by Parnell Hall
Richard looked at me. Cocked his head. Grinned.
“Oh, yeah?”
30
“STATE YOUR NAME.”
“Sergeant William MacAullif.”
That marked, to the best of my recollection, only the second time I’d ever heard MacAullif refer to his first name. The first had been when we’d been working on the movie and he’d been forced to give it to the script supervisor in order to sign out a script. Forced is the wrong word. Actually, the young lady had charmed him out of it.
Such was not the case here. ADA Wellington was all crisp efficiency. Snapping out a staccato series of questions, he led MacAullif through a recitation of his qualifications as a homicide sergeant.
It was, I had to admit, rather impressive. It turned out MacAullif had three citations, including one for bravery. Which was news to me, I happened to know he’d never been shot, which I somehow equated with bravery in the line of duty.
Anyway, it went down well with the jury, who were eating MacAullif up. He was big, beefy, looked like a cop, and seemed natural and self-assured on the witness stand. It occurred to me what he had to say was going to be convincing.
Which was too bad for our side. I had to keep reminding myself of that.
MacAullif was on the other side.
“Now, then, Sergeant MacAullif,” ADA Wellington said. “Directing your attention to the early-morning hours of October thirteenth, did you have any occasion to go to a town house on East Sixty-second Street?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What time was that?”
“Approximately 2:30A.M.”
“And what did you find when you arrived?”
“Two radio-patrol officers were already on the scene.”
“They were inside?”
“That is correct.”
“Was anyone with them?”
“Yes, sir. The defendant, Anson Carbinder.”
“Did you notice anything about the defendant’s appearance at that time?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Richard said. “Leading, suggestive, and calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“Sustained.”
“Now, sergeant, you say you arrived to find Anson Carbinder in the company of two police officers?”
“That’s right.”
“Could you describe his appearance at that time?”
“Objection.”
“Overruled. Witness may answer.”
“He was covered with blood.”
“I see. Now, when you say covered...?”
“I’m sorry,” MacAullif said. “That’s a figure of speech. He was not covered with blood. But he certainly had enough blood on him.”
“And just where was this blood?”
“He had blood on his hands. He had blood smeared on his face. He had blood on his shirt. On the sleeves and on the front of the shirt.”
“On the sleeves?”
“That’s right.”
“This was a long-sleeved shirt?”
“Yes, it was.”
“What kind of shirt?”
“A white shirt.”
“You mean a dress shirt?”
“That’s right.”
“When you arrived at the house at two in the morning, Mr. Carbinder was wearing a white dress shirt with blood on it?”
“That’s right.”
“What else was he wearing?”
“Gray slacks.”
“Gray slacks?”
“That’s right.”
“Was he wearing shoes?”
“No.”
“Socks?”
“No.”
“Just a white shirt and gray slacks?”
“That’s right.”
“And did you question the defendant at that time?”
“Yes, I did.”
“What did you ask him?”
“I asked him to tell me what happened.”
“Did he answer?”
“He did not.”
“Objection. That’s a conclusion, Your Honor.”
ADA Wellington appeared nettled. “Nonsense. How is that a conclusion? It’s a fact.”
“What he said is a fact. Whether he answered or not is a conclusion the jury can draw from what he said.”
Judge Blank banged his gavel. “That will do. Gentlemen, we will argue objections at the side bar, not in front of the jury. I will thank you to remember that.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“In this case, the objection is sustained. That question and answer will be stricken from the record. Please rephrase the question.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Wellington said. “Sergeant, when you asked the defendant what happened, what did he say?”
“He said his attorney had advised him not to talk.”
“So he wouldn’t answer your questions?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you do then?”
“Since the defendant was not responsive, I asked the officers to direct me to the crime scene.”
“Which was where?”
“In the upstairs bedroom.”
“You went to the upstairs bedroom?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you find?”
“The place was a mess.” MacAullif grimaced. “I’m sorry. That’s a conclusion. But there was a lot of blood, and it was all over. There was blood on the floor. Or rather, the carpet. There was blood on the sheets. The sheets were half on, half off the bed. The decedent was lying in bed at an angle. That is, her head was on the pillow, but her feet were almost over the side of the bed. Her right arm was down at her side. Her left arm was flopped up over the head of the bed. She was wearing a sheer negligee, which was in tatters. She had been stabbed several times in the chest. There were what appeared to be defensive wounds on the hands. And her throat had been cut.”
“Was she alive or dead?”
“I’m not a medical examiner, and that’s not my determination to make. But there was no question in this case. The woman was clearly dead.”
“What did you do then?”
“About that time the medical examiner arrived, in addition to the crime-scene unit. The medical examiner took charge of the body. I sent the crime-scene unit to process the bedroom. And I took the defendant into custody.”
“You brought him in for questioning?”
“That’s right.”
“And did he make a statement at that time?”
“He did not. He refused to make a statement unless his attorney was present.”
“Did his attorney show up?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Did he make a statement then?”
“He did not.”
“Thank you, sergeant. Now, then, with regard to the crime scene, did you find anything you considered significant?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what was that?”
“There was a large carving knife lying on the floor, with blood on it.”
“Blood?”
“That’s right.”
“And did you notice anything with regard to the size of the knife in relation to the wounds in the body of the decedent?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“How big was the knife?”
MacAullif shrugged. “It was your standard carving knife.” He held his hands apart. “About so big.”
“And was there anything about the size of the knife that was inconsistent with the wounds in the body?”
“No, there was not.”
ADA Wellington nodded. “I see. And was there anything else significant you observed at the time?”
“No, there was not.”
“And, to refresh my recollection, can you please tell me again everything significant that you observed at the crime scene?”
“There was blood on the carpet. There was blood on the sheets. There was a bloody knife on the floor next to the bed. The mutilated body of Mrs. Carbind
er was lying askew in the bed with her throat cut.”
“I see,” ADA Wellington said. He nodded gravely. “And after you observed these things, what did you do?”
“I took the defendant into custody.”
“Thank you, sergeant. That’s all.”
I grimaced.
Damn.
That was neat and effective. ADA Wellington’s examination of Sergeant MacAullif had been standard fare, dwelling on the horror of the crime and rubbing the jurors’ noses in blood.
The last two questions were something else.
They were perfectly reasonable questions, simple, straightforward, nothing to object to. Taken singly, they didn’t mean a thing.
But taken together?
What a killer.
Particularly coming from MacAullif. It occurred to me, Wellington had been wise to lead with him. Because his whole manner carried conviction. He was a seasoned pro, not the type to make mistakes. An honest, straightforward, no-nonsense cop, telling it like it is.
I wondered how Richard was going to deal with that.
Well, first off, he didn’t appear the least bit upset. He got up from his seat next to Anson Carbinder, gave Anson an encouraging pat on the shoulder, strolled over to the witness stand, looked up at MacAullif, and smiled.
“Now, then, sergeant, you say you took the defendant into custody?”
“That’s right.”
“You brought him downtown?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And I believe you stated that when you found the defendant he was wearing a white shirt and gray slacks, but no socks and shoes?”
“That’s right.”
“You brought him in without socks and shoes?”
“No, I did not.”
“You allowed him to put on socks and shoes?”
“That’s right.”
“Where did you get the socks and shoes?”
“From the upstairs bedroom.”
“You mean the crime scene?”
“That’s right.”
“You let the defendant up to the crime scene?”
“No, I did not.”
“Then how did he get the shoes?”
“I got them for him.”
“You went up to the bedroom, brought back the socks and shoes?”
“That’s right.”
“And how did you know where they were?”
“I asked him.”
“You asked him where his socks and shoes were?”
“That’s right.”
“What did he say?”
“He said they were on the floor of the bedroom, right inside the door.”
“And were they?”
“Yes, they were.”
“Did he tell you how they came to be there?”
“No, he did not.”
“But he did answer that one particular question as to where his socks and shoes were?”
“That’s right.”
Richard smiled. “So when you say he made no statement, that’s not exactly true, is it, sergeant?”
MacAullif’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, it is.”
“I thought you said he told you nothing. He refused to answer.”
“When I asked him what happened,” MacAullif said. “He refused to tell me what happened.”
“You mean he made no statement as to the actual crime. But he did make a statement as to the location of his socks and shoes?”
“That’s right.”
“So when you said he made no statement...?”
“I was referring to what he said when I asked him what happened. That is the question he declined to answer. It is the relevant question one is concerned with in a murder investigation. If the suspect declines to answer it, that is what we mean when we refer to his refusing to talk.” MacAullif exhaled. “But that does not mean the suspect said nothing. A suspect under interrogation may ask to go to the bathroom. We do not take that to be an admission. Nor contend that it in any way alters his decision not to talk. We try to differentiate between what is relevant and what is not. If you want to make a big deal about the fact he told me where his shoes were, I suppose you can. As far as I’m concerned, that does not alter the fact that your client declined to discuss the crime. And just between you and me, I think you’re beating a dead horse.”
I thought so too. For my money, Richard’s cross-examination of MacAullif wasn’t working. It certainly wasn’t winning him any friends on the jury. It was nit-picking, plain and simple. And MacAullif’s obvious contempt seemed well deserved. Rather than rattling MacAullif, Richard’s questions were actually building him up. MacAullif was coming off as rational, dignified, and intelligent.
Richard was coming off as a jerk.
It didn’t seem to bother him, however. He merely nodded and said, “Thank you, sergeant. Now, getting back to the socks and shoes, you say you found them right inside the door?”
“That’s right.”
“The bedroom door?”
“Yes. The bedroom door.”
“And when you say the bedroom, you are referring to the crime scene?”
“Yes. As I said before.”
“Uh-huh,” Richard said. He rubbed his forehead. “And when you found these socks and shoes, what did you find?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Could you please describe what you found?”
“They were a pair of men’s black dress shoes. The socks were either black or dark gray.”
“Where were the socks?”
“Stuffed in the shoes.”
“Had they been worn?”
“Objection,” Wellington said. “That calls for a conclusion on the part of the witness.”
“And one I think he’s qualified to draw,” Richard said. “However, I will withdraw the question. Sergeant, what was the condition of the socks?”
“They were wadded up and stuffed in the shoes.”
“Did you remove them from the shoes?”
“No, I did not.”
“What did you do with them?”
“I brought the socks and shoes downstairs to Mr. Carbinder.”
“You gave them to him?”
“That’s right.”
“Did he remove the socks from the shoes?”
“Yes, he did.”
“You saw him do that?”
“That’s right.”
“What was the appearance of the socks that he took out of the shoes?”
“As I said before, they were crumpled up. And I believe one of them was inside out.”
“Inside out?”
“That’s right.”
“And what did Mr. Carbinder do with the socks?”
“He straightened them out and put them on.”
“So, without giving us your conclusion as to whether the socks were worn, they were rumpled, stuffed in the shoes, and one was inside out?”
“Oh, Your Honor,” Wellington said.
“Exactly,” Judge Blank said. “Mr. Rosenberg, if we could avoid such side comments.”
“Sorry, Your Honor,” Richard said. “Now, then, sergeant. I believe you stated Mr. Carbinder was covered with blood, is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but, according to your statement, I believe he had blood on his face, on his hands, and on his white dress shirt. Is that right?”
“That’s right. On the sleeves and on the front of the shirt.”
“Was there blood on the pants?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“On the gray slacks. Was there blood on the slacks?”
“I don’t recall seeing blood on the slacks.”
“You don’t recall?”
“No. The slacks were dark gray. The blood wouldn’t show up as well on them. On the white shirt of course it was plain as day. But on the slacks it wouldn’t be as readily apparent.”
“Are you saying there was blood on the slacks but you didn’t see it?”
&nb
sp; “Objection,” Wellington said. “How can he testify to something he didn’t see?”
“Exactly,” Richard said. “Sergeant, I’ll rephrase the question. Was there blood on the slacks, yes or no?”
“Objection, Your Honor. How can he answer that?”
“He can say yes, he can say no, or he can say, I don’t know,” Richard said.
“The objection is overruled. The witness may answer.”
“Was there blood on the slacks, yes or no?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” Richard said. His voice had a baiting, taunting quality, as if trying to goad the witness into getting mad.
MacAullif didn’t take the bait. “I’m not certain,” he said calmly. “And that’s the way you told me to answer if I wasn’t sure.”
“You’re not sure if there was blood on the slacks?”
“That’s right.”
“You don’t remember seeing blood on the slacks?”
MacAullif smiled. “If I remembered seeing blood on the slacks, I’d be sure.”
“So you don’t recall seeing blood on the slacks?”
“That’s right.”
“To the best of your knowledge, was there blood on the slacks?”
“Objection. Already asked and answered.”
“Overruled.”
“To the best of your knowledge, was there blood on the slacks?”
“Frankly, I don’t know. I don’t recall seeing blood on the slacks. On the other hand, I don’t recall not seeing blood on the slacks.”
“Uh-huh,” Richard said. “And what about the lights in the room?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t believe you mentioned the lights in the bedroom. What can you tell us about them?”
“The overhead light was on.”
“The ceiling light?”
“That’s right.”
“Were there other lights in the room?”
“Yes. There were lights on the end tables on either side of the bed.”
“Were those lights on or off?”
“They were off.”
“But there was still plenty of light to see?”
“Oh, yes. Quite sufficient.”
“And it was in that light that you observed the murder scene?”
“Yes, it was.”
“I believe you stated there was blood on the carpet, there was blood on the sheets, the victim was lying half in, half out of the bed, and the knife which you presumed to be the murder weapon was lying by the bed on the floor. Is that right?”
