Missing Justice sk-2

by Alafair Burke

  stand. They're so suspicious of defense attorneys that they fight

  every point, even those that aren't damaging.

  "But it's true, isn't it, that you were looking at him as a

  possibility?" Slip asked.

  "We were interested in him, as we are always interested in anyone close

  to a murder victim. But, in this case, we were interested in excluding

  Dr. Easterbrook beyond any doubt, so we could focus the investigation

  on more likely subjects. Once he took the poly "

  I wasn't surprised when Slip cut him off with the objection. Johnson

  knew better than that. Polygraph results are inadmissible, whether

  it's at trial or in a preliminary hearing. It was an easy call, even

  for Prescott. "Sustained. Do that in front of a jury, Detective

  Johnson, and it's a mistrial. Mr. Szlip-kowsky, you can be assured

  that I will disregard the witness's mention of any polygraph

  examination that may have taken place."

  "OK," Slip said, getting back on track. "So the husband was someone

  you were 'interested in," in your words. What about Terrence Caffrey?

  Were you looking at him?"

  "I was in the process of trying to contact Mr. Caffrey when the

  evidence started to snowball against your client."

  Johnson was giving Slip a preview of what he could expect at trial if

  he pushed too hard on the stand. A defense attorney's worst nightmare

  is a cop who can turn any question into an opportunity to prejudice the

  defendant.

  "Your honor, please instruct witness to answer the questions presented

  to him without editorializing."

  Prescott flipped through the large binder she keeps with her on the

  bench, then told Johnson, "Please refrain from providing nonresponsive

  information."

  See, that thing about the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the

  truth isn't quite right. Witnesses are only allowed to provide the

  truth when it's been specifically requested.

  "Isn't it true that you were trying to contact Mr. Caffrey to

  determine if he was involved in Ms. Easterbrook's murder?"

  "No, I wouldn't put it like that."

  "Since semantics seem so important to you this morning, Detective

  Johnson, why don't you tell us why you were trying to talk to Mr.

  Caffrey?"

  "To determine whether he had relevant information."

  "Isn't it true that you found Mr. Caffrey s name in Ms. Easterbrook's

  phone records?"

  "No, that is not true."

  "Excuse me. Isn't it true that you located a telephone number in Ms.

  Easterbrook's phone records that you subsequently determined to be

  associated with Mr. Caffrey?"

  "That's correct," Johnson conceded. He was having a little too much

  fun. I'd need to talk to him about playing lawyer on the stand.

  "And isn't it true that those records showed multiple calls between Mr.

  Caffrey s telephone number and Ms. Easterbrook's cellular phone?"

  "Yes."

  "And isn't it also true that you have evidence that Ms. Easter-brook

  had sexual relations with someone other than her husband?"

  "If one considers rape sexual relations, then one could draw that

  inference, yes."

  "I'm sorry, Detective Johnson, are you saying that you are certain

  beyond doubt that Ms. Easterbrook was raped?"

  "No, but that is one possibility, and I was uncomfortable describing

  that possibility as one involving what you called sexual relations."

  "Let's talk a little bit about what that evidence is," Slip said. "In

  the autopsy of Ms. Easterbrook, the medical examiner found an anti

  spermicide gel within her vaginal canal. Correct?"

  "That's correct."

  "A gel that's often associated with condoms?"

  "Yes."

  "And, according to Ms. Easterbrook's husband, the two of them did not

  use condoms or any such gel in the course of their own marital

  relations, is that right?"

  The question clearly called for hearsay. Under the rules, if Slip

  wanted to introduce something Townsend said as true, he had to get it

  from Townsend. But I'd been hoping to spare him from testifying. I

  let it slide without objection, and Johnson conceded the point.

  "Is it fair to say, Detective Johnson, that you at least wondered

  whether Ms. Easterbrook and Mr. Caffrey were engaged in an

  extramarital affair?"

  "I considered it a possibility."

  "In light of what was at least the possible connection between Mr.

  Caffrey and the victim, did you ever question him to determine whether

  he had relevant evidence?"

  "No, I did not," Johnson said.

  "Did you try to?" Slip asked.

  "Yes."

  "How so?"

  "I left a message on Tuesday afternoon with his scheduling

  assistant."

  I hadn't realized that Johnson had gotten around to making that call.

  He must have seen to it right after the MCT meeting, before he learned

  that Jackson worked in Glenville.

  "Did you tell the assistant that you were calling about Ms.

  Easterbrook?" Slip asked.

  "No, I did not."

  "Did you tell the assistant anything about the nature of the call?"

  "I believe I told him that I was calling about a pending criminal

  investigation."

  "A murder investigation?"

  "No, I would not have said that. Just a criminal investigation."

  "Is that a fairly standard message that you leave when you're trying to

  reach a potential witness?"

  "Yes."

  "And is there a reason why you say the call relates to a pending

  criminal investigation, rather than just leave your name and number?"

  "Sure. Lets them know I'm not just fund-raising for the PBA. Makes it

  more likely I get a prompt callback."

  "And, in this case, did you get your prompt callback?"

  "I have not spoken with Mr. Caffrey."

  So the respectable T. J. Caffrey was a total slime. What does it say

  about a man's character when he'd hide from his lover's murder

  investigation just to cover his own ass? It did not, however, make him

  a murderer.

  "So if I understand you correctly," Slip said, "a man who may have been

  having a special relationship with the victim on a murder case did not

  call you back, even though he knew you were trying to contact him about

  a pending criminal investigation. Is that right?"

  "That's correct. But I have no way of knowing he got the message."

  "Maybe we'll find that out later," Slip said. "After Mr. Caffrey

  failed to get in touch with you after you left this message with his

  assistant, did you continue your efforts to reach him?"

  "No, I did not."

  "To be clear," Slip said, "Terrence Caffrey is a member of the elected

  Metro Council, correct?"

  "That's correct."

  "Did that have anything to do with your decision not to continue your

  efforts to contact him about this case?"

  "No, it did not."

  Slip looked and sounded incredulous. "If it wasn't because of this

  man's power and political influence, why then did you not want to speak

  with him, given what is at least the appearance of a close and

  unexplained relationship between him and th
e victim?"

  A tip to defense attorneys: Don't ever ask a cop a question that begins

  with why. It's an invitation for a subjective opinion and a quick way

  to sink your client. Johnson batted it out of the park. "I stopped

  trying to reach Caffrey when it became clear to me that your client

  murdered Clarissa Easterbrook. To question him at that point about the

  nature of his association with her would have been exploitative, more

  like daytime television than a legitimate investigation. Or maybe a

  defense attorney."

  Slip was on his feet immediately, but even Prescott knew that Johnson's

  answer was, just as Slip had requested, responsive.

  My next witness was Heidi Chung from the crime lab. Heidi must be

  pushing forty but could be mistaken for a teenager. In trial, I always

  spend some time on her impressive credentials to be certain that the

  jurors understand that she's a pro. Prescott, however, had seen Chung

  enough to know she knew her stuff.

  By the time Heidi was done, there could be no doubt about it. The

  hammer Johnson pulled from Jackson's closet had been the one that

  killed Clarissa, and two of the unidentified latent prints pulled from

  the Easterbrooks' door knocker had been left by Jackson's right index

  and middle fingers.

  Slip couldn't do much to Heidi on cross. Sure, there were no prints on

  the hammer, but wiping down a weapon is easy and a lot more obvious

  than remembering to clean the door knocker.

  When he was done, I rested. Given my low standard of proof, there was

  no point giving him a look at my entire case in chief and a chance to

  test all my witnesses for weak spots. And, thankfully, there was no

  need to call Townsend to the stand. I'd managed to cover all the

  important stuff with my two pros.

  Even though he had told me about his intentions all along, part of me

  was still surprised when Slip told Prescott he'd be calling witnesses

  before we moved to arguments. I half thought he was bluffing, since he

  had absolutely nothing to gain from the move. The judge was

  essentially required to disregard any testimony that helped the

  defense, since at trial it was possible that the jurors would not find

  it credible.

  Maybe Slip was using the prelim as a formal version of the usual

  posturing that goes on between the prosecution and the defense: trying

  to make his case look good in the hope of getting me to give Jackson a

  plea. Or maybe he hoped Prescott was inexperienced enough to make the

  call herself.

  "Call your first witness, Mr. Szlipkowsky."

  "There's one complication, your honor. One of my witnesses is moving

  to quash the subpoena I served on him yesterday. If I may make a

  suggestion, perhaps I could call just one witness now, and we could

  take up the motion to quash after a lunch recess."

  "That would be fine. Please proceed." That simple plan would have

  taken Prescott fifteen minutes to conjure on her own.

  "The defense calls Nelly Giacoma."

  Unlike Ray, Nelly hadn't toned down the fashion statements for the

  courtroom. I watched Judge Prescott eye her from head to toe, pausing

  extra long for the ankle tattoo. I couldn't wait until Prescott

  learned that this funky chick with a nose ring and hot-pink pixie cut

  was a law school graduate. And I couldn't wait to hear what Nelly

  could possibly offer to the case.

  Slip's initial questions established Nelly's working relationship with

  Clarissa and her job responsibilities. Bo-ring.

  Then he pulled out a document, a move that never fails to get my

  attention.

  "Do you recognize this document, Ms. Giacoma?"

  "Yes. It's a letter to Judge Easterbrook that I received at the office

  on Wednesday."

  Slip gave me a copy and had the original marked as evidence. I

  recognized the scrawl from the other letters he'd written. This one

  was comparatively brief:

  Dear Judge,

  What does it take to get your at tension I am making good money and

  have proof to show you. I will do ALL I can do to save my family.

  PLEASE understand that.

  "The letter is signed Melvin Jackson, is that correct?" Slip asked.

  "Yes."

  "And it relates to a pending case about his eviction from public

  housing."

  "It's a threat relating to his pending case, yes."

  Nelly was growing on me. I have an affinity for women who talk back.

  The letter was indeed a threat, very much like the ones Jackson had

  been sending for weeks.

  "And is this the envelope that the letter arrived in?" Slip asked.

  I restrained myself from objecting to the dangling preposition and

  waited while Slip marked the envelope as evidence.

  "Yes."

  "Could you please identify the date on the envelope's postmark?"

  Nelly did. The date was the previous Monday, the morning after

  Clarissa died.

  The panic was momentary. After a few seconds, Slip's cheap trick was

  apparent. I used my cross to make sure the judge saw it too.

  "Hi, Nelly. Samantha Kincaid. We met earlier this week."

  "I remember."

  "You've used the mail before, right?"

  "Of course."

  "And in your experience, are post offices open on Saturday nights and

  Sundays?"

  "No, they're not."

  "So a letter mailed on Saturday evening would be postmarked "

  "On Monday."

  A lunch hour from a court hearing isn't much of a break. In an office

  where we're each entirely on our own, each precious minute of recess

  must be spent on the research and follow-up that supporting attorneys

  would do in a large law firm. Every time I go to trial, I lose a few

  pounds from the combination of adrenaline and starvation.

  I stopped at the mini-mart on my way into the courthouse and grabbed a

  Diet Coke, yogurt, and banana. I wolfed down the food in the elevator

  and sneaked the Diet Coke into the law library. I spent half an hour

  in the stacks, confirming the research I had done on Caffrey's motion

  to quash. This would be a fight between Caffrey and Slip. If Prescott

  asked for my opinion, I'd cite the cases I found, making it clear that

  it was entirely in her discretion.

  Before I left again for the Justice Center, I ran up to my office to

  check messages.

  The first was from Susan Kerr. "Hi, Samantha. Susan Kern I'm sorry to

  bother you again. I know you're busy, but I didn't know who else to

  talk to. Can you call me if you have a chance? Thanks." I hit the

  nine button to save the message, then went to the next one. It was

  from Jenna Markson, the child-support paralegal I had called last

  night.

  "Hi, Samantha. It's Jenna. I had a chance to run that property you

  asked about when I was doing some other record searches. The owner's a

  corporation called Gunderson Development, Incorporated. I checked with

  the corporate registry division of the Secretary of State, and the

  registered officer is a guy named Larry Gunderson."

  I scribbled his name and the name of his company on a Post-it note

  while I listened to the rest of Jenna's m
essage.

  "I went ahead and ran his financials. It looks like he was a bit of a

  wheeler-dealer until he went Chapter Eleven about ten years ago. My

  guess is that Gunderson Development is little more than Mr. Gunderson

  himself. Let me know if you need anything else. Oh, and Samantha,

  don't tell anyone else I ran the financials. We only have access to

  that database for child-support investigations."

  Now I understood why the attorneys all rave about Jenna. She'd

  probably been running defendants for everyone in the office, telling

  each of them it was an exception.

  I looked at my watch. I only had three minutes to get my butt out of

  the courthouse, across the street, and into the Justice Center, but

  Grace's comments about the Glenville property last night were still

  bothering me.

  I hit six to respond to Jenna's message. At the beep, I said, "Hey,

  Jenna. Samantha Kincaid in Major Crimes. Thanks for the information

  on Gunderson. Could you do me one more favor? Can you see who owns