“Relax, Vince, you’re reaching too hard.” Dan pushed up from the desk and ambled to the counter where he kept his Juicematic machine. “There are a lot of sociopaths in this world, and statistically, strangulation is the third most common form of homicide in the United States.”
“What do statistics say about killers changing their M.O.?”
“I’m making some fresh tangelo juice. Could I interest you in some?”
“No, thanks. Does an M.O. tend to stay constant over time, like handwriting?”
“Depends on the killer. Professionals tailor their M.O.’s to circumstances.”
“And professionals are sociopaths.”
“Have to be. But Britta and John Briar weren’t the work of professionals. They were heat-of-passion jobs. The killers went in without a weapon and they improvised with the material at hand: a glove compartment door, a leather seat, a pillow.”
That pillow nagged at Cardozo. “The prosecutor didn’t want Britta or me testifying about goose down in John Briar’s mouth and throat.”
“That figures.” Dan sliced citrus fruit and fed the slices one at a time into the screeching machine. “The presence of goose down implies that John Briar was murdered, but the absence of goose down implies that Amalia died a natural death.”
“Which was your finding.”
Dan nodded. “And since the charge is conspiracy to commit two murders, it’s not a finding the state’s going to let loose in court.” He brought over two cups of juice and placed one on the table beside his guest. “I could see preferring to skip the whole issue of goose down.”
Cardozo sipped. “This is good.”
“You should get one of these machines.”
“There’s no room in my office.”
“Throw out some files.”
“I wish.” Cardozo closed the report. “How did the D.A.’s office react to your findings on the Briars?”
“I never heard from the D.A.’s office.”
“They didn’t ask you to testify?”
Dan shook his head. “I never expected them to. Not when Lalwani’s findings suited them so much better than mine.”
Cardozo recalled that just last week Hank Lalwani, the controversial medical examiner for Queens County, had been accused by a television network of slanting his findings to suit prosecutors. “And what were Lalwani’s findings?”
“What you’d expect. He said they both were murdered.”
“At present,” the tall man with the high-cheekboned, closely shaved head said, “I’m in my eighth year as a crime scene technician with the NYPD.”
Judge Bernheim interrupted: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Mr. Kelly is certified as an expert. That means he’s allowed to give us his opinion as a recognized professional in his field. It does not mean that his opinion necessarily has the weight of evidence. You yourselves are going to have to decide what weight you ultimately wish to attach to the opinion portion of his testimony.”
“Mr. Kelly,” Tess diAngeli said, “would you tell the jury a little about a crime scene technician’s duties at the scene of a murder?”
Alvin Kelly described how minute particles and sometimes not-so-minute quantities of blood and skin, hair and saliva were invariably deposited at a scene of violent death. “Some belong to the victim, some to the killer or killers, and sometimes some belong to third parties.” He told how he went about detecting the presence of such particles; how he collected them and preserved them.
“And would you explain to this jury exactly how you processed the scene of the Briar murders?”
As Alvin Kelly explained, diAngeli asked him to identify several dozen small plastic envelopes. Kelly considered each envelope in turn and stated that it contained a sample of tissue from John Briar or his wife, Amalia, that he had personally recovered this sample from the murder scene.
“Your Honor,” diAngeli said, “I ask that the jury be allowed to examine this evidence.”
For a moment the judge’s gaze met the prosecutor’s. A message passed. Annoyance. “Very well. If you insist.”
The bailiff distributed the envelopes to the jury, like party favors. The immaculately packaged bits passed from juror to juror: white and brown dust, gray hairs, shreds of cloth—the last molecules left behind by John Briar and his wife, Amalia.
Cardozo figured Roger Bailey’s captain would give him at least a week off; and eleven A.M. seemed a reasonable hour to phone a bereft husband who had nothing on his schedule but drink and sleep.
Bailey answered on the third ring. “Yeah?”
“Roger—Vince Cardozo. Did I wake you?”
“That’s okay.”
“How are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” He sounded ragged. “I went down yesterday to see her. They showed me a picture. To spare me the shock.”
“Everyone gets a picture nowadays. No one sees the body but the examiner.”
“She didn’t look dead. The whole thing feels unreal. The grief counselor says I should go through scrapbooks. Britta and I had a lot of memories. I’d forgot how many.”
“Roger, I have one fast question. Did Britta have any heart or lung problems? Did a doctor ever prescribe anything?”
“Funny you should ask—I was just looking at pictures of Britta and me white-water rafting on our honeymoon. She was stronger than me. Had a heart like an ox. Never had any trouble. Not even a skipped beat. About her lungs—I never heard anything.”
“Okay, Roger. I’ll let you get back to your scrapbooks.”
As Cardozo hung up the receiver he saw that Ellie Siegel had made herself at home in a chair. She arched an inquiring eyebrow. “How’s he doing?”
Cardozo shook his head. “Grief therapist.”
“Then they’re monitoring him for suicide.” The police chief had become alarmed about the suicide rate among cops: it was fourteen times the civilian rate and rising. “Widowers are in the second highest risk category. And Bailey’s partner says he’s been depressed for the last three months.”
“And does his partner say where he was Wednesday night?”
“He spent the whole shift in the squad car.”
“And afterward?”
“She drove him home.”
“His partner’s a she?”
“It happens, Vince. More and more. Her name’s Edie Vasquez.”
Cardozo tapped a pencil on the edge of the phone. “Any rumor of anything between them?”
Ellie sighed the sort of sigh that said all men, but especially Vince Cardozo, had a one-track mind. Cardozo had a problem with Ellie’s sighs.
“It happens, Ellie.”
“I suppose you want me to check?”
“Tactfully.”
Ellie stopped at the door and threw him a look. “By the way, if Britta had a love life, she wasn’t telling anyone at the precinct.”
“Keep digging.”
SEVENTEEN
9:35 A.M.
“DR. LALWANI …” TESS DIANGELI had a welcoming smile for the witness. “Would you tell the jury a little about your work?”
“I’m assistant chief medical examiner for Queens County.” Dr. Hank Lalwani appeared to have dressed for a state funeral. A tall, extremely thin, white-haired East Indian, he spoke in a melodious voice seasoned with a British accent. He detailed his curriculum vitae—degrees earned and honorary, previous employment, college lectureships, articles published in professional journals.
Judge Bernheim explained to the jury that the witness was an expert.
“Objection, Your Honor.” Dotson Elihu shot to his feet. “The People gave the defense only Dr. Lalwani’s written autopsy reports. The People did not turn over the tapes he recorded while performing the autopsies.”
“Your Honor,” diAngeli said, “the People turned over all medical records in their possession.”
“The issue, Your Honor, is the medical records that were allowed to escape the People’s possession.”
“I can’t see why this
matter wasn’t raised in pretrial.” Judge Bernheim beckoned. “Counsel will approach the bench.”
The attorneys conferred with the judge in low, buzzing voices.
“Mr. Lalwani …” Tess diAngeli returned to the witness. “Two years ago, on the twelfth of September, did you perform an autopsy on the body of John Briar?”
“I did.”
“Could you outline your findings for us?”
“John Briar was a dark-complected Caucasian male of seventy-nine years of age. Examination of his body and organs revealed an extremely malnourished person—body weight was low, bones were deficient in calcium, intestines showed minor bloating and ulceration. …” He went on for several minutes.
“And what do such findings suggest to you?”
“They are symptoms of starvation and carotene excess. They indicate John Briar had been living on a diet of carrots for a year or so prior to death.”
“Would such a diet be recommended by a doctor?”
“Objection.”
“Ms. diAngeli,” Judge Bernheim said, “you know better than that. In my court, you’re going to have to lay a foundation for that question.”
DiAngeli turned to her witness. “Dr. Lalwani, are you board certified?”
“I am.”
“And the nature of board certification is that you are competent and licensed to practice general medicine on living patients, like any M.D.?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“As a licensed physician, do you feel qualified to answer the question: Would a diet of carrots be recommended by a doctor?”
“I do, and no responsible doctor would recommend it. Such a diet, pursued over a year to a year and a half, would be fatal.”
“Was it malnutrition that caused John Briar’s death?”
“No. Hemorrhaging at the back of the eyeballs showed that the cause of death was asphyxiation. Saturday before Labor Day, between midnight and two A.M., John Briar was smothered with his bed pillow.”
“Your Honor, I request permission to show People’s Exhibit Fifteen.” A color photo of a malnourished seventy-nine-year-old male, lying naked beneath a disheveled bathrobe, came up on the TV screen. “Is this John Briar as he was found after his murder?”
“It is.”
A stained, crumpled pillow lay next to his head.
“And is that the pillow the murderer used to suffocate his victim?”
“It is.”
“Did you examine that pillow?”
“I did. I found saliva on the pillowcase. The DNA in the saliva matched John Briar’s DNA.”
“Permission to show People’s Exhibit Sixteen.” Another color photo came up. It showed a frighteningly thin old woman, naked on a stainless-steel autopsy table. “Is this a photograph of Amalia Briar?”
“It is,” Lalwani said.
“Could you tell the jury your autopsy findings?”
“Amalia Briar was a fair-complected Caucasian female of approximately seventy-two years of age. Examination of her corpse revealed an extremely malnourished person, with bloating and ulceration of the lower intestine. She showed faint yellow pigmentation of the skin and nails, which is a common symptom of massive carotene excess. It suggested she’d been living on a diet of carrots for a year or so prior to death.”
“Was it the diet of carrots and the resulting acute malnutrition that caused Mrs. Briar’s death?”
“No.” DiAngeli’s dress flared into violet as she stepped through a shaft of sunlight. “Do you have any idea how asphyxiation occurred?”
“I have a very clear idea. I found carrot particles on the pillowcase. I also found carrot particles on Amalia Briar’s upper molars and in her esophagus—her upper throat.”
At the prosecutor’s table, the assistant was peeling tape off the flaps of a cardboard carton.
“I conclude,” Lalwani said, “that the murderer pressed the pillow into her face long enough to cut off her air supply. Due to her weakened state, she put up no struggle.”
The assistant handed diAngeli two small pillows neatly bagged in plastic. Feathers had leaked into both bags. Even at this distance Anne could see stains. DiAngeli approached the witness stand, holding the bundle outstretched like holy relics soaked in the blood of a saint. “Is this the pillow that killed John Briar?”
Silence flowed through the court.
Lalwani considered the pillow, his lips tight and thin. “This is the pillow.”
“And is this the pillow that killed Amalia Briar?”
“It is.” DiAngeli turned. “Your Honor, the People ask that these pillows be marked People’s Exhibit Number seventeen and eighteen.”
The bailiff took the pillows to the court clerk’s desk.
Judge Bernheim shifted papers, looking for something. “The pillows will be so marked.” DiAngeli asked the witness if he had been able to determine the approximate time of Amalia Briar’s death.
“Amalia Briar was asphyxiated sometime between five and six A.M. on Labor Day.”
Cardozo had taken a moment to finish up some backlogged paperwork when the smell of Old Spice invaded the cubicle.
“Hey, Vince.” Greg Monteleone’s voice. Boyish and exultant. He was holding an enormous cheese Danish in one hand; an orange Post-it was sticking to the Danish. “A call came in Wednesday, three P.M. Woman with a French accent.” He angled his thumb and stuck the Post-it to the desk lamp. “Britta Bailey caught the squeal.”
“That took you twenty-four hours?”
“Couldn’t get to it till this morning. Had a break in the Gonzales case. Sorry.”
“What was the break?”
“False alarm.”
Cardozo reminded himself to have a look at Greg’s case reports. Something was going on besides work. Greg had started wearing that gold chain like a dog tag and he was basting himself in Old Spice.
Cardozo peeled the little orange square off the lamp. “What’s this scribble?”
Greg tilted his head. “Mademoiselle Josette de Gramont. She phoned in the complaint. She works at that private school over on Madison—the École Française.”
Dotson Elihu had a purposeful way of moving across empty space, which shaped the courtroom into an audience. There was a promise in that stride: Keep your eyes open, folks, and you’ll see something explode.
“Dr. Lalwani … isn’t it a fact that during your autopsy of John Briar, you tape-recorded your observations?”
A half-beat hesitation. “I did.”
“Didn’t you state on that tape that John Briar died of accidental self-suffocation?”
“I made no such statement.”
Elihu was standing close now, hunched toward the witness. “Did you not also state on that tape that the torn bed pillow was pressed into John Briar’s face after death?”
Lalwani shifted in his chair. “I made no such statement.”
Elihu shook his head; a show of bemusement. “Your Honor, I request permission to play to the jury the relevant portion of this witness’s autopsy tape.”
“Your Honor,” diAngeli said, “that tape cannot be played. Mr. Elihu is bluffing. As he is well aware—we do not possess it.”
With an expression of astonishment, Elihu turned to the witness. “Dr. Lalwani, didn’t you testify that you turned the tape of John Briar’s autopsy over to the prosecution?”
“I normally turn such tapes over to the prosecution, but in this case I was unable to. We were short of tapes and I had to reuse the Briar tape to record an autopsy performed later the same day.”
Elihu’s incredulous gaze moved slowly across the jury, then back to Lalwani. “Then we have only your recollection as to what that tape contained?”
“No, I prepared a written report from the tape before it was recorded over.”
Elihu strolled three steps, thinking, and stopped. “Did you tape-record your observations during the autopsy of Amalia Briar?”
“I did.”
“And didn’t you state on that tape that Amalia Bri
ar died of accidental self-suffocation?”
“I did not.”
“Then perhaps we could play the tape of Amalia Briar’s autopsy and straighten this matter out. You did turn the tape of Amalia Briar’s autopsy over to the prosecution?” DiAngeli leaped up. “Your Honor, I object. Counsel knows that both tapes were recorded over. This is repetitious and getting us nowhere.”
“Mr. Elihu,” the judge said, “do you have a point to make?”
“Yes, Your Honor. One tape might conceivably have been recorded over, as the witness claims. But for two autopsy tapes—both critical to the defense—to be recorded over goes way beyond probability.”
“Objection—counsel is neither a witness nor an expert in probability.”
“Your Honor, it hardly takes an expert in probability to smell wholesale suppression of evidence.”
Judge Bernheim whacked her gavel on the bench. “The People are sustained, and the defense will please move forward.”
“Your Honor, I request that the jury be shown People’s Exhibit Seventeen.”
“Objection.” DiAngeli shoved back her chair. “The witness was never questioned concerning that photograph.”
Elihu tossed the prosecutor a courtly smile. “I’m not cross-examining on the photograph. I’m cross-examining on the dead woman. I request the photograph purely to refresh the witness’s memory.”
“Objection overruled,” Judge Bernheim said. “The photograph is already in evidence. Show it.”
A moment later the image of Amalia Briar, serenely dead on a raft of percale pillows, glowed on the TV screen.
“Dr. Lalwani—you claim that this is a photograph of a woman who was savagely murdered, a woman who died in abject terror?”
“She was near death and unable to defend herself. It took very little force to suffocate her. She may not even have been aware of what was happening.”
“You say a pillow was used to suffocate John Briar, because the DNA of saliva on his pillow matched his own DNA.”
“Correct.”
“You mentioned no saliva on Amalia Briar’s pillow, yet you claim her pillow was used to smother her. What evidence supports this conclusion?”
“Carrot particles on her pillow and in her mouth.”
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