Solid witnesses, but nothing game changing. Nothing that could swing a jury.
When the fourth witness, Medical Examiner Doctor David Wright, walked to the stand, Law continued her process of asking very factual questions. She was attempting to build a mountain of small facts, a massive pile of little truths until it became beyond possible that something so big could be anything other than a certainty.
She questioned the doctor, and Hunter objected at every possible opportunity, disrupting the rhythm of the prosecution. When Law was done with her examination of the autopsy report, she turned the witness over to the defense, winking at Hunter, a small grin on her face; the type of grin that comes from knowing that you were slowly knocking your opponent into submission.
“Dr. Wright,” Hunter began, seated behind his desk, laptop open on the desk in front of him. “In your report, you state the deceased died between 3 a.m. and 7 a.m. The cleaner found her at 9 a.m., and we have CCTV footage of Robert entering the gym at 5:30 a.m. like he did every second weekday morning for the past three months. It took Mr. Sulzberger between 25 and 30 minutes to travel to the gym, meaning that he left the house at around 5 a.m. Does that leave any possibility that the death occurred when Mr. Sulzberger was not home?”
“A simple deduction would tell you that there’s a timeframe during the time of death estimate when Mr. Sulzberger wasn’t home.”
“It certainly does. According to your report, there’s the possibility that the death occurred when Mr. Sulzberger was not home. How long after the strike to her face do you believe that Jane Doe died?”
“Within a very short timeframe after the strike. If not ten minutes, then 20 minutes at the most. The impact caused the bone in her nose to be pushed backward, and this severed the ophthalmic artery, causing a massive internal hemorrhage, which caused her fatal brain injuries. The body’s response in a situation such as this is to shut down and cease breathing.”
“That means, according to your report, there’s a two-hour window, under darkness between 5 a.m. and 7 a.m., where Robert Sulzberger was not home, where the deceased could’ve been struck and died. Is this correct?”
“I’m here to testify on the medical report that I’ve finalized. I’m not here to comment on whether Mr. Sulzberger was home at the time. What I’ll tell you is that the death occurred approximately between 3 a.m. and 7 a.m.”
“Thank you, Dr. Wright.” Hunter turned to a file on his desk, opened it and removed a piece of paper. “Did you conduct a toxicology report on the deceased?”
“I did.”
“And what was found in that toxicology report?”
“The deceased’s blood alcohol reading was 0.15, which is associated with being very drunk and having significant effects on coordination and comprehension, especially for a petite, young woman like our Jane Doe. We found an acceptable level of codeine, meaning that it was not higher than a prescribed dosage, but it was also found that the deceased had very high levels of diazepam, which is more commonly sold as Valium. These levels could be deemed fatal.”
“How does alcohol interact with diazepam?”
“Not well. The body processes alcohol and diazepam in similar ways, meaning the effect of alcohol may be increased. Common side effects of this interaction may be extreme drowsiness, and the victim’s breathing may have slowed significantly.”
“And what are the significant signs of a diazepam overdose?”
“When a person consumes too much of the substance, the body may react with certain signs. Each person is different, but the signature indicators of a diazepam overdose include a deep sleep and slowed breathing rate. Other signs may include fatigue, confusion, lack of awareness, and uncoordinated movements. Jane Doe may not have been responsive at all before her death.”
“Is it possible that even without the impact of the strike, that Jane Doe may have died from an overdose of diazepam, due to the interaction with alcohol?”
“With the levels of drugs that we found in her blood, yes, that’s possible, but death by overdose is very distinctive, and that’s not what happened to this young lady. It’s clear in the autopsy that she died because of a strike to the face.”
“But do you believe, in your medical opinion, that she would’ve died if she wasn’t struck in the face?”
“I believe that without medical assistance she would’ve died within a few hours.”
“Do you believe that she took the drugs herself?”
“I don’t know how to answer that question.”
“Let me rephrase it for you.” Hunter paused and looked at the report in front of him. In truth, he didn’t need more time, but he was coaxing the jury to pay attention. Silence can be a better weapon than any amount of words. When the jury’s eyes were locked onto him, Hunter continued, “Was there any evidence that she was forced to take the drugs? Perhaps a mark on her throat, or around her neck?”
“Not that I found in the examination.” The medical examiner shook his head. “There’s no evidence that she was forced to consume the drugs that night. We found track marks on her arms, indicating that she had previously injected drugs; however, these marks were healed, and from an earlier time.”
“With those levels of drugs in her system, would she have been aware of her surroundings?”
“Drugs affect everyone differently, but with the levels that we found in her blood, I don’t believe so, no.”
“Do you think she would have been able to scream for help?”
“It’s my professional opinion that she wouldn’t have been coherent, and depending on what stage she was at during the overdose, she may not have been able to talk at all. Certainly, before her death, she wouldn’t have been able to communicate clearly.”
“Do you believe that, with the levels of drugs and alcohol in her system, she may have fallen and hit her head, causing her death?”
“What we know is that she was tied to the chair at some point shortly before her death, and her wrists and ankles show signs of struggle against a rope. If she were tied to the chair after her death, then there would be no signs of a struggle.”
“Could she have been tied up, struggled against the ropes, untied herself, fallen and hit her head, then been tied up again?”
The medical examiner’s head tilted to the side before he shrugged. “I suppose that’s possible, given the evidence that’s available. Unlikely, but yes, I suppose it is possible. However, I would say, given the nature of the impact on the nose, that the strike is most likely to have come from a left-handed punch, or a right-handed backhand, rather than a fall.”
Hunter flicked over his paper file on the desk. “That wasn’t stated in your report.”
“The report focuses on the facts. The fact is that the strike that caused the death of Jane Doe was from the direction of the left of the attacker. That’s stated in the report. However, I’m here for my professional opinion, and in my professional opinion, I would state that the strike was from the fist of a left-handed person or from a right-handed backhand.”
Hunter looked across to the table next to him, the pen resting in Michelle Law’s left hand. He stared at her, his mouth hanging open.
“Defense?” Judge Harrison asked when the questioning didn’t continue.
“No further questions,” Hunter whispered, thoughts racing through his head.
After the witness was excused, Judge Harrison called a recess for the day’s proceedings, and the large crowd murmured their way out of the courtroom.
“Tex?” It was Sulzberger, next to Hunter, desperate to know what was happening. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Hunter began to close the files on the table. “Everything is just falling into place.”
Chapter 34
Although he hadn’t had a puff of a cigarette for many years, the craving still hit him sometimes. That moment of relief, that rush of nicotine, that momentary distraction from the day’s events to ease him into relaxation like a two-hour massage in one si
ngle hit.
As he waited in the courthouse foyer, Hunter wondered if someone around him had a cigarette. A strong Cuban cigar would be even better. Followed by a glass of whiskey. And then perhaps the bottle.
A person pushed past him in the foyer of the courthouse, their own worries to concern them, and the smell of cigarette smoke lingered. Suddenly, he didn’t want a puff anymore. He couldn’t stand the dirty smell of secondhand smoke.
He moved to the side of the busy foyer, its low roof creating an echo of rushing shoes. He leaned against the concrete wall, gazing out the small window to the front steps. He’d spent much of his life in the dimly lit building, and he often wondered if he would miss the intensity of the place when he retired. But after much thought, he always came to the same conclusion—he could never retire. He would work until his last days, pushing a pen with his frail hands. He couldn’t imagine a life without this building, without this passion.
Sulzberger came up next to him, rubbing his hands together after leaving the bathroom. He smelled like a mixture of vomit, sweat, and vodka.
“I still don’t understand,” Sulzberger said as he stood next to his lawyer. “Why can’t you arrest her? It’s clear now that she’s the killer.”
“There’s no evidence, Robert. All we have is your word, and that looks like a defendant looking to save his own skin. Your statement wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s written on.”
Sulzberger continued to rub his hands. “Why would she do this to me? Who would do this to anyone?”
“I can’t answer that question for you.”
Hunter looked over his shoulder, through the window, at the gathering media crowd, eager behind the police barrier, waiting for them to walk out of the building and down the stairs.
“Are they waiting for us?” Sulzberger asked.
“They’re waiting for X. I’ve already stated that we won’t be making any statements about this case, but Michelle is loving the limelight. She’s been volunteering to give interviews, and now I can see why. This is all a game to her. Your life, your history; it’s a game.”
Sulzberger’s eyebrows squinted like a confused child. “I didn’t know anything about her. Not her job, not where she lived, not even her name. I’m sorry, Tex. If I knew, then I would’ve told you. I would’ve said something earlier.”
“She declared before Judge Harrison that she’d never met you. Do you have any evidence, anything at all, that could link her to you? A text message, or a photo together? If we can do that, we can get her off this case on a conflict of interest, possibly stall for more time, and give us the chance to build a case against her for the murder. At the very least, the state would be willing to strike a better deal.”
“I’ve got nothing.” Sulzberger shook his head. “As I said, we had no contact outside of our designated meeting spaces. Not even our names were exchanged. No photos, nothing.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I find it hard to believe myself.” He ran his fingers through his hair, his brow wrinkled with worry. “I can’t believe I’m here because of my own stupidity.”
Out the window, Hunter noticed the media crowd moving together like a sea of snakes, and he turned in the other direction.
Out of the lift, still inside the building, stepped the junior prosecutor, perfectly dressed in a pinstripe suit, pocket square neatly arranged, followed by another equally dressed member of his team.
Walking tall behind them, shoulders back, full of beaming confidence, was Michelle Law. She pulled a loose strand of hair back, smiled, and walked out the elevator door towards Hunter and Sulzberger.
Looking up at them, she grinned. “What a rush this case is.”
Sulzberger stared at her, unable to say anything.
“Is that what it’s all about for you, Michelle? The rush?” Hunter stepped closer, closing in on her personal space.
“It’s strange what gets people excited. Some of us get a rush by having affairs in parking lots, others by prosecuting criminals, and others by killing prostitutes.”
“And you’ve done all three.” Hunter was firm.
“I’m saddened to think that you would assume I would sink that low.” She turned to Sulzberger. “That’s for the lowest scum of society. The ones that can’t find their rush elsewhere. The cheap ones. But the world is lucky that people like me are determined to get revenge for the innocent.”
She lingered for a moment, then turned and walked away, Sulzberger still staring at her, his face expressionless.
“She set me up,” he finally stated as he watched through the window as the media began mobbing her. “I have no doubt about that.”
“Then, Robert…” Hunter began to move. “We have ourselves a chance.”
Chapter 35
Hunter pushed through the yelling media pack waiting outside the doors of the courthouse, ushering Sulzberger behind him, the yells close enough to feel the spray of spit on their faces. There was desperation in the media push; desperation to get a sound bite from Sulzberger, something to play on the evening news.
And if they could get that sound bite, they would play it over and over and over again on the twenty-four-hour news channels.
The uniformed police tried to hold the reporters back, arms spread wide, but one of the young journalists pushed too hard, too eager, and his microphone hit Hunter in the face. Rookie error.
Hunter stopped.
The crowd stopped pushing. They saw the look in his eyes. Everyone took a step back, their voices hushed by his intense stare.
“Sorry, sir.” The young reporter sounded like he was begging for his life.
Hunter didn’t respond. Instead, he guided Sulzberger to the curb, and the remaining reporters parted ways, allowing safe passage to the waiting SUV. The noise of the pack became muted, all of them aware that they had overstepped the mark.
Hunter opened the back door to the waiting black Chevy Suburban, allowing Sulzberger to enter first before he turned back to the crowd.
As he looked over the crowd, he spotted his nephew on the steps of the courthouse. Max looked nervous.
Once he entered the rumbling car, Hunter got out his phone and called Max. “Max. Walk to your left. We’ll circle the block and then pick you up.”
After the car with tinted windows had done a lap around the city block, most of the media pack had already dissipated, the remaining ones conducting a live cross to their networks, with Michelle Law waiting to conduct interviews with numerous crews.
“Max. Are you okay?” Hunter asked, opening the door for his nephew to climb inside.
Sulzberger moved across the back seat, leaving enough room for the skinny eighteen-year-old to sit.
“I’m good, Uncle T. It’s all these cops; they make me nervous.” His eyes scanned the man next to him. “I’ve been following you.”
“Pardon?” Sulzberger turned his head to stare at Hunter. “He’s been following me?”
“At my request,” Hunter stated. “I needed someone who would blend into the background, someone who wouldn’t be noticed. I had a suspicion that someone would want to keep tabs on you, and I wanted to know who was interested. He—”
“I’ve got something,” Max said, his actions jolting.
“Go on.”
Max looked at the driver, then out the window, then back at Sulzberger. Being trapped behind the tinted windows made him uneasy. The car was slowly edging forward, muffled in the workday traffic. The new car smell was still strong inside, the leather seats still squeaky new. It was not the type of place that Max had been used to in the past year.
“Someone is following Robert,” Max continued.
“Who?”
“A woman.”
Hunter sighed and leaned back in the seat, his shoulders dropping from their height of tension. It was a revelation he wished had come a day earlier. “I know, Max. There she is over there, talking to the media.”
Hunter pressed the button to wind down the window, a
nd he pointed to the television cameras as Law began to answer questions, the mobile spotlight beaming on her.
“Where is she?”
“The woman there.” Hunter pointed to the media again. “The woman talking to the reporters with the dark hair.”
“Where?”
“The woman with the spotlight on her, where the television camera is pointing.”
Max squinted. Michelle Law was only thirty yards away. He blinked and stared intently.
“Uncle T, that’s not her.”
“Take another look, Max.” Hunter shook his head.
Max stared again, almost leaning out the window.
“Uncle T, that’s not the woman that has been following Robert everywhere.”
“Are you sure, Max?” Hunter leaned forward again.
“Absolutely. There was a different woman following him.” Max scratched his chest. “And the woman looked like a killer.”
Chapter 36
Despite the long, tiring day that she’d had, this was the moment she had been looking forward to.
Listening to all those people tell their stories, trying to frame Sulzberger for what she did, she occasionally smiled—not a smile wide enough to let anyone know what she was thinking though. She tried to hide those moments under her long hair.
But even with the court case, even with the charges leveled against Sulzberger, she wasn’t sure that it was enough to take revenge.
She wasn’t sure whether it was enough to stop him. That lawyer, the son of a serial killer, was clever. She knew that. He might even get him off the charges. Set him free.
She had to finish the job. Get her revenge.
When she accidentally killed the prostitute, although it wasn’t planned, she thought that it was quite serendipitous. Prison could’ve been the right answer for Sulzberger. She thought that it would’ve been enough.
But now that he was facing a future behind bars, she knew it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t a sense of satisfaction for her. There wasn’t a sense of achievement.
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