Private Vegas: (Private 9)
Page 13
Lewis asked, “Sergeant Degano, how did you come to be involved in this case?”
Degano said, “Our division was called and I was available to go to the victim’s house. I went into the room where she was lying, and Ms. Carmody was going in and out of consciousness. The EMT didn’t give her much chance of survival, so I went with her in the ambulance to the hospital.
“I sat right next to her, and when she was having what they call a lucid interval, I questioned her. I thought if she could speak, maybe she could tell me who her attacker was. That might be our best chance of bringing him to justice.”
The detective swung his head a few degrees and gave Rick a short, hard look, then turned back to the ADA.
“And did you interview Ms. Carmody?”
“I did.”
“And did you record this interview?”
“Yes. I got it on my phone. Later, I transferred the interview to a disk.”
The computer was booted up, and the lights went down as the monitor was wheeled into the courtroom. Degano sat comfortably in the witness box and watched as the video lit up the screen with his image.
It was clear that he was recording from inside the ambulance. Degano gave his name and division, the date of the interview, and the circumstances.
The camera eye panned to a woman, whom Degano identified as Victoria Carmody. She was strapped to a stretcher and in a neck brace; she had an IV going into her arm, and she was getting oxygen through a nasal cannula. Her face and head were bruised and bloody, making it impossible to tell her age, race, or even gender.
On camera, Degano introduced himself to Carmody, said his name was Mike Degano, that he was a detective. Then he asked her if it was okay to ask her a few questions.
Ms. Carmody grunted, and Degano took that as affirmation.
“Can you hear me okay?” he asked her.
Carmody made the sound again.
Degano said, “You were found inside your bedroom. On the floor. I don’t know if you know that you were badly beaten.”
Carmody tried to jerk her head and made a mewling cry. It seemed to me that she knew what Degano was asking her, and the memory was fresh and very painful.
Degano said, “I’m sorry to have to ask you, Ms. Carmody, but I’m here to help you. Do you remember what happened to you?”
Carmody made a sound. It seemed to be yes.
“Tell me what you remember.”
To Degano’s credit, he used simple words, spoke softly, and had the patience to wait out an answer.
“Fight,” Carmody said.
“You were in a fight?”
No answer.
“Who beat you up, Ms. Carmody? I want to find the guy who did this to you.”
Carmody tried to twist on the stretcher but managed only to take in a strangled breath. Someone, presumably an EMT, said, “Wrap it up, Detective.”
Degano leaned over and took Carmody’s hand. “Vicky. Squeeze my fingers for yes. Can you do that? Good. Was your assailant a stranger?”
She gasped out, “No.”
“Your neighbor gave me this picture of you and a man you may have had a date with tonight.”
The camera image jiggled as Degano took a photo from his inside jacket pocket, showed it to Carmody, then flashed it in front of his phone. “Is this the man who hurt you?”
Carmody’s one good eye opened a fraction of an inch. She said, “Rick.”
Degano said, “Ms. Carmody, I want to be sure. Is this the man who hurt you? Rick Del Rio?”
Two EMTs got between the camera and the patient. We could hear Carmody say “Rick” again. Degano’s voice was heard thanking Ms. Carmody, saying that he would be in touch. Then the picture went dark.
Caine had told me that I was the only person who could persuade the jury that Rick Del Rio, this tough, former U.S. Marine, was innocent of beating his ex-girlfriend nearly to death.
Now this.
What in God’s name could I say to counteract Carmody’s heartrending testimony?
Chapter 60
CAINE MADE SOME notes on his tablet, then got to his feet and approached the witness.
“Sergeant Degano, you saw that Ms. Carmody had suffered grave injuries to her head. You testified that she was going in and out of consciousness. And yet you trusted the veracity of her testimony?”
“I had no choice. For all I knew, this was her last hour on earth.”
“I understand. But when you showed her the picture of my client and asked if he was the one who hurt her, is it possible she didn’t understand your question?”
“I don’t understand yours.”
“Let me rephrase it, then,” said Caine. “Ms. Carmody had been physically and emotionally traumatized and had lost a lot of blood. Isn’t it possible that when you asked her who hurt her and showed her the picture of Rick Del Rio, she said ‘Rick’ because it was his picture?”
“I asked. She answered.”
“Detective, how long have you been a police officer?”
“Eighteen years.”
“When you ask a person to make an identification, isn’t it standard practice to show them a lineup, or a photo array?”
“There was no time to pull one together.”
“So you violated procedure, and now we cannot be sure what kind of ID the victim made, can we?”
“I had the man’s picture in my jacket pocket.”
“Just answer the question, please, Detective. If you could have, you would have shown her an array, yes or no?”
“Yeah. In a perfect world. A world I don’t happen to live in.”
“Thanks, Detective. I have no further questions.”
Chapter 61
ADA LEWIS CALLED his next witness, Dr. William Triebel, a neurosurgeon of note at Cedars-Sinai. Triebel was clean-cut, fifty, his face lined from the sun. He looked confident and competent, and when he spoke, his testimony was delivered in a crisp, no-bull way.
Dr. Triebel described types of traumatic brain injury, gave a quick course in bleeding and swelling in the brain. He said that Vicky Carmody had a subdural hematoma and an intracranial hemorrhage, and he categorized her injuries as catastrophic.
“And you operated on her, Dr. Triebel?” Lewis asked.
“Yes. I did. I evacuated the subdural hematoma, managed the swelling, and all I could do about the focal hemorrhage inside the brain was wait and pray.”
Lewis asked his witness, “What’s her prognosis?”
“Guarded for survival,” he said.
“Will she be able to walk?”
“It’s too soon to tell.”
“Doctor, is it fair to say that June thirteenth was the last normal day Vicky Carmody will ever have?”
Caine shot up from his seat, said, “Objection. The doctor has testified that he has no way of knowing what to expect for Ms. Carmody in the future.”
“Let me rephrase that,” said Lewis. “If Ms. Carmody survives, is it likely that she will fully recover from this vicious beating?”
“In a word, no.”
“That’s all I have for Dr. Triebel. Thank you, Doctor.”
Then Lewis spoke in the general direction of the defense table. “Your witness.”
Caine stood and walked toward the witness stand.
“I have a couple of questions, Dr. Triebel. Regarding the injuries to Ms. Carmody’s brain that you describe as catastrophic. You’ve said that she suffered most of the trauma to the brain stem and the frontal lobe. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And do I understand correctly that these are the parts of the brain that control motor function, memory, and speech?”
Lewis spoke from his seat. “Objection, Your Honor. The doctor fully explained the extent and type of injuries to the court.”
“I’ll allow it anyway,” said the judge. “Some of us wouldn’t mind hearing this again. Please continue, Mr. Caine.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Dr. Triebel, shall I repeat the question?”
“Thank you. Now, Dr. Triebel. After help arrived many hours after the attack, Ms. Carmody was interviewed by the police, and she responded to questioning. Is it likely that her memories of the attack were affected by the trauma she sustained?”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. Could go either way.”
“Well, then, is it fair to say that any testimony she gave in this traumatized condition was questionable, even unreliable?”
The doctor folded his hands in front of him. “The brain is an amazing organ. Ms. Carmody was unconscious when she was admitted to the hospital. Without evaluating her brain function at that time, we can’t know if Ms. Carmody remembered the attack accurately or not.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Lewis had put the doctor on the stand to testify about how much damage the victim had suffered at her attacker’s hands. I liked the way Caine had turned the evidence around to question Carmody’s ability to know what had happened to her.
I hoped at least one juror saw it as reasonable doubt.
As the witness stepped down from the box and left the courtroom, Dexter Lewis exchanged a few words with his co-counsel. Then the ADA stood, buttoned his jacket, said to the judge, “The People rest, Your Honor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” said the judge. “Mr. Caine? Are you ready to present your case?”
Caine said, “Yes, Your Honor. The defense calls Mr. Jack Morgan.”
Chapter 62
I WALKED TO the box, put my hand on the Bible, and swore to God I would tell the truth. I hoped I could do that. I hoped I wouldn’t have to lie.
I sat down and looked across the blond-wood floor to the defense table. Rick’s expression was tight with pent-up emotion, like he was doing everything in his power not to blow.
Eric Caine, my good friend, an excellent lawyer, and Rick’s defender, smiled as he came toward me.
He stopped a few feet from where I sat and said, “Mr. Morgan, you and I know each other pretty well, isn’t that right?”
“Yes, we do.”
“I’m employed by your firm as your in-house counsel, correct?”
“Yes.”
“So I want the jury to know that you are here today as a character witness for Mr. Del Rio and that you have no firsthand knowledge of the crime that was perpetrated on Ms. Carmody.”
“That’s right.”
Caine paused for a moment, then said, “Mr. Morgan, how long have you known Mr. Del Rio?”
“I’ve known Rick for ten years. We served in Afghanistan together.”
“Will you tell the court about that?”
“How much time do we have?”
Caine smiled. He said, “As much time as you need.”
I had rehearsed a few lines to get myself started, but now, as I looked at Rick’s face, I forgot what I was going to say.
But the images, they were there—with sound and the stink of fear and in living color. That night, when we were shot out of the sky, I remember what affected me most deeply: the dead and dying men, and the relief in Del Rio’s face after he’d brought me back to life.
But that was my story.
Rick had a story too, and there was a part of it that we had never talked about and that he wouldn’t want me to reveal.
But I had to tell it now if I was going to help him.
I wanted to tell the jury that Rick talked to the dead.
Chapter 63
THERE WASN’T A sound in the room, just expectant faces, every one of them turned toward me.
I began to talk about the night we were transporting troops from Gardez to the base in Kandahar. I said that I was piloting the aircraft, that Del Rio was my copilot, my wingman, and that we had fourteen war-weary Marines in the cargo bay.
“Night flights are exceptionally—hazardous. Even with NVGs, even with our heightened awareness of anomalies on the ground, there are ditches and shadows where the enemy can hide.”
I said, “We never saw the ground-to-air missile that slammed through the belly of the CH-46, knocking out our rear rotor, sending us into a death spiral thousands of feet straight down. That same missile set off ordnance inside the chopper and blew up the fuel tanks and started the fire that burned our helicopter from the inside out.”
I looked at the faces of the jurors and told them that against terrible odds, we landed the aircraft with its struts down, and that Del Rio and I got out of the Phrog alive and uninjured. My voice cracked when I told them that when I reached the wreckage of the cargo bay, I was presented with something akin to Sophie’s choice.
“You’re supposed to take the man that has the best chance of survival. That’s what you do—but it was dark. Men were screaming in agony, begging not to be left to be burned alive. I loved them all, but I grabbed Corporal Danny Young,” I said. “I didn’t know if he would make it, but he was closest to the door.
“I carried him to safety, and I had just put him down when the helicopter exploded. It’s a concussive explosion. The ground erupts. The air shatters.
“I was hit in the chest by a chunk of flying metal, and my protective armor stopped it from going through. But the force stopped my heart. That’s what Rick told me later. My heart stopped and I died.
“But Rick didn’t let me die. He stayed with me, pounded my chest until I was breathing. Because of him, that man sitting there, I am alive. But Danny was killed by the blast. All of our brothers in the cargo bay—dead.”
I had to stop speaking. My throat closed up and my eyes watered as I remembered the unspeakable horror.
Caine’s voice broke into my thoughts. He said, “What happened after First Lieutenant Del Rio brought you back to life?”
I could see it now, so clearly that I was as good as there. Could I put it into words? I tried.
“Later. The sun was coming up,” I told the jury. “I was on a stretcher, with a saline drip in my arm. There were sedatives in the bag too, hard core enough to keep me down.
“But I could see through the dust and the veil of smoke that Rick was following the corpsmen into what was left of the aircraft. He came out with the body bags, helped lay them out in a line on the ground.
“We had survived and they were dead. This…there are no words…for how this feels.”
Tears ran from my eyes. I just couldn’t speak. Caine told me to take my time, and finally, I looked at Del Rio and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
He nodded, but he, too, was breaking down.
Dexter Lewis got to his feet and objected.
“Your Honor, I think we all understand the relationship between the witness and the defendant. There’s no point in continuing this testimony when in fact it has nothing to do with this trial.”
“I’ll allow it, Mr. Lewis. Go on, Mr. Morgan.”
I went back there again and told what I saw.
“Del Rio was squatting down maybe twenty feet away from where I was lying. He unzipped Corporal Young’s bag. I could hear some of what he said. It was like, ‘Danny, I hope you’re still hanging around and can hear me, man.’
“He was talking and then laughing, like he and Danny were sharing a joke, and then his expression changed. I heard him say, ‘Sheila.’
“Sheila was Danny’s wife, pregnant with their fourth child, and I heard Rick say that when the baby was due, he would go to Lubbock, be there for Sheila. Then Rick made the sign of the cross on Danny’s forehead, said, ‘I’ll keep you with me, Danny. See ya soon.’
“He went down the line to the next bag, unzipped it, and talked to the next Marine, and then the next, all of them as if they were living and whole.
“He said he was sorry, talked awhile, made jokes. Then he made the sign of the cross, sent them off…It was like a sacrament, a beautiful, beautiful thing.”
Caine brought over the tissues and I wiped my eyes. But tissues couldn’t dam the flow.
&
nbsp; I was crying, and Rick was crying too.
I heard Caine say, “Thank you,” and the judge asked Dexter Lewis if he had any questions.
And you know what? He did.
Chapter 64
ADA DEXTER LEWIS said, “Do you need a minute, Mr. Morgan?”
“No, thanks. I’m okay.” I blew my nose. Cleared my throat.
Lewis said, “Is there anything else you’d like to say about the defendant?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Does Mr. Del Rio stop traffic for ducklings? Send paychecks home to his mom?”
Caine was on his feet with an objection. “The prosecution is badgering the witness, Your Honor.”
“Sustained.” Judge Johnson looked at Lewis, said, “Don’t do that, Mr. Lewis. Treat the witness with respect. This is a warning.”
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
“Ask your next question, Mr. Lewis.”
“Mr. Morgan, did I understand you to say that you overheard Mr. Del Rio promise to be with Corporal Young’s wife when she gave birth to her child?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he? Go to Lubbock, Texas, to be with Mrs. Young?”
“I…don’t know.”
“Well, I know, Mr. Morgan. And I believe you do too. Sheila Young gave birth to a daughter on March twenty-ninth of 2003. Danielle. Do you remember where Mr. Del Rio was at that time?”
“Yes.”
“Speak up, Mr. Morgan.”
“Yes. I know where he was.”
“Please share that information with the jury.”
Caine was on his feet again. “Relevance, Your Honor?”
“Overruled, Mr. Caine. Your witness opened the door. Go ahead, Mr. Morgan. Answer the question.”
“Rick was at Chino.”
“Why was Mr. Del Rio in prison, if you can remember?”