Invasion of Privacy

by Perri O'shaughnessy

  "I sure did. I heard gunshots."

  "What time was this?"

  "About eleven-thirty. I had dozed off in my living room chair, and I heard the shots."

  "How many shots did you hear?"

  "Two."

  "How far apart were the shots?"

  "Mmm. Only about a minute apart. I jumped out of my chair, man, I’m telling you, flew to the window and pulled up the blinds. They came from Terry’s house. I’m leaning out, eyes wide open, you know, looking toward the gate. It was pushed aside, like she was expecting a visitor. And I saw the man run like hell through there, jump in his car and make tracks."

  "Did you on the following day identify that running man in a lineup?"

  "I did. And I can identify him again today."

  "You see that man present here in the courtroom?"

  "Of course I do," Kettrick said. "I wouldn’t be here otherwise. It was the defendant over there."

  "Pointing to Kurt Scott, the defendant," Collier said. "Was Mr. Scott carrying a gun?"

  "No, he was bare-handed. But he was holding his arm like he had been hurt."

  "How soon after you heard the shots did you see Mr. Scott?"

  "Right away. Very soon. I went in the bedroom and got my own rifle and I stood there at the window and tried to figure out what to do. Ralph had a long, hard day, and he sleeps with a pillow over his head because I snore, so he was still sound asleep. And Terry was capable of firing off a warning shot if she wanted somebody to leave. And she had kept telling me, mind your own business, talking about her privacy and leave her the heck alone type stuff ..." Kettrick’s voice trailed off, and he said, "What was the question again?"

  "Let me ask a new one," Collier said. "What did you do after you heard the shots?"

  "I thought about calling the cops. I really did," Kettrick said.

  "But you didn’t?"

  "I didn’t. I didn’t want to be involved in Terry’s stuff. I thought she had scared this guy off, her own way. Good fences make good neighbors, you know? Or vice versa, I forget. So I got my gun and sat there by the window a long time, but nothing else happened. And I guess I got sleepy. Next thing I knew, it was seven-thirty and the cops were pounding on my door."

  "At that time the body had already been discovered?"

  "Yeah. They wanted to know why I didn’t call when I heard the shots. How was I to know, man?" Kettrick’s eyes blinked angrily.

  "Did you then proceed to the South Lake Tahoe Police Department and provide a statement and identify the defendant in the lineup?"

  "Exactly. I proceeded. I provided. I identified."

  "Thank you. Nothing further."

  Milne took a short break. Nina drank down her caffeine dose, thinking hard. Kettrick was a key to the case. Two shots, and he had gone to get his gun, but he hadn’t gone over to Terry’s or called the police.

  Odd behavior, even for an old hippie. A brave man would have investigated himself. A scared man would have called the cops. Why had Kettrick done nothing?

  Besides, she knew he was lying or mistaken. Kurt had come running out the front, and then Matt and Terry had struggled, and the second shot had killed her. Matt had jumped the fence after leaving through the back door, the one Kettrick couldn’t see.

  She couldn’t think of any reason he’d lie, so he must be mistaken. There had not been two shots, followed by Kurt running out the door.

  How could she fix this?

  She lowered her head, praying to something she wasn’t sure existed for a sharp, concentrated mind, shamelessly scrabbling for anything that might give her an edge.

  38

  "MR. KETTRICK," NINA SAID WHEN COURT RESUMED.

  "Ma’am," Kettrick said, inclining his head gravely.

  "Let’s go over that sequence again, from the time you heard the first shot."

  "Okay."

  "You were dozing, and you heard a shot."

  "Right."

  "Where were you sitting?"

  "My recliner, right by the TV."

  "The window was open?"

  "No, it was freezing out. I had a fire going in the stove, the windows shut. Cold day, parka weather."

  "Then how could you hear the shot?"

  "It was a blast that shook the windows. I woke up and tore over there to the window."

  "Was the TV on?"

  "Sure. I sleep through everything these days."

  "Had you had anything alcoholic to drink?"

  "A few beers, nothing really."

  "How many beers?"

  Kettrick thought a minute. "Oh, I guess a six-pack," he said. "Bottles. Bought it at the Seven-’leven. Henry Weinhard’s Pale Ale. Guess I was on the last bottle when I fell asleep."

  "Six bottles of beer," Nina said. "A closed window. A fire going. The TV on. You were asleep. But the shot was so loud, you jumped right up?"

  "That’s how loud it was, ma’am. What are you getting at?"

  "Oh, nothing," Nina said. "I was just wondering how Ralph slept through it."

  "I told you, he sleeps with a pillow over his head. I told him, he’s gonna suffocate."

  "Did you go in and check on him?"

  "It wasn’t him I was worried about."

  "Did you go in and check on him?"

  "No! Didn’t need to!"

  "When did he get home that night?" Nina said.

  "Before ten," Kettrick said.

  "Were you already dozing at that point?"

  "Well, I—"

  "Did you see him come in? Did you actually see him, Mr. Kettrick?"

  Kettrick’s pale face blushed. The blush started at the neck, roseate, moved swiftly up his cheeks, and enveloped his face all the way to the forehead.

  Nina had been looking for an opening. The blush told her something was up—what, she didn’t know.

  "You never saw Ralph that night, did you, Mr. Kettrick?" she said.

  "You’ve got a nerve," Kettrick said. "What do you think you’re—’’

  "Answer my question," Nina said. She was breathing hard, every muscle tense. Sandy had moved slightly away from her as if to give her space. Kurt watched her, his lips slightly open.

  The jury watched Kettrick. They watched the blush he couldn’t control. On his white skin, it was like a pink lightbulb going off underneath. The blush worked like a polygraph.

  "Answer the question," Milne said. His voice had the masculine gravity she would never muster. He was the voice of the village chief over a hundred centuries, telling the villager that to lie was death.

  "Sometimes he comes in late. He’s a grown man," Kettrick said. He looked out into the audience for Ralph Kettrick, who sat in the corner in the back.

  "And you were asleep when he came in that night?"

  "Dozing."

  "Did you see him?"

  "Objection. No foundation. Third-party culpability foundation problem," Collier said.

  "I’ll allow it," Milne said, sounding just like Judge Ito.

  "Not when he came in," Kettrick said. "Next morning when the cops came, he was there in his bed."

  "How did you know he was there when you heard the shots?"

  "He usually is home—"

  "He might not have been there, isn’t that right? You heard a loud shot. Did you call Ralphie? Did you, Mr. Kettrick?"

  "It was the pillow, must of been. He just didn’t hear a thing."

  "He wasn’t there, was he?"

  "I wouldn’t know."

  "You don’t know if he was there or not."

  "I wouldn’t know."

  "Thank you for telling the truth, Mr. Kettrick."

  "Your Honor ..." Collier said.

  "Move along, counselor," Milne said.

  "After the first shot, you jumped up from your chair?"

  "Yeah. Went to the window."

  "You knew the direction the shot came from?"

  "Yeah. Knew it was Terry’s house." Kettrick’s mind was still back on the questions about Ralph. He was trying to remember what he h
ad just said.

  "You went to the window, and listened, and then you went to get your own gun?"

  "Uh, yeah." His face had reddened again, this time with anger as he decided Nina had tricked him.

  "After the first shot?"

  "Wait, you’re confusing me."

  "You heard the shot, you ran to the window and opened it, you listened, you went for your gun?"

  "There were two shots."

  "You went for your gun, and you saw a man running."

  "Yeah. Okay. That sounds right."

  "Is it right?"

  "Yeah, I had him in my sights—"

  "And then? And then? What happened?"

  "I heard another shot," Jerry Kettrick said. "Yeah. I was at the window, watching."

  "The second shot?"

  "Yeah! He ran. He got in his car and drove away. Another shot came."

  "Where was he when you heard the second shot?"

  "Driving off. But how could that be?"

  "That’s right. Not shooting at Terry London. He was running," Nina said. "Right, Mr. Kettrick?"

  "You’re getting me all confused," Kettrick said, then said again, "How could that be?"

  "No more questions," Nina said.

  "You trying to hurt my Ralphie?"

  "No more questions!"

  And Collier brought Jerry Kettrick back into his own scenario, in which two shots were fired before Jerry went for his gun, in which Ralphie was safely home in bed, but Nina could tell it didn’t wash with Mrs. Bourgogne. She had seen dust and trash all over the testimony, and it just wouldn’t do.

  Sandy finished her notes, leaned over, and said, "That guy dropped too much acid for his own good. He’s got fried eggs for brains."

  Milne called a short recess and Barbet Cain and the rest of the reporters crowded around her.

  "Dr. Clauson, when were you called to the scene at Coyote Road?" Collier asked his next witness.

  "Eight thirty-five A.M." Dr. Clauson was just as Nina remembered him: a slight, pale, almost bloodless man with a receding hairline, thick glasses, and a package of cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket, the same age as and the complete antithesis of Jerry Kettrick. Nina also remembered he was an excellent witness for the prosecution. "I was picked up in a patrol car from my home and met my assistant with the equipment at the crime scene. Fontaine was taking samples from the wall."

  Charts and pictures appeared, and Clauson went through the preliminaries, establishing the position of Terry’s body, the standing blood under it, and the direction of flow from the neck wound in front and in back. "After examining the body on scene we transported it by ambulance to the mortuary on Emerald Bay Road. That was much later, in the afternoon, after photographs had been taken and all the evidence had been collected. I performed a complete autopsy the next day."

  "Was an inquest held?"

  "No. No inquests for years up here. I ruled out suicide. It’s very difficult to shoot yourself in the neck with a rifle. Length of the barrel, trigger placement. With a rifle, you have to use a string or stick of some kind to pull the trigger usually, though I’ve heard of a yoga teacher who used his toes, and you usually have a contact wound. She couldn’t have shot herself, from what we can tell, though it was close. Besides, she had bruises on her arms, consistent with a struggle."

  "How do you determine the distance from which the rifle was shot?"

  "Diameter of entry wound, powder residues around the wound, what we call the ’tattoo marks’ at the point of entrance."

  "What was your finding regarding cause of death?"

  "Single rifle bullet through the neck. Nicked the carotid artery, smashed the hyoid bone, injured the vocal cords, and exited through the rear of the neck. Just missed the spinal cord. Took a while. She stayed conscious until she finally suffocated. Some blood in the windpipe. She managed to get a pillow under her head, soaked through by the time we got there. Plus managed to operate the video camera."

  Collier waited to let the jury absorb that unpleasant information.

  "Odd thing," Clauson said. "Phone was two feet away. Easy to pull on the cord, get it down, call 911. Serious wound, but I think she would have lived. But she didn’t call."

  Nina thought, one more twist from Terry. She could have lived. She remembered Matt’s description of Terry after Kurt escaped. Matt came out of the storage closet and she was holding the gun loosely, staring into space. She had lain down on a pillow, started the camera, but not saved herself. She hadn’t wanted to live.

  Nina was sure she had never spared one moment of those last minutes regretting what she was doing to Matt. She was still too busy hating, living in the hell she’d created long before she died.

  Collier was saying, "All right, I’d like to ask you about the time of death.’’

  "Ready," Clauson said. He took out the pack of cigarettes, playing with it like a toy, obviously dying for a smoke.

  "Were you able to establish an exact time of death based on your medical findings?"

  "Nope. Not on the medical evidence. But if you put it together with your witness who saw the defendant, you can establish it."

  "Objection! Lack of foundation, goes beyond the qualifications of the witness—"

  "The last sentence is stricken. The jury will disregard it." Milne said. Clauson gave Nina a mischievous look. He was up to his old tricks, and she would have to be sharp.

  "What conclusions if any did you reach as to the time of death based solely on your medical findings, Doctor?" Collier had hit his stride, establishing a smooth rapport with his witness, just laying it all out, damning fact by fact.

  "Well, based on the rigor mortis, blood loss compared to the wound, stomach contents, pooling of blood under body, lividity, I found the time of death to be about nine to ten hours prior to my arrival at the crime scene."

  "And what time would that be, Doctor?"

  "Time of death? Between ten-thirty and eleven-thirty the previous night."

  "Can you be any more exact than that?"

  "Not me," Clauson said. "But you can." Nina let it pass.

  "All right. You also, on June twenty-fifth, went to the scene of the discovery of other apparently human remains, is that correct?"

  Milne interjected, "I remind the jury of my previous instruction." The jury looked mystified.

  "Yes. That was a whole different ball of wax," Clauson said. Something about the way he said it made Nina shiver. He looked down at his report. "Arrived with my assistant twelve-fifteen, fifteen minutes past noon. Sheriff’s deputies had secured the scene. Remains had been shoveled into a cave originally, although some were piled nearby by the defendant, I understand. "

  "Objection!" said Nina. "No foundation. Hearsay."

  "Sustained," said Milne. "The jury must disregard the last comment."

  "Human bones, hair. Bits of rotten cloth. Metal belt buckle and remains of leather belt. Timex. Like Mr. Fontaine said."

  "From your observation, could the decedent have crawled into the cave and died?" Collier asked.

  "Oh, no. Really more of a hole in the ground, under a good-size boulder. Too small to crawl into. Would have to be a contortionist. Shoved in there after death."

  "How long had the body been there?"

  "After death, insect and animal life tend to destroy body tissue in a short time, during summer at least. There were no soft tissues remaining when this body was moved. The ligaments holding the spinal column were entirely gone. Each vertebra could be picked up without attachment to those adjoining, totally out of order. Left fibula was missing, so animals had probably gotten to the body at some point. We never found it. Taken by a coyote after the remains were moved to the cave is my guess. We used trained dogs to sniff around for it, but no luck. Make a long story short, body had been there some years."

  "And did you subsequently perform an autopsy on the remains?"

  "Yep, same mortuary. No rush, but we don’t get that many murders. I worked on it right away."

  "W
ere you able to determine cause of death?"

  "Well, can’t be positive. You can’t check for most poisons, drugs, and so on at that late date. But pelvis had been shattered by two rifle bullets. They were still embedded in there, right upper quadrant. We passed them on to Mr. Fontaine. That type of injury is going to cause death quickly if not attended to right away. So my opinion as stated here is bullet wounds. Mr. Fontaine identified the rifle that shot it, as you know. Same one killed Terry London."

  Before Nina could get up, Milne said, "Doc Clauson, you know better. No more of that, please. The jury will disregard the last two sentences of the witness."

  "Sorry, Judge, have a hard time resisting sometimes."

  "Dr. Clauson," Collier said. "Let’s get back to your work—"

  "Your Honor, could the witness be instructed to use complete sentences?" Nina said.

  "Always use complete sentences," Clauson interrupted.

  "I regret to state, counsel, that Doc Clauson can’t talk any other way. He’s been testifying for twenty years in my court and we’ll just have to live with it," said Milne. The audience snickered.

  "Based on your findings, could you establish a time of death?"

  "We studied the bones to determine how long she’d been dead. Still can’t say with much certainty. Ten years. Possibly more. That’s just an educated guess."

  "Did you subsequently make an identification of the remains?" Collier said.

  "Analyzed the bones and teeth for the age of decedent. Check of missing persons reports turned up old one from South Lake Tahoe, which would be about fifteen miles from location of remains near Angora Ridge. Dental records and fingerprints confirmed remains were those of Tamara Sweet. Found a belt buckle tucked in there that her folks recognized as one of hers. Also her watch had an inscription, ’Tamara.’ "

  After Milne recessed for the day, and the expressionless jurors filed out, Nina followed Collier back to his cubicle in the D.A.’s office.

  The bare walls and piles of files seemed just the same. Nina could never have tolerated the drab efficiency of the place. They needed Sandy over here, with her baskets and decorating schemes, to spark the place up. Collier hung his jacket on the doorknob and sank into his chair, comfy as if he was falling into bed, scanning the paperwork his secretary handed him on the way in.