I lay out for her what I know about Susser and the murders in Augusta, and how they tie in, at least financially, with the deaths in New Hampshire. Just to make sure, I use the magic word: “assassinations.”
Cindy listens and asks only a few questions. When we’re finished, she says, “I’ll get back to you.”
Which she will.
I have to pick and choose my spots. It’s a fine line. I don’t want to overdo my attacking of prosecution witnesses, particularly when they are all saying basically the same thing. It could look like I’m being overly argumentative in an attempt to prevent the jury from learning the truth.
A good example is the string of witnesses Bader brings in to say that Barry and Denise Price’s marriage was in major trouble. Clemens had said the same thing, and there is no doubt that it is true.
Confronting each of the witnesses in an attempt to try and disprove what they are saying would be futile. That is especially true since what they are saying is not that terribly incriminating; marriages go bad all the time without murder being the result. My former wife and I wound up getting divorced, but we didn’t toast the occasion with a botulism cocktail.
So I’ve been biding my time, asking questions to show that I’m awake and alert and that our side has a point of view. But I don’t go so far as to vigorously dispute obvious truths, especially when they’re not all that damaging in the first place.
But Cynthia Walling is different. Bader’s other witnesses, like Clemens, have been Barry’s friends and associates, so they have been presenting things from what they claim was his point of view. Walling was a friend of Denise’s, so her words will have more impact.
“She was having an affair,” says Walling, “and she thought he was as well. She wanted out of the marriage.”
I knew from the discovery documents that she was going to say this, but hearing it in court seems to magnify its impact. The jurors look like they’re hanging on every word.
“Why didn’t she just file for divorce?” asks Bader.
“She was afraid that Barry would take all their money and leave her with nothing.”
“And money is important to Denise?”
“Very.”
Denise seems to be having trouble maintaining the dispassionate look I counseled that she keep. She doesn’t take her eyes off the woman she thought was her friend, and it is clear that she is angry.
But Walling doesn’t back off, and the testimony itself only gets worse. Walling paints a thoroughly unflattering picture of Denise, culminating in her recounting of a conversation in which she says Denise wished “Barry would die.”
I discussed Walling’s upcoming testimony with Denise a while back. She denied that she was having an affair or saying that she wanted out of the marriage or that she hoped something bad would happen to Barry. Her explanation for why Walling would say these kinds of things was jealousy and a belief that Walling had always had a “thing” for Barry.
I can’t be sure that Denise was telling me the truth. In fact I wouldn’t be surprised if she was not. She might well have been having an affair, but that is a long way from murder. In any event, I have to act on the assumption that Denise is being straight with me. And if that is the case, then Walling is lying.
“Ms. Walling, you and Denise were close friends?”
“Very.”
“You shared things, had a very open, intimate relationship?”
“Yes. We would have long conversations like that.”
“Who was she having an affair with?”
“I don’t know.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
“No,” she says. “I think she was protecting the man.”
“Telling you would be endangering him?”
“Maybe that’s what she thought.”
“Where did they meet?” I ask.
“I don’t know.”
“How often did they meet?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Did she say who she thought Barry was having an affair with?”
“No.”
“How did she know he was?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe your intimate conversations with Denise weren’t as long as you remembered,” I say. Bader objects, and Judge Hurdle admonishes me for my sarcasm.
“You say that Denise told you she wished Barry were dead.”
“Yes.”
“When was that?”
“Probably about six weeks before he died.”
“Did you view that as a threat?”
“I was worried about it.”
“You thought she might do something to hasten his death?”
“I thought something was possible, that’s all.”
“You mean you thought she might murder him?”
“I wouldn’t say I thought that. I just thought it was possible. Denise was very angry and very upset.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“Did she ever mention it again?”
“No.”
“How many conversations did you have with her after the one in which she said she wished he was dead?”
She thinks for a moment. “Maybe ten.”
“So, just so I understand, you had ten more intimate, open conversations with someone you thought might possibly commit a murder? What does somebody have to say to get you to be less open and intimate?”
“I just wasn’t ready to believe it could happen,” Walling says.
“When was the last time you spoke with Denise Price?”
“At her house after Barry’s memorial service.”
“So you thought Denise might possibly murder her husband, then soon afterward he died a violent death, and you still stood by her?” I ask, not having to try hard to sound incredulous.
“We thought it was a plane crash then. No one knew he was murdered. I read that it was a possibility in the paper the next day.”
“And then you went to the police and said, ‘I think Denise might have done it’?”
“No. I…”
“Do you have a phone? E-mail? Do you live near a mailbox? Did you have no way to turn in someone you thought was a murderer?”
Bader jumps out of his chair to object, but Hurdle sustains it before he gets a chance. Hurdle warns me about my behavior, which seems to surprise him.
He obviously never checked me out.
“Ms. Walling, you were close friends with Denise Price. What did you like about her? I mean before this all happened.”
She’s not sure how to answer this; she’s come to bury Denise, not to praise her. “Well, she’s very smart. And she was independent, she was her own person.”
I nod. “Worldly? Knew how to handle herself?”
“Yes.”
“Smart, worldly, independent … does that sound like the kind of person who would let her husband take the money and run? Or does that sound like the kind of person who would call a good lawyer and make sure she got what the law said she should get?”
Before Walling can answer, I continue. “Why would a smart person risk a life in prison to get money that she could get just by picking up the phone?”
Bader objects that it’s outside the scope of the witness’s direct testimony and knowledge, and Hurdle agrees.
Walling would not have been able to answer that question, and I’m hoping that the jury can’t either.
Judge Hurdle has given us today off, citing “calendar issues.” I’m hoping those issues will last a really long time, because every day we get closer to a verdict is another day we’re in ever-increasing trouble.
This morning I’m at the Tara Foundation, a responsibility I have completely neglected since the trial began. It’s characteristic of Willie and Sondra that they don’t make me feel guilty, pointing out that this is their job and they love it.
It must be nice to be able to say that.
I play with the dogs for about an hour and then go into the office to do some of the legal and tax wo
rk for the foundation that I’ve fallen behind on. Willie stays with the dogs, while Sondra is in the office with me, fielding phone calls from potential adopters.
I’m there for only about five minutes when the door opens and two men come in. Based on their look and the way they are dressed, there is approximately a hundred and fifty percent chance that they are federal agents. Of course, that could be a conservative estimate.
“I’m Special Agent Muñoz,” one of them says, as he shows me his ID. “This is Special Agent Shales.”
Something about his tone annoys me, but then again, I get annoyed really easily. “Gee,” I say, “I think all you agents are pretty special.”
“Your wiseass reputation is apparently well deserved,” Muñoz says, which means he’s spoken to Cindy Spodek.
I look past them to the door, where Willie is coming toward us. He’s moving quickly and quietly, which leads me to believe he might think these guys are here to do me harm.
“Willie!” I yell. “There are two FBI agents I’d like you to meet. Guys, this is my partner, Willie Miller, and this is his wife, Sondra. Willie, these are two very special agents.”
Willie stops short, lending credibility to my fear that he was coming in to protect me. Willie can do a lot of damage in a very short amount of time.
“Can we speak somewhere alone?” Muñoz asks.
“I trust these people with my life, Senator. If I ask them to leave, it would be an insult.” I’m doing Michael Corleone from The Godfather, but this irritating attitude I’m exhibiting is not an effort to be obnoxious, even though I’m succeeding at it.
I’ve done a lot of business with the FBI, and it’s always a power struggle. I’m going to want information from them, and they’re certainly going to want some from me, so I need to show them I’m not in the least bit intimidated.
Sondra, who has seen me be obnoxious on all kinds of occasions, says, “Come on, Willie. Let’s let them talk.”
Willie looks at me, and I give him a short nod confirming that it’s okay. He and Sondra leave, and Muñoz says, “Tell us about Augusta.”
“Tell me about Concord, New Hampshire.”
“Exactly what kind of game are you playing, Carpenter? You’re a smart guy; you know we can make things difficult for you.”
“If you spoke to Cindy Spodek about me, then you know what I’m about to say, but I’ll say it anyway. I’m defending my client. That is my first and last responsibility. If in the process of doing that I can help the cause of truth and justice, I’m happy to do it. But if you’d rather try and make things difficult for me, take your best shot. But first get the hell out of here.”
This seems to have its desired effect, and the horse trading begins. I agree to tell them what I know about Susser and Augusta, and they agree to do the same about Concord. Each of us knows that the other will be withholding something, but at least it’s a start.
Ever cooperative, I agree to go first, and I describe how we connected Barry to Susser through his phone records, supplemented by the knowledge that Barry was flying to Augusta when he died. I tell them how my supposedly private meeting with Susser expanded and how they told us about Carter and the assassination for hire, without their revealing who the target was.
“Why would they tell you all that?” Agent Shales asks, the first time he has spoken since they got here.
“I brought along a friend who is the type people just seem to open up to.”
“So how did you connect all this to what happened in Concord?”
“Concord? Doesn’t ring a bell.”
They understand that it’s their turn, and Muñoz does the talking. He tells me about an undercover cop named Drew Keller, who got killed investigating what he believed might be an assassination plot. The guys he was dealing with also got killed, and since then they have been unsuccessful in identifying either the killer or the planned assassination target.
With that out of the way, the real negotiation can begin. “Okay, I’ll tell you what the connection between the two is. I won’t tell you how I made that connection, nor is it important.”
“Good,” Muñoz says, acting as if the deal has been sealed. He knows better, but he’s playing the game.
“That’s the quid,” I say. “Here comes the pro quo. There is no doubt in my mind that Barry Price was not murdered by his wife over an affair or alimony. His murder has to be tied up in whatever is behind all these other killings.”
Muñoz nods. “Seems like a fair bet.”
“But nothing that we’ve talked about is admissible at trial, at least not at this point. So as you learn things, particularly things that are relevant to my client’s case, I expect to be informed of them.”
Muñoz nods. “As best I can.”
I know what he means. There are things he might not be able to reveal; some could even be classified.
“And if there are things you learn, significant information that could get my client off, you’ll testify at trial. If there are other ways for me to get the information in, I’ll do so. But if not, you take the stand.”
Muñoz thinks about it for a moment; this is a big ask. Finally he nods. “You have my word.”
I don’t know him, so I have no idea whether he is telling the truth. I’ll ask Cindy whether I can rely on him, but for now, I have no choice.
“There’s a company named Imachu. It’s a Turkish company that does banking in Belize and the Caymans and who knows where else. Barry Price’s company invests a lot of their money.”
Unless these guys are great actors, their expressions tell me they’ve never heard of the company. I continue, “They wired a lot of money to Donald Susser, and they also wired it to one of the dead guys in Concord.”
“How did you trace that money?” Muñoz asks. They must have tried and run into a brick wall. Sam told me Barry’s password machine can get them places the U.S. government can’t go to. Of course Sam doesn’t have to worry about such things as international banking regulations or privacy laws or search warrants.
The bottom line is that the federal government is a step behind Hilda and Eli Mandlebaum.
“That I can’t share with you. But the information is solid.”
“Is there anyone else who has received money from that company that we should know about?”
“I’m finding that out now. If there is, I’ll let you know.”
We talk a little more, but it’s only so each side can see if there’s any more advantage to be gained. Before they leave, Muñoz reminds me to give him any additional names that have received wired money from the same account as Susser and the guy in Concord. I renew my promise that I will.
“See you around,” Muñoz says as they leave.
I give him my sweetest smile. “That’ll give me something to look forward to.”
As soon as they leave, I call Sam and ask if he’s found other recipients of the money yet.
“There’s a guy in Ohio I told you about; we’re still in the process of checking him out. There are a couple others also. We’re close, Andy, but it’s slow going.”
“E-mail me the information as you get it. I need to turn it over to the FBI.”
“The FBI’s in this now?”
“Yes.”
“On our side?”
“Of course. Don’t we represent truth, justice, and the American way?”
Christopher Schroeder is an expert on poisons. Actually, he looks like he’s been sucking some down for a while. He’s at least six two but can’t weigh more than a hundred and fifty pounds, and he isn’t just pale, he is entirely without skin color.
Schroeder is a sixty-four-year-old professor of chemistry at Columbia University, but at this stage of his career, he spends more time testifying than he does professing.
He learned a number of years ago that there is more money to be made showing off knowledge in front of a jury than in front of undergraduates. Other than the financial remuneration, there’s not much difference for him: both juror
s and students have to fight to stay awake when he talks.
Bader no doubt recognizes that Schroeder is dull as dirt, so he tries to move the testimony along at a rapid pace. He quickly has Schroeder relate his credentials, which are impressive and certainly establish him as an expert in the field.
The subject of today’s class is botulinum poisoning, and Schroeder quite literally wrote the book on it. He’s written a textbook on poisonous substances, which I glanced at last night. It’s not exactly a laugh riot, but it suits Schroeder’s personality perfectly.
Schroeder says that the botulinum toxin is relatively easy to acquire, and that all one has to do is spend minutes online to learn how.
Bader can’t be thrilled with that comment, since part of the rationale for his case is Denise’s pharmaceutical background. “So someone with Denise Price’s experience could do so relatively easily?” he asks.
“No question about it.”
They then move on to the delayed reaction of the poison, which is especially crucial. No one contends that a killer was on the plane with Barry, so when and how it was administered is something Bader needs to deal with.
Schroeder says that it takes anywhere from six to twenty-four hours for symptoms to appear, but once they do, incapacitation is rapid. The timing of the symptoms, according to Schroeder, can be adjusted by someone knowledgeable, based on the amount of the poison and the way it is administered. This, Bader has him point out, is where Denise’s expertise would be especially valuable.
“The impact is mostly muscular,” Schroeder says. “Starts with the facial muscles; the eyelids will droop, and the subject will have difficulty swallowing and chewing. Then it spreads downward, at a pace depending on the severity. It will reach the respiratory system, making breathing progressively more difficult and eventually impossible, and paralysis will set in.”
Schroeder says that Barry would likely have been mentally alert but unable to physically do anything to stop the plane’s descent. It is a nightmare situation, and the jury actually physically recoils from the horror of it.
Schroeder is a thoroughly credible witness, which happens to be the type I hate most. I should let Hike cross-examine him, since he considers himself an expert on poison. But having to watch and listen to a conversation between two people that depressing could cause mass suicide in the gallery.
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