by Nat Williams
It also measures UV and solar radiation levels. It tracks highs, lows and averages of virtually all weather variables for twenty-four days. It is powered by solar energy and has battery backups and sensors that warn when the energy level is falling low.”
“That sounds like an expensive hobby. How do you pay for all that?”
“Well, some comes out of my pocket, but I’m fortunate to have financial and technical assistance from Cloverfield College.”
“Thank you. No more questions.”
Peregrino glanced at Lips. No response.
“You may step down,” he said. Romines stood up and strolled away from the witness stand. His fifteen minutes of fame had come to an end.
CHAPTER 69
Manny Tucker made his way to the witness stand with the swagger of The Fonz walking into Arnold’s on a Saturday night. This wasn’t his arena, but he could make any venue his own. As far as he was concerned, he was always the center of the universe.
Vernon Hilliard sat at the prosecution table. He shuffled a few papers.
“Please state your full name.”
“Manuel Alonso Tucker. My friends call me Tuck and my girlfriends call me Manny.”
Hilliard cringed. He wished his witness carried less baggage, but you play the cards you’re dealt, and Tucker was certainly a card. His testimony was too crucial to omit.
“Mr. Tucker, please tell the jury what you were doing on the evening of August the second?”
Tucker was aware of the promise made by the state’s attorney, that the state would look the other way on the auto and copper theft as long as he played some small ball in court. He did return the items his sticky fingers picked up. Jake Alvis was OK not pressing charges, letting Manny know that his buttocks would be full of rock salt fired from a double-barrel Stevens 16-gauge shotgun if he ever wandered onto his property again.
“Me and my buddy were cruising around,” he said.
“Your buddy?”
“Yeah. Bobby Grandville.”
“Did you cruise by the Van Okin home, a little north of Cherokee Camp, on Route 116?”
“Yeah. We were headed back home, but decided to get something at Jack’s Shack. So we turned around in a drive.”
“And whose driveway was that?”
“I didn’t know it then, but I found out later it was Dr. Van Okin’s place. But we got the hell outta there.”
“And why is that?”
“There was a pickup truck parked in front of the house. The engine was running and its lights were on. Kind of freaked me out.”
“What kind of truck was it?”
“It was a Chevy of some sort. Extended cab, short bed. Kind of a rust color. Not new, but not too old, either. I didn’t stick around long enough to really check it out, you know what I’m saying?”
Hilliard stood and faced Tucker.
“Anything else about the vehicle? You said you were freaked out.”
“Well, yeah. It was late. The truck was running, like I said. And the door was open.”
“The driver’s door.”
“Yeah. I don’t know why. But I got a bad feeling. I got some type of insinuation, you know?”
“You mean intuition?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Something you can’t put your finger on. All I know is, I wanted to get the hell out of there.”
Hilliard picked up a photograph of an Inferno Orange 2012 Chevrolet Avalanche with license plates that matched those of David Purcell’s vehicle.
“With the court’s permission, I would like to show the witness this photograph documented as Exhibit B5.”
“Any objection?”
“None, your honor,” Lips said.
“Does this resemble the vehicle you saw parked at the Van Okin home in the early hours of August the third?”
Tucker took a quick look.
“That’s it.”
“The state requests it be noted in the record that the witness identified the vehicle in the photo as a 2012 Inferno Orange Chevrolet Avalanche with license plates registered to the defendant, David Purcell.”
“So ordered,” Peregrino said.
“Thank you,” Hilliard said. “Your witness.”
Lips looked down at some papers. Tonya Rudnick whispered something to him. He nodded and stood up.
“You weren’t just cruising around that night, were you? I mean, it was late and you were in the middle of nowhere.”
Tucker glanced at Hilliard, who nodded his OK.
“I was doing some shopping, I guess you could say.”
“Shopping? There’s no Walmart anywhere around the Van Okin place, is there?”
Tucker still sported a slight smirk.
“I was collecting some metal. You know, for recycling.”
“You mean, like cans?”
Tucker took another quick look at Hilliard.
“Something like that.”
“Something like that. But not really.”
“OK, we were looking for copper.”
“You were stealing copper.”
“We pinched a little.”
“Do you own a pickup truck?”
“Yeah, an F-150.”
“Does it have an open bed?”
“Nope. Has a camper top.”
“So you weren’t ‘shopping’ in your own vehicle?”
“No, it belongs to Jake Alvis. I used to do some work for him.”
“But you didn’t have permission to use his truck that night, did you?”
“No, I borrowed it without asking.” Tucker smiled, smugly. “He didn’t miss it. He was away, in Canada.”
“You were in a stolen truck?”
“We took it back when we were done.”
“Just so I understand. You were stealing copper in a stolen truck.”
“I guess if you put it that way.”
“I think you just did.”
“Objection!” Hilliard said. “Opinion.”
“Overruled.”
Lips put his head down and paced in front of the witness stand, then turned partly toward the jury box.
“And how did this information come to the attention of law enforcement? When you learned of the crime at the Van Okin home, did you call 911?”
“No.”
“Did you get in your car and drive to the Cherokee Camp Police Department and demand to talk to a detective?”
“No.
“Did you call the state police headquarters, telling them you might have information on a crime?”
“No.”
“You don’t have a cozy relationship with law enforcement, do you, Mr. Tucker?”
Tuck didn’t lose any of his cockiness.
“We don’t attend the same social functions, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s not what I mean. You have crossed paths with the law a few times, right?”
Lipscomb picked up a sheet of paper and took a look at it.
“I have your rap sheet here. Shoplifting. Bad checks. Burglary. Possession of narcotics. Domestic violence.”
“I wasn’t convicted for all that,” Tuck said.
“So noted. How did Sheriff Bachelor learn of your account of the truck parked at the Van Okin home that night?”
Hilliard stared at Tucker, giving him a don’t screw this up look. They had been through this.
“Because he came around asking me about stuff that I didn’t have anything to do with.”
“Like the crime at the Van Okin house?”
“Yeah, they found out I’d been there. I had to set the record straight. I didn’t have anything to do with that scene.”
“But you did have something to do with using a stolen vehicle to steal copper. Were you promised anything if you told the story about Purcell’s truck being at the Van Okin home late that night?”
“It’s not a story. It’s true.”
“No more questions, your honor.”
“Redirect?” Hilliard said. Peregrino waved his hand in agreement
.
Hilliard remained seated.
“Did anyone ask you to lie about what you saw that night?”
“Nope.”
“Did anyone promise you anything if you lied?”
“No.”
“Thank you. That’s all I have, your honor.”
The next witness, Bobby Grandville, was examined by Hilliard and crossed by Rudnick. His testimony mirrored that of Tucker’s. Hilliard was happy to get the bad eggs out of the way. At least they hadn’t cracked under pressure.
CHAPTER 70
Gilbert County Sheriff Frank Bachelor was resplendent in his freshly dry-cleaned uniform as he sat in the witness stand. The court reporter held her hands over the stenograph machine in anticipation.
Hilliard stood at the prosecution table. He leafed through some papers, paying special attention to a couple, and consulted with his assistant, Justin Grimes. He then addressed Bachelor.
“Sheriff, please recount details of events on the morning of August the third.”
Bachelor took a breath.
“I was in the office at the courthouse, doing some paperwork, when the dispatcher relayed a 911 call from the Van Okin residence, outside of town. A woman had reported the presence of two bodies inside the home. It appeared to be a violent crime.
“My chief investigator, Jerry Carroll, and I immediately responded, arriving on the scene at about 7:45 in the morning. We found a woman later identified as Morella Watson sitting in the front seat of a car, in the driveway. She briefly told us that the front door of the Van Okin home was ajar. She called for them and got no answer. She told us she entered and saw the bodies.”
“What did you do next?” Hilliard asked.
“We entered the residence with our guns drawn, checked the vital signs of the victims, then cleared the home. After determining that the property was secure, I called our department and ordered two deputies to assist with the scene. I also called the State Police and requested help in processing the crime scene and collecting evidence. I called Cherokee Camp police, then made a call to the coroner.”
Bachelor went on to describe the conditions of the bodies. He pointed to the lack of a murder weapon and his observation that there didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle or evidence of a robbery. He noted that no furniture was overturned, things weren’t strewn about and nothing of value appeared to have been taken. Of course, he would not know for certain until a thorough investigation had taken place.
¨Did you have any ideas about motive or suspects from the beginning?”
“Nothing. Our immediate concern was making sure the evidence was collected properly and processed as soon as possible.”
“Without any evidence pointing to a suspect, how did you go about your investigation?”
“We began by interviewing those closest to the victims. That’s standard procedure.”
“And how many interviews did you conduct?”
Bachelor shuffled through papers in a folder he was holding.
“Without going through everything, I would say about fifteen or twenty.”
“So you didn’t start out with a preconceived notion of who may have been involved in the crime?”
“No. We went where the evidence led us.”
Hilliard walked toward the stand.
“And what was the first solid piece of evidence you encountered?”
Bachelor described the tip from Todd Kimmer, the bread truck driver who had seen a pickup truck leaving the Van Okin home in the early hours of the morning of August 3. He walked the jury through the wild goose chase that led to Jake Alvis, and eventually Manny Tucker.
He touched on the witness testimony of Manny Tucker, who had seen a truck resembling David Purcell’s parked near the Van Okin home, with the engine running and the driver’s door swung open.
He took the jury through the entire investigation, which increasingly pointed to David Purcell. Bachelor told the court about the discrepancies in Purcell’s timeline. He testified about the tire tracks in the grass that had been softened from an isolated thunderstorm. He pointed to the cellphone calls from Purcell to Dr. Van Okin. And then he presented the state’s wild card: the conversation recorded by Obie Lynch, during which Purcell pretty much admitted being at the Van Okin home when they were murdered.
The jury was transfixed, as were those in the section holding visitors and media.
“Your honor, the state asks permission of the court to play the audiotape to the jury.”
“Mr. Lipscomb?” Peregrino said as he looked at Lips.
Lips sighed. “Based on the court’s previous ruling, I have no objection.”
Purcell looked at him as if he had just intentionally walked the pitcher with the bases loaded.
“What the hell?” he whispered to his high school buddy.
Lips gave him a look that told him this was just something else they had to deal with. He was referring to an objection he had made on discovery. He and Rudnick had done everything they could to keep the recording from being introduced at trial.
CHAPTER 71
One could hear the proverbial pin drop in Courtroom B in the Gilbert County Courthouse. State’s Attorney Vernon Hilliard pushed a couple of buttons on a laptop computer hooked up to the A/V system that had been set up earlier. Thus began the introduction of the prosecution’s most damning evidence: the audio tape of David Purcell and Obie Lynch.
Hilliard pressed the play button. The typical sounds inside a tavern served as an introduction: people walking, glasses and bottles clinking, the murmur of patrons. Obie’s voice broke through the soft background noise. The recording was clear, thanks to the huge strides in audio technology through the years by – in this case – Sony.
“How are you guys doing?”
“What do you mean?” came David’s reply.
“I mean, you and Janet. You know, your in-laws and all. How you holding up?”
“It’s fucked up. My folks got killed together too, thanks to a drunk driver.”
“Yeah, I know. And now this. I freaked out when I heard about it.”
“Me too. I never thought I’d have to go through anything like that again. Not after my folks.”
“Man, that’s got to be tough. You probably saw them pretty often, huh?”
“Yeah, I was there earlier that evening. Dropped off a load of firewood. I know, it’s hot as hell, but I always bring them wood in summer so it’ll be good and seasoned when winter comes and they’re getting the fireplace going.”
“I remember seeing something about it on Facebook,” Obie said. “I didn’t believe it at first. I thought it was a mistake or something. When did you first find out?”
“It was early Saturday morning. About nine or so. It was the weekend, so we weren’t really up and moving around, you know.”
“Must have been traumatic,” Obie said. “I can’t imagine.”
“Yeah. I still can’t believe it. Sometimes it still seems like a bad dream. Maybe it always will. Anyway, we’re holding our own. I don’t think it’s sunk in yet. Even after the funeral, the investigation and everything.”
“They’ve talked to me, you know,” Obie said.
“I figured so. What did they say?”
“You know, the usual. They wanted to know where I was that night.” A pause. “And where you were.”
“Where I was? How the hell would you know?”
“That’s what I told them. I said I work for you, I’m not married to you.”
“I hope you also told them I’m not a fuckin’ queer,” David said. He and Lips winced. They had heard the recording before, but it seemed much harsher in the formal setting of a trial.
“They wanted to know if I thought you had any reason to want something to happen to the Van Okins,” Obie said.
“That’s because they don’t have shit. They’re fishing. They’re under a lot of pressure. Might as well finger the son-in-law. Anyway, I told them I was at home that night. I don’t think they believe me a h
undred percent.”
There was a short pause.
“Do we have a crew coming in to start on the peaches?” David said.
“We’ll be there tomorrow, early.”
There was a longer pause with muted background sounds from Lefty’s.
“They said something about phone calls between you and Dr. Van Okin that night. What was that all about?”
“Who are you, a fuckin’ cop?”
“I’m just trying to keep my ass out of this thing, like you,” Obie said. “They’re leaning on me.”
“Well, they don’t have anything on me because I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“But the phone calls. They bustin’ you up about them?”
“We talked all the time. There wasn’t anything different. We had some things going on. But it was all good. That’s one of the things that really made it so tough. Everything was fine just a few hours earlier, and the next thing you know, they’re all shot up. Unbelievable.”
“Yeah, unbelievable,” Obie said. “Who do you think did it?”
“I thought the Doc did, when I first heard about it. Then they said they were shot five times. So I don’t know.”
“So, you don’t have any idea who might want them dead?”
“No offense, but let’s drop this shit. We got other stuff to concentrate on. Like how we’re gonna get those peaches picked, and what we’re going to do about this disease wiping out the apples. The Van Okins are gone. The orchard’s still here, kicking me in the balls.”
The recording was over. The courtroom was silent.
CHAPTER 72
“I didn’t hear anything incriminating in this conversation,” Hilliard said to Frank Bachelor, who was still on the stand. “It sounded like two men discussing a horrible tragedy.”
“Objection,” Lips said, still seated at the defendant’s table, next to David Purcell. “Prosecution is stating an opinion, not asking a question.”
“Sustained,” Judge Peregrino said. He turned to Hilliard. “Let’s keep the musings to a minimum. Like zero.”
