Juggling Evidence (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery)

by Michael Monhollon

  “No, your honor.”

  “Objection sustained. We’ll strike the last question and answer.”

  Biggs nodded. “When did you last see your employer, Derek Nolan?” he asked the witness.

  “The night he was killed.”

  “Was he alive or dead?”

  “Dead. The police were there. I think Mrs. Nolan had gone up into the house.” This was news to me. I hadn’t seen her at the scene that night.

  “When did you last see Derek Nolan alive?” Biggs asked.

  “That afternoon when I left for home.”

  “You came back that same evening? Why?”

  “He asked me to.”

  “When? Before you left the office for the day, or…”

  “He called me on my cell while I was having dinner and asked me to come back. He said there was something he wanted to talk to me about.”

  “Did he say what?”

  “Objection,” I said, half rising.

  “Sustained.”

  “What did you do in response to that phone call?” Biggs asked. “Did you return to the house on Grace Street?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “A little after eight, I think. Maybe as late as eight fifteen.”

  “And the police were there at that time?”

  “No. This was perhaps an hour before I came back and found the police there and saw the body.”

  “Did you go in on this first occasion?”

  “No. A woman was standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. I noticed her as I was parking my car.”

  “Did you recognize her?”

  “No. I couldn’t see her very well, but I thought she was young, maybe in her early twenties. She was just standing and looking down the stairs to the office. I waited in my car a moment to see what she would do.”

  “What did she do?”

  “She started down the stairs. Almost immediately, a man came bounding up.”

  “What happened to the young woman?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

  “Did you recognize her?”

  “No.”

  “Did you recognize the man?”

  “Not then. I do now.”

  “Who was it?”

  “The defendant, Steven Bruno. That man sitting right there beside Mrs. Nolan.” She pointed. It was phony drama, but it made the point damningly enough.

  “What did you do?”

  “I stayed in my car. The man got into a Mercedes convertible parked at the curb several cars ahead of me. I waited, and, when he pulled out, I followed him.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “To Shockoe Slip. He drove into a parking garage just down Tenth Street from the Tobacco Company. I waited until he came out and walked up the street and went into the Berkeley Hotel.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “I waited for him to come out, but he didn’t. After twenty or thirty minutes, I went back to Mr. Nolan’s office on Grace Street. I’d gotten to wondering…”

  “Objection,” I said, not bothering to get to my feet. “Relevance.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Were the police there when you got there?” Biggs asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Your witness,” Biggs told me.

  Steve Bruno grabbed my arm as I stood. I met his eyes, nodded to show I understood. I went to the podium and stood looking at the witness for a long moment.

  “Ms. Starling?” the judge said.

  I nodded. “That’s quite a story,” I said to the witness. “When I talked to you the next day, you didn’t mention going back to the house that night, did you?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t believe I did.”

  “When did you tell the police about seeing Mr. Bruno? The night of the murder?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “It wasn’t the night of the murder, was it?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you tell the police when they came to your house the next day?”

  “I think so.”

  “Detective Jordan would confirm that if we called him back to the stand?”

  “I don’t know. I assume so.”

  “So it took you a little less than twenty-four hours to come up with this story.”

  “I didn’t come up with it. It’s what happened.”

  “You were standing over the body of your murdered employer, and you didn’t say anything about having seen a man running from the office a short time before.”

  “I’ve said I don’t remember whether I said anything about it or not.”

  “And you only think you mentioned it the next day.”

  “I may have told them that night. I’m not sure.”

  I studied her. She had no doubt signed a statement about all this, but the date of the statement wouldn’t indicate definitively when she had first mentioned Bruno.

  “Did the police contact you the next day, or did you contact them?”

  “They came to see me.”

  “And you were able to place Steve Bruno at the scene of the crime.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Mr. Bruno see you, do you think?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “If he had, and if he were on the stand, I guess he’d be the one placing you at the scene of the crime.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

  “Don’t you?” I said.

  “No. I don’t.”

  “The young woman didn’t see you either, evidently.”

  “No. I’m sure she didn’t.”

  “Though you place her at the scene of the crime, too. For all you know, she went into the office as this man you saw was coming out.”

  “As Steve Bruno was coming out.”

  “You can’t say whether the young woman went into the office or stayed on the steps. Can you?”

  “No.”

  “It would make more sense for her to have gone in than to have remained standing in the dark in front of the door down there.”

  “As I understand it…” She trailed off. “I don’t know,” she finished. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “A man named Charles Rogers found this young woman unconscious on the steps that evening. If he said he saw you crossing the sidewalk to your car before he found her, would he be lying?”

  Her eyes widened fractionally. I wondered whether it was panic, but Aubrey Biggs was on his feet objecting. “Your honor, this is outrageous. Charles Rogers hasn’t said any such thing, and Ms. Starling knows it.”

  “I didn’t say he said it,” I said. “I have asked a hypothetical. I want to know whether Ms. Lockard got out of her car in front of the house that evening at any time before the police got there.” But Biggs had already sprung my trap.

  “Ms. Lockard?” Cochran said.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t leave my car.”

  I took a breath and exhaled it, then moved on. “Somebody embezzled money from Derek Nolan shortly before he died,” I said. “Isn’t that true?”

  “It’s what he said.”

  “You don’t know anything about it of your own personal knowledge? Didn’t you handle the money for the business? Collect money, pay bills, prepare deposits, balance the check book?”

  She hesitated. “Yes.”

  “But you don’t know anything about an embezzlement, other than what Mr. Nolan told you.”

  “I…” Her eyes moved. “No. Not of my own personal knowledge.”

  “You embezzled that money, didn’t you, Ms. Lockard?”

  Biggs started to stand, but subsided, evidently deciding to let the exchange play out.

  Lockard said, “I did not. It was Mark Walker, the man who ran errands and did odd-jobs for Mr. Nolan.”

  “So you do know something about the embezzlement.”

  “I just know what Mr. Nolan said about it.”

  “Wasn’t Mr. Walker a friend of yours?”

&nbs
p; “I knew him from work.”

  “Didn’t you socialize with him occasionally outside of work?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t go to the horse races at Colonial Downs with him on at least one occasion?”

  “I did not.”

  There was a thump at the door of the courtroom just then, and someone called my name: “Robin!” It was Brooke’s voice. I turned, but the door had closed again, and no one was there.

  Biggs had gotten to his feet. He was puffing his chest and smoothing his suit coat against his sides. It looked as if his big moment had arrived.

  Chapter 30

  Biggs said, “I see our next witness has arrived, your honor.”

  “Ms. Starling is in the middle of her cross-examination.”

  “I’m finished, your honor,” I said.

  “You’re excused, Ms. Lockard,” Cochran said.

  Biggs pushed through the rail and hurried down the aisle. I suppose it would be uncharitable to say he scurried. He pushed open the door and nodded, then turned and came back down the aisle, followed by Brooke Marshall and a police officer. Brooke had her hair in one long braid down the center of her back, and she was wearing her makeup differently — heavy pancake, dark, burnt-orange streaks emphasizing her cheekbones, and a lot of mascara.

  “Your honor,” I said mildly. “I don’t believe this witness is on the witness list supplied to me by the prosecution.”

  James Jordan had gotten up and followed Biggs through the rail. He was at the prosecution table speaking in low tones, his back to me, and Biggs was shaking his head emphatically. Finally, Biggs said, “She’s snowed you, Jordan.” He put a hand on Jordan’s chest and pushed.

  Jordan stepped back, started to say something else, then shrugged.

  “Your honor,” Biggs said, “this is a surprise witness. She is not on the witness list, but I do not apologize for that. Counsel has known from the very day of the murder that this was a key witness. Police notified counsel as early as the day of the murder that they sought her for questioning. Despite that, counsel has done her best to keep the witness hidden and to deny both police and prosecution the opportunity to interrogate her.”

  “Your honor,” I said, but Jordan was walking by me on his way back to the gallery. I broke off and laid a hand on his arm as Biggs barreled on.

  “The witness can be no surprise to counsel,” Biggs said. “She was taken into custody only this morning as she sought to leave counsel’s home in the company of the defendant’s son Matt Nolan. If not for the felonious actions of counsel…” Biggs was violating the judge’s warning to abstain from personalities, but Cochran was looking with interest at the witness, letting Biggs get into his rhythm.

  “This witness can identify the murderer,” I said to Jordan, my words audible only to him under the thunder of Biggs’ oratory. “You might want to follow anyone who leaves the courtroom.”

  He gave me a look, then pushed through the rail and went down the aisle to the door of the courtroom. As I turned back, Lynn Nolan was craning to look at me with a puzzled expression.

  I winked at her, just as Biggs paused to take a breath.

  Cochran interrupted. “Ms. Starling. These are serious accusations,” he said.

  “Yes they are,” I said. “Furthermore, the accusations were made in open court in defiance of the court’s injunction. I move that Mr. Biggs be held in contempt.”

  “You ought to be more concerned about your own position than Mr. Biggs’s,” Cochran said.

  “I have obeyed the court’s instruction in spite of heavy provocation, waiting patiently for this court to enforce its order.”

  Cochran’s face darkened, but he took a breath and let it out. Turning to Biggs, he said, “You may call your witness.”

  “The state calls Melissa Butler to the stand.”

  Brooke didn’t move until a cop put a hand to her back and nudged her forward. The court reporter stepped forward and raised his hand. Brooke did likewise.

  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?”

  “I do,” she said.

  “Be seated.”

  She took the step up into the witness box and sat down.

  Biggs was at the podium. “State your name for the record,” he said.

  “Your honor,” I said.

  Cochran said, “Surely you’re not objecting to the witness identifying herself.”

  I surely wasn’t. I was merely stalling. “No, your honor,” I said.

  “Then may I ask you to sit down?” He put some force into the last two words, and I sat.

  Biggs said, “I ask you again to state your name for the record.

  She took a breath. “Brooke Marshall,” she said. Aside from the Nolans and me, I doubted there was anyone in the courtroom who believed her.

  Biggs looked hard at her, waiting for her to wilt under his stare. “Are you aware of the heavy penalties for perjury?” he asked her.

  Brooke looked at me, and I knew what she was thinking. I owed her big time.

  “I’m aware there are penalties,” she said. “I don’t know specifically what they are.”

  “Let me ask you again to tell us your name.”

  “Brooke Marshall.”

  Cochran loomed over her from the bench. “You’re going to have to tell the truth,” he said.

  “Yes, your honor.”

  Biggs said, “What is your name?”

  “Brooke Marshall.”

  Biggs took a breath. “Have you ever gone by any other name?”

  “When I was little, my daddy called me Brooklyn.”

  There was a ripple of laughter behind me. Biggs’ neck was puffing up like a toad’s.

  “This is a court of law,” Biggs said ominously. “It is not a place for levity.”

  “Yes, sir,” Brooke said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be funny.”

  There was another twitter, but Biggs ignored it. “Have you ever gone by the name Melissa Butler?”

  “No.”

  Biggs was breathing heavily now. I thought he might be hyperventilating. “Were you or were you not at the Nolan residence on October twenty-third, the night of the murder?”

  “I was,” Brooke said.

  “Ah hah,” Biggs said.

  It had gone on long enough. I stood.

  “Sit down, Ms. Starling,” Cochran said loudly.

  “The prosecution is cross-examining its own witness. He’s browbeating her.”

  “If that’s an objection, it’s overruled. Sit down, Ms. Starling.”

  I sat.

  “Were you at the Nolan residence on the night of October twenty-third?” Biggs asked again.

  The question had been asked and answered, but under the circumstances I thought I’d better let it go.

  “I was,” Brooke said again.

  “And you witnessed a man leaving the basement office?” Biggs asked.

  “No, I did not.”

  “Didn’t he push you down, or strike at you, and weren’t you later found unconscious on the steps by a Charles Rogers?”

  “No.”

  I took a breath as I stood again. “Your honor, if Mr. Biggs is going to testify, he really ought to be under oath.”

  I think Cochran was about to unload on me, but Biggs beat him to it. “This is Melissa Butler, and you know it,” he shouted. “You gave her your car to leave the murder scene the night of the murder, and you’ve been hiding her at your house ever since.”

  I looked at him, feeling cold dislike. “Prove it,” I said.

  It seemed suddenly that everybody in the courtroom was talking at once, and Cochran was pounding his gavel. I kept my attention on Biggs. His hands were clenching and unclenching, and I really thought he might be about to rush me. God was not so good, however. Cochran restored order to his courtroom and said, “Ms. Starling…,” before breaking off and turning his attention to Aubrey Biggs. “Mr. Biggs, I think you have demonstrated suffic
ient cause to charge the accused—Lynn Nolan and Steven Bruno—with the offense of capital murder. In light of these developments, it is time you rested your case. I will certify the case to the appropriate court. You can deal with Ms. Starling at a later time in the appropriate forum.”

  Biggs had more difficulty bringing himself under control than Cochran had had with his courtroom. He stood breathing hard, his face flushed and his hands twitching as the silence in the courtroom deepened. Finally he said, “Very well, your honor. The prosecution rests.”

  “Very well.” Cochran banged his gavel. “This case is certified…”

  “I hate to interrupt,” I said, interrupting.

  “Then don’t. I warn you that the patience of this court has worn very thin.”

  “Do you intend to preclude the defense from putting on a case?”

  “Do you mean that you intend to call witnesses?”

  “I’d like to start by cross-examining this one.” I pointed at Brooke, who was still on the witness stand.

  “I didn’t get a chance to examine her in the first place,” Biggs objected. “She refused to answer questions.”

  “On the contrary, she answered every question. You just didn’t like the answers she gave. If you’re through with her, I would like to cross-examine.”

  “Ms. Starling,” Cochran said. “I think it is highly probable that both you and the witness will be facing prosecution over this. Ask your questions, though, if you want to.”

  I went to the podium. “Thank you, your honor. Ms. Marshall — is that what you said your name was?”

  Brooke nodded. “Brooke Marshall.”

  “You said you went to the Nolan house the night of the murder. Can you tell us about that?”

  “You called and said Matt Nolan’s fiancée had driven off with your car. You asked me to come and get you because you needed a ride.”

  “Why would I call you?”

  “We’re roommates. I’ve been renting a bedroom in your house for nearly four months.”

  “So you were my roommate before the night of the murder.”

  “Sure.”

  “What can you tell us about the murder?”

  “Mostly what you’ve told me. You hired me to work for the Nolan estate, and I’ve done some work on Derek Nolan’s financial records.”

  “You weren’t at the house on Grace Street before the police got there?”