Undertow

by Sydney Bauer

  ‘So how soon did you realise the victim was Christina Haynes?’ asked Katz.

  ‘Almost immediately. The Coastguard had her name and Officer Wu and I put two and two together. We called it in to our plain clothes detectives who suggested we get Mrs Martin back to Headquarters asap.’

  ‘And the detective who gave this advice and subsequently handled the case was?’

  ‘Detective Paul Petri. But once again, given the high profile nature of the deceased, the Commander of the Homicide Unit, Lieutenant Joseph Mannix, also became involved with the case.’

  ‘So the Head of Homicide was involved from the onset?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Is the Commander of the Homicide Unit usually involved in fatalities that are anything but homicides?’

  ‘Not usually. No.’

  Katz paused, allowing this to sink in. He then went on to ask Leigh to describe the arrival of The Cruisader back to port and the victim’s transfer to Addison Gilbert Hospital by a local ambulance. Leigh further explained how she travelled in a second ambulance with the three girls, who were taken to the hospital to be examined and if necessary treated for shock.

  ‘And did you speak with the three girls – Layteesha Martin, Mariah Jordan and Francine Washington – both at Gloucester Marina and at the Addison Gilbert?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Katz then launched into a rather tedious sequence of questions regarding Leigh’s individual interrogation of the three girls. Even Stein was starting to get bored and at one point asked the ADA if his line of questioning was ever going to shed some new light on the situation.

  ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, but Officer Leigh is a decorated Officer with a very high record of interrogation. I believe this line of questioning goes to show the Officer’s thorough approach to the investigation.’

  ‘All right, you’ve made your point Mr Katz, now move on,’ said Stein.

  And he did.

  ‘Officer Leigh, did any of the three girls give details of the alleged conversation between Miss Haynes and Mrs Martin?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did any of the three girls at any time quote what was supposed to have been said by Miss Haynes in the alleged exchange?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did any of the three girls quote Mrs Martin’s version of the said discussion?’

  ‘No.’

  Katz turned to walk slowly towards the jury.

  ‘Did any of the three g . . .’

  ‘But I got the impression they believed the conversation took place.’

  Katz stopped in his tracks. Scaturro looked up. This was not how they had discussed her testimony. Worse still, Leigh went on – largely because Katz seemed to have been struck dumb by her previous comments.

  ‘The girls did not mention the contents of the alleged exchange but I think they assumed it took place.’

  ‘Officer Leigh, you just testified that the girls made no reference to this supposed conversation.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘With all due respect, Officer, we do not require your opinion on the . . .’

  ‘Objection.’ David was up, Scatturo knowing he would take advantage of her 2IC’s unforgivable blunder. ‘ADA Katz has gone out of his way to stress Officer Leigh’s excellent interrogation skills, I would think the court should be allowed to hear her expert take on the situation given she was the first to interview the three girls.’

  ‘He’s right, Mr Katz. Sustained. Go on, Officer.’

  Officer Leigh continued much to Katz’s obvious chagrin.

  ‘The girls gave direct evidence regarding the portions of the day in which they were immediately involved but there was a short period, when this alleged discussion was supposedly taking place, where they could not provide first hand accounts simply because they were not there. But, each girl assumed Miss Haynes had told Mrs Martin to go to them, for this was part of their original plan.

  ‘They had no reason to doubt this did not occur, no reason to assume Christina did not deliver the message to rescue them, and no reason to believe Mrs Martin would leave Christina in the water without Christina advising her to do so.’

  Scatturo knew Katz was in a hole, and could see from his expression that he knew it too but, ever clever on his feet, he quickly found a way out.

  ‘Did they plan on Miss Haynes drowning, Officer?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Did they plan on spending that evening in hospital?’

  ‘I’m sure they didn’t.’

  ‘Or being interrogated by a police officer? Or losing one of their best friends?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So things do not always go to plan, do they Officer?’

  ‘No, Mr Katz, they do not.’ This was aimed at him, and Scaturro knew it.

  ‘All right then Officer Leigh, let me ask you one more time. Did any of the girls give any reference, no matter how small, to the alleged conversation between Mrs Martin and Miss Haynes?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thank you, Officer Leigh. No further questions.’

  ‘Then let’s break for lunch,’ said Stein, indicating to Officer Leigh that she would be needed after lunch for cross.

  And with that Leigh stood and started to make her way towards the back of the courtroom. Loretta Scaturro followed her with her eyes and realised her anger was not targeted at the ambitious young officer. Leigh had got the better of that exchange and in other circumstances she might have even championed the woman’s ability to tie Katz into knots.

  But not now. Now she was furious at her ADA who had allowed one of their key witnesses to parade as a poster girl for the defence. Cavanaugh was not stupid, he would read the girl’s testimony for exactly what it was, an invitation to court her favour on the stand.

  ‘This is not good,’ Loretta said to herself just as a red faced Katz returned to his seat. Officer Leigh had administered the proverbial dagger and worse still, she suspected, the young woman was about to give it a twist.

  David had a hunch.

  He could have sworn that for a split second, just as Susan Leigh was passing the defence table on her way towards the back courtroom doors, that she made eye contact with him and smiled.

  The look said: ‘I have opened the door for you, now it’s up to you to walk on in.’

  He sensed Susan Leigh had just given them something but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what it was.

  During the lunch break he asked for a court transcript of Leigh’s testimony and he wanted it on tape, not on paper, so he could hear the intonation in her voice. She had kept emphasising the word ‘reason’ and he got the feeling it wasn’t by chance.

  ‘What are you looking for – some sort of cryptic clue? Sounds a little cloak and dagger to me, David,’ said Sara chewing on a chicken salad sandwich from the court cafeteria.

  ‘No, nothing that obvious, more like a . . . a perspective.’

  ‘Well, whatever it is,’ said Arthur, throwing most of his egg and lettuce on rye in the rubbish. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  ‘I know,’ said David, inserting the tape into a player.

  Rayna had been given permission to place a call to the hospital during the lunch recess, so they sat listening to Leigh’s clear and decisive voice awaiting her return. David played it and replayed it, focusing on the section where Leigh rattled the ADA by suggesting the girls assumed the conversation took place.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said, just as they were called into court.

  ‘No reason – do you hear how she emphasised these words? They had ‘no reason’ to think otherwise and when you think about it, neither did anyone else.’

  ‘Officer Leigh, this morning you told the court you believed the three girls – and I’ll quote you here – ‘assumed Miss Haynes had told Mrs Martin to go to them, for this was part of the original plan, and they had no reason to doubt this did not occur’, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Officer Le
igh, why wasn’t Mrs Martin charged with any crime the night of 4 May?’

  ‘Because at that stage we did not have the evidence to confirm a crime had taken place.’

  ‘In other words, you had no reason to charge her.’

  ‘That is another way of putting it I suppose.’

  ‘So at that point,’ said David, now moving slowly from the middle of the room towards the witness stand, ‘even several hours after the event, the incident was being viewed as a tragic accident, would that be correct?’

  ‘Not necessarily, but I suppose our earliest assumptions weighed in that direction.’

  ‘Because you had no reason to think otherwise.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Officer,’ David now changed course slightly, making his direction diagonal, towards the front of the jury panel. ‘Why do you think the Head of Homicide was involved with the case from the onset?’

  ‘As I said earlier, this was going to be a high profile case.’

  ‘So you believed Lieutenant Mannix was involved due to the victim’s identity rather than the nature of the case.’

  ‘Initially, yes.’

  ‘In fact, that night at Boston Police Headquarters, did you not spend several hours with the District Attorney, Ms Scaturro, and Lieutenant Mannix?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And even then, after many hours of discussion with two of this city’s top crime officials, you all still found no reason to charge her.’

  ‘Not at that point. No.’

  ‘In fact, Mrs Martin was not charged until the following day, and at that point the charge was the lesser charge of involuntary manslaughter, isn’t that correct, Officer Leigh?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And even then, when this lesser but still irrelevant charge was made there was still no reason to suggest the incident was in any way a hate-related homicide.’

  David stopped short, now a only two feet from his witness and the foreman of the jury, he was waiting for Scaturro’s objection.

  ‘Objection,’ said Scaturro. ‘Your Honour, the defence may believe the original charge was irrelevant, and that may be their prerogative, but it is inappropriate for them to put such words into the witness’s mouth.’

  ‘Your Honour,’ David was quick to refute, ‘the prosecution effectively made the charge of involuntary manslaughter irrelevant when, at the end of last week, they filed their motion to strike it.’

  ‘Touché, Mr Cavanaugh. You asked for that one, Ms Scaturro. Go on, Mr Cavanaugh.’

  ‘Officer Leigh, let me rephrase the question. When Mrs Martin was arrested on the charge of involuntary manslaughter on Sunday 5 May, was there any indication at that stage that the charge would be extended to murder two.’

  ‘I do not believe so.’

  ‘Because there was no reason for anyone to view this as a hate-related murder.’

  ‘Not at that stage. No.’

  David was now at the front of the jury. He rested his hands on the railing before shaking his head. Then he turned, towards his client, Rayna Martin, taking the jurors’ eyes with him.

  ‘So, to your knowledge, what happened to change all of that? What amazing piece of evidence suddenly gave everybody the reason to arrest this innocent woman,’ he said gesturing at Rayna, ‘for the very serious crime of second degree murder?’

  ‘I believe it was new evidence provided by one of the girls – Francine Washington.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Miss Washington, one frightened sixteen-year-old girl suddenly came up with something that yourself, Officer Wu, Detective Petri, Lieutenant Mannix and DA Scaturro could not.’

  ‘Witnesses come in all shapes and forms, Mr Cavanaugh.’

  ‘True, Officer. So tell us, given your stellar record at police interrogation, how would you describe Francine Washington?’

  ‘Well, you must take into account all the girls were distressed. But I found her to be scared, insecure, nervous, self-centred and . . .’ Leigh paused.

  ‘And what, Officer Leigh?’ David quickly turned his attention back to Leigh, willing her answer to be as he hoped.

  ‘Well, initially she lied about being the one who supplied the champagne so I was going to say . . .’

  ‘You were going to call her a liar.’

  ‘Well, yes. Yes I was.’

  41

  ‘She’s lying,’ he had said, looking at his daughter but speaking to his wife.

  Her eyes were closed, but even now, so many years later she could see the pain, the anger, the disappointment on his face – little Lizzy, his unspoken favourite, lying to her father.

  She opened them now and looked at the clock by her bed. Twelve twenty-two. Rudi was still up. Downstairs, fretting no doubt.

  Elizabeth closed her eyes again and found it so easy to slip back, the years disappearing in seconds. Her breathing slowed. She was there now.

  She heard the old eighteenth-century Britannia clock chime on the wall, its last note hanging in the air before dissipating to silence.

  She looked at her mother and saw so much and not enough.

  Her mother’s face screamed of a need to reach out to her daughter but her body stood firm, behind her husband’s deep green leather chair, as if it knew no other place to be.

  Elizabeth Whitman realised there was no point in denying it, even if she continued the charade now, they would know the truth soon.

  And so she told them about her ‘attachment’ to Christopher Bloom and how neither of them intended to hurt anybody.

  Of course, the next thing they may have expected was for her to plead with her father not to send him away. But she wasn’t going to, and she didn’t, and maybe they knew she wouldn’t after all.

  For as much as she hated to admit it, her father was giving her an out. Her heart – like her mother’s – may have wanted to reach out to him, but her mind and body stood firm, in front of her father’s antique mahogany desk, knowing this was, in the long run, for the best.

  ‘This is a good opportunity for the boy,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts, and she nodded.

  The phone rang and she heard Agnes pick it up in the hallway. It would be for her father and herald an end to this conversation and the matter as a whole.

  ‘David Morgan-Bryant called this morning,’ said her mother, as if this were the best news they had heard all day. ‘I think he wants to ask you to his parents’ anniversary dinner.’

  She did not answer.

  Agnes knocked at the door.

  ‘Is that the last of it then?’ her father asked, wanting one last confirmation that they could close this rather unfortunate chapter for good.

  ‘Not quite,’ said Elizabeth. ‘There is one other thing.’

  42

  While most of America was loading up the family car for a sunny, summer four-day weekend, the players and spectators in the State of Massachusetts vs Martin trial had taken their seats as usual. It was as if the holiday had leapfrogged Court Nine, leaving everybody in it to their own important piece of business, too pressing to postpone, too mesmerising to miss.

  The defence were buoyed by Officer Leigh’s testimony the day before and not surprised when the State had asked for an early adjournment, preferring to begin afresh with Detective Paul Petri this morning. But it was all over before it began.

  As soon as Stein entered the room a nervous Scaturro asked for a side bar and David followed the DA and Katz towards the Judge at the front of the room.

  ‘What is it, Ms Scaturro?’

  ‘Judge, I am sorry to say the State would like to request a twenty-four hour recess due to some unforeseen delays regarding our next witness.’

  ‘I gave you an early mark yesterday, Ms Scaturro. What is it this time?’

  ‘I am afraid Detective Petri’s wife passed away last night, Your Honour and, under the circumstances . . .’

  ‘Who is your next witness?’

  ‘Gus Svenson, Your Honour.’

  ‘I suppose he has the day off too?’


  ‘Actually, no. He is working but they are very short staffed at the ME’s office this week, as you can well imagine, and Mr Svenson had to pull some strings to make himself available for tomorrow. I am afraid there is no way . . .’

  ‘Mr Cavanaugh, what do you have to say about this?’

  David’s head was still processing the news that Paul Petri’s wife had died and, as much as he felt for the poor woman, could not help but wonder what this might mean to the defence.

  ‘Mr Cavanaugh?’

  ‘Obviously we are disappointed with the delay, Your Honour. But under the circumstances, the defence would concede to a day’s stay for compassionate reasons.’

  In reality, David was delighted with the request. He could think of a million things he could do today, the main ones being setting up a conference call with Con Stipoulos in Tokyo and catching up with Joe Mannix.

  ‘All right then. Please pass my condolences to your witness but I am afraid I want either him or Mr Svenson on that stand by nine tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Yes, Your Honour,’ said Scaturro. ‘Thank you.’

  And with that, like a king over his country, Judge Stein wielded his gavel and told his audience – like it or not – they had the day off.

  ‘Go home to your families,’ he said. ‘And have a safe and happy Independence Day.’

  Bessie was late again. Yesterday she had come in with three horrible welts on her neck. Welts! Disgusting. They were love bites, or what Ed used to call hickies as a young man. He hated the look of them then, and hated them even more now.

  It was Bessie’s job to open up, tidy his desk and bring in the mail, including the morning paper which he had missed reading at home this morning after he slept past his alarm. He had worked late the night before, showing some useless wannabe a house there was no way he could afford. Why did people do that, he always wondered – ask to view homes they could only dream about buying? God-damned voyeurs, good-for-nothing dreamers who had nothing better to do than waste his precious time. But his mind was rambling.