Cruel Justice

by William Bernhardt

  Bullock had stung him again. If Ben objected because Bullock had called an unendorsed witness, Bullock would rebut that he had provided the defense with advance notice and full disclosure. And no protest was made—not on the record, anyway. And as long as the record was clear and there was no risk of appeal error, Hawkins would have no problem letting Bullock get away with anything.

  And Ben was the one who kept getting called a shyster trickster.

  Ramona De Vries was a well-kept woman in her mid-forties, with strong features, a firm chin, and hair the color of steel. She didn’t look as if she wanted to be here. But then, who did?

  While Bullock introduced the witness, Ben scanned the file and tried to figure out who she was and what connection she had to the case. Ramona de Vries was a wealthy society woman. Married, rich beyond measure—and she spent most of her time at the Utica Greens Country Club. Even after listening to the first several minutes of her testimony, though, Ben still couldn’t fathom why she had been called.

  Until Bullock took her to the day of the murder. “Ms. de Vries,” Bullock asked, “were you at the Utica Greens Country Club on the afternoon of August twenty-fifth that year?”

  “Goodness, it’s been so long ago.” She waved her hand wearily. “I believe I was.”

  “What were you doing about two in the afternoon?”

  “I was sunbathing near the pool.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “I didn’t have anyone with me. There was someone else sunbathing. A blonde woman, as I recall. Maybe a few others. I’m not sure.”

  Bullock approached the witness. “Ms. de Vries, I’m going to hand you a picture of a woman I will represent to you was named Maria Alvarez.” Bullock showed what looked like a passport photo to the judge, then to Ben.

  “Thought you didn’t have any pictures of the victim that weren’t splattered with blood,” Ben whispered to Bullock.

  “Guess I forgot about this one,” Bullock whispered back. He passed the photo to the witness. “Have you ever seen this woman before?”

  “Why, yes. I saw her that day at the club.”

  “Really,” Bullock said, feigning surprise. “And what was she doing at the club?”

  “I can’t imagine,” de Vries replied, one eyebrow arched slightly. “I mean, she obviously shouldn’t have been there. She couldn’t have been a member. I don’t know how she made it through the gate.”

  “What was she doing when you saw her?”

  “She was talking to some of the other members—or trying to, anyway. No one wanted anything to do with her. Rather understandable, if you know what I mean.”

  “Did you know what she wanted?”

  “Not then, but she eventually approached me. I was sunbathing by the pool, and she just walked up and started babbling at me. I mean, can you imagine? I was appalled. I pulled my sun hat down over my eyes and tried to ignore her, hoping she would go away. But she didn’t. I mean, really!”

  “What did she ask you, Ms. de Vries?”

  “Well, that’s just it. Who could tell? She was rattling on in some foreign language. Spanish, I suppose. I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. I mean, if those people insist on coming to our country, they could at least have the decency to learn the language.”

  “Could you … tell what she wanted?” Bullock was obviously pushing for something in particular. He wasn’t quite leading, but he was getting pretty close.

  “I might have been mistaken, but at the time I thought she was looking for someone. I couldn’t tell who. I mean, I couldn’t imagine that she would know anyone who was a member, and if it wasn’t a member, why was she looking for them there? Maybe she was after one of the staff, I don’t know. I couldn’t understand it.”

  Bullock took a step closer to the witness stand. “What happened when you told her you couldn’t help her?”

  “Well, you just wouldn’t believe it. She started to screech and wail and moan. She actually cried, tears streaming down her face. It was disgraceful. Finally, she wandered off, probably so she could accost some other poor defenseless member. She was a menace, running around the club, bothering everyone like that. I mean, who knew what she might do?” She folded her arms across her chest. “I almost called security. I really did.”

  “Did you notice what Ms. Alvarez did after she left you?”

  “How could I help it?”

  “Were you the only person watching her?”

  “Oh no. Someone else was watching her very carefully.”

  “And who would that be?” Bullock asked, as if he didn’t already know.

  “Him,” she answered, pointing at the defendant’s table. “The caddy.”

  “Let the record reflect that the witness has identified the defendant,” Bullock said. The judge nodded. “How do you know he was watching, Ms. de Vries?”

  “Well, I saw him, of course. I could hardly miss it.”

  “Was he near you?”

  “Constantly. He was always loitering near the pool. Anytime he wasn’t on the golf course where he belonged, he was at the pool.”

  “Did this make you uncomfortable?”

  “Of course it did. Why do you think people join country clubs? It’s to get away from—” She cut herself off. Even Ramona de Vries seemed to realize that this was going too far.

  “I mean, that’s why we built the caddyshack, for God’s sake. To give them someplace to stay. He should’ve stayed in it.”

  “And why was Leeman watching her?”

  “Objection!” Ben said. “Calls for speculation.”

  Judge Hawkins shrugged. “I’ll allow it. Please answer.”

  “Well …” Ramona’s lips thinned. “I think he … liked her.”

  “Liked her?”

  “Yeah. Very much. His eyes never left her body. And the expression on his face.” She arched an eyebrow. “Like a dog eyeing a piece of meat.”

  “Objection!” Ben cried.

  Hawkins gazed down at him. “On what grounds, Mr. Kincaid?”

  Ben sputtered for a moment. Improper use of metaphor? In fact, he didn’t really have any grounds, but he couldn’t tolerate just sitting there while Bullock used Ramona to develop his sex-pervert theory.

  “Well, your honor … it’s just … it’s … not right.”

  Hawkins pressed two fingers against his brow. “I don’t think I’m familiar with the not right provision of the Evidence Code, counselor. Overruled. Proceed, Mr. Bullock.”

  Bullock nodded. “When did you last see the defendant that day?”

  “When he left the pool area.”

  “And why did he leave?”

  “He was following the woman.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Well, you know … they like the dark ones. …”

  “Objection!” Ben repeated, then hastily added: “Speculation. Lack of personal knowledge.”

  The judge nodded. “So you have read the Evidence Code after all. I’m so pleased. Objection sustained.”

  “That’s all,” Bullock said, retaking his seat. He’d made his point clear to the jury.

  “Cross-examination?” the judge asked.

  “No kidding.” Ben positioned himself squarely in front of the witness. He was going to have to be forceful with her. She had tried to paint Leeman as a deviant; Bullock would use that in closing argument to create a motive for murder. He had to rehabilitate Leeman’s reputation.

  “Isn’t it quite a coincidence that Leeman happened to be loitering by the pool at the exact moment this unknown woman came by?”

  De Vries seemed unperturbed. “Not really. As I said, he came there all the time.”

  “Was he permitted to swim?”

  An involuntary shudder passed through her body. “No, of course not.”

  “Then why would Leeman come to the pool?”

  “Well, do I have to spell everything out? All the women at the pool would be wearing bathing suits. I myself was wearing a skimpy little two-piece number. I had
anticipated being able to sunbathe with a certain amount of privacy. I could go to a public pool if I wanted to be leered at.”

  “What makes you think Leeman was looking at you?”

  “A woman knows these things.” To his horror, out of the corner of his eye, Ben saw one of the female jurors nod her head. “After all, everyone knows what they’re like. They have these … urges. …”

  “They?” Ben pounced on the word. “And when you say they, are you slandering blacks or the mentally retarded?”

  “Objection,” Bullock said.

  “Sustained,” Hawkins said quickly.

  Ben leaped right back into the fray. “Did you ever report the woman to security, ma’am?”

  “No. Well, before I had a chance, he killed her.”

  “Your honor!”

  The judge nodded. “The witness will refrain from speculating. The jury is instructed to disregard.”

  “How did you find out the woman was dead?”

  “My masseuse told me when I arrived at the club the next day.”

  “Were you upset?”

  “Well, of course I was upset. I mean, it happened right there at the club!” She paused for a moment. “Although, really, in a way, I suppose I felt a certain amount of relief. If she hadn’t been there, he undoubtedly would’ve gotten someone else.”

  Forget about trying to rehabilitate Leeman’s reputation; Ben had to get this dangerous witness off the stand. “Nothing more.”

  “Redirect?” the judge asked.

  “Can’t say as I see any reason for it,” Bullock said confidently. In other words, since Ben hadn’t laid a glove on Ramona during cross, he was going to leave well enough alone.

  Ben couldn’t blame him for that. Truth of the matter was, so far, Ben hadn’t put the least little dent in Bullock’s case. If things didn’t take a turn for the better soon, Leeman didn’t have a prayer.

  52

  “THE STATE CALLS SERGEANT Wilford Tompkins.”

  Tompkins approached the stand in full uniform, naturally. Juries liked uniforms; they made witnesses seem so official and important. He was a tall man, boyishly attractive, clean cut with a face that dripped of honesty. Bullock couldn’t have gotten a better witness from Central Casting.

  Bullock raced the witness through his background and credentials. He was a family man with twelve years on the force, two at the time of the murder. He was on duty the night Maria Alvarez was killed.

  “Who called the police and notified them that a murder had occurred?” Bullock asked.

  “We still don’t know,” Tompkins replied, in a typical police-witness matter-of-fact manner. “The call came from the vicinity of the country club, but the caller didn’t leave a name.”

  “Didn’t the police dispatcher record all incoming calls?”

  “Yes, but the tape is staticky and indistinct. You can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

  “Okay. What happened?”

  “Upon arrival, I immediately made my way to the caddy-shack. The light inside the building was on. I entered and found … the remains.”

  Bullock insisted that Tompkins identify the body he found as Maria Alvarez. It gave him a splendid opportunity to drag out those full-color photos again.

  Tompkins described the state of the corpse when he arrived. His testimony didn’t differ from that already introduced by Dr. Koregai.

  “Was anyone else in the shack when you arrived?”

  “Yes. The defendant. Leeman Hayes.”

  Ben glanced at Leeman. He was sitting at the defendant’s table with the same ambiguous expression on his face.

  “What did Mr. Hayes do?”

  “As soon as I entered the building, he began to run. I commanded him to stop, but he continued to flee.”

  “What happened next?”

  “Following standard procedure in such situations, I gave pursuit. Fortunately, he wasn’t a fast runner, and I was able to apprehend him without drawing my weapon.”

  “Did he resist arrest?”

  “Very much so. He struggled and fought. He even bit my arm. And he made a strange wailing sound. Like a sick dog.”

  “Did you attempt to question him?”

  “I did attempt it, but he was unresponsive. Therefore, I cuffed him to the door. I secured the crime scene, radioed for backup, contacted Homicide, and proceeded with a preliminary investigation.”

  “Why did you call Homicide?”

  “That’s standard procedure. And frankly … I wasn’t sure what to do next.”

  “Had you ever handled a homicide before?”

  “Oh, sure. But never one like this. This was … different. Worse.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well … for instance … it’s standard procedure to leave everything just as you find it when you arrive at a homicide scene. But I wasn’t certain whether it was … right to leave that woman’s body just … hanging there like that. Staked against the wall. It seemed … inhuman.”

  “I’m sure the jury appreciates that it was a difficult decision for you. Did you investigate the scene?”

  “Yes. I had pretty much covered the entire caddyshack by the time the homicide investigators arrived and relieved me.”

  “Did you discover anything noteworthy?”

  “Yes. I found a row of lockers where personal belongings were kept by the individual caddies.”

  “What did you find?”

  “In the defendant’s locker, I found a small six-club golf bag. It had five clubs inside.”

  “Only five?”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “The sixth club was the murder weapon. It was a matched set.”

  An electric ripple passed through the jury box. This was probably the most damning piece of evidence yet.

  “Did any of the other lockers have clubs?”

  “Oh, yes. Most of them, in fact. I suppose most caddies are budding golfers. But only the defendant’s contained the clubs in question. It’s a very distinctive set.”

  “Do you know where this set of clubs came from?”

  “I learned later. It had been stolen from the pro shop.”

  “Anything else in the locker?” Bullock asked.

  “Yes. A necklace.”

  Bullock held up a necklace in a clear sealed bag. “Is this the necklace?”

  Tompkins examined it. “Yes. I initialed the bag after sealing the necklace inside at the crime scene.”

  Bullock had it admitted into evidence. “Do you know to whom the necklace belonged?”

  “We believe it belonged to the murder victim, Maria Alvarez. It matches a bracelet she wore.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t find the bracelet in Mr. Hayes’s locker as well.”

  “It was hidden by the victim’s dress. The necklace would have been exposed, however.”

  Bullock gave the necklace to the bailiff, who in turn passed it to the jury. “I notice that the necklace is broken. Any idea how that occurred?”

  “Yes. The necklace was broken by the murder weapon.”

  “Can you explain?”

  “When the shaft of the golf club impaled her, it must have severed the necklace. Not to mention the woman’s neck.”

  “Thank you,” Bullock said solemnly. “No more questions.”

  “You may inquire, Mr. Kincaid,” the judge said, nodding in Ben’s direction.

  Ben walked directly to the stand, silently plotting his strategy. There was no point in coming on too strong. The jury seemed to like the witness—they usually trusted police officers—and probably thought he was telling the truth. For that matter, so did Ben. What he had to demonstrate was that Tompkins’s evidence didn’t prove as much as Bullock suggested.

  “Let’s make one thing clear right off the bat, Sergeant,” Ben began. “You didn’t see Leeman Hayes kill Maria Alvarez, did you?”

  “Well, no …”

  “And you didn’t discover any eyewitnesses to the crime, did you?”

  “No.”


  “And you never heard Leeman confess to the crime, did you?”

  “No. He wouldn’t talk to me at all.”

  “Wouldn’t? Or couldn’t?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re assuming a lack of cooperation, Sergeant. All you actually know is that he didn’t answer your questions, right?”

  Tompkins squirmed slightly. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Thank you. Now, did you ever determine why Leeman was at the caddyshack so late at night?”

  “Well, I assumed he was after that woman—”

  “Come now, Sergeant. If you were going to kill someone, would you do it at the Utica Greens caddyshack?”

  Tompkins hesitated. “Well … I would never kill anyone.”

  “No, I’m sure you wouldn’t. But it’s not an ideal place for a murder, is it? Bound to be discovered. Quickly.”

  Tompkins cast a sideways look at the jury box. “I never claimed the defendant was very smart.”

  A few chuckles from the jury box. Ben plowed ahead. “Did you ever consider any other reasons why Leeman Hayes might’ve been at the caddyshack that night?”

  “Such as?”

  Ben glanced back at Ernie Hayes in the gallery. “Well, did you notice whether Leeman had a pillow there?”

  Tompkins squirmed a bit more this time. “Well … I didn’t find one in his locker.”

  “No, that wouldn’t be a very comfortable place to sleep, would it?” This time the chuckles were with Ben, not against him. “And did you notice whether Leeman had a sleeping bag in the shack?”

  Tompkins frowned. “I reviewed the inventory list before I came to court today, and it did show that we found one blue sleeping bag.”

  Ben spread his arms wide. “Would it surprise you, then, to learn that Leeman slept at the caddyshack?”

  Tompkins was surprised. “No one ever said anything about that. …”

  “So he would’ve been there even if he had nothing to do with the murder, right?”

  Officer Tompkins cocked his head. “Or that might explain why he chose to commit the murder there.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe he brought the woman back to his, er, sleeping bag, and when she wouldn’t cooperate—”

  “Just answer the questions.” Ben riffled through the other cross-ex questions he had jotted down beforehand on index cards. When would he learn? Just ask the yes or no questions and don’t give the witness a chance to get creative. “Sergeant Tompkins, you’re aware that Leeman is developmentally disabled, aren’t you?”