call right before my last call of the day.”

  “What work did you do there?”

  “I replaced the thermostat.”

  “Did you speak with Sarah Cole that day?”

  “Yes, sir. She wasn’t very happy about the price of the thermostat, but I explained that it was the only one I had with me, and she paid me for it.”

  “Larry, did you ogle Sarah Cole?”

  “Sir?”

  “Did you find her attractive?”

  “Well, yes, sir, she was a real attractive lady. I had seen her around town before.”

  “Did you make any advances to her that day?”

  “No, sir.”

  “When you left the Counseling Center, where did you go?”

  “I had one more call scheduled. I went there and serviced a furnace, cleaned the filters, that sort of thing.”

  “And when you finished there, what time was it?”

  “Just before six.”

  “And what did you do then?”

  “I went home.”

  “Was anyone at home with you?”

  “Yes, Charlene Joiner, my girlfriend, got home just after six.”

  “Did either you or Charlene leave your home at any time that evening?”

  “No, sir. We stayed home and had some supper and watched a video.”

  Will turned toward the defense table, then stopped. “At whose house was your last service call that day, the one you finished just before six?”

  “It was at Mr. Elton Hunter’s house.” Larry pointed at the prosecution table. “The gentleman right over there.”

  The courtroom burst into laughter.

  Will turned serious. “Larry, did you make sexual advances to Sarah Cole?”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Were you at the city dump, unloading Sarah Cole’s body from your van?”

  “No, sir, I was not.”

  “Larry, tell us the truth: did you murder Sarah Cole?”

  “No, sir, I did not. I never did. I am not a murderer.” And with that, Larry Moody began to cry.

  “Your witness, Mr. Prosecutor,” Will said, and sat down.

  “I have no questions at this time, Your Honor,” Hunter said. “I reserve the right to recall the witness at a later time.”

  You’re bluffing, Will thought. You’ll never recall him; you’re just trying to save face. He gave Larry his handkerchief as he returned to his seat. “Your Honor, the defense calls Charlene Joiner.”

  There was a murmur of curiosity as Charlene entered the courtroom from the witness holding area, took the stand, and was sworn. She was wearing a flowered dress, one slightly more modest than the one she had worn when she appeared on television in front of the courthouse the day before.

  Will took her through her version of the evening, corroborating Larry’s testimony. Then he took her a bit farther.

  “Charlene,” Will said, “what did you and Larry do after dinner?”

  “We watched a video, like I said.”

  “Did you do anything else?”

  Charlene lowered her eyes. “We … well, we made love.”

  Will was amazed at how well she managed being demure. She certainly had not been demure with him the first time she had described her evening. “Just once?” he asked.

  “No, more than once; two or three times, I think.”

  “Would you say that you and Larry have a healthy sex life together?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied. “I’d say we have a very healthy sex life.” She managed a shy smile.

  “Tell me, do you recall what you did the evening before?”

  “Yes, we went to a drive-in movie.”

  “Did you do anything there besides watch the movie?”

  “Well, there was kind of a sexy movie on, and we got, well, excited, so we made love.”

  “Where did you make love?”

  “In the back of Larry’s van. On the floor.”

  Will went to the clerk and retrieved a black sweater. “Do you recognize this sweater?”

  “Yes, I bought it on sale at Rich’s last fall. See, it has a dry cleaner’s mark with my name.”

  “When was the last time you wore this sweater, Charlene?”

  “That night at the drive-in.”

  “Did you wear it when you were making love in the back of the van?”

  “Yes. I didn’t take it off.”

  “Were you lying on your back in the rear of the van?”

  “Yes, at least part of the time. We were all over the place.”

  The courtroom laughed aloud and was hushed by the Judge.

  “Did your back rub against the carpet on the floor of the van when you were making love?”

  “Yes. For quite a while.”

  “Charlene, did you bleed at all that night?”

  “Yes, quite a bit.”

  “Did you bleed as a result of having made love?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you bleed while you were making love in the van?”

  “Yes. I tried to clean up the carpet when we got home, but it didn’t all come out.”

  Will went back to the defense table, retrieved a document, and handed it to Charlene. “Charlene, do you recognize this document?”

  “Yes, it’s a blood-type certificate from the office of Dr. Leonard Allgood, of Marietta, Georgia. You asked me to have my blood typed, so I went to Dr. Allgood, when I was visiting in Marietta.”

  “And would you read your blood type from the certificate to the court?”

  “It says I have type A positive.”

  “Charlene, you’ve testified that you and Larry Moody have a very healthy sex life together. Would you say that you satisfy all of Larry’s wants and needs in that department?”

  “Objection!” Elton Hunter said. “Irrelevant.”

  Charlene smiled a broad smile. The jury had gotten the point, Will reckoned.

  “No further questions. Your witness.”

  Elton Hunter stood. “Miss Joiner, are you aware of the penalty for perjury?”

  “Yes, I think so. You can go to jail if you lie under oath.”

  “Are you aware that, if you testify falsely in order to give Larry Moody an alibi for a murder, that you become an accessory to that murder and that you become subject to the same penalty as the murderer—in this case, the death penalty?”

  “Yes,” Charlene said firmly, “I am aware of that, and I would never put myself in that position. Not for anybody.”

  Elton Hunter sat down, defeated. “No further questions at this time, Your Honor.”

  The Judge turned to Will. “It’s after four o’clock. How much more do you have?”

  “I have just two more witnesses, Your Honor, and I do not anticipate that their testimony will take long. I believe we can finish this afternoon.”

  “Call your witnesses, then.”

  Will called John Morgan, Larry’s employer, who vouched for Larry’s sterling character, much as he had at the preliminary hearing. Then Will called Julia McInvale.

  The woman was a model of what a high school teacher should look like, Will thought. The first time he had seen her, when she had come to his office to be interviewed, he had thought that Central Casting could not have supplied a better person for the role. She was an ample, motherly woman, sweet-looking.

  “Mi
ss McInvale,” Will began, “what is your work?”

  “I am a retired high school teacher,” she said.

  “Where did you last teach?”

  “At La Grange High School.”

  “And did you ever have Larry Moody as a student in your classes there?”

  “All four years,” she said, smiling at Larry. “I taught him two years of algebra and two years of geometry.”

  “And did you ever have occasion to see Larry outside the classroom?”

  “Yes, I was faculty adviser for the automotive club for two years, and Larry was the secretary of the club. Larry also used to come and do odd jobs at my house. He was very handy.”

  “So you knew Larry better than you knew most students?”

  “Oh, yes, much better. I knew Larry very well indeed. He still comes to see me two or three times a year. I bake him cookies.”

  Will smiled. “And what is your opinion of Larry?” he asked.

  “I think Larry is a very fine person,” she said.

  “Is Larry a truthful person?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course, he told the occasional fib, like all boys, but with Larry, he was so embarrassed if he didn’t tell the truth that you always knew if he lied. He would all but cry.”

  “Was Larry Moody ever violent?”

  “Oh, no. I mean, he played on the football team, and he was very good, but off the field, he was the sweetest, gentlest boy you ever saw.”

  “Is Larry Moody the kind of man who would harm a young woman?”

  “Certainly not. It’s just not possible.”

  Will pressed on. This woman was wonderful, and he intended to milk her for all she could be worth to his case. He held up his hands as Elton Hunter had done earlier in the trial. “Did Larry Moody ever do anything that would cause you to think that he was the kind of young man who could force a woman to have sex with him, then put his hands around her neck and strangle the life out of her?”

  “Oh, no!” Miss McInvale replied.

  “Thank you,” he said, then turned to Elton Hunter. “Your witness,” he said, unable to keep from smiling confidently.

  But Miss McInvale had not finished. “And I never believed that he had anything to do with raping that colored girl in high school,” she said vehemently.

  Will turned and looked at Miss McInvale, stunned. “Thank you, no further questions,” he managed to say.