“These are not speculations open to dispute. They are facts as described by Ms. Willins to detectives assigned to the murder. It is also a fact that the blow, though powerful, did not kill Ms. Gray. At least not immediately.
“The coroner will tell you that Madeleine Gray died at sometime between the hours of eight P.M. and eleven P.M. that night, of damage to the skull. The wounds and contusions on her lifeless body offered glaring testimony to the brutality of her attacker. Her murderer was apparently so enraged at Ms. Gray that a beating and murder were not enough. The body was wrapped in a carpet, dragged from the Gray home, and transported all the way to downtown Los Angeles, to a grimy alley off Dalton Street, where it was thrown like so much refuse into a garbage receptacle.
“We will prove unequivocally that Dyana Willins’s very distinctive car was at Madeleine Gray’s home at the approxidence indicating that this same car was used to transport Ms. Gray’s body.
“The defense will be calling many people who will tell you that Ms. Willins is a wonderful woman who couldn’t have committed this horrible crime. I admit having that same feeling myself, until the evidence began to mount higher and higher and I was forced to accept the fact, as you will come to accept it, that no other possibility exists.
“I know you’re probably looking at Ms. Willins sitting at the table over there and thinking: This is an upstanding, honorable, one may even say admirable, wife and mother and beloved entertainer. How could she possibly take the life of another human being, and take it in such a violent manner?
“Before this trial is over, you will know how she did it and why she did it. You will have your proof, ladies and gentlemen. Proof, beyond a reasonable doubt.
“There are five elements to look for in establishing guilt.” Wise held up his right hand, fingers extended. “Identity,” he said, bending his little finger in toward his palm. “Motive.” The next finger folded. “Evidence.” The middle finger joined the others. “The crime must be willful. And with malice aforethought.” Wise’s thumb closed, leaving him with a fist in the air.
“All five are present in this case,” he added, punctuating the sentence with the movement of his upraised fist. “Dyana Willins willfully took the life of Madeleine Gray in a brutal and callous manner. We who are assembled here, seeking justice in a difficult world, will see to it that she is punished for her crime.”
He returned to the prosecution table. “How’d it look?” he whispered to Nikki.
“Great,” she told him. “But I think you went a little over the top with that black power salute you kept flashing the jury.”
Wise looked at his still-clasped fist and grinned sheepishly.
Anna Marie Dayne wiped the smile from his face. “Contrary to what Mr. Wise has just been telling you,” she began, “we’re going to provide you with proof that Dyana Cooper had no opportunity to murder Madeleine Gray and no motive to do so. We will present witnesses who will show you precisely how makeshift and frail the prosecution’s case really is. You will hear testimony that casts doubt on the credibility of the prosecution’s key witnesses, including the two policemen who concocted this absurd case against Dyana Cooper.
“You will hear from Mr. Jamal Deschamps, who was the first African-American to be drawn into this murder case with absolutely no legal justification except that he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. “You will hear from associates and friends and, yes, even people who are not so friendly with the accused, who will tell you that it is impossible to think of her committing so heinous a crime as this.
“Finally, you will hear from just a few of an endless list of people who knew the deceased for what she really was, an apparently heartless woman of no conscience who seemed to delight in adding to the misery and misfortune of others, even to the point of receiving money from them to keep their most devastating secrets hidden.
“I tell you these things, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, not to speak ill of the dead, but to open your eyes to the fact that Madeleine Gray was a woman with a vast army of enemies. The prosecution, for reasons we will explore, has chosen to ignore them all—all the rich and powerful and brutal people who can order a murder as easily as one orders a pizza for dinner—and concentrate on just one courageous, deeply religious African-American wife and mother.”
When Dayne took her seat, Judge Vetters asked, “Mr. Wise, Ms. Hill, are you prepared to begin the case for the prosecution?”
“We are, your honor.”
“Good, good,” the judge said. “Please call your first witness.”
“The prosecution calls Dr. Ann Fugitsu to the stand,” Ray Wise said.
Nikki realized that she’d been holding her breath.
SIXTY-SIX
On the third day of the trial, Goodman was called to the stand.
He’d gone over his testimony with Nikki several times, the last being the previous evening. Now she took him smoothly through the various stages by which the LAPD had amassed the information leading to Dyana Cooper’s arrest.
Goodman answered Nikki’s questions confidently and unhesitatingly. The courtroom experience wasn’t new to him. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d occupied a chair in the shadow of an imposing judicial figure, staring at the hopeful face of an optimistic prosecutor or the patent sneer of a defense attorney. But those had all been simply part of the job. This was different. Doyle, the bastard, had made it personal. He was having a difficult time keeping his resentment and anger in check.
To combat precisely that sort of stress his doctor had recommended the calming effect of slow, deep in-and-out breathing. He had been trying that on and off during the hour he’d been on the stand, with the main result being that his lungs were full of the judge’s Shalimar. Meanwhile, Nikki had covered most of the territory—the evidence, the automobile, Willins’s letter in which he admitted adultery, and the fact that Dyana had lied to them during their initial visit to her home. Finally, they arrived at the point Nikki had chosen to end their courtroom duet.
“In the course of that interrogation,” she said, “Ms. Will-ins admitted that she had attacked Madeleine—”
“Objection to the word ‘attacked.’ ”
“Could you rephrase, Ms. Hill?”
Nikki returned to the prosecution table, picked up a sheet of paper, and walked back to Goodman. “Why not just read Ms. Willins’s own words, detective.”
He looked at the page and found it to be mainly a blur. He swallowed, blinked, and the words came into focus. Jesus! His head felt like a balloon about to pop. His blood pressure must’ve been rocketing to the moon.
Nikki pointed to a line. “You can start there, detective. Read down to there.”
“Okay.” He squinted. He was used to a more direct light when reading. “‘Ms. Willins said, “I hit her.”
“ ‘ “Hit Madeleine Gray?” I asked. “With your hand?”
“ ‘And she said, “No. With some sort of sculpture that was on the table.” ’ ”
Nikki took the transcript away from him, returned it to her other papers. “You’re familiar with the sculpture Ms. Will-ins mentioned?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that, detective?”
“Because it’s the same sculpture that was used to beat Madeleine Gray to death.”
Nikki paused while a murmur passed through the courtroom. Then she said, “Thank you, detective. Your witness.”
As Anna Marie Dayne approached, her smile sent a chill up his spine. She carried a section of trial transcript, opened to a specific page. “Detective Goodman, let’s clarify a point. You say the piece of sculpture the defendant used to protect herself from Madeleine Gray is the murder weapon. On what do you base that opinion?”
“On a statement by an expert, Dr. Ann Fugitsu,” Goodman said.
“You’re speaking of her testimony in this courtroom?”
“I wasn’t present in the courtroom when Dr. Fugitsu was on the stand.”
“No. You weren
’t. So I suppose it was a statement she made directly to you?”
“In my presence.”
“Which would make it hearsay.” She handed him the transcript. “Would you read what Dr. Fugitsu actually said in this courtroom, detective? Begin with Mr. Wise’s question about the murder weapon.”
Goodman looked at the blurry lines, saw the name Wise swim before his eyes. He held the transcript farther away, blinking. He read aloud: “ ‘Mr. Wise: “Could you please look at Exhibit D and tell us if this is the instrument used to murder Madeleine Gray.” Dr. Fugitsu: “Since it matches the physical requirements—that is, the proper heft, the smoothness of surface—to cause the fatal wound, and since traces of the deceased’s blood were found on its surface, I would say Exhibit D to be the likely murder weapon, yes.” ’ ”
“Does that sound like an unequivocal statement to you, detective?” Dayne asked.
“Object, your honor,” Nikki said. “Calls for speculation and Detective Goodman is not an expert on linguistics.”
“Withdraw the question,” Dayne said, reclaiming the transcript and taking her time returning it to her table.
She walked back to Goodman and asked a few apparently harmless questions about his career as a police officer, the number of homicide cases he’d investigated, the number of times he’d appeared in court. Then she shifted gears.
“You a married man, detective?”
“Objection,” Nikki called out. “Relevance?”
“Goes to character, your honor.”
Judge Vetters looked dubious. “I’ll let you take a few steps down this path, Ms. Dayne. But only a few.”
“Thank you, your honor. Detective?”
“I’m divorced,” he said.
“Bachelor, huh?”
“A single man, if that’s what you mean.”
“Been a single man quite a while?”
“Your honor?” Nikki complained.
“This is a courtroom, Ms. Dayne, not a dating bureau,” Judge Vetters said. “Move on, please.”
“All right, your honor. Detective, have you ever consorted with felons?”
“ ‘Consort’ is a little strong. I’ve met them, in my line of work.”
“Your work as one of L.A.’s finest,” Dayne said, not without sarcasm. “Well, in or out of your line of work, have you ever cohabited with felons?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Are you familiar with a woman named Edith ‘Edie’ Jastrup?”
He’d been expecting the question, but still his heart sank.
“Yes,” he replied, his face showing nothing.
“Did you not live with Miss Edith Jastrup for a period of... nine months and twelve days?”
“Sounds like you’ve got a better record of it than I do, but that seems about right.”
“Objection, your honor,” Nikki said. “What’s the relevance of Detective Goodman’s personal life?”
“An excellent question, Ms. Dayne.”
“Sidebar, your honor?”
Goodman’s calming breaths didn’t seem to be working. He felt lightheaded as he watched Nikki and the defense attorney standing a few yards away.
Anna Marie Dayne handed the judge a document. “I’m going to put this in evidence, your honor.” It was too far away for Goodman to see.
“What is it?” Nikki asked. “You’ve submitted nothing to our office.”
“It came into our possession yesterday afternoon,” Goodman heard Dayne reply. “A copy was hand delivered to the district attorney’s office last night at seven P.M., and we have a receipt for the delivery, if you want to look at it.”
“What’s its significance, Ms. Dayne?” the judge asked.
The defense attorney shot Goodman a look, then leaned closer to the judge, whispering something that the detective couldn’t hope to hear. Instead, he concentrated on Nikki’s face and could tell by her knit brows that he was in for a rocky ride.
“We haven’t had the opportunity to check the authenticity of this document,” Nikki objected. “Show me the provenance.”
“It’s authentic,” Dayne said. “There’s the stamp. There are his initials.”
“It’s a copy,” Nikki said. “Where’s the original?”
“In the interest of moving along,” Judge Vetters said, “I’m inclined to allow this to be placed into evidence with the proviso that the defense provide this court proper identification within forty-eight hours. But I warn you, Ms. Dayne, if such identification is not forthcoming, I will do considerably more than merely expunge the applicable section of Detective Goodman’s testimony.”
“Understood, your honor.” Dayne resumed her cross-examination by placing her document into evidence, with Nikki objecting for the record.
The defense attorney handed Goodman the document and asked, “Could you describe that item to the court please?”
“It looks like a copy of an arrest warrant,” Goodman said.
“Are there any names on that warrant that ring any bells, detective?”
Goodman took his time reading the list of women’s names.
“Yes,” he said.
“Could you tell us the familiar names?”
“Edith Jastrup and Evelyn Jastrup,” he said, his throat as dry as noonday sand.
“The same Edith Jastrup you lived with?”
“I imagine.”
“And Evelyn is...?”
“Her sister.”
“How did this woman you lived with for more than nine months and her sister earn their daily bread, detective?”
“They said they were models.”
“But you know differently.”
“No, I do not,” Goodman answered.
For the first time, Anna Marie Dayne seemed a bit surprised. “What are they accused of on this warrant?”
“It says Code Section 647b.”
“What crime are we talking about?”
“Prostitution,” Goodman said calmly.
“So I ask you again, detective, how did the Jastrup sisters earn their money?”
“As far as I knew they modeled clothes.”
Dayne seemed frustrated. “In spite of what this warrant says?”
“This just seems to be a warrant,” he said. “I’m not sure that constitutes proof of guilt. We served your client with a warrant.”
Dayne turned to look out into the courtroom. Goodman tried to follow her line of sight, but couldn’t, because, almost immediately, she was back at him. “Aren’t those your initials on the warrant?”
“No, they are not.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Why would I have signed a warrant involving a prostitution case? Seven years ago, the date on this warrant, I was working homicide.”
“Let’s say you knew one or two of the parties involved and you wanted to take a look at the warrant, you might have been asked to initial it. Right?”
“Maybe. But that didn’t happen. I’ve never seen this warrant before.” Goodman realized this was clearly contrary to what Dayne had been expecting. Which meant she was convinced the warrant was genuine.
She stood there, staring at him for what seemed like an eternity, saying nothing.
“Ms. Dayne?” the judge inquired.
“Sorry, your honor.” She took the copy of the warrant from the detective and handed it to the judge. Then she moved back to her table. “I’d like to return to Ms. Cooper’s interrogation by Detectives Goodman and Morales.” She picked up her copy of the transcript and carried it to Goodman. “Would you please read the section indicated by the arrows, detective?”
Goodman blinked at the page. He was still thinking about Edie. He said, “ ‘I asked the defendant, “Did you murder Madeleine Gray?” ’ ”
“What was Ms. Cooper’s exact reply?”
“ ‘No, I did not.’ ”
“Thank you, detective. That’s all.”
“You’re excused, Detective Goodman,” Judge Vetters said. “Unless my watch is fa
st, it’s about time for lunch.”
Nikki stopped Goodman in the hall. She said, very seriously, “Upstairs. Now.”
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “I thought it went okay.”
“We’ll talk in my office.”
The wait for an elevator was painful. Neither of them spoke.
Finally, they made it to the eighteenth floor, past the barriers, down the hall, and into her office. She closed the door and turned to him. “You may have blown the case for us today, detective.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about perjury.”
“You got me all wrong, Nikki,” he said, disappointed by her lack of faith.
“You’d never seen that warrant before?” she asked, wanting to believe, but not quite up to the task.
“I may have seen a similar one,” he said. “But not that one. That one’s bogus. Somebody whipped it up for the trial, and they neglected to tell Dayne it was fake.”
“How can you be so positive?”
“Because,” Goodman said, “I set fire to the original seven years ago.”
SIXTY-SEVEN
An hour later, Goodman entered Robbery-Homicide to find Morales sitting at his desk, moodily staring into space. A shiny blue murder book rested open in front of him. He shook himself out of his trance long enough to ask, “How’d it go in court?”
“You didn’t miss anything,” Goodman said. He swung his chair around and sat, facing Morales. “There’s something I gotta do, partner.”
“Get lunch?”
“No. I’m gonna take a run at this Doyle bastard, try to shake him up. You with me?”
“Not today.” Morales stood up. “I got plans.”
“Now?”
“Cover for me, huh?”
“Where you headed?”
“In due time, amigo,” Morales told him. “In due time.”
Goodman watched him saunter from the room. Then he rolled his chair to his partner’s desk. The Madeleine Gray murder book was open to a page of Jamal Deschamps’s initial interrogation.
The Trials of Nikki Hill Page 27
