The judge glanced at the clock on the wall. “I see it is time for our morning break, when we return the prosecution will call it's first witness, if you are ready, Ms. Adams.”
Tiffany, jumped to her feet, “Yes, sir, we are ready to proceed.”
Chapter Sixty Two
Sam Tomas, the coroner, was the State's first witness. He had assembled a collage of gruesome shots of the victim and the crime scene, blown up so they could easily be seen by the jury as he made his points. He put his left hand on the Bible, his right hand in the air as he was sworn in and took a seat on the witness stand.
Tiffany approached Sam, smiled briefly, and by way of greeting said, “Good morning Sam, hope you are well and up to the challenge that lies ahead of us.”
“Morning Tiffany, indeed I am,” Sam replied, smiling as well.
“Then we shall proceed,” the ADA said, looking at the pictures displayed on artist's easels momentarily. “I see you have brought a few pictures that illustrate the gruesome and horrendous nature of this crime. Please describe to the jury, and don't spare them any of the graphic details, the injuries that were inflected on this poor man by the accused.”
Raymond sprang from his chair like he was shot out of cannon, “Objection, your Honor. The prosecution already has my client guilty and the first witness has yet to testify. This is prejudicial language and I request her last statement be stricken from the official record.”
“Sit down, Mr. Tremble,” the judge bellowed. “And Ms. Adams if you would, please refrain from referring to the accused as the perpetrator of the crime. You may proceed.”
“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by defense council, Mr. Tomas would you please describe the wounds that were inflicted on the victim.”
Tomas cleared his throat, took a sip of water, removed a retractable pointer from his pocket, went over and pointed at the first snap shot. “The victim, as you can see, was beaten severely about the head, face, and torso by what I determined to be a baseball bat. Wounds are restricted to the front of the body,arms, and legs. As you can see on the second shot there were no such wounds on the posterior regions of the body. There were no defensive wounds on the hands and arms, which led me to suspect the deceased was unconscious or drugged at the time of the beatings. My suspicions were confirmed when the toxicology report came back positive for ecstasy or X as it is called on the street.”
Sam took another sip of water and moved on to the next picture, which was a head shot. “However the cause of death was not from the beatings as one might imagine, but from two perfectly and skillfully placed gun shots between the victim's eyes. The wounds were later determined to be from a .22 caliber hand gun.”
“Mr. Tomas,” Tiffany interjected. “In your expert opinion, after carefully reviewing the crime scene, did the beating of the victim occur at the same location as the final shots which ultimately caused the victim's demise?”
The coroner answered immediately. “Definitely not. There was no evidence of blood castoff that occurs with bludgeoning at the scene where the body was found. The only blood present at the scene was a small pooling underneath the head of the victim. Which led me to the ultimate conclusion that the victim was beaten in one location and shot at the location where the body was later discovered.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tomas. No further questions.” Tiffany took at seat and looked in the direction of Raymond.
“Your witness, Mr. Tremble,” the judge said.
“The defense has no questions for this witness. We do not dispute the manner in which the victim was killed. The man is dead. It was a tragedy.” Raymond sat back down, there was a momentary silence in the courtroom as if everyone was shocked that he had no questions.
The judge turned to the witness on the stand and told him he was dismissed and could step down. “Ms. Adams, if you would please, call your next witness.”
Coming to the stand next was the State's DNA expert. After being sworn in Tiffany put her through the paces of explaining how DNA worked, and the probability that the trace blood found in the red pickup belonged to the deceased. She explained the whole grueling process in mind blowing, intricate detail. Some members of the jury nodded, heads bobbing, slapping their own faces at certain points in a futile attempt to stay awake during the arduous testimony. True enough, it was very boring, but essential to the State's case. At long last the expert was finished and Tiffany went over and took her seat.
“Your witness Mr. Tremble,” the judge bellowed as always.
Raymond was nodding off himself and at first didn't even hear the loud bellowing being emitted from the judge.
“Mr. Tremble, if you please.”
Raymond rose slowly, wiping sleep from his eyes. He leaned forward and said, “No questions for this witness your honor.”
The judge, as well as the ADA, looked at the defense attorney curiously. Shaking his head Beauregard dismissed everyone for a much needed lunch break. After lunch the prosecution would call their eye witnesses to the stand.
Chapter Sixty Three
It was a beautiful day in sunny downtown San Diego, Michael and his defense attorney enjoyed a much needed break and a hot dog from a food cart not far from the courthouse . “I think it's going pretty well so far,” Raymond said, chewing on a bite of hot dog. “I've got the prosecution exactly where I want them, on the defense.”
“How so?” Michael replied, somewhat confused. “You didn't ask the first two witnesses a single question. Why was that, Raymond?”
“Dear boy, that's all a part of my strategy. Keep 'em off guard, do the unexpected. We don't contest how your no good son-in-law was killed or the blood evidence in the pickup, that makes no difference to us. Let the ADA try and baffle the jury with all the scientific stuff. She still has to connect you to that red pickup. That's when I'll go to work. Don't worry, you'll see.”
“I hope you're right.”
They finished up their dogs and found a shady spot to sit down for a while and just relax.
One o'clock came way too soon and they were back in the courtroom. It was time for the eye witnesses to take the stand. This was a very crucial part of the prosecution's case, the battleground as it were, and both attorneys were ready as the judge requested the prosecution to call her next witness.
Cassie McPherson, was sworn in and had a seat in the witness chair. Tiffany approached her and smiled. “Ms. McPherson, please tell the court where you are employed, what hours of the day you work, and for how long you have worked at that location.”
Cassie, a little nervous, sat mute for a moment, composed herself, and began. “I work at the Park and Fly parking facility in downtown San Diego. My shift is from 8 to 5, Tuesday through Saturday. I have been employed by Park and Fly for ten years now.”
“Thank you, Cassie. Now on the particular day in question, now think carefully before you answer. Did you see a man, driving a red pickup truck, that was later identified by you and now is the accused in this case, come through your parking garage, driving the aforementioned red pickup truck?”
Pausing to collect her thoughts, Cassie answered right on cue. “Yes, I did see the man. A large man, came through my terminal, as you say, driving a red pick up truck, Chevy I think it was. I remember him because I tried to engage him in a conversation, but he just ignored me, seemed preoccupied.”
Seemingly excited by the witness's testimony, Tiffany said exuberantly, “and is that man sitting in the courtroom? If he is, would you point him out for the court.”
Pointing a finger towards the defendant, Cassie replied matter of factually. “That's him sitting right over there, the defendant.”
“No further questions for this witness,” Tiffany said having a seat and looking in the direction of the defense.
It was time for Raymond to go to work now. This was the first of the big showdowns, that were going to make and break his case. He rose slowly, with his usual flare for the dramatic, shot a glance at the prosecutor, and walked t
owards the witness beaming a smile. “Ms. McPherson, Cassie, may I call you Cassie?”
“Yes, of course, that would be fine,” the witness said rather shyly.
“You have stated that you have worked for the parking garage for the last ten years. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir, ten years.”
“That's a long time. I guess in ten years you have seen thousands of vehicles come through the parking garage and if I asked you about every single one of them, you'd remember right?”
Cassie looked at the defense attorney quizzically. “I don't understand the question.”
“I'm just saying, you've had thousands of cars and trucks come through your lot over ten long years and yet you expect us to believe that you remember one particular red pickup and one particular driver that came through your terminal two months prior. Is that what you want this court to believe?”
Cassie, getting somewhat agitated by the defense's questions answered, “I don't care what you believe, I know what I saw, and I saw the defendant driving a red pickup, come through my lot. It was him.” Again pointing in the direction of the accused.
“I'd like you to take a look at something. I've had a specially made up montage of photos for your eyes only.” Raymond pulled an array out of a folder he had on his desk and walked over to the witness stand. “Take a look at this, if you would Cassie, and tell me which one of these photos, and don't look over at the accused, is the man who you allegedly saw come through your parking garage that day. Take your time. I want you to be sure”
Cassie adjusted her glasses, and carefully perused the pictures. Slowly a smile of recognition came on her face. “That's him, right there, top left hand corner.”
“For the court's information, let the record show that Ms. McPherson picked the picture of a man that was randomly selected from thousands of pictures that were on file. None of these men are in fact the accused.”
Cassie sat with her mouth wide open in disbelief.
“Would you like to change your testimony, Ms McPherson? I'm going ask you again. Are you absolutely, 100% positive, it was my client who you saw driving that red pickup truck?”
“Uh, well, I think it was him, but now, I'm not so sure.”
“No further questions for this witness.”
“You may step down,” the judge said, looking in the direction of the ADA. “Ms Adams you may call your next witness.”
All eyes were on Chastity Lazure as she was sworn in and took the witness stand. Her bizarre appearance had several people in the courtroom whispering, the judge gave them a chastising look of disapproval. After the last witness, Tiffany hoped the witness now on the stand would hold up under cross. “Ms Lazure, Chastity, may I call you Chastity.”
The witness, chomping on a piece of double bubble, answered irritably, “That's my name.”
“You say in your testimony that on the day in question you saw the accused,” Tiffany stopped to point an accusing finger in the direction of Michael Parson, “driving a red pickup truck up and down Third Ave. in proximity to the store in which you are employed. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” Chastity answered, seeming like she was going to say more, but didn't.
“And you remember the suspect because he got into an altercation with a homeless man in the intersection adjacent to your shop. Is that also correct?
“Yes, that's correct.”
“And explain to the court how you happen to have a ring side seat for this altercation, between the accused and this homeless man.”
Chastity cleared her throat, thought for a second and said in a low, gruff, voice, “I was outside washing the windows, like I always do on Friday. That's when I saw that guy over there, in a red pickup, have words with some bum who was holding up traffic. Later I saw him driving up and down the street like he was looking for someone or something.”
“And you're 100% positive, to use the defense's term, that the man you saw driving that truck sits in this court accused of murder. Is that correct?”
“Yes, positive. It was that dude, right there. The big guy, the accused. It was him, I swear,” she said again pointing at Parson.
“Thank you, Chastity, no further questions,” Tiffany said, as she was having a seat.
Rising from his chair quickly this time, he headed towards the witness stand with a look of great urgency. He stopped a foot in front of the witness in an attempt to strike an intimidating pose. He eyeballed her straight with a steely stare. “Now, Chasity, let me get this straight. And by the way were you straight or high, the day you allegedly saw my client, supposedly driving a red pickup truck. Or were you stoned out of your mind, as is usually the case?”
“Objection, your honor. Defense counsel is unnecessarily badgering the witness. He has no cause to speak to her in such a manner. Her personal life and habits are not on trial here,” Tiffany yelled.
Judge Beauregard in return bellowed at Raymond. “Mr. Tremble, please stick to the testimony already in evidence. The witness's character is not on trial here. I cautioned you before, watch yourself. You may continue.”
“You claim to have seen my client on the day in question, driving that red truck. How far, would you say, approximately, were you from my client? A hundred feet? Fifty feet?”
Chastity paused for a beat, like she was calculating the distance in her mind, but not having much luck. She finally said, “Uh... I guess around a hundred feet. Yeah a hundred feet.”
“A hundred feet? Is that your final answer?” Raymond said, smiling to himself.
“Yes.”
“Let me ask you this, Chastity. Do you wear prescription eyeglasses?”
“What?”
“It's a simple question. Do you wear prescription glasses? And furthermore, were you wearing them the day you say you saw my client, a hundred feet away?”
A lost look appeared on the witness's face, she glanced at the prosecutor momentarily, unsure of what her answer should be. “No. It was a bright sunny day and I was wearing my sunglasses.”
“And are your sunglasses prescription?”
“No.”
Tiffany, sitting at her desk, shook her head and looked down at her legal pad for no good reason. She knew what was coming. The defense was about to go in for the kill.
Making it worst, Raymond paused for a second to steal a glance at Tiffany. One of those “I've got you again” looks. Then turned back to the witness on the stand.
Unbeknownst to Raymond, as well as everyone in the courtroom, someone else was moving in for the kill. Out of nowhere the sound of automatic gunfire erupted outside in the foyer, sounding like corn popping in a microwave. Splinters flew from the wood door as it flew open, followed by a madman with an Uzi blazing as everyone in the courtroom dived for cover.
Holding that weapon of mass destruction was none other than Peter Smithson, looking like a rabid dog and roaring like a psychotic madman. “Where is he? Stand up you coward.” He sprayed the courtroom one more time with hot lead. “You killed my brother, now's it's your turn to die.” He pointed his weapon at the judge who was still sitting frozen on the bench. “I guess I'll just kill the judge then.”
Michael, who had dove under a table, knew he couldn't let the madman kill the judge. He had to do something. Suddenly he was back in the war, back in the “Nam. He rose like he was shot out of a rocket and charged the shooter before he even knew what was happening. Michael hurled his body knocking Pete on the floor. They wrestled for the Uzi, Michael was strong, but Pete triumphed and somehow managed to stick the gun in Michael's chest and pulled the trigger. The automatic blast ripped a hole in his chest and he fell to the floor dead in a pool of blood.
“Now where's that judge... “ His words were cut short. A team of ten police officers stormed the courtroom and blasted Peter Smithson back to the hell he had came from.
Valerie Smithson and her mom lie on the floor, terrified and waiting for the nightmare to be over. Valerie whispered, sadly, “ I guess I won't hav
e to give him his half of the insurance money I have left now.” Her mom looked at her strangely. “He said he could get away with it and we could split the money.” Mary continued to look at her strangely but finally understood what had happened. A tear rolled down her face as she held her daughter.
Raymond had crawled over next to the ADA Tiffany during the shootout. “I was just fixing to ask for a dismissal of all charges against my client too.” Tiffany looked at Raymond and shook her head.
Carson and Chuck who had been in the back of the courtroom, had rolled outside to get help when the shooting started. They sat outside on a bench catching their breath. Carson opined, “How come every case we get, all the witnesses and suspects end up dead? Can you answer me that Chuck?”
Chuck just shook his head in agreement. About then Carson's phone chirped. “Carson. You don't say. Be there in a few minutes.” He looked at his partner with tired eyes. “You ain't gonna believe this Chuck. Got another one. Dead young man, Mission Beach, took two to the chest. Time to get back to work.” He handed Chuck the keys to their unmarked unit.
“Thanks Carson.”
Prologue (Mission Beach)
It was midnight, the witching hour. The time of night when mischievous youths come out to play. A blond girl and a dark haired Latino man staggered down the beach, kicking sand everywhere, as they swayed to and fro. They'd been drinking at a nearby bar for a few hours, getting to know each other. The alcohol had done its job and they fell madly in love or in lust perhaps. They had decided to take a little walk on the beach to enjoy a beautiful moonlit night. The girl had walking on her mind, the man had a little more than that on his.
Seven Years After Page 14
