Hardy 11 - Suspect, The

by John Lescroart

  Gina was in her office by six o'clock the next morning, and worked straight through until eight thirty, when she took a cab down to the Hall of Justice. She spent the time drawing up subpoenas for her new potential witnesses from Wyatt Hunt's travels last night. Whether or not he succeeded in finding Kymberly today, Gina also wanted to have a subpoena ready for her, not only to see if she could get to the critical amytriptilene and PII issues, but far more prosaically in case she'd need Kymberly to rebut Bethany Robley's version of the threatening conversation. While she was at it, though for different reasons, she also wanted to be able to call Fred Furth and Bob McAfee if the need arose.

  Though she fully intended to spend some quality time figuratively holding Stuart's hand in the cell behind the courtroom before what was likely to be a devastating, and in any case upsetting, day of testimony, with all the last-minute preparation, she never got around to it.

  * * * * *

  It probably wasn't technically cuttable, but the tension was thick in the courtroom. Predictably, the news outlets—both print and video— had a banner opportunity with Clair Robley's courtroom attack of the defendant who'd threatened her daughter, and they weren't going to let it go by. The Chronicle’s lead headline had screamed, "Disorder In The Court," and some sneaky reporter had obviously gotten past the guards with his photo-cell phone intact, and had caught a dramatic, albeit uncredited, photo of the cane coming down on a cowering Stuart Gorman.

  Probably in large part because of this, the soon-to-be-seasoned Judge Toynbee had ordered a secondary screening of every person who would be allowed in the courtroom for the morning's session, and the line of reporters and lookie-loos had stretched the length of the second-floor hallway and down the stairs into the Hall's lobby. It would be fair to say that none of the people in this queue seemed patient and tranquil. As a matter of fact, building security had to be called to break up three shoving matches of rivals fighting for their space, and a sketch artist for one of the cable news stations got himself arrested at the door to the courtroom when the errant F-word escaped his lips, directed at the guard right at the courtroom door, leading to denial of the artist's access, which in turn impelled him to throw a right hook at the cop's face.

  Backstage, it wasn't much better. As soon as both Abrams and Gina were in their places at their respective tables, Toynbee called them back to his chambers and told them both that until further notice they were under a gag order: Pointedly he ordered Abrams to stop his leaking to whomever it was, and then he stunned Gina by expressly forbidding her to share her opinions of the case with Jeff Elliott. (His "CityTalk" column on elements of the PII story and how they might relate to Stuart Gorman's hearing had appeared in the morning edition.)

  Gina, though chastened, nevertheless felt emboldened by her new knowledge about the probable murder of Kelley Rusnak, and tried to open a discussion with the judge concerning the relevance of PII issues to the matter at hand. Unfortunately for Gina, in his free time yesterday afternoon, Toynbee had reviewed the proposed testimony of Bethany Robley and had found it reasonably compelling. Clearly, in spite of the incredible unlikelihood of Kelley’s and Caryn's murders being unrelated, Stuart still seemed very much the main suspect in Caryn Dryden's murder in Toynbee's mind. This was disconcerting, to say the least, and made Gina wonder if the judge was somehow privy to information she'd not been made aware of.

  She was about to find out.

  When she walked into the courtroom from behind the judge's bench, she was immediately struck by the hostility in the air. It was ugly back there, the gallery packed with many more people than there had been yesterday, when it was merely SRO. Abrams still had most of his usual allies: Jackman for the second day in a row, when his presence in a courtroom was normally a newsworthy event on its own; more uniforms; the neighbors she recognized as witnesses; Bethany Robley today in the front row, next to an obviously angry black man who, Gina thought, must be her father.

  She wondered about the psychology of the mob. Stuart, after all, was the one who'd been attacked. And yet, somehow, this crowd seemed, if possible, more weighted against him than the one yesterday. When the bailiff opened the back door and let Stuart into the courtroom—this was before Toynbee had taken the bench—the ominous rumble behind her in the gallery was enough to make the hairs on Gina's neck stand up. What was that about? she wondered.

  Her client still sported the bandage from yesterday's attack, and looked positively worn down and exhausted. They should feel sympathy for him, if for anybody. At least, Gina thought that until she realized that most of these people undoubtedly still believed that Stuart had killed his wife—after all, he'd been arrested for it!—and on top of that, that he'd threatened this young, sweet, shy, A-student witness, whom the Chronicle had also profiled that morning.

  For his part, Stuart got to the table and paid no attention to the gallery, instead leaning over and whispering to Gina, "I'm so sorry about last night. I didn't mean to yell at you. You're the only one holding this together. I'm just not ready to accept Kym as any part of this. Can you understand that?"

  Her jaw set, Gina could only nod. Just.

  "Miss Robley," Abrams began. "Would it be okay if I called you Bethany?"

  She answered in a small voice, her voice shaky, her eyes darting over to Stuart, out to her father, back to Abrams. Terrified. "That would be fine," she said.

  "Bethany, would you tell the court what you were doing at around eleven thirty on Sunday night, September eleventh, of this year."

  "Sure." But she hesitated before beginning, chancing one more look at all these adults who were either tormenting or supporting her.

  In the last couple of weeks, especially since those terrible first days before she had told her mother about the threat to her that Kymberly had delivered, she had come to some fundamental decisions about who was on her side and who wasn't. Before, she had always liked Mr. Gorman—enough to be comfortable calling him Stuart, for example—but she'd always known that when he lost his temper, he could be terrifying.

  The time that stuck in her mind the most was once when they all were skiing and this snowboarder came from out of nowhere from behind them and smashed into Kymberly, going pretty much full speed. After Stuart made sure that his daughter wasn't seriously injured, he skied down to where the boarder had fallen, moaning in the snow. Bethany would never forget not only the look in Stuart's eyes, but the true sense she had that he was going to stab the kid with his pole. As it was, he picked him up—an adult-size kid—and yelling and swearing at him the whole time that he ought to watch where the fuck he was going, he slammed him back down onto the hard-packed snow a couple of times before he got himself back under control.

  He had talked about it half the way home, too, saying he wished he had hurt the kid more. He'd missed his chance. But at least he'd intimidated the snowboarder enough to get his address and phone number, in case there were complications with Kymberly. He told the girls he was still considering looking the guy up and hunting him down. Bethany thought at the time he was mostly kidding, blowing off steam—but even so, it wasn't funny kidding. She believed he really might do it.

  Now she dared a quick glance at this man who, she'd convinced herself, had absolutely clearly told her that if she went ahead and testified against him, something really bad was going to happen to her. That was all the proof she needed that he'd actually killed his wife.

  Watching the young woman's hesitation as she assessed the danger Stuart posed to her, as she then turned and waited for the nods of assurance from Gerry Abrams and from her father, Gina suddenly felt a stab of panic. She had studied and well knew the psychology of terror—from the Stockholm syndrome, where hostages came to admire and even love their captors, to a situation such as this one.

  Gina's instinct now told her that Bethany had come to the unshakeable conclusion that Stuart was a dangerous man who needed to be put away, and that was all there was to it. In the past ten days, that nascent belief had grown to a de
ad certainty within her. The stress and responsibility placed on her, her willingness and even need to please her protectors, and the intense coaching she'd received from Gerry Abrams and her parents—there was much literature documenting that factors such as these could actually conspire to change Bethany's wiring, down to the level of her synapses, and this in turn might affect the actual details in her memory. Her certainty about what she must have seen in her mind might now be indistinguishable from what she actually had seen. And if that were the case, they were in big, big trouble.

  Gina leaned over and whispered to Stuart. "Don't look back at her. And no matter what she says, stay cool."

  And now, on the stand, Bethany brought her gaze back to the center of the courtroom. Getting a confident nod from her protector, Gerry Abrams, she began. "Well, I was doing homework in my room, but it was getting to be about eleven thirty, which is my bedtime. I closed my books and was going in to brush my teeth and get ready for bed when I looked out my bedroom window and saw a car pulling up to the house across the street. And then the garage door coming open."

  "Did you recognize the car, Bethany?"

  "Yes. I'd ridden in it many times. It belonged to my neighbor across the street."

  "And do you see that neighbor in the courtroom today?"

  Desperate to break up the rhythm of Bethany's testimony, Gina recognized an early opportunity and stood up. "Objection. I'm sorry, Your Honor. Vague. Does counsel mean the neighbor who owns the car? Because there's been no testimony that the witness saw the driver of the car that night."

  "Obviously," Abrams responded, "the question calls for an identification of the neighbor who owned the car, and I'd ask that Ms. Roake be admonished not to interrupt the testimony of an already-uncomfortable witness with frivolous objections."

  If nothing else, the objection had succeeded in slowing things down.

  Toynbee, whose earlier sunnier disposition seemed in the light of his own current intensity as though it must have been an apparition, was not thrilled with the exchange. "All right, both of you," he said. "That's strike two. Ms. Roake, your objection is overruled. The question was obviously proper. Mr. Abrams, when I need your advice on how to run my courtroom, I'll ask for it. I swear to you, if the two of you don't settle down, somebody's going to walk out of here with a lighter pocketbook."

  Abrams went apoplectic. "Your Honor, I haven't done—"

  The judge glared, grabbed his gavel and slammed it down, shutting him up. "I've ruled on the objection, Counselor," he said in a firm tone. "You may continue questioning your witness."

  Gina was going back to her table. Behind her, she heard Abrams ask the judge if the court recorder could read back Bethany's testimony so he could take up where she had left off. As she'd hoped, Gina's objection and the argument around it had made Abrams lose his place. After a minute, the recorder had found the spot. "Mr. Abrams: 'Did you recognize the car, Bethany?'" she intoned. Then, "The witness: 'Yes. I'd ridden in it many times. It belonged to my neighbor across the street.' "

  Abrams, back in his place, said, "And do you see that neighbor in court today? The neighbor who owned the car?"

  She pointed to Stuart without looking at him. Abrams, back in his place, said, "So you recognized the car, did you not, Bethany?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Could you describe it, please?"

  "Yes, it's a black Lexus SUV."

  "Is there anything else distinguishing about this car?"

  "Yes, there is."

  "And what's that?"

  "The license plate."

  Next to her, Stuart shifted in his chair and started to say something. Gina quickly put a hand over his forearm, leaned into him, "Not now," she whispered harshly. But in fact Gina, too, had a very bad feeling. In all the transcripts that Gina had seen of Bethany's testimony in her discovery, she'd never once mentioned the license plate, or the fact that she'd seen it.

  Abrams was going on. "What about the license plate, Bethany?"

  "It's a personalized plate. It says G-H-O-T-I."

  Next to her, Stuart said, "That's bullshit! She couldn't have seen that."

  Gina squeezed her fingernails into his forearm. "Shut up. Suck it up."

  Toynbee was glaring at the small disturbance they made, his gavel poised to fall. But Stuart managed to calm himself. Gina eased the pressure on his arm. Toynbee lowered the gavel and again turned his attention to Abrams, who smiled at Bethany and said, "Are you absolutely sure, Bethany, that these were the letters you saw on the license plate as it turned into the driveway across the street and into the garage?"

  With a last defiant glare at Stuart, Bethany nodded to Abrams and said, "Yes, sir, I am."

  In spite of Gina's many objections, some of them merely for the sake of disturbance, Abrams and Bethany went on to establish that the same car had pulled out of Stuart's garage at a quarter to one, but the real damage had already been done. The prosecution had presented firsthand eyewitness testimony from a credible person who was giving false witness although, Gina believed, she might truly believe that she was telling the whole truth and nothing but.

  Before Abrams was finished with her, Bethany also delivered an emotional recasting of the so-called threat from Stuart that Kymberly had conveyed. Gina's strenuous objection that there was no evidence tying whatever Kym might or might not have done to Stuart was for naught. At trial, she knew, the prosecution would just drag in Kym and impeach her if she had claimed it was her own idea. But for now, the evidence was coming in even without that necessary foundation, and there didn't seem to be a damn thing she could do about it. In the telling, Bethany came all the way to tears, and Toynbee had to call a short recess to let her regain her composure. After that, she testified that the message from Kymberly contained an explicit warning from Stuart that if Bethany went on the stand to testify against him, something very bad was going to happen to her. She'd had to miss two days of school, pretending to be sick because she was so afraid of going out of her house.

  And then, luckily, the police had arrested Stuart.

  Gina had her work cut out for her. She came to her position before Bethany in the middle of the courtroom and gave her a warm smile, which the witness did not return. "Bethany," she began, "when did you first give your account of the night of September eleventh to Inspector Juhle?"

  Now Gina's mission was precisely the opposite of her strategy during Abrams' direct. This time she wanted to get Bethany talking freely so that something unguarded and unrehearsed might slip out. "I don't know exactly. I think it was the next day. The day after Caryn died."

  "And you told the inspector the whole truth, didn't you? You didn't hold anything back?"

  "Yes, I told him the whole truth."

  "And you knew that Caryn Dryden was dead, and how important this was, so you tried to be as helpful and complete as you could, isn't that right?" Yes.

  "Now, during that conversation, were you aware that Inspector Juhle had a tape recorder going?"

  "Yes. He asked my permission before he began."

  "So the entire conversation, as far as you know, is on tape, right?"

  "Right."

  "Did he ask you any questions before he turned the tape recorder on or after he turned it off?"

  "Just whether I agreed to have the tape on, but nothing else."

  Gina continued. "Now, that conversation was just a short while after Caryn's death, and a lot has happened since then, hasn't it? Scary things, like your talk with Kym and having to testify here today. Do you think your memory might have been a little better back then than it is today?"

  "Well, my memory is pretty good today."

  "But if you said something on the tape, and you say something different now, don't you think it would be more likely that what you said on the tape was right, just because of the amount of time that has passed and the things that have happened?"

  "Probably so."

  "And in that first discussion, did you tell Inspector Juhle that you recogniz
ed Mr. Gorman's car?"

  "Yes. That's what he was asking about."

  "And you identified it as you have today, as a black Lexus SUV. Kind of a smaller sport utility vehicle?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you tell him what the license plate was during that conversation?"

  "Yes."

  "Bethany. Has anyone given you a copy of the tape to listen to, to prepare for your testimony?"

  Yes.

  Nodding, Gina walked swiftly over to her table and pulled some pages from the open folder she'd left there. "Bethany, I've got here a transcript of that original talk, and I'd like you to take a look at it for a minute—it's not long—and point out for the court where you told Inspector Juhle about the personalized license plate."

  "Sure." Happy to cooperate, Bethany took the papers in her hands and began looking through them.

  Gina turned and stole a glance at Gerry Abrams, who was busily arranging his own materials and didn't meet her eyes.

  For all of her inexperience with murder proceedings, Gina was very familiar with most of the games attendant in criminal proceedings in general. She was certain that she was dealing with one of the most common of these now. Since all transcriptions of testimony had to be included in discovery, which the prosecution then had to give to defense counsel, sometimes discussions with crucial witnesses happened, as though by inadvertence, "off tape." This meant that critical testimony, such as the kind Bethany had presented here, could be shaped and even created out of whole cloth and remain outside of the record until it could be dropped as a surprise to maximum effect at a trial or hearing.

  Now Gina turned again to face the witness. Bethany's brow had clouded and she was turning pages, trying to find what wasn't there. Finally, she looked up. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm afraid I don't see it here."

  "That's correct," Gina said encouragingly. "You don't." Gina read from her own copy of the transcript. "And Inspector Juhle asked you specifically how sure you were, didn't he?" Yes.