She stopped. Brunelle waited a beat, but she was lost in thought. After another moment, he had to prompt her. “If she was on the floor…?”
“If she was on the floor,” Kat snapped out of her reverie, “she wouldn’t have breathed in any smoke anyway. That’s why they teach people to drop to the floor during a fire. There’s no smoke down there.”
Brunelle smiled slightly. He liked that. He was really going to like what she said next.
“In fact…” she started, but then stopped again, clearly trying to gather her thoughts. “Let me back up.”
Then she turned fully in her seat toward the jurors. No more polite head turns. She was facing them directly. Class was in session.
“Every autopsy is different,” she began. “People die from all sorts of things. Disease, car accidents, shootings. Some are easy to determine. If a body has five bullet holes through it, including one through the heart, I pretty much know he died from being shot. Diseases can be harder, depending on the disease. If there’s a large cancerous tumor, I know where to look. But if there’s nothing like that, then it can be hard to figure out what to look for. But the hardest thing is asphyxiation.”
She looked at Brunelle for the next question. She wasn’t supposed to just deliver a lecture. That would be objectionable as a narrative response, although a glance at Westerly showed him both interested and unlikely to interrupt.
“Uh, why is that?” Brunelle obliged.
Kat turned back to her students. “Asphyxiation is what happens when the body is deprived of oxygen, causing a condition called hypoxia which can lead to coma and death. The most common causes are strangulation and smothering.”
“What’s the difference?” Brunelle jumped in.
“Strangulation is constriction of the trachea that prevents sufficient air to the lungs,” Kat explained. “Smothering occurs when a foreign object, like a pillow, blocks the nose and mouth and prevents air from entering the trachea in the first place,”
“Okay…” Brunelle wasn’t sure what to ask next.
“But there’s another way to asphyxiate,” Kat prompted.
Good girl. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Being in an oxygen-poor environment,” Kat explained. “If there’s not enough oxygen in the air, it doesn’t matter how much you breathe, you’ll asphyxiate.”
Brunelle blinked at her. He managed not to tell her he loved her, but just barely.
“She was on the floor,” he repeated.
“And fire burns up,” Kat expounded. “When fire burns, its fuel is oxygen. It would have sucked all the air up and away from the floor where she was lying.”
“So the reason her lungs were pink wasn’t just that she didn’t breathe in any smoke,” Brunelle said, knocked out of his question-and-answer mode by Kat’s realization.
“She didn’t breathe any oxygen either,” Kat finished.
A silence fell over the courtroom and Brunelle looked to the jury to see how they were taking Kat’s testimony. The arms had all uncrossed and every one of them was leaning forward. He wanted to stop right then and there, but there was one small problem.
“What about the bruising on her throat?”
Oh yeah. That.
But Kat shook her head. “Those don’t necessarily mean anything. They mean at some point prior to her death—when her heart was still pumping blood to make the bruises in the first place—someone grabbed her throat. But asphyxiation doesn’t leave visible injuries. In fact, there’s a thing called ‘burking.’ It’s named after a serial killer named Burke who killed his victims by getting them drunk, then sitting in their chests and covering their noses and mouths. The combination of compression of the lungs and lack of air caused asphyxiation, but there were no visible injuries and he would provide the bodies to medical schools.”
Nice. Brunelle shook his head. The things pathologists know.
“But I thought strangulation victims suffered visible injuries to their eyes?” he asked. He actually knew how Kat would explain this, but the jury needed to hear it too, in case they’d seen too many episodes of C.S.I.
Kat nodded, in full doctor-professor mode. She turned to the jurors, who were eating it up. “I’ve testified about something called petechial hemorrhage,” she said, “which is burst blood vessels in the eyes, very common in strangulation cases. But those are caused from the inability of the blood to leave the head during strangulation, not from the lack of oxygen to the lungs.”
Brunelle nodded. “Was there any petechial hemorrhaging present here?” Brunelle asked.
“No,” Kat shook her head with a slight smile. “Or Dr. Tuttle didn’t bother looking for it. During her interview, she admitted she didn’t even notice the bruising on the neck until after she’d cut open the chest and been surprised by the pink lungs. Later on, after the autopsy was complete, she examined the external photographs and noticed the bruises. But no, I didn’t see any mention of petechial hemorrhaging anywhere in her reports.”
Brunelle nodded. Everyone in the room had forgotten she was the defendant’s ex-wife. She was just one hell of an M.E.
“Thank you, doctor. No further questions.”
Brunelle walked over and sat down next to Jeremy, which immediately darkened his mood again. He loved interacting with Kat on any level. Being reminded she had an ex and a kid with him, not so much. Luckily, Westerly stood up and Brunelle could return his attention to the trial.
“Good morning, doctor,” Westerly started.
“Good morning,” Kat replied pleasantly enough.
Brunelle wondered how Westerly would play it. Option A was to smash on her obvious bias as the defendant’s ex-wife; but that would ignore the weight of her medical testimony. Option B was to ignore that obvious bias—precisely because it was obvious—and cross her on her conclusions. Brunelle was hoping for Option A, so he was pretty sure Westerly would go with Option B.
“Thank you for coming here and testifying on behalf of your ex-husband,” Westerly started. Perfect. A little jab to remind the jury, but it wasn’t actually a question. And before Kat could jump in to respond to the insinuation, he posed an actual question she had to answer. “You didn’t actually perform the autopsy in this case, did you?”
Kat shook her head. “No. I reviewed Dr. Tuttle’s reports.”
“And you didn’t notice any errors or mistakes by her in performing that autopsy, did you?”
Kat twisted her mouth. “I think her external examination was perhaps inadequate if she didn’t notice the bruising until after she opened up the body.”
“You saw the photographs of the bruises, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And they were fairly light, weren’t they?”
Kat thought for a moment, then agreed. “Yes. They were purple, indicating they hadn’t had time to start healing before her death, but they weren’t very dark at all.”
Westerly nodded.
“And you agree that Ms. Stephenson didn’t inhale any smoke prior to her death.”
Kat thought about the question for a moment, then answered, “Yes, I would agree with that. At least not enough to darken the lung tissue.”
“So really,” Westerly said, “your objection to Dr. Tuttle’s work isn’t the autopsy, just the conclusions she drew from it.”
Kat again thought for a moment, then again agreed. “I think that’s fair. Her autopsy was adequate. But her conclusions were speculative.”
Westerly nodded for several seconds, then gestured gently at her. “But again, you’re the defendant’s ex-wife?”
“I’m a doctor,” Kat replied to the real question.
“And a mother,” Westerly observed, He turned to look at Lizzy, and everyone else did too.
Kat frowned, but had to admit, “Yes.”
“No further questions.”
Carlisle looked to Brunelle. “Any redirect examination?”
But Brunelle stood and shook his head slightly. Kat had done great. He could ha
rdly hope to improve on it. “No, Your Honor. The witness may be excused.”
Kat stepped down from the witness stand and retook her seat next to her daughter, who gave her a big hug.
Perfect, thought Brunelle. Now to finish off the family photo.
“The defense calls Jeremy Stephenson,” he announced dramatically.
But Jeremy grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down to whisper frantically in his ear.
“No, I—” He glanced around at the courtroom full of expectant faces. “I have something I have to tell you.”
Chapter 39
“What is it?” Brunelle demanded in his own brusque whisper.
But Jeremy shook his head and looked around the courtroom again. “I can’t tell you here. Not in front of all of these people.”
Brunelle stood up straight to survey the room and ran a hand through his hair.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Brunelle?” Carlisle asked from her perch.
Brunelle frowned. “May I have a brief recess, Your Honor? I need to discuss a matter with my client.”
This was exactly the kind of shit he didn’t want to do in front of the jury. It made him look unorganized and his client look like he was hiding something. Whatever momentum they’d gotten from Kat’s testimony was dissipating fast.
“How much time do you need?” Carlisle asked coldly.
Brunelle looked around again. The only thing close to private was the jury room, and that was going to be filled with twelve irritated jurors. “May I have a moment, Your Honor?”
Without waiting for an answer, he peered at the clock, then consulted quickly with the nearest corrections officer. “You Honor,” he said. “I know it’s only ten thirty, but I’d ask that we adjourn until after lunch. I’ll need to make some arrangements for a place to speak with my client.”
Just in case any of the jurors weren’t sure he was in custody. You don’t need to ‘make arrangements’ to speak to someone who’s allowed to walk into the hallway.
Carlisle sighed, then frowned, then sighed some more. But finally she acquiesced. “All right, Mr. Brunelle. We will be at recess until one o’clock. Be prepared to begin your examination at one o’clock sharp.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Brunelle replied with a relieved sigh of his own. “Thank you.”
“Court is at recess,” Carlisle announced, and she retired to her chambers. The bailiff rose to excuse the jurors, and Brunelle stepped back to the corrections officer he’d spoken to. The officer nodded at Brunelle’s suggestion and a few minutes later, the jurors had left the jury room and Brunelle and Jeremy stepped inside for a private conversation, the corrections officers guarding the exits.
“What is it?” Brunelle demanded. Jeremy had sat down at the conference table in the room. Brunelle was too agitated to sit. “This better be important. I don’t think you realize how bad that looked.”
Jeremy shrugged. “Oh, I do. But I think it could have looked a lot worse.”
Brunelle ran a hand over his head again. “How?”
“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” Jeremy admitted. “I think I better not testify.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Brunelle snapped. “I just told the jury you were testifying. We talked about this. I can’t tell them you’re testifying and then not call you.”
“You have to,” Jeremy insisted.
“Why?”
“Because I lied to you,” Jeremy said. “I wasn’t home reading a book. I was at the studio.”
Brunelle’s arms dropped to his sides. He just stared at Jeremy for several seconds, absorbing the revelation. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Jeremy shook his head. “No. I probably should have told you earlier.”
“Probably?!” Brunelle yelled. “Probably? No. Definitely. You definitely should have told me. What the fuck, Jeremy? Do you not understand what’s going on here? Do you not get what I’m trying to do? How the hell can I defend you if you lie to me? Jesus, you were there? What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”
Jeremy threw his hands wide. “Exactly. I figured if you thought I was at home, you could defend me better.”
“Could?” Brunelle challenged, “or would? Damn it, Jeremy, I’m your attorney. I’ll do my best no matter what. I don’t care whether you did it or not.”
Jeremy looked Brunelle in the eye. “Don’t you?”
Brunelle was about to reply, but thought for a moment, and sighed. “Maybe I do care.”
He sat down next to his client. “What happened, Jeremy? Tell me the truth. You have to tell me truth.”
Jeremy nodded. “I will. I’m sorry. Here’s what really happened.”
Jeremy lowered his eyes and folded his hands on his lap. “We’d been having a lot of problems lately. The studio wasn’t working out. It was really stressful. At first, I hadn’t told her where I was getting the money from, but after a while I had to. We had to close the studio. It just wasn’t going to work. But it just made her so mad. We hadn’t been getting along anyway. We got into an argument at our place and she stormed out. She said she was going to the studio to make some calls. It was midnight, so I knew that was bullshit. But she left and I let her.
“After a while I started to get worried, though. I called and texted but she didn’t answer. So I went over to the studio. She was in the back office on the phone with someone, but she hung up when I walked in. I demanded to know who it was, but she wouldn’t tell me and we just started fighting again. It was crazy. She just wouldn’t listen to me. I tried to grab her phone, but she punched me in the side of the head.”
He smiled weakly at the memory. “It didn’t hurt too bad, actually, but it surprised me. I grabbed her by the throat to get her under control. I admit, I was pissed, but then I saw the fear in her eyes and I realized I was out of control too. I pushed her away. She fell to the floor sobbing. I think she might have hit her head, I don’t know. I was so angry, I just left.”
He shrugged again. “The police same by later to tell me she was dead. That’s why I asked if there were any witnesses. Because I’d grabbed her. But I didn’t kill her. And I didn’t set the fire.” He looked up at Brunelle. “You have to believe me.”
Brunelle chewed on his cheeks for a few seconds. “No, I don’t,” he replied. “I don’t have to believe a damn word you say. Not after all the other lies you’ve told me.”
He tapped his chin. “But I do believe you,” he said. “Which means I can’t put you on the stand. If you tell the jury that story, they’ll convict you in two minutes, and only because one of them needed ninety seconds to pee.”
“I could stick with the story about being at home reading a book,” Jeremy suggested.
Brunelle shook his head. “No, I can’t put you on the stand knowing you’re lying. That’s suborning perjury. I’d lose my license.”
They both sat there for several moments. Finally, Jeremy asked, “So what are we going to do?”
Brunelle frowned, not because he didn’t have any ideas. Suddenly, he did have one. He just wasn’t sure it would work. Still, he couldn’t think of anything else. And if it did work…
He took out his cell phone and called Sophia.
“Hello?” she answered in that amazing voice of hers.
‘”Sophia. It’s Brunelle. I need you drop everything and do me a favor. Listen carefully, and do exactly as I say…”
Chapter 40
One o’clock came and Brunelle was very much not ready. Carlisle took the bench anyway. The bailiff had already brought the jurors into the courtroom so they could start as soon as the judge came out.
“Mr. Stephenson,” the judge addressed the defendant directly, “you may step forward to be sworn in.”
“Uh, Your Honor,” Brunelle stood to interrupt. “There’s been a slight change in plan. I may need a few more minutes.”
Carlisle raised an eyebrow. Brunelle wondered absently if real owls had eyebrows. “What sort of change in plans?”
“Uh…�
� Brunelle looked at the door to the hallway. It was frustratingly devoid of attractive private investigators. “Mr. Stephenson isn’t going to testify after all.”
The other owl eyebrow rose. “At all?”
Westerly’s expression echoed the judge’s question.
Brunelle threw another glance at the door. It had been a tall order to get everything done in just two and half hours, especially when Sophia had to come to the Hall of Justice first to get Brunelle’s subpoena. But he had faith in her. He just needed to stall a bit more.
“How’s that?” he asked.
Judge Carlisle frowned and leaned back in her leather high-backed chair. “I said, is your client not testifying at all, or are you just changing the order of your witnesses?”
“Um,” Brunelle replied with another glance at the very not opening hallway door. “I’m not entirely certain about that, Your Honor.” It was okay if he lied to the court, he thought sardonically, he just couldn’t call a witness to do it. “But he’s definitely not testifying next.”
Carlisle’s frown deepened and the owl-brows lowered. “Then who is your next witness, Mr. Brunelle?”
At that point the door to the hallway finally swung open and in walked Sophia Farinelli. Her hair was jet black, falling to her chest in soft waves, with a red blouse and thick silver bracelets. Definitely Wonder Woman.
Brunelle raised his own questioning eyebrow at his investigator. Sophia smiled and nodded. Then Brunelle turned back to the judge. “The defense calls Laura Mayer.”
Sophia peered into the hallway and gestured to the waiting Laura Mayer. She walked in reluctantly, a frown on her face, both her hands clutching her purse in front of her like some sort of shield. She couldn’t have looked less comfortable.
Sophia pointed to the witness stand and whispered something in her ear. Laura nodded and she walked past Brunelle without looking at him. The judge swore her in and she sat down on the witness stand, the purse still clutched on her lap.
Rather than walk over to his spot next to the jury box, or even his place at the bar, Brunelle opted to pose his questions from where he stood at counsel table, right next to his client. It was usually the lazy or unprofessional attorneys who asked their questions from their table—the worst offenders not even bothering to stand up. But Brunelle wasn’t being lazy or unprofessional. He didn’t want Laura looking to the jury when she answered his questions. He wanted her to look at Jeremy.
A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 17
