The Crimson Trial

by Freya Atwood

  My eyes fell on the drawers, the bottom drawer was open. There was no sign of the journals I had found in there. As I stepped into the room I noticed the smell. It was the sharp tang of burnt paper. I homed in on it and found a metal wastepaper basket under Bryan’s desk. It had a few cold ashes in the bottom and a couple of pieces of still recognizable paper. I tried to pick one up but it crumbled as I touched it. I could just make out Bryan’s handwriting, crowded onto the lines of the page.

  There weren’t enough ashes to account for all of the books I had found. So either he had removed the ashes or he hadn’t burned all of them. Maybe he got scared, thought I would smell it and wake. Maybe that’s where he went, somewhere he could dispose of them. Bryan, what are you hiding?

  Chapter 40

  Preparing myself for the resumption of the trial was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do. Dawn had found me on the sofa in the den, sleeping in fits and starts. Bryan hadn’t returned. The police had left, having failed to find my intruder. Franco had left a card on the counter next to the cigarette. I had my gun on the floor next to the sofa and reached for it at every sound from outside. When the room began to slowly lighten I got up stiffly, checked my phone again and then reluctantly began to get myself ready.

  I tried to focus my mind as I showered, letting the events of the previous day fall away as the water coursed over my body. My concentration kept breaking, my mind going over and over where Bryan could be and what he was doing. I left the cigarette Franco had left me, picking up a pack of my own as I drove to the courthouse. This would be an important day.

  The prosecution were on their last witness. Assuming the cross examination didn’t take all day, I would be calling my own witnesses. It was my turn to drive home exactly how flimsy the case against Hunter Watson really was and I couldn’t afford to slip up. With Hunter falling apart from withdrawal symptoms that he wasn’t getting treatment for, I had to hold it together.

  I ran the gauntlet of reporters again. There seemed to be less of them today. Are they finally beginning to lose interest in me? I entered the courtroom where Nic was setting up.

  “Jaysus!” She exclaimed when she saw me. “Have you gotten any sleep, boss? Something I should know about?”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “No. It’s just because I know you. I can tell you’ve not had much sleep. No one else will suspect a thing.”

  “I didn’t. Had a run in with my ex.”

  Nic’s eyebrows went up. “So, how’d that go?”

  “He broke into my house and I think he would have killed me if he’d had the chance. So, not great.”

  “Oh my god, are you OK? How’s Bryan?”

  I waved away her concerns, not wanting her compassion to break through the resolve I’d built around me like a wall. “Bryan has gone AWOL. And, I’m OK. I don’t have time not to be. Police are looking for Bryan and his father both.”

  “You want to ask for an adjournment. I think Greene is a stand-up guy, he’ll probably be sympathetic.”

  “Absolutely not. Halden was trying to break me by tipping off the press. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction or let the jury think I’m weak. I’ll be OK. We need to focus.”

  “But….”

  “Nic!” I snapped. “Please. Focus. Now, problems with any of our witnesses?”

  Nic looked hurt but she shrugged it off, becoming clinical. “Everyone is here and waiting to be called. Everyone knows what they’re saying and what we’ll be asking them. We’re as ready as we can be.”

  “Sorry for snapping at you.” I said, touching Nic’s arm. “Right now, Hunter is more important than what’s happening in my personal life. I just need to keep my mind on the case, OK?”

  She smiled. “Sure, boss. Don’t worry.”

  Hunter was brought into the courtroom just before Judge Greene entered. He looked ill. He wasn’t sweating any longer but as he took his seat, I could see that his hands shook. He kept them clasped together, as though to control it.

  “How are you holding up, Hunter?” I asked him quietly.

  “About how you’d expect.” He mumbled in reply. “I just want this done. One way or the other.”

  Halden’s final witness was Detective Brendan Hill of the Narcotics Division of the Washington State Police. He had dark hair, a square face and trim figure. His suit was well cut and dark. He exuded confidence and professionalism. Halden addressed him.

  “Detective Hill. Could you tell the court how you came to be involved in this case?”

  “I was called in following an assault in the Stone Mountain State Penitentiary. The victim had been found in possession of a cell phone with…”

  “Objection, Your Honor!” I stood. “This witness was not present at Stone Mountain at the time of the assault and cannot say that the phone was in Hunter Watson’s possession. Only that it was found with him.”

  Halden also stood. “Your Honor. The cellphone was found underneath his unconscious body. It is a reasonable assumption…”

  “We are interested in facts, not assumptions. The fact is that the phone was found with his body but to say it was in his possession is pure supposition.”

  “Sustained. Detective, please keep your answers to the facts.”

  Hill nodded acquiescence and waited to be addressed again by Halden. He sat with his legs crossed and his hands together on his knee. He looked at ease.

  “Please continue, Detective. The victim was found with a cellphone under his body. Who was the victim?”

  “It was Hunter Watson.”

  “You are a Narcotics Detective, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you assigned to investigate an assault in jail?”

  “Because Hunter Watson was a drug user. My department was notified when the cell phone was found. Standard practice. At first we were notified as a courtesy. Then the phone records were shared with us and we took a professional interest.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because we recognized the numbers dialed. They were to known drug dealers who had been working as informants for us. Because they were informants they kept the same cell number, allowing us to track who they were talking to. Usually, these people use burners. That is cheap disposable phones, paid for with cash and only used once, to avoid being traced.”

  “So Hunter Watson had been speaking to drug dealers?”

  “Well, I don’t want to make assumptions here. The phone found with his body had been used to call drug dealers. If Hunter Watson made those calls is supposition. I believe it is a fair assumption though.”

  He looked at me and I looked back, not reacting. He returned his attention to Halden.

  “In your professional capacity, had you ever come across Hunter Watson before?”

  “As a user and occasional small-time dealer, yes. We’ve picked him up a couple of times for possession. Never prosecuted, he’s too small-time. We prefer to put him on the streets and follow him to someone higher up the food chain.”

  “So, you have monitored Hunter Watson in the past?”

  “A few times, yes.”

  “Was Hunter Watson under active surveillance at the time of the murder of Dr. Adil Khan?”

  “No, he was not. Our last surveillance on Hunter Watson was more than a year ago.”

  “During your surveillance activities on him, did you ever witness any violent acts perpetrated by him?

  “Yes. On numerous occasions. He looked like an angry guy. Or a desperate one. Which is probably worse.”

  “Who was this violence directed against, Detective?”

  “Other addicts. Marks that he was trying to roll…that is members of the public that he attempted to mug. Again, I make the assumption that this was done to obtain money to buy drugs.”

  “Would you say Hunter Watson is a violent man?”

  “Objection! A man’s actions while in the grip of an addiction is not a true reflection of his character. Prosecution is taking those inc
idents out of context and assuming a violent temperament.” I protested.

  “Hunter Watson has been seen to be violent and is still in the grip of an addiction. And he was in the grip of that addiction when Dr. Adil Khan was murdered.” Halden retorted.

  “Is your client still a drug addict, Counselor?” Greene inquired.

  “He is, Your Honor.”

  “Then it is a valid point. Perhaps he is not a violent man when his actions are not being driven by his body’s need for narcotics but, when it is, it seems fair. Overruled.”

  “Detective Hill, was Hunter Watson a violent man?” Halden repeated.

  “Based on what I saw, yes, he was.” Hill replied firmly.

  Chapter 41

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” Halden said, resuming her seat.

  I stood immediately. “Detective Hill, was the cellphone found with Hunter Watson dusted for prints?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “And were any found?”

  “No. None.”

  “How could Hunter Watson have used it without leaving fingerprints?”

  “He could have wiped it clean.”

  “Did any of your informants confirm they had spoken to Hunter Watson?”

  “No, they couldn’t confirm who they had spoken to. None of them knew him.”

  I put on a look of confusion. “Detective. In your experience of drug addicts, would you say they tend to buy from dealers they know?”

  “Yes, that would be typical behavior.”

  “It seems odd that Hunter would not reach out to dealers he knows, and who would know him. Doesn’t it?”

  Hill shrugged. “I guess, maybe. Addicts tend to be erratic.”

  “Were any of these suppliers that Hunter supposedly called also prisoners at Stone Mountain?”

  “No, they were all on the streets. If they were inmates, he wouldn’t have needed the cellphone.”

  “But how could he expect to obtain drugs inside the prison from dealers who were outside?”

  Again Hill shrugged. “I don’t know.” He said finally.

  “No further questions, Your Honor.” I said with satisfaction.

  It didn’t disprove anything, but I felt like the clumsy attempt at further framing Hunter Watson had been shown to be less concrete.

  “Your Honor, I have no further questions and the prosecution rests.” Halden said, without rising.

  She glanced over at me. I felt a rising exhilaration. My cross examination served to sow doubt in the jury’s collective minds. But, this was where my defense of Hunter Watson would really take shape. I stood and strode forward with confidence and calm.

  “Your Honor, my first witness was to be a hostile witness for the defense. Namely, Mike Kellag, the eye-witness for the prosecution. However, Mr. Kellag’s health has taken an unexpected, downward turn. His lawyer has submitted an affidavit from his physician that he is currently unable to give evidence. We have accepted that affidavit and for the time being waive Mr. Kellag as a witness. We may call him again if his health improves. Instead I would like to call Mrs. Audrey Brown.”

  Mrs. Brown was called. A lady who looked to be in her early sixties walked to the witness box. She was primly dressed in thirty year old fashions and clutched a silver handbag before her as she sat. She had on a pair of thick horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Mrs. Brown. Can you tell the court where you live, please?”

  “I live at 1760 Vale. It’s an apartment building.”

  “Do you know a gentleman named Mike Kellag?”

  “Sure do. He lives on the floor above me. He lives on the second floor; I live on the first.”

  “So, you are neighbors?”

  “Sure.”

  “Does your apartment have the same layout as Mr. Kellag’s?”

  “Sure does. They all do, they’re identical.”

  “Have you ever been in Mr. Kellag’s apartment to verify this?”

  “Nope. Don’t know him that well, just to pass the time of day in the lobby when I’m picking up my mail.”

  “Then how do you know that Mr. Kellag’s apartment is laid out the same as your own?”

  “Because my friend Kitty lives on the sixth floor. My apartment is the same as hers. Her cousin Veronica lives on the fifth. Hers is the same as ours. It ain’t unusual. Everybody’s is the same, that’s how they built those blocks.”

  I caught Nic’s eye and she projected a blueprint onto the screen. It was the layout of the apartments in the building at 1760 Vale.

  “For the jury, this is a blueprint obtained from the architect that erected the building. It is one of two apartment designs used in this building. The other is for a corner apartment. Mrs. Brown, could you confirm that this is how your apartment is laid out?”

  Audrey Brown frowned at the image, tilted her head and lifted her finger as though tracing a path through an imaginary apartment. “Yes. It is.”

  Another image appeared. This was a photograph. It showed a corner bar with a sign above the door, Broncos. A large, articulated beer truck was parked on the opposite corner. It was dark but the streetlights lit the scene.

  “This is a photograph taken from the living window of Mrs. Brown’s apartment. Do you recognize the view, Mrs. Brown?”

  “Yeah. That god ugly bar across the street and that god-damned truck, waking me up at all hours. That’s the picture the lady with the accent took. She showed me after she’d taken it.”

  “For the court, Your Honor. The lady with the accent is my colleague Nicola Malone, seated over there. She is Irish.”

  Greene nodded, glancing at Nic.

  “The view in this picture is almost the same as the view which Mike Kellag gets from his own apartment…”

  “Objection!”

  I smiled politely, expecting it.

  Halden continued. “Your Honor, I see where this is going but Mike Kellag lives a floor up from Mrs. Brown. Does the defense have a picture from Mr. Kellag’s apartment?”

  “No, I don’t.” I replied.

  “Then this is irrelevant testimony meant to lead the jury to believe, falsely, that Mike Kellag’s view of the defendant was obscured.”

  “I do have a picture taken from the floor above Mike Kellag’s apartment.” I ventured blithely. “My next witness is a Mr. Diego Alvarez, who lives on the third floor and who also allowed a picture to be taken from his living room. His apartment matches the design of Mr. Kellag’s apartment and Mrs. Brown’s. Exactly.”

  “I’d like to see this picture.” Greene requested. “This seems relevant testimony. Objection overruled.”

  Nic projected the image onto the screen of the picture she had taken minutes after the one she had captured in Audrey Brown’s apartment. It showed an almost identical view. The high-sided truck blocked the view of the side door through which Hunter had entered the building.

  “Note that in both pictures, the beer truck completely obscures the side of the street occupied by the building within which Dr. Adil Khan was shot. The side door is completely hidden whether you are looking from the lowest point, in Audrey Brown’s living room or the highest point, in Diego Alvarez’ apartment. So, even without a picture from Mike Kellag’s living room, it is logical to assume that the view would be blocked there too.”

  Silence. The implications were understood by all. Greene sat forward, leaning his forearms on the bench, peering closely at the screen. Nic was now projecting a slide which showed the two pictures next to each other, one above the other. Then the images moved slowly apart, making room for a blank frame in the middle, inviting the jury to imagine the view through that missing window.

  I called Diego Alvarez to the stand and he confirmed the validity of the second picture. He confirmed the times that the truck had been parked on Duke Street. Then I called Bucky Nielsen. He was tall and broad shouldered. He moved with the ponderous but strong step of a heavy man, whose weight comes from muscle. He had long, dirty blond hair tied back in a ponytail and wore jeans and a ch
eckered shirt.

  A battered blue baseball cap was being crushed between his big hands, which opened and closed around it constantly. He cleared his throat several times as he swore to tell the truth.

  “You are Bill Nielsen, otherwise known as Bucky?”

  “Yeah, sure. Um, ma’am.”

  “And can you tell the court what you do for a living Mr. Nielsen?”