The Werewolf Upstairs

by Ashlyn Chase

  “We probably should. What kinds of questions should I expect?”

  She dragged her feet up onto the couch and hugged her knees, looking more like a little girl than his attorney. “You might never have to testify.”

  “Seriously? Could they possibly put me in jail without giving me a chance to defend myself?”

  “That’s not what I meant. Sometimes the evidence can be disputed and the lawyers can create enough reasonable doubt on their own without the defendant ever having to get on the witness stand.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “Well, we found the two guards who had been at the museum that night, and they’ll be asked to point out the gunmen who tied them up, if either of the thieves are in the courtroom.”

  “You’re expecting them to cooperate? To say they don’t see the guys?”

  “They’ll be under oath.”

  “But didn’t you say before that the public wants someone to hang? Won’t they be tempted to point to me just because I’m the defendant?”

  “No. I’m sure they’d prefer to convict the guys who really did it. They won’t want an innocent man going to jail while letting the real thieves off the hook.”

  “Okay, but what if they get confused? It’s been a long time, and sometimes people see what they want to see.”

  “According to their police-report descriptions, you’re about as far from the men they saw as you can be. Both were under six feet tall and you’re what? Six-six?”

  He chuckled. “No. Only six-four.”

  “Ha. Only six-four. Okay, well, I doubt anyone would see you as six feet or less.”

  “Probably not. So you think that’s all you have to do to create reasonable doubt? Isn’t that putting a lot of power into the hands of two human beings?” He didn’t want to have to point out how fallible humans were. Most werewolves thought themselves superior, but Konrad didn’t think he was one of them. Maybe deep down, he was.

  She fluffed her drying hair. “No. I hope to disprove their DNA evidence too.”

  “How can you do that?”

  “I don’t want to say just now. It’s better if you don’t know every detail.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe I could help come up with other angles.”

  “No, I’ve got this. To be honest, I’m feeling pretty confident. I don’t want to get cocky, so the team of lawyers will be there if I need them.”

  His mood lifted considerably. “That sounds great. I’m relieved I won’t be going to jail, and all this will be behind us soon.”

  “I never said that. If the prosecution can make a good case, it may drag on and on. There are no guarantees.”

  “Shit. I had hoped…well, never mind.”

  She straightened and put her feet back on the floor. “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just the timing. I had hoped we’d have a nice, easy summer.”

  She squinted as if she didn’t quite believe him, but she let it go, thank God.

  He’d had a sailboat reserved, but he could cancel it and reschedule after everything was over. It seemed like a romantic idea, and even if it went the way of all of their dates, wolves were great swimmers.

  ***

  The jury filed in and took seats along one side of the courtroom. Konrad looked them over. A jury of his peers? Wouldn’t that have to be twelve werewolves? The only other werewolf in the courtroom that he knew of was his brother, Nick.

  Be that as it may, a dozen human beings of mixed ages and races sat there staring back. His hands began to sweat.

  “All rise,” said the bailiff.

  A rumble signified about fifty people getting to their feet.

  “This court is in session, the honorable Judge Vader, presiding.”

  A balding man wearing a long, black robe breezed into the courtroom and up a few steps to his seat on high. As soon as the judge sat comfortably in his leather chair behind his massive desk, he said, “Be seated.”

  While everyone was getting resettled, the judge scanned some papers in front of him. Konrad was beginning to think the good judge had fallen asleep, when the man finally looked up and addressed the jury.

  “Members of the jury, what you have before you is a great responsibility, to the court, to the Commonwealth, and to yourselves. Our judicial system asks you to listen to all the facts presented during this trial, then take everything into consideration and make a decision regarding the guilt or innocence of the defendant.

  “You are not to take this matter lightly. The outcome will affect more than this one man. You are to deliberate until you are absolutely sure of your decision, no matter how long it takes.”

  As he droned on, Konrad stared at his lap and obsessed about the jury taking forever to deliberate. He wondered what it took to declare a hung jury.

  Roz must have heard him. “Relax, lover. He has to say those things to every jury. It’s not unique to this one.”

  Konrad tried to slow his breathing. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t a fast decision a good sign?

  “Not necessarily. A long deliberation may just mean they’re taking a second or third look at the evidence and trying to get it right. Don’t worry.”

  Konrad noticed his jaw ached from clenching his teeth. Easy for you to say.

  “No, it’s really not. This is the most difficult case I’ve ever had. And lift up your head. You look guilty as sin.”

  Thanks for waiting until now to tell me. Konrad snapped his head up, his eyes level.

  “In the case of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts versus Konrad Wolfensen, the charges are burglary of the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum, grand larceny, fraud…”

  Konrad shut down his mind to calm himself. As soon as he stopped shaking, he tried to listen again. Just in time, too. The judge had asked him a question. What was it? Oh yeah.

  “Yes, I understand the nature of the charges, your honor. May I speak? I’m quite intelligent. I was a dean—”

  “Did I ask you about your intelligence or profession?”

  “No, your honor.”

  “Fine. Perhaps you should let your lawyers speak for you from now on.”

  Roz leaned toward him and whispered, “Don’t say another word. We’re supposed to do the talking for you.”

  How the hell would I know that? I’ve never been on trial before.

  The attorney next to Roz leaned toward her and whispered angrily, “I thought you spent hours with this guy. What the hell were you doing?”

  She sat silent and stoic, eyes forward, as if the man hadn’t spoken at all.

  “I’m sorry. I should have prepared you better.”

  The judge nodded to the prosecution and said, “Proceed with your opening argument.”

  The other long table seated almost as many lawyers as his did. One of them stood, buttoned his jacket, and walked around the table toward the jury.

  “Men and women of the jury, this unsolved case has gone on long enough. I intend to prove that Konrad Wolfensen was one of the thieves who broke into the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum on March 18, 1990, to steal twelve pieces of art valued at three hundred million dollars.”

  A murmur from behind him let Konrad know the spectators were blown away by the value of the loot the thieves had taken, whoever they were. And probably many of the jurors were struggling to pay their bills and suspected he was living high off the hog.

  Who the hell does this guy think he is?

  “He’s the district attorney. Don’t let him get to you. He’s just doing his job, but I’ll be doing mine too.”

  His hands began to shake and sweat again.

  “Now, what do we know?” the prosecutor continued. “We know that on that cold spring night between the hours of 1:24 a.m. to 2:45 a.m., thieves who had disguised themselves as Boston police officers gained entry to the museum. They did this by advising one of the guards on duty that they were there to investigate a reported disturbance.

  “And we know that the defendant has a brother of the same h
eight, weight, and build who happens to be a Boston police officer.”

  What difference does that make?

  “I suppose they’re going to claim you had access to a uniform and could have easily been one of the robbers.”

  But the eye witnesses descriptions—

  “Don’t worry. We’ll cross-examine them.”

  The prosecuting attorney continued. “Upon entering the facility, they overpowered both guards, handcuffed them, and took them to separate isolated parts of the basement. There they were duct taped to separate structures to immobilize them. They never had the chance to push the panic button hidden behind the guard’s desk, so no actual police were notified during the robbery. No video surveillance film is available, because they stole that too.”

  The murmurs behind him sounded like a mixture of amusement and anger, probably depending on how each person valued priceless art. Konrad’s mind drifted to the day he heard the news.

  He was watching one of the local TV stations, and a special report broke the news. His emotions ran the gamut of disbelief, heartbreak, and outrage. If he’d only known who did it, he’d have gone after them and practiced a little vigilante werewolf justice on their asses.

  Anyone who appreciated the creative arts in this courtroom would probably want him hanged on Boston Common. He shuddered. Dragging himself back to reality, he noticed the lawyer seemed pleased with how he’d horrified the listeners.

  “Over the years all logical leads were followed up with no positive investigative results. Numerous interviews were conducted. Many were even accompanied by polygraph examinations. And all forensic evidence recovered at that time was sent to the FBI for analysis and, eventually, storage. However, new evidence recently surfaced.”

  Are they calling Reginald’s cockamamie story evidence? And if it’s something else, how do they explain learning about it? An anonymous tip?

  “If so, I’ll have to prod the appropriate witnesses until someone gives up the ghost, so to speak.”

  Not Morgaine, I hope.

  “I doubt the jury will be impressed by a psychic. I think the museum curator is our best bet.”

  Konrad almost chuckled, but settled for a quick smile.

  The attorney finally seemed satisfied that he’d done sufficient damage to the credibility of the defense, and he sat down.

  Roz stood and approached the jury. She took a few moments to gather her thoughts, but began with her own compelling argument. “The judge reminded you of the seriousness of your job as jurors, and I’m certain you’ll do your duty to the very best of your ability. But I’d like to quote a statistic that may shock you. More than 230 wrongfully convicted and imprisoned men and women have been exonerated and released from U.S. prisons after conclusively proving their innocence.

  “The prosecution mentioned having DNA evidence that would conclusively prove my client guilty. I maintain it’s that same evidence that will prove his innocence.”

  When had the DA said that? Konrad realized it must have been when he was daydreaming, imagining his conviction.

  “Furthermore, I intend to prove their anonymous tip was faulty and the evidence was planted long after the incident. DNA can be used to convict a guilty man or used to frame an innocent one.

  “The district attorney failed to mention the guards’ descriptions of the robbers. These men stood face to face and toe to toe with the perpetrators before they were taken to the basement and bound with duct tape.

  “This is what they said on March 18, 1990. ‘One suspect was a white male, late twenties to mid-thirties, between five foot seven and five foot ten. Medium build, dark eyes, and short, cropped, black hair.’

  “‘The other suspect was a white male, early to mid-thirties, six feet to six one, broad shouldered but lanky from the waist down, with dark eyes and black hair a little longer in back, rounded off just over the collar.’”

  Good girl. Those descriptions couldn’t possibly be me.

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” Roz answered him. “The DA will point out that they were wearing fake mustaches and could have been wearing wigs and dark contacts. He could say you were younger than twenty and must have grown over the years. I’m just hoping he doesn’t, and no one on the jury will think of it.”

  Fuck. I’m so screwed.

  Chapter 20

  When Roz sat down, the district attorney called his first witness, a Boston police lieutenant. She had expected that the DA would use someone credible to introduce and verify the prosecutor’s bullshit evidence.

  “What is your role with the police department, sir?”

  “I’m a detective.”

  “Very good. And are you familiar with this?” The DA held up a plastic bag for the courtroom to see and then handed it to the lieutenant.

  “Yes, this is the evidence I collected at the museum.”

  “Where, exactly?” the DA pressed.

  “It was attached to some shelving in the basement of the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum.”

  “And what exactly is in the bag?”

  “A small shred of duct tape and two strands of hair.”

  “Thank you.” He returned to his seat.

  It was Roz’s turn, and the judge said, “The defense may cross-examine the witness, if you’d like.”

  Roz stood and strolled toward the police detective. “Can you describe the hair strands you entered into evidence, lieutenant? I’m not sure anyone in the courtroom could see exactly what they look like. Certainly if I couldn’t from my seat up front, I doubt anyone else could.” She glanced at the DA, who appeared disinterested as he took notes.

  “Uh, yes. They were two long, blond hairs.”

  “Long and blond, you said, right?”

  “Right.”

  “How long?”

  The lieutenant scratched his head. “About two feet.”

  Roz raised her eyebrows as if the information were a significant surprise. She hoped it would give the jury a clue that it should be. “Two feet? Not two inches. Two whole feet?” She held her hands about two feet apart. “Like that?”

  He nodded and said, “Yes.”

  People whispered behind her. She heard a couple of titters. Those were good signs. She was planting doubt.

  “Thank you.” As she returned to her seat, she said, “That’s all.”

  The witness was excused.

  The DA called his next witness. As soon as the man was sworn in and seated, the DA wasted no time. “Where do you work?”

  “I work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, in the DNA testing lab.”

  “Very good. And do you recognize this evidence?” He held up the small plastic bag and walked it over to the witness.

  “Yes. It appears those are hair strands I tested.”

  The DA held the bag aloft again. “Let the record show this is the same evidence identified by the Boston police detective that he testified had been gathered at the crime scene.” He laid the bag back down and paced with his hands behind his back. “Now tell me. After testing the evidence, did you find a match?”

  “Not an exact match, no.”

  Roz held her breath. She hoped the witness would leave a large enough hole to poke through.

  “How close a match did you get?”

  The witness leaned back in his seat, as if feeling confident. “Ninety-nine point nine percent.”

  The DA raised his eyebrows as if impressed. “My, that’s very close. Can you explain to whom the close match belonged and why it might be so close but not exact?”

  The witness cleared his throat and sat a little straighter. “The closest match was to a Boston police officer named Nicholas Wolfensen.”

  “I see. And can you surmise why it would be a close match, but not exact?”

  The witness matter-of-factly said, “If the hair belonged to an identical twin, it would test that close.”

  “There’s no other way two people could be so close a match?”

  “None that I’ve heard of
.”

  “Thank you. That’s all.”

  The judge offered Roz the opportunity to cross-examine the witness.

  Should I? What can he say that will make any difference? Even if the man doesn’t know about Konrad’s twin, the DA will just prove it later.

  She stood. “No questions at this time, your honor.”

  “Roz, this is looking bad.”

  She took in a deep breath. Have patience.

  The witness was excused, and the prosecutor called his next witness. The name snapped Konrad out of his telepathy with Roz.

  “Nicholas Wolfensen.”

  “Shit. Roz, what can you do to get Nick out of this?”

  Nothing. He can be declared a hostile witness, but I hope he’ll just answer the questions honestly.

  “But Roz, the business! What if they ask him about our business? It’ll come out that I’m a thief. I was relieved that they couldn’t bring up the prior arrest, but—”

  By that time, Nick was on the witness stand and the bailiff held the Bible for him. He placed his right hand on it.

  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”

  Nick glanced at Konrad quickly and said, “So help me God.”

  “That’s not what was asked of you,” the judge said. “Bailiff, would you repeat the question?”

  “Do you swear to tell the truth—”

  “I do,” Nick interrupted, and he didn’t look happy about it.

  The DA asked him his profession, and Nick stated that he was a Boston police officer.

  “As an officer of the law, I imagine you’d know what court proceedings are like. Why did you answer the first question in such a vague manner?”

  Nick shrugged. “I just got nervous and forgot.”

  The DA approached Nick and stared at him for a long moment. Finally he smiled at the jury. “Hmm, your face is very familiar. Do you happen to have a twin?”

  Nicholas mumbled, “Yes.”

  “Speak louder, please.”

  His lips thinned, and he spit out the word, “Yes.”

  “Is he or she in this courtroom?”

  Nick nodded.

  “Aloud please.”

  “Yes.” Nick’s glare should have given the DA pause. Hell, it might have unnerved Superman. Konrad knew his brother wouldn’t shift and eat the prosecutor. Talk about exposure!