by Nat Williams
David Purcell turned to Lips. He was confused. Why would his attorney object to a statement that seemed to favor the defendant? Lips sensed his perplexity. He leaned over and whispered to his client and friend. “It’s OK.”
He knew that his objection would have no impact on the trial, but would force the prosecutor onto a side track, interrupting Hilliard’s well-rehearsed line of questioning.
“Yes, your honor,” Hilliard said. “Let me rephrase. Why did you believe this conversation is worthy of charging David Purcell with murder?”
“It’s not,” Bachelor said. “Not by itself.”
“Explain, please.”
“A murder investigation – or any criminal investigation, for that matter – is like a construction project. Pieces of evidence are like bricks. One brick is stacked on another, until soon there is a foundation. We had other pieces.”
“What pieces?”
“We had interviewed Mr. Purcell previously and he said he had not been in contact with Dr. Van Okin. We discovered that to be questionable, because his cellphone records indicated that he had, indeed, had two conversations with Dr. Van Okin that evening. Also, Mr. Purcell told us that he had not been to the Van Okin
home that night.”
“And you believe that what he related to Mr. Lynch contradicted that statement?”
“Yes. Combined with the tire tracks found in the Van Okins’ yard and eye witness testimony putting Mr. Purcell’s vehicle there late that evening, we had reason to believe he was lying.”
“Was there anything else in that conversation that led you to believe that Mr. Purcell had something to do with the crime?”
“Yes. The comment about the Van Okins being shot five times. That is information that had not been released.”
Hilliard turned to glance at the jurors, mock surprise on his face.
“You’re telling me that the defendant knew how many times the victims were shot even though that information had not been made public?”
“Yes.”
Hilliard headed back to the prosecution table and sat down.
“Your witness.”
Lipscomb strode toward Bachelor confidently.
“Sheriff, you’ve had a long career in law enforcement, haven’t you?”
“Seventeen years.”
“And during those seventeen years you have conducted investigations before, right?”
“Yes.”
“Felonies?”
“Yes.”
“And in those seventeen years how many people would you say you have interviewed while working cases?”
Bachelor tilted his head upward slightly, gazed off into the emptiness and shrugged his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t have any idea.”
“That’s not surprising, considering your long and successful career. Could you ballpark it? Would you say it would be more
than a dozen?”
“Oh, yes.”
“More than fifty? More than a hundred? Five hundred? What would you say? Which of those might be closest?”
“Probably five hundred, I guess. But that’s just off the top of my head.”
“Thank you,” Lips said. “So you have asked a lot of questions of a lot of suspects.”
“Yes. Suspects, persons of interest, victims.”
“Just for the sake of this matter, in any of these occasions, did a suspect stray from the truth?”
“You mean lie? Of course.”
“More than once?”
“Many times.”
“And was it always because they were guilty and trying to avoid prosecution for the crime you were investigating?”
“No, not always.”
“Why on Earth would a suspect lie to a law enforcement officer if he or she were not guilty of the crime being investigated?”
“There are a lot of reasons,” Bachelor said. “The suspect may have been doing something he didn’t want someone else to know about.”
“Someone like a spouse?”
“Yes, like a spouse. Or a boss. Or a relative.”
“Have you ever interrogated someone who lied because they knew the truth would make them seem guilty, even though they weren’t?”
“That could happen, I suppose.”
“Has it ever happened in your experience as a law enforcement officer?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re saying it is possible David Purcell may not have been forthcoming about everything because he had something to hide. Not that he was a murderer. But maybe because he was involved in something outside of that crime that he wasn’t proud of, or didn’t want to get in trouble for?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“I think most people would disagree with that. Not everything is possible.”
“Objection!” Hilliard chimed in. “Opinion.”
“Sustained,” Peregrino said. “Let’s leave out the conjecture, Mr. Lipscomb.”
Lips looked upward, as if following the movement of a fly on the wall.
“You testified earlier that the number of times the victims were shot was not public information, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“In the course of an investigation into a major crime it is common that certain pieces of evidence be kept from the public. That way, if a suspect inadvertently discloses such information, it points to guilt. It can also serve to rule out false confessions.”
“How many people, would you say, had knowledge of the number of gunshots in this incident?”
“Myself, my deputies and other law enforcement, of course,” Bachelor said.
“Would that include crime scene investigators, ballistics experts and a forensic pathologist?”
“Yes.”
“Would that also include the coroner, the funeral director, the state’s attorney and even Mrs. Watson, who discovered the bodies?”
“It’s not likely that Morella Watson would have known the extent of the injuries, since she had only a quick glimpse at the victims.”
“But it is possible that she could have known the number of times they were shot?”
“It’s not likely.”
“But it’s not impossible?”
“I suppose not.”
Lipscomb had been stretching out his fingers, putting one up for each person who might have known about the number of entrance wounds on Dr. and Mrs. Van Okin.
“OK, let’s assume Morella Watson didn’t know.”
He bent one finger down.
“That still leaves as many as a dozen people who knew how many gunshot wounds there were at the crime scene, right? More than I have fingers for, and I really don’t want to take my shoes off and start counting my toes.”
“Your honor,” Hilliard said.
Peregrino turned to Lips.
“We get it, Mr. Lipscomb. Please proceed without the theatrics.”
Lips continued. He seemed to anticipate every courtroom move, and was always ready to continue seamlessly.
“So with all the police officers, the crime scene investigators, the coroner, the woman who discovered the bodies, the funeral director and his employees – how many people would you say may have known how many times the victims were shot?”
“I really haven’t …”
“Would it be fair to say a dozen? Maybe more?”
“I suppose so.”
“And did you interrogate each of those people, specifically asking them if they had disclosed that information to anyone?”
“I have confidence in the professionalism of those who had any contact with …”
“Please, Sheriff. Yes or no?”
“No, I didn’t interrogate my own officers and others involved in this case,” Bachelor said dismissively.
Lips did his pacing thing again, facing the defense table and circling past the jury and again facing Bachelor.
“Would it be fair to say, Sheriff, that nowhere on that recording does David Purcell confess t
o any crime, let alone murder?”
“By itself, the recording doesn’t …”
“Yes or no, Sheriff. Does the defendant confess to murdering Elmer and Norma Van Okin?”
“No.”
“No further questions.”
CHAPTER 73
A torpor enveloped the courtroom as more prosecution witnesses were interviewed and crossed. They included additional crime-scene technicians, a representative from the Mississippi Jewel, and a clerk working at the convenience store where Manny Tucker had stopped around the time of the murder. She had recalled that Tucker and his running buddy, Bobby Grandville, didn’t act as if they had just committed a double murder, and that she saw no blood on their clothing or anything else out of place.
The jurors, the lawyers, the suspect, the witnesses, the journalists, the spectators, the judge – everyone had been ready for a break. They got it at about four o’clock, when the state rested its case. Peregrino called it a day.
The next morning, everyone geared up for another day of testimony. The judge asked Craig Lipscomb if he wanted to mount a defense. Lips informed the court that he did, indeed, want to present his case.
He started slowly, beginning with a few low-level witnesses who provided little in the way of revelation. He put a gun expert on the stand to testify that it was possible that the double murder could have actually been a murder-suicide.
One witness was a friend of Dr. Van Okin’s who recalled that the doctor once received an antique handgun as a gift. The friend wasn’t sure what kind of gun it was or whether the doctor kept it. It had been many years earlier.
Then he moved into the meat of his case. He called Bachelor to the stand. The sheriff wouldn’t be the only prosecution witness also on Lipscomb’s list. Judge Peregrino reminded Bachelor that he was still under oath.
“Sheriff, I know you’re not a real estate agent. But could you provide the jury with a rough estimate of the value of the Van Okin home?” Lips said.
“Like you said, I’m not an expert in real estate, so I wouldn’t know.”
“You could give us a ballpark, couldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two hundred, three hundred thousand.”
“That’s a decent price in this market, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes. It’s a pretty nice place.”
Lipscomb held a sheet of paper in his hand.
“Your honor, let the record state that the Gilbert County Tax Assessor’s office has valued the property at two hundred-eighty-thousand dollars. The state has a copy.”
“Any objection?” Peregrino asked Hilliard.
“None,” he replied.
“Was the home equipped with surveillance cameras?” Lips asked Bachelor.
“No, there were none.”
“Did that seem odd to you?”
“Maybe a little. Today, home security is much more common than in the past.”
“It would have helped your investigation if there had been cameras, do you agree?”
“It might have.”
“Did you inspect the home to determine whether there had previously been recording equipment that might have been removed?”
“No.”
“Did any of the crime scene investigators from FSC inspect the home to determine if there had been evidence that any recording equipment had been removed?”
“Not to my knowledge. At least not a detailed examination. We made a full sweep of the property, however. That’s routine.”
“Routine,” Lips said, turning away and rubbing his chin. “You have testified that no weapon was found at the scene, other than the shotguns in the closet. What effort did you employ to find the alleged murder weapon?”
“Other than the crime scene, we also searched the pickup truck belonging to Jake Alvis, and David Purcell’s home, vehicle and buildings at his farm.”
“And you didn’t come up with a murder weapon?”
“No.”
“Did you take an inventory to determine what property may have been taken from the Van Okin home?”
“Using our best resources, we were unable to determine that any valuables were missing.”
“What type of resources were those?”
“We obtained a list of items the Van Okins had reported to their insurance company. We also questioned relatives who may have had additional knowledge of valuables at the residence.”
“And what was on the insurance list?”
“I don’t have a detailed list.”
“How about just the most valuable items?”
“The automobiles, of course. An Acura and, I believe, a Buick LaCrosse. Some antiques, lawn equipment, things like that.”
“You say you had a list from the Van Okins’ insurance company, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did the insurer indicate that any items had recently been removed from the list?”
“Yes, there were several paintings and antique furniture pieces that had been sold.”
“Any indication why the Van Okins would sell off some of their valuables?”
“No.”
“No further questions, your honor.”
CHAPTER 74
Lipscomb continued building his theory about a murder-suicide. He called Doug Munro to the stand. The FBI agent lightly placed his hand on his open jacket, was sworn in and took the stand. He stated his name and profession.
“Mr. Munro, I understand you have been conducting an investigation that is unrelated to the Van Okin murders. Would you describe for the jury who you were investigating and why?”
“Yes. Dr. Van Okin was the main focus of the investigation. We were looking into possible Medicaid fraud.”
“Was the defendant also a target of your investigation?”
“Yes. We were looking into accusations that Mr. Purcell and Dr. Van Okin were working together to defraud the Medicaid and CHIP programs by falsifying patient records.”
“CHIP is an acronym, correct?”
“Yes. It stands for the Children’s Health Insurance Program. It is administered by the Department of Health and Human Services. That puts it within the jurisdiction of the federal government.”
“Obviously, the death of Dr. Van Okin and arrest of David Purcell for his murder has derailed your case, right?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I would say that it has put things on hold. And the investigation includes other elements of which I am not at liberty to divulge.”
“Did you discover anything in your investigation that points to the defendant having any motive to harm Dr. Van Okin and his wife?”
“Not directly, no.”
“But indirectly?”
“There is reason to believe that financial problems led Dr. Van Okin to become involved in fraud. And that he was working with Mr. Purcell, who also is having serious financial problems.”
“But there is no proof that they were working together to defraud the federal government?”
“As I said, the investigation is ongoing.”
“Why would Elmer Van Okin have financial problems? He was a successful physician.”
Munro glanced at Hilliard, then – almost apologetically at Janet Purcell.
“Mrs. Van Okin had developed a gambling problem, possibly as a result of the progression of dementia. She had run up large debts.”
“And Mr. Purcell?”
“It is no secret that Mr. Purcell was having serious financial troubles. The orchard has been struggling for years. We believe he may have been providing Dr. Van Okin with migrant workers who became patients on paper only.”
“And is there any reason to believe – even if you were on the right track with your investigation – that something may have caused the defendant to harm Dr. Van Okin?”
“That wasn’t my focus. And I don’t have the luxury of conjecture.”
“So, to be clear, you didn’t uncover any evidence that would implicate the defendant in the murders of Dr. and Mrs. Van Okin?”
“No.”
“Thank you.”
Lipscomb called Obie Lynch to the stand. To anyone in the courthouse who was paying attention, it was obvious that Obie was uncomfortable. His clothing was ill-fitted, his body shifted in the witness chair and his face was having a difficult time finding an appropriate expression.
Craig Lipscomb had no intention of making Obie any more comfortable. He took his time, looking down at the notes spread before him on the defense table. He glanced at his watch, looking just a bit longer than it should have taken to ascertain the time. Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?
Lipscomb conferred with Tonya Rudnick. They had developed a strong working relationship. She was a tireless and efficient lawyer, with an excellent grasp of trial strategy. He was a savvy interrogator, able to break down or build up a witness, depending on what was needed.
Finally, he took off the reading glasses he was wearing, set them down and emerged from behind the table. Lips walked up to the witness stand and stood just a few feet in front of Obie, encroaching on his personal space.
Lips didn’t bother with any preliminary chatter.
“What made you decide to cooperate with investigators in the Van Okin case?”
Obie hung his head.
“I just wanted to help.”
“Wanted to help because …”
“Because I wanted to help. I knew the Van Okins. What happened to them was terrible. Anything I could do to help the cops …”
“Were you aware at the time that you were a suspect?”
“Objection,” Hilliard said from his seat behind the prosecution table. “It has not been established that Mr. Lynch was a suspect.”
Judge Peregrino looked at Lips and opened his mouth.
“Mr. Lipscomb…”
“Withdrawn,” Lips said. He paused briefly, then regained his momentum.
“Did you have any reason to believe Mr. Purcell had anything to do with the murder of the Van Okins?”
Obie muttered something that was barely audible.
“Please, Mr. Lynch,” Lips said. “I don’t think everyone heard your last statement.”
“No, I didn’t. I was under the impression that …”
