There is a slight bit of truth in what she is saying. The records show she did call Steven repeatedly without getting an answer; I believe she made those calls knowing he wouldn’t answer, but also knowing that doing so would enhance her credibility in a situation just like this.
Her voice drops down some. “I was expecting Walter, or maybe Steven, to call me back. Instead it was the police.”
Next Tasker brings up the ring. She identifies it again, which is really not necessary after the jeweler’s testimony. But she does say that she knows Steven had it until the night he died, that she had seen it just a couple of days before. It is designed to leave no doubt in the jury’s mind that the ring was taken off his finger at the time he was murdered.
I am limited in what questions I can ask on cross-examination; I can cover only those areas that Tasker brought up on direct. That’s not a big hindrance, since I want to save a lot of it for our defense case.
“Mrs. McMaster, you said that by nine o’clock you were starting to worry about your husband being out so late.”
“Yes,” she says. “Not terribly worried at that point, but it was unusual.”
“Was he a really fast eater?”
“No.” She smiles. “Just an early starter.”
“Was Cimino’s a restaurant he patronized often?”
“Yes. Mostly for business dinners. It was near his office, and he loved their pasta.”
“Would it surprise you to know that in the two years before his death, he ate at Cimino’s a hundred and fifty-one times? That averages close to one and a half times per week.”
“That wouldn’t surprise me,” she says.
“Let’s try this one. Would it surprise you to know that in ninety-seven of those times, his reservation for dinner was at eight P.M. or later? And that the majority of those times it was for eight thirty or later?”
“I couldn’t say.”
I introduce Steven McMaster’s credit card records, which we had subpoenaed, into evidence. Laurie did a great job investigating all of this.
“These records show that your husband paid the check more than ninety percent of the times he ate at Cimino’s. The average time he left the restaurant was ten fifteen P.M. Are you surprised yet?”
“That doesn’t seem right,” she says.
“You can check the records if you want,” I say.
“My understanding was that he was eating early that night.”
I wish I had the credit card payment record for the restaurant that night, but he apparently did not pay for the dinner. The police report did confirm that he ate at Cimino’s.
“Nine minutes before you called Mr. Zimmer, you received a phone call. Do you remember who that was calling you?” We have also subpoenaed her phone records. We knew what was in them through Sam’s efforts, but to bring it up in court, we needed to have obtained the information legally.
She looks puzzled. “I don’t remember.”
I nod, as if that settles the issue. “You testified that you and Steven had a wonderful life together.”
She nods. “We did.”
“Did that wonderful life include infidelity and adultery?”
Tasker objects that it is outside the scope, but it clearly is not, and Hatchet tells him so in overruling the objection.
“We didn’t have a perfect marriage,” she says, hesitantly.
“Mrs. McMaster, that would be an acceptable answer if my question was ‘What didn’t you have?’ But that wasn’t my question, so let me restate it. Did your wonderful life with Steven include infidelity and adultery?”
A pause, and then, “Steven made some mistakes.”
“Did you make similar mistakes?”
“No,” she says, in the process committing perjury.
I tell Hatchet I am letting her off the stand, pending recall during the defense case. He so advises her and then asks Tasker to call his next witness.
“Your Honor, the prosecution rests.”
I have no doubt that Karen McMaster was behind her husband’s death, as surely as if she had broken his neck.
I don’t know who the actual neck-breaker was. It was either Yuri Ganady or Ernie Vinson, or a combination of both. If I were forced to give my best guess, which I’m not, it would be Ganady, since I think he demonstrated his ability to break a neck with that murder in the warehouse. I don’t know what that was about, but it doesn’t seem to relate to the Carrigan case. Ganady obviously operated in a dark and complex world.
It’s the Carrigan case that is my focus and I really don’t have a choice of strategies. There is no way I can prove that Carrigan is innocent, so I have to demonstrate the very real possibility that Karen McMaster is guilty.
Tasker will argue that tales of Ernie Vinson and Serbian killers like Yuri Ganady are not relevant and represent a fishing expedition. I am confident, however, that Hatchet will let it in.
I take Tara and Sebastian for a walk; it’s always a time when I can do my clearest thinking. By the time I get back I’ve decided that when it comes to the admissibility issue, I am going to raise it myself, on my terms, and not wait for Tasker to set the agenda.
But the one thing I am wrestling with, and have been all along, is the question of where Carrigan fits in. I get that Vinson stole his hat and someone planted the ring for the purpose of framing him. He may well have been chosen at random … an easy patsy because he was homeless. But once that was accomplished, why did Vinson come back? Where was he trying to take him that night?
When I get back, before I do my witness preparation, I tuck Ricky into bed. It’s a ritual I try never to miss. We talk for maybe five minutes each time and it’s invariably my favorite five minutes of the day.
This time he asks, “Will you take me fishing?”
“Sure,” I lie. I’m not the fishing type in that I don’t want to touch worms or fish. I also hate the idea of tricking fish to bite on a hook; it seems cruel and disreputable. And I would be in favor of throwing them back, but that would mean touching them. In case you weren’t aware by now, I have mental issues.
“Good. Opie’s father takes him fishing.”
So Ricky has learned about town drunks and fishing from The Andy Griffith Show reruns. “You shouldn’t be watching that show. Can’t you find something with foul language and gratuitous violence?”
“What is gratuitous violence?” he asks.
“It’s a phrase you shouldn’t tell your mother I said.”
“Okay. Hey, Dad? The kids in school say Christmas is over. But Mom says it’s still going.”
“Who do you want to be right?”
“Mom,” he says, without hesitation.
“Then it’s still going. And those kids don’t know what they’re missing.”
After Ricky and I are finished chatting, Laurie updates me on the information she has collected on Karen McMaster. I’m not calling her tomorrow, but when I do, this information will come in very handy.
I get to court early, and Carrigan seems more upbeat than usual, because we’re starting our case. “Our turn,” he says, though it’s more of a question than a statement.
“Our turn,” I say.
Before the jury is brought in, I ask Hatchet for a meeting with him and Tasker in chambers. Once we’re in there, I say, “Your Honor, I don’t believe in surprises, so I think it’s best to lay out the defense theory of the case, prior to calling our witnesses.”
“This is, I believe, a first for you, Mr. Carpenter?”
I nod. “I’m turning over a new legal leaf. So if I may … the defense will demonstrate the strong likelihood that it was Karen McMaster that arranged the murder of her husband, and that Donald Carrigan was framed by her and her associates.”
Tasker fakes trying to stifle a fake laugh. Then, “Your Honor, this is not close to being supported by the facts. Mr. Carpenter is simply trying to confuse the jury by creating a fantasy out of whole cloth.”
“I agree that it is not supported by the facts that you presented in y
our case,” I say, “but I am going to supply the true facts. Your Honor, this is not a fishing expedition. We have a suspect, just as Mr. Tasker does, and we are going to prove that our theory is correct, just as Mr. Tasker attempted to do. If I was a betting man, and I am, I would wager that at the end of this trial, if the jury were to be asked to pick between Karen McMaster and Donald Carrigan as to which is the guilty party, McMaster would win in a landslide. But at the very least, they will be neck deep in reasonable doubt.”
There is no way Hatchet can refuse us the opportunity to present our case, and he doesn’t. He rules in our favor, but adds in his ominous voice, “I’ll be watching you.”
We open the defense case with Dr. Lucia Alvarez.
She was Carrigan’s VA hospital shrink who filled me in on the PTSD issues he was dealing with. She had agreed to testify when I asked her back then, and didn’t hesitate when we called her now.
I take Dr. Alvarez through her credentials, which include an undergraduate degree at Cornell and two post-graduate degrees at Princeton. This is a woman who could be making a fortune talking to people trying to find their inner selves on Central Park West, but instead is making a fraction of that helping veterans back from the horrors of combat.
I would thank her for her service, but I’m afraid the jury would think I’m overdoing it.
“Dr. Alvarez, has Mr. Carrigan given you permission to reveal the details of his medical condition?”
“He has, yes.”
“For how long was he your patient?” I ask.
“A little less than a year … eleven months.”
“Can you describe his condition in terms that even I can understand? If I can understand it, then the jury will have no problem.” After I say this I feel like cringing at my own pandering.
“The commonly accepted term is that Mr. Carrigan is suffering from PTSD, or post-traumatic stress disorder. It is as a result of his experiences in Iraq, which could very accurately be described as the horrors of war.”
“Is there anything unique about his version of the disorder?”
“I wouldn’t say unique, in that certainly others suffer from it, but Mr. Carrigan’s symptoms include a rather severe form of claustrophobia.”
“Is he under treatment for that now, if you know?”
“Yes, I was contacted by the prison psychologist, and we consulted on it.”
“Dr. Alvarez, do you think Mr. Carrigan is capable of the crime for which he is accused?”
Tasker objects, but Hatchet overrules.
“I can’t speak to his physical capabilities, but I do not think there is a chance he robbed and murdered someone. The possibility is close to zero.”
“Thank you.”
Tasker begins by getting her to talk a bit more about PTSD. Once she does, he asks, “Do you run into many cases of it in soldiers who have spent their entire army career stationed in New Jersey?”
“I don’t know any such people,” she says.
“Is it usually prevalent in soldiers who have seen combat?”
She nods. “Certainly.”
“Where there is death and destruction? Where killing is most often the goal?”
“Yes.”
“You’re aware that Mr. Carrigan was trained in the art of killing?”
“I am aware of his training, yes,” she says. “His was no different from many thousands of his comrades.”
“Finding himself in the middle of all this violence in Iraq, did he ever kill in Iraq, as he was trained to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“But it’s possible?” he asks, pressing her.
“I don’t want to speculate on something I know nothing about.”
“Is it fair to say that his experience there changed him?”
She nods. “Of course. It changes everyone.”
“In unpredictable ways?”
“Sometimes.”
“When you last spoke with Mr. Carrigan, was he homeless?” he asks.
“No.”
“So at least in that way, his circumstances had changed?”
“Yes.”
“If combat always changes a person, can living on the street, not knowing where your next meal is coming from, can that change a person as well?”
“It’s possible.”
“Thank you, Dr. Alvarez. And thank you for your service.”
My next witness is slightly risky. I’m recalling Sean Aimonetti to the stand to make a point, but at the same time it will allow Tasker to make his own point, at least he will if he’s done his homework.
“Mr. Aimonetti, at Welcome Home do you keep a record of who comes in and out for meals or shelter?”
“We do. All clients are asked to sign in. They don’t always do so, but the sign-in books are at the door and we have a monitor there, so I think compliance is pretty good.”
“Did Mr. Carrigan sign in frequently?” I ask.
“Oh, yes. From all accounts he was respectful of the process.”
“Did I ask you to check the dates and times he logged in?”
“Yes, you did,” he says.
“And did I ask you to compare the frequency of his visits to Welcome Home for meals before and after the date of the McMaster murder?”
“You did.”
“Did you see any difference in the pattern or frequency?” I ask.
“No, I did not.”
I introduce as evidence a chart that Aimonetti prepared tracking Carrigan’s appearances, and showing what he just testified to.
“Would you find it surprising if someone came into a good amount of money, through whatever means, and then kept coming into the shelter for free meals?”
“It would be somewhat surprising, yes.” He smiles. “Our food is nourishing and tasty enough, but there are better restaurants.”
“Last question, we talked during the defense case about the lockers, and how sometimes they were left open rather than locked.”
“Yes.”
“Earlier in this trial, a man named Jaime Tomasino testified that he had spoken with Mr. Carrigan and that Mr. Carrigan confessed to him. Are you aware of that?”
“Yes.”
“Are you aware that he was exposed as a liar?”
“Yes.”
“Was he actually a client of yours? Did he in fact go to Welcome Home for meals?”
“On occasion, yes.”
“Would he have had access to that locker room, with all those open lockers?”
“Yes.”
“Could he have slipped a ring in one of them?”
“It’s possible.”
“Thank you.”
Tasker gets Aimonetti to say that he had no knowledge of Tomasino doing anything untoward in the locker room, nor did he know that Carrigan kept his locker unlocked.
When the cross is finished, Hatchet adjourns for the day, and I notice that Aimonetti hasn’t left the courtroom yet. I call out to him to wait a moment, then I say goodbye to Carrigan and walk over to him.
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
“No problem; glad to do it.”
“You said you’re an expert on alcoholism, right?”
“I’ve certainly spent a lot of time trying to help people recover from it.”
“Does it affect someone physically, their reactions, reflexes, et cetera?”
“Certainly.”
“So if someone is a very serious alcoholic, drunk every day, would they be affected physically in those days even when they were temporarily sober?”
“They would still be affected, at least to a degree, yes. Hands might shake, less than perfect balance … that kind of thing. If you tell me why you’re asking, maybe I can be more specific.”
I decide to tell him, leaving out the “Ricky–Otis Campbell–Mayberry” connection. “Okay. The guy they are looking for in the sniper shooting case, Chuck Simmons, I am told he was a serious alcoholic. If that were true, could he have made those shots, with the apparent incredible a
ccuracy they demanded?” I also don’t mention having gotten the information from Carrigan.
Aimonetti thinks for a while. “Interesting. I have my doubts.”
“Was he a client of yours?”
“Not that I recall, but I’ll have it checked.” Then, “Very interesting.”
About an hour later, Aimonetti reaches me on my cell phone. “I looked into it,” he says. “We have no record of Simmons ever coming here.”
“The defense calls Sergeant Nathan Robbins.”
Robbins was the detective assigned to the incident the night that Ernie Vinson was bitten by Zoey. His investigation was casual and incomplete, possibly because Carrigan was not considered important, and there were no serious injuries suffered.
I establish that Robbins indeed handled the case that night and take him through what he knows of it. “Did you ever come up with a suspect?” I ask.
“Nothing that we felt confident of, no.”
“Did the attacker leave any trace of himself behind?”
Robbins nods. “He was bitten by the dog and part of his sleeve was torn off. There was blood on it.”
“Did you test it for DNA?”
“No.”
“What did you do as a result of your investigation that night?”
“We placed the dog in the custody of animal control. He had bitten someone, so the protocol is to keep him under a watch in case he showed symptoms for rabies,” he says.
“So just to be clear, Sergeant Robbins, Mr. Carrigan was attacked, and the net result of your investigation was that you took his dog from him?”
“I followed the correct procedure.”
“Was your lack of follow-up due to the fact that the victim was homeless and thus somehow less important?”
“Absolutely not, and I resent that.”
I establish that there was a video of the entire incident, and play it in the courtroom. “Did you make any effort to trace the SUV, or find the assailant’s accomplice?”
“We had nothing to go on.”
“You mean other than the assailant’s blood, which would have contained his DNA? Is that a gun in the assailant’s hand?”
“Very hard to tell.”
I then show a blown-up version of the visual, which makes it clear. “What about now, Sergeant Robbins? Still very hard to tell?”
Deck the Hounds: An Andy Carpenter Mystery Page 18
