We were outside the courthouse when my cell phone buzzed again, this time alerting me to a text. I sent Nana Mama in to claim our seats with Pinkie and my aunts, pulled out the cell to see a text from Bree:
Landed; in taxi on way to dealership to pick up car. Plan one stop, and then see you in court in two hours. How are things going?
I texted her back: Better. Naomi cross-examining Frost and scoring points. Drive safe and see you soon. Love you.
A moment later: Love you too.
I was about to stick my cell phone in my pocket when I remembered the e-mail that had come in during lunch. It was from one of my friends at Quantico, a report on the chemical compound that I’d taken from that basket in the tanker.
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I rushed into Judge Varney’s rapidly filling courtroom, went to the railing, and waved Naomi over. I said, “Do you have the state’s assay report on the meth found in the vial in Stefan’s basement?”
She thought about that, nodded, and went to dig through several large, legal-size boxes to retrieve it.
“What’s going on?” Naomi asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said. “Just a hunch at this point.”
“You’ll let me know if it gets beyond a hunch?”
“You’ll be the first to know.”
I took my seat next to Nana Mama, kissed her on the cheek, and started reading through the state’s report, a chemical assay that identified the substance found in the vial in Stefan’s basement as a very pure designer methamphetamine. They described the chemical structure, but the science went over my head. There was, however, a graphic representation of that structure on the second page.
Then I called up the report I’d just received from my FBI friends and saw the graphs matched. I reread the note attached to the Bureau’s study, which stated the substance was “a designer drug created by a gifted chemist.”
All sorts of suppositions and assumptions I’d been playing with now became concrete fact. Someone called Grandfather, probably Marvin Bell, was running a designer-meth distribution operation via the freight-rail system.
Some of that signature meth was found in Stefan’s basement. Either my cousin had access to the drug and was holding out on us, or someone involved in the designer-meth distribution system had planted it there.
I got up and gave Naomi a summary of what I’d found before the bailiff called, “All rise.”
Judge Varney came in, said, “Carry on, Ms. Cross.”
My niece approached the witness box, said, “Just to recap where we were, Detective Frost. The prosecution believes that on the night in question, Mr. Tate went into an alcohol-and-drug-fueled rage and raped and murdered Rashawn Turnbull.”
“No doubt in my mind,” Frost said.
Naomi let that slide, said, “What’s Mr. Tate’s motive? Why take his rage out on a boy? A boy who supposedly idolized him?”
“You don’t know how many nights I’ve lain awake thinking about that,” Frost said, directing his reply to the jury. “At some level, you can’t get your head around the depravity of what was done to Rashawn. The pure hatred behind it.
“But Tate had gone off the wagon in a big way. He was feeding drugs to underage girls, raping them. Sydney Fox said she saw Rashawn going into Tate’s place the same day Sharon Lawrence says he drugged and attacked her. If so, I think Rashawn saw the rape. I think Rashawn said he was going to tell the police, and Tate just snapped.”
In the silence that followed, four or five jury members stared at Stefan as if he were already heading for death row. The others were watching my niece as if wondering why she hadn’t objected to Frost’s speculation.
Naomi went to the jury box, got the jury’s attention, said, “Detective, how do you explain the fact that Sydney Fox saw Rashawn go into that apartment but Sharon Lawrence testified that she never saw the victim the day she was allegedly attacked?”
I glanced over and saw Sharon Lawrence unglue herself from her cell phone.
Frost said, “She’d been drugged with a date-rape drug.”
“Any residue of a date-rape drug in Sharon Lawrence’s blood at the time of her reporting the alleged rape?”
Frost said, “She reported the attack a week after it happened.”
Naomi went to the defense table, retrieved a file. “The defense would like to introduce sworn testimony by several expert witnesses that all say date-rape drugs can linger in the bloodstream for up to fourteen days.”
Varney squinted, took the documents, scanned them, and then handed them to the clerk. He ran his hand back over his pompadour, looking kind of anxious. Another kidney stone coming on?
Naomi said, “So that part of Sharon Lawrence’s story is not correct, is it, Detective Frost? She wasn’t drugged, was she?”
“You said the drug can linger for up to fourteen days,” Frost said. “Up to means in some people, the drug is gone in a lot less than two weeks.”
Naomi paused, seemed to shift gears.
“The semen in her underwear. It was a direct match to my client?”
“DNA doesn’t lie,” Frost said.
“There’s no disputing the DNA test,” Naomi agreed. “When Ms. Lawrence came forward with her rape story, she had my client’s DNA in her panties.”
“Correct,” Frost said.
Naomi said, “Did you also find Ms. Lawrence’s DNA in the panties?”
“Yes,” Frost said.
Sharon Lawrence was looking at the ceiling above Judge Varney. Her mother held her hand tight.
“So you’ve got Mr. Tate’s semen and Ms. Lawrence’s body fluids, and you test them for DNA. What else did you test those substances for?”
The police detective frowned. “I’m not following you.”
“Did you have your lab do other tests on the semen and Ms. Lawrence’s body fluids? Say, drug tests?”
Frost blinked, said nothing.
“Detective?”
“Uh, no, I don’t think so, no.”
“We’ve checked the record and you haven’t,” Naomi said. “So we had the FBI perform other tests on those samples.”
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Naomi held up a document, said, “The defense would like to introduce exhibit—”
“Objection!” Strong said, jumping to her feet. “The prosecution was not made aware of any such tests.”
“Because we ordered them last night and they came in this morning.”
“That’s impossible. The backlog of work at the FBI’s lab is—”
“Quantico did a rush job on the tests as a favor to my uncle.”
The district attorney looked to Judge Varney.
The judge rotated his head around to ease a cramp in his neck, glanced at me and the others in the cheap seats, said, “The court will admit the FBI’s tests.”
Naomi beamed. She handed copies to the clerk, the prosecution, and Detective Frost. Interested now, the jurors shifted in their seats, wondering just what the tests said. I tried not to smile, but I was proud of my niece. She had every person in the courtroom in the palm of her hand.
Naomi said, “You’ll see the necessary stamps, signatures, and so forth on pages one and two. Turn to page three. You’ll see that we submitted Ms. Lawrence’s body fluids at the time of the alleged rape for evidence of illicit drugs commonly used during date rapes, like Rohypnol.”
She walked over to the witness, said, “Can you read us the results, Detective?”
Frost said, “No drugs or alcohol present.”
“No drugs or alcohol present in Ms. Lawrence’s sample,” Naomi said.
Sharon Lawrence looked ready to be sick. She said something to her mother, who shook her head and held her hand tight.
Strong and Brady, meanwhile, were poring over the pages. So were the judge and the detective on the witness stand. The jurors were transfixed. Police Chief Sherman was leaning over the railing trying unsuccessfully to get the prosecutors’ attention.
&nbs
p; Naomi said, “Detective Frost, on page four, what are the results of the test on my client’s semen at the time of the alleged rape?”
Frost’s voice cracked before he cleared his throat and said, “Negative for drugs and alcohol.”
“At the time of the alleged rape?”
“Correct.”
“No drugs or alcohol at all,” she said to the jury. “But that goes completely against the story to which Ms. Lawrence testified under oath. She said they were drinking, doing drugs, carrying on, and having a good old time before Mr. Tate slipped her a date-rape drug and had his way with her. Is that a fair summary of her story, Detective?”
“It is,” Frost said.
“Do you now believe my client raped Ms. Lawrence as she described?”
“Objection!” Strong said.
Sharon Lawrence was weeping silently. Her mother looked ready to crawl out of her skin.
Naomi said, “Judge, I’m asking a detective with two and a half decades of experience to evaluate the facts as he knows them now and form an opinion.”
Varney hesitated, said, “Overruled, Ms. Strong. Rephrase the question, Ms. Cross.”
“Does Ms. Lawrence’s story jibe with these FBI tests?”
“No, but she could have just embellished that part of the story,” Frost said.
“Or she embellished the entire story, in which case she can be prosecuted for perjury, along with her mother, and for planting false evidence,” Naomi said. “They’ll both do time.”
“No!” Ann Lawrence cried, getting to her feet. “She…we…”
Varney rapped his gavel, said, “Sit down, Mrs. Lawrence.”
She sat back down, looking wobbly, next to her daughter, who stared at the floor.
Naomi said, “The defense calls Sharon Lawrence to the stand.”
“Are you done with Detective Frost?” Judge Varney asked.
“For the moment, Judge,” Naomi said. “But I’d prefer he remain available.”
Varney instructed Frost to stay and, along with the rest of the crowded courtroom, watched him pass a pale, nervous Sharon Lawrence heading toward the witness stand.
Ann Lawrence’s face had gone flushed, and she sat small in her seat. Cece’s mother and father were staring at the woman as if she were some dark mystery.
“Ms. Lawrence,” Naomi said. “Did you hear Detective Frost’s testimony just now?”
“Yes.”
“And the results of the drug tests?”
Sharon Lawrence nodded feebly.
“Did Coach Stefan Tate drug and rape you?”
The girl said nothing for several long moments. Her lips trembled, and she looked out at her mother and then at Stefan Tate.
“No,” she whispered as tears poured down her face. “It was all a lie.”
Part Five
Justice
Chapter
94
The courtroom erupted. My cousin put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Judge Varney looked bewildered as he gaveled the court silent. Stefan picked up his head and looked at his mother and then Patty Converse. For the first time in days, I saw hope in Patty’s face.
“Ms. Lawrence,” the judge said. “You understand you have admitted to committing perjury under oath?”
She nodded, sobbed. “Am I going to jail?”
Varney said nothing. A second went by, and then another.
Naomi said, “Not if you tell the court the truth.”
The judge looked annoyed at Naomi, then glanced out into the audience before saying, “Yes, the truth will help.”
Naomi got a Kleenex and handed it to Sharon Lawrence, waited for her to regain her composure.
“Why did you lie?” Naomi asked.
Shoulders hunched forward, she replied, “It was like you said. We, my mom and me, we don’t have much. Finn said he’d make sure we had enough if I accused Coach Tate of raping me.”
“The late Finn Davis?” Naomi asked.
“Yes.”
“Adopted son of your uncle Marvin Bell?”
“Yes.”
“Knew it,” Pinkie whispered behind me.
“How much did Finn Davis offer you and your mother to cry rape?”
Sharon Lawrence glanced at her mother. Ann Lawrence stared at her hands on her lap as if they were deep, dark holes.
“Six thousand dollars a month for the rest of my mom’s life,” Sharon Lawrence choked. “Don’t you see? It saved her. That’s why I did it.”
Ann Lawrence burst into tears and hid her face in her hands.
“Why did Finn Davis want you to accuse Coach Tate of rape?”
Sharon Lawrence said, “I don’t know. He said he wanted to make sure Coach Tate was punished for what he’d done.”
“Did Finn Davis provide the semen that went in your panties?”
“Yes,” she said, looking disgusted. “I don’t know how he got it.”
“One last question,” Naomi said. “Did Finn Davis ask you to plant drugs in the athletic bag of Jannie Cross?”
“Objection; relevance,” Strong said.
Varney again looked caught between a rock and a hard place and finally said, “Sustained.”
“He did ask,” Sharon said anyway. “Finn. He promised me two thousand a month if I put the drugs in her bag. Are we going to jail? Me and Mom?”
This last question was aimed at Judge Varney, who said, “That’s a matter for another time and place, young lady. You’re dismissed for the time being.”
If it was possible, Sharon Lawrence looked even smaller and weaker when she got up and left the witness stand. She didn’t look at Stefan or any of us, just slid in next to her mother, who held her tight, whispered, “It’s all right. We’re going to be all right.”
“Judge,” Naomi said. “Based on Ms. Lawrence’s recanting of her testimony and the overwhelming physical evidence, the defense moves that the rape charges against my client be dropped.”
Varney licked his lips, said, “Ms. Strong?”
The district attorney hesitated, and then said, “The state does not object.”
“So ordered,” Varney said.
Naomi went over and put her hand on Stefan’s shoulder, said, “The defense asks that Detective Frost retake the stand.”
Varney looked at his watch and then nodded.
Frost looked rattled when he took his seat.
Naomi took up more documents, said, “The defense wishes to enter the next exhibit, a second series of FBI tests based on evidence found at the murder scene.”
Again Strong voiced no objection, just took her copy of the test, as if fearing its contents.
Frost took his copy as Naomi said, “This is a drug test done on semen samples taken off Rashawn Turnbull’s body, correct, Detective?”
Frost scanned the document, said, “It is.”
“This would be the same semen sample that the state’s DNA testing identified as belonging to my client?”
“Uh, correct.”
“Please read pages four and five,” Naomi said.
Frost flipped the pages and read, and it was like watching a balloon with a slow leak wilt and collapse.
Naomi said, “Detective Frost, can you read aloud the results of the test on my client’s semen gathered off Rashawn Turnbull’s body?”
Frost chewed the inside of his lip. He said in a defeated voice, “‘Negative for drugs and alcohol.’”
“‘Negative for drugs and alcohol,’” she repeated to the jury. “The prosecution says my client drank to excess, did copious quantities of drugs, and went into a berserk rage on the night of Rashawn’s rape and murder. But the FBI says Stefan Tate was stone-cold sober when that semen was produced.”
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Bree slid into the seat in the courtroom I’d been saving for her. Her eyes were shining when she whispered, “I’ve got something. Something big.”
“Hold on,” I whispered back. “Naomi’s about to destroy the state’s case.”
My niece said, “Detective Frost? You agree that’s what the test indicates?”
“Apparently so,” the detective said, looking like he’d gone too many rounds with a heavyweight contender.
“That’s strange,” Naomi said, strolling over to the jury. “Because the blood sample you took from my client the morning after he allegedly killed Rashawn Turnbull showed he had a blood alcohol level of point zero six five, indicating he’d probably been very drunk the night before. Correct?”
Frost took a big breath, said, “Yes.”
“But we now know that’s contrary to the FBI’s results,” Naomi said, hands on the jury box. “Which means that the semen on Rashawn’s body and in Sharon Lawrence’s panties came from my client, but not on the nights in question. Which means someone, probably Finn Davis, somehow got to one of my client’s condoms after he had had intercourse with his fiancée.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Patty Converse’s face had gone red, but she was nodding in agreement.
“Objection, Judge!” Strong cried. “The defense attorney is drawing conclusions out of thin air.”
“These conclusions are not drawn out of thin air!” Naomi insisted. “These are scientific facts, Ms. Strong. Flip to page nine of the FBI’s report, third paragraph, reference to a third distinct DNA source in Ms. Lawrence’s panties. Initial test indicates the DNA is female and unrelated to Ms. Lawrence. Vaginal secretions of another woman, suggesting, again, a used condom was stolen after use to plant evidence in order to frame my client for a crime he clearly did not commit.”
Both the judge and the district attorney were digging through the document, looking for the reference.
Naomi gave them twenty seconds and then said, “These are facts that cannot be spun. All the evidence found at the murder scene has to be considered tainted. The vodka bottle, Mr. Tate’s school ID, the meth sample, and the semen must be thrown out.”
Strong said, “Judge, the vodka, the meth, and the ID are solid.”
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