“A woman anyway. I would have noticed if Natalie had been a man.”
She got a few laughs off that, which Biggs ignored. “And it could have been the young woman sitting beside Ms. Starling at the defense table?” He was leading his own witness, but I liked the way it was going, so I didn’t object.
“It could have been,” Devon said. “I don’t know.”
Biggs really didn’t like it when witnesses didn’t testify the way they were supposed to. “Didn’t the police show you a photograph of the defendant just a few days after the murder, and didn’t you identify that photograph as that of the woman who checked in that night?”
“Not positively.”
“But you did tell the police that it could be the woman, didn’t you?”
“I think I said it might be.”
She had made her point. I stood. “Mr. Biggs seems to be cross-examining his own witness, your honor.”
“He does,” Judge Cheatham agreed. “Mr. Biggs?”
“If I could ask just a couple more questions, your honor, I think you’ll see where all this is going.”
The judge looked at me, then nodded. “All right. Let’s see.”
“Why are you so tentative in your identification now, Ms. Matthews? What happened after the police showed you that photograph of Natalie Stevens?”
“Robin Starling also showed me a photograph.”
“Robin Starling showed you a photograph? Robin Starling, the attorney for the defendant in this case?” His tone made it sound tantamount to altering the crime scene.
“Yes. She was there the day after the police.”
“Whose photograph was this?”
“I don’t know. I think it may have been the defendant’s stepmother, but at the time I identified it as Natalie Stevens.”
“She showed you a picture of the defendant’s stepmother and told you it was Natalie Stevens?” His voice rose incredulously.
“I think she asked me if it was Natalie Stevens.”
“Even though she knew it wasn’t.”
“I actually don’t know whose picture it was. There’s a woman who’s been in the witness room with me who looks familiar.”
“Subsequently, you came in for a police line-up, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Were you able to pick out from that line up the young woman who registered in your hotel as Natalie Stevens?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you say you thought it was number four, the woman you now know to be Natalie Stevens, the defendant in this case?”
I stood again. “He’s browbeating his witness, your honor.”
Biggs jabbed a finger at me. “You should be careful.”
“Your honor, opposing counsel is threatening me.” I said it in the whiney voice of a schoolroom tattletale, and it drew some laughter.
Judge Cheatham banged his gavel to silence it. “Mr. Biggs,” he said mildly, “don’t threaten defense counsel.”
It drew another titter of laughter, but the judge only smiled faintly. “It’s time to move on, Mr. Biggs,” he said.
Biggs was glaring at me, but he took a breath and consciously relaxed the muscles in his face. “You say that a Natalie Stevens checked in that night. She used a credit card with Natalie Stevens’ name on it, didn’t she?”
“Yes, she did.”
“You assigned her a room?”
“Yes. Room 238. Second floor in the back.”
“She took her cardkey and left?”
“Yes, two cardkeys.”
“Two cardkeys? Was someone with her?”
“I don’t know. I usually give out two cardkeys.”
“But she didn’t hand one of them back and say she was by herself.”
“No. At least, not that I remember.”
“Not that I remember,” Biggs repeated.
“Sorry.”
He shook his head. “No further questions,” he said.
I went to the lectern. “Whoever registered for that room must have filled out some paperwork—and signed a credit slip?”
“Yes.”
“Did the police take possession of that paperwork?”
Devon nodded. “I don’t know if it will do them any good.”
“Oh? Why is that?”
“It was all filled out in block letters.”
“Even the signature?”
“That was just a line with a loop on the end.”
“Did that match the signature that was on the credit card?”
“I don’t know. I always make a point of comparing signatures, but I’m not a handwriting expert, and it’s not the kind of thing you want to make an issue of.”
“Do you ask for photo ID?”
“I do most times. I know I should. I just don’t remember if I did in this particular instance.”
Devon Matthews was my new best friend. “Thank you, Ms. Matthews,” I said sincerely. “Just a couple more topics. I assume the district attorney went over your testimony with you before trial?”
“Yes, he did.”
“He can’t have been happy with your inability to identify the defendant in this case. Did he press you to make an identification?”
“Well, he asked me if I was sure I couldn’t identify her.”
“Did he ask you more than once?”
“Yes.”
“More than twice?”
“I think so.”
“As many as five times?”
She shrugged. “It could have been. He kept asking me to study her mug shot.”
I looked at Biggs with raised eyebrows, then turned back to Devon. “You rented a room to more than one person named Stevens that night, didn’t you?”
“I wondered if you were going to ask me about that.”
“It was me or no one. A second Stevens doesn’t fit the prosecution’s theory of the case.”
“Your honor!” Biggs objected, standing.
“Ms. Starling,” the judge said.
“I’m sorry. I’ll withdraw the jibe.” Before Biggs could react to that bit of smartassery, I said to Devon, “So tell us about the other Stevens.”
“Someone who gave the name of Mark Stevens rented room 240.” At the edge of my peripheral vision, Aubrey Biggs dropped into his chair in evident disgust.
“Is that right next to the room rented by Natalie Stevens?”
“Yes. Right on the corner.”
“It’s quite a coincidence that a man with the same name as Natalie’s father rented the room next door. Did the two come in together?”
“No. Mark Stevens came in not quite an hour later.”
“Did he ask for the room next door?”
“I’m sure he didn’t. I would have remembered. He might have asked for second floor at the back. People make those kinds of requests all the time.”
“Is there a connecting door between the two rooms?”
“You know there is. You went up and saw it.”
It was too much for Biggs, who slapped his hand on the table.
“Mr. Biggs,” Judge Cheatham said. He tapped his gavel. “I’m the only one who gets to make noise pounding the table.”
There was some laughter. Biggs opened his mouth to say something, but evidently thought better of it.
“You may continue with your cross-examination,” the judge told me.
“I’m done,” I said. I sat, and Biggs went to the lectern.
“Ms. Matthews, until asked specifically about it just last week, you said nothing to the police about this room rented to Mark Stevens, did you?”
I half-stood. “Your honor, he’s leading his witness.”
“She’s evidently a hostile witness,” Biggs said. “She’s hardly been forthcoming with the police.”
“Now he’s trying to intimidate the witness,” I said.
Judge Cheatham said, “At this point I’m going to allow a few leading questions.”
Biggs said, “Did you or did you not withhold information from the police about Mark Ste
vens renting a room at your hotel that night?”
“I did not. I answered every question they asked me. I took them up to Room 238, I gave them documents. I cooperated in every way.” Her voice was rising along with her color. She clearly didn’t like Biggs, and I knew from experience that she could be nasty with people she didn’t like.
“But you did share information with Ms. Starling that you didn’t share with the police.”
“I answered her questions. If the police had ever contacted me again after she uncovered the bit about Mark Stevens, I probably would have mentioned it to them, but they didn’t. Nobody with the police or the prosecution talked to me again until last week.”
Biggs’ breathing was audible in the otherwise silent courtroom. “Did this Mark Stevens pay with a credit card?”
“No, he paid with cash.”
“Did he show ID?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. So really this could have been anybody.”
“It couldn’t have been a woman.”
“What?”
“I would have noticed a woman trying to pass herself off as Mark Stevens.”
Chapter 28
“What happened to Devon Matthews?” Brooke asked me over lunch. “Last time we saw her, she hated your guts.”
“I told you she’d begun to thaw a little.”
“She’s done more than thaw. She was in there fighting for your client as hard as you were.”
“Tell me,” Paul said. Once again he had been unable to be there.
“The gist of it is that Devon refused to identify Natalie Stevens,” Brooke said.
“And she stuck it up Biggs’ backside every chance she got,” I added. I put a forkful of salad in my mouth. Brooke sipped her water.
“Well, come on. Specifics, girls, specifics!”
So we gave him some specifics, as much as we could remember.
“I understand it perfectly,” Paul told us.
“You do,” I said.
“Since we last saw her, that young woman has been questioned extensively by Aubrey Biggs.”
“Uh huh.”
“Extensively and repetitively, and possibly with a bit of nastiness thrown in here and there.”
“That’d cheese me off,” Brooke said.
“When I first saw her, she seemed to think I was going to make a move on her boyfriend,” I said. “That worry may have eased over time.”
“Especially after you showed up at the motel with your sweetheart,” Paul said.
“I am not her sweetheart,” Brooke said. “We are just good friends.”
“I meant me. You know that don’t you?”
I patted his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re insecure.” I went back to my salad. Lunch recesses don’t last forever.
That afternoon Biggs called someone from the department of forensic science who ran us through the blood work. DNA tests showed that the blood on the bumper of Natalie’s car, the blood on the fatal bullet, and the blood in Room 238, rented under Natalie’s name, all came from John Doe, the decedent in the case. I asked a few questions on cross just to show I was alive, but I didn’t get anything helpful out of it. Then Biggs called Chloe Stevens to the stand.
A bailiff brought Chloe in from the witness room, and she walked down the aisle in four-inch heels and a silk dress that stopped just short of mid-thigh. If the rail of the witness box hadn’t had solid panels, nobody would have been able to focus on anything she said once she sat down and crossed her legs.
She identified herself as Chloe Stevens, the mother of the defendant Natalie Stevens. “Well, stepmother,” she said. “I’ve been married to her father for just over thirteen months. We’re so close, though. I love her like my very own.”
I didn’t glance in Natalie’s direction, but I hoped she wasn’t rolling her eyes or, worse, poking her finger into her open mouth in a gagging gesture.
“Were you at home the night of Sunday, December 6?” Biggs asked her.
“Yes. I was home all evening.”
“Was your stepdaughter there with you?”
“She left to go to a party about six o’clock.”
“When did she get back?”
“I don’t know. I went to bed about eleven.”
“And the defendant had not come home by that time?”
“Not that I heard. Of course, I was watching TV in my bedroom, so I might not have if she came in quietly.”
When I glanced at Natalie, she leaned toward me. “Her car wasn’t in the garage when I got home,” she whispered. “I don’t think.”
I don’t think. Natalie had been impaired when she got home that evening, now over a month ago, but I considered the possibility that Chloe hadn’t been home at all.
“Did you hear her come in during the night?” Biggs asked.
“I don’t know. A noise awakened me just before three. I supposed it could have been the garage door.” Her tone was pleasant and conversational as if she had no idea she was digging Natalie a hole it would be difficult to crawl out of.
“Your witness,” Biggs said.
It was a short testimony, a nice ending punctuation to an afternoon in which the prosecution had regained some of its momentum. I went to the lectern, determined not to let it end on that note.
“Hello, Chloe,” I said.
She gave me a nod.
“You seem very much at peace in giving your testimony. Are you too simpleminded to realize that, if the jury believes you, they may sentence Natalie to life in prison? This stepdaughter whom you love as your very own?”
Biggs, predictably, objected. Loudly. Judge Cheatham sustained the objection. Chloe, who had for a moment looked startled and defensive, regained her composure.
“I’m sorry. That was outrageous, wasn’t it?” I held up a hand, forestalling her answer. “Actually, I owe you, don’t I? It was you who selected me out of all the lawyers in Richmond to defend your stepdaughter.”
“Her father insisted we get the best.”
“Mark Stevens played a part in my selection? Is he here in Richmond then?”
Biggs said, “Your honor, this doesn’t have anything to do with what this witness testified to on direct. It’s not proper cross-examination.”
“It goes to show the bias of the witness,” I said.
“How?” Judge Cheatham asked.
“Give me just a few questions, your honor. I think it will be clear.”
He nodded. “I’ll allow it.”
To Chloe I repeated, “Is Mark Stevens here in Richmond?”
“No. He’s been in China since shortly before…all this happened.”
“But you talked to him about who should represent his daughter?”
“Yes. We talked by phone. He said he was going to talk to you directly. Didn’t he call you?”
I of course wasn’t there to answer questions. “He didn’t give you my name, did he? He just told you to hire the best in Richmond. Money was no object.”
“That’s right.”
“So you went into an executive suites and hired me.”
“Certainly.”
“A lawyer who had opened her own practice just two weeks previously.”
“I didn’t know that at the time. I think you’ve performed very well, though.”
“Thank you. Why didn’t you hire the lawyer who had worked in the office of the commonwealth’s attorney, who also had an office in that executive suites?”
“I thought Natalie would be more comfortable with a woman representing her.”
“Even an inexperienced, incompetent woman?”
She hesitated a beat, which was just want I wanted.
“You don’t need to answer that,” I said. “I think we’ve heard enough.”
I went and sat down. Natalie’s eyes flicked toward me. Probably describing oneself as inexperienced and incompetent wasn’t the best way to inspire confidence.
When I exited the courthouse shortly before five o’clock,
Detective Jordan and his partner Ray Hernandez were sitting on the low brick wall facing the revolving door. They stopped talking and stood, and my pace slowed. “You look like you’re here for me,” I said.
“We are,” Ray said.
“What have I done now?”
“What haven’t you done?”
I looked from one of their grinning faces to the other.
Jordan said, “The truth is, Robin, we’re hoping to take you to dinner.”
My phone dinged, and I dug it out. It was Rodney Burns: “I have something for you.” I looked back at Ray and Jordan.
“Can’t tonight,” I said. “Why the charitable gesture?”
Jordan jerked his head, and we walked together along the sidewalk, the two detectives flanking me. When we turned the corner, Hernandez said, “We hear Aubrey Biggs ripped Tom McClane a new one last night.”
“After you made him look like an idiot on the stand yesterday and tore a big hole in the prosecution’s case,” Jordan added.
I flinched. “It wasn’t personal,” I said.
“Oh, it is,” Hernandez said. “For us it is.”
Jordan said, “We were hoping you could kind of walk us through it, let us savor McClane’s time on the stand a little.”
“I was able to gain a little traction over some switched license plates. I don’t think it made him especially uncomfortable.”
“McClane ’s probably not bright enough to be uncomfortable,” Hernandez said.
“Did he testify about how much he could bench press?” Jordan said. “That’s the kind of thing he really likes to talk about.”
“Not on the stand. Over coffee once.” We were waiting for the light so we could cross to the parking lot that held my car. “Then his wife came to my office to ask what my intentions were with her husband. I think he’d come clean with her about some stuff that included whatever thoughts he’d been having about me.”
Hernandez hooted.
“What have you guys got against McClane?” I asked.
“It’s not that we have anything against him,” Jordan said. Hernandez snorted. “It’s just that he knows how everybody in the police department should be doing their jobs, but he doesn’t take care of his own.”
“Back in Texas,” Hernandez said, “we would have said he was all hat and no cattle.”
The light changed, and we started across. “I didn’t know you were from Texas,” I said.
Dog Law (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery) Page 21
