“Yes, I had been working late. Sometimes I have to.”
“Yes.” McGuiness turned to the jury with a smile. “We all understand that. So let me ask you. This route that you took that night.” McGuiness paused as if carefully considering his words. “Is this the road you normally take home?”
“Yes, it is the fastest way home for me.”
“And are you familiar with the restaurant known as the Packing Shed?”
“I know where it is. I’ve never been to it but I know young people go there.”
“If you were going home from the Packing Shed”—McGuiness paused, placing emphasis on the word “from” to make his point—“would the fastest way to your home near the Garrett family, would that take you past the place where you saw Ms. Garrett’s car that night?”
“Oh, no, it would be out of the way. There’s a much more direct road that you would take to get to where we live if you were coming from town.”
“So, you would not expect a person familiar with the community who was coming from the Packing Shed to take the road where Ms. Garrett’s car was found if they were going to the Garrett house?”
“No, not really. It’s very dark out there, you know.”
“Yes, it’s very dark out there, but I want to make sure I understand. A person familiar with the roads out there and coming from the Packing Shed, then, wouldn’t take that road where Ms. Garrett’s car was found unless they were lost or . . .” Again McGuiness hesitated, letting several seconds pass before he finished his question. “Unless they intended to take that road, even though it was not the most direct route to the Garrett home?”
Costa was puzzled. “Why would you want to take a longer way to get home in the middle of the night if you didn’t have to?”
“Yes, Mr. Costa, that is an excellent question. Thank you for asking it. Your Honor, I have no further questions. Perhaps Mr. Jamison will want to ask Mr. Costa’s question?”
Jamison sat at the counsel table with his hands folded on his yellow legal tablet. “Thank you, nothing further of this witness, Your Honor.”
Clearly Elizabeth Garrett had not taken the most direct route home. Jamison had given Elizabeth’s explanation, but McGuiness had effectively planted a question in the minds of the jurors about that explanation. It was a point Jamison had anticipated. It just sounded much worse when he heard it in court.
Elizabeth’s father made his way to the witness stand and took his oath without looking to the left or the right. Jamison knew it was evident to everyone in the room from his body language that he was an angry man. Garrett testified that Costa had called him and he had gone to find his daughter’s car. He described what he saw and said it wasn’t like Elizabeth to leave her car by the side of the road or to not call.
When the direct was over Mike Garrett looked stonily at St. Claire and then at McGuiness as the defense attorney walked from behind the counsel table and approached him.
“Mr. Garrett, I realize this is very difficult for you. I only have a few questions.
“You’re aware that your daughter and my client, Alex St. Claire, had a relationship when they were much younger?”
“I wouldn’t call it a relationship.”
“Isn’t it correct that you have always disliked my client and disapproved of your daughter seeing him?”
Barely suppressed anger seethed to the surface. “My daughter was in high school. He took advantage of her. He—”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Garrett,” McGuiness interrupted, “the question is whether you disliked my client and disapproved of your daughter seeing him. Yes or no?”
“Yes. He’s older than her. He ruined—” McGuiness looked at the judge.
Judge Wallace interrupted this time. “Mr. Garrett, please simply answer the question asked.”
Through clenched teeth, his answer came out with a hiss. “Yes, I dislike your client. As a matter of fact, I hate him. Does that answer your question?”
Glancing over his right shoulder toward the jury, McGuiness stepped back. “Yes, sir, it does. I have only one other question. Was your daughter, Elizabeth, aware that you disliked Alex St. Claire and that you didn’t want her to see him?”
Mike Garrett glared straight at St. Claire’s emotionless face. “Yes, she knew. But, you know, children don’t always listen.”
Slowly McGuiness walked back to the counsel table, again resting his hand briefly on the shoulder of his client. “Yes, sometimes young people don’t listen. I do have one more question. I’m sorry. Did it puzzle you that your daughter’s car was where you found it? I mean, did it seem unusual to you given that she was coming from the Packing Shed Restaurant in town?”
“It was out of the way if that’s what you mean, but you could drive that way and get to our home.” Garrett cocked his head slightly, as if trying to determine what McGuiness was getting at. “It was just a longer way to drive.”
“A longer way for a young woman to drive in the middle of the night on dark country roads if she wanted to get home as fast as possible? Is that right?”
The contempt in the answer was barely concealed. “There are all kinds of roads out there that will get you to our home. My daughter wouldn’t have left her car like that unless somebody forced her to.”
McGuiness returned to the counsel table and stood directly behind St. Claire. “Or unless she intended to meet someone there?”
“My daughter didn’t plan to meet anyone and you know it.”
Judge Wallace held up his hand as he addressed Elizabeth’s father. “Mr. Garrett, we all understand this is difficult for you. Please just answer the question.”
Pausing to allow the implications of his last question to be drawn by the jury, McGuiness said, “Your Honor, thank you. Mr. Garrett doesn’t need to answer. I have nothing further.”
Judge Wallace excused Mike Garrett, reminding him that because he was a witness he wouldn’t be permitted to be present in the courtroom during the trial, a fact that from his expression only further inflamed the father.
Jamison sat through the last series of questions by McGuiness, his face a study in the indifference cultivated by trial lawyers for the excruciating moments when they were getting hit in the gut. McGuiness had taken the first swing of his ax and he had made a noticeable cut.
“Your Honor, the People call District Attorney Investigator Bill O’Hara.”
As he walked past the jury box, O’Hara smiled. His large frame was carefully tailored into his trial suit. He believed it made him look less intimidating, but he was probably the only one in the courtroom who thought so. Or, as Ernie would say, “You can take a grizzly bear and put him in a tuxedo but he isn’t going to fool anyone.” He took his seat in the witness box after taking the oath, looking exactly like Ernie’s description.
Through initial questioning, O’Hara recounted his experience as a homicide investigator for the sheriff’s office as well as his time as a district attorney investigator and his two awards for bravery in the line of duty. O’Hara answered quietly, his rumbling voice commanding attention as Jamison asked his next question. “Investigator O’Hara, were you assigned as lead investigator for the district attorney’s office to assist the sheriff’s office when Elizabeth Garrett’s car was found?”
“Yes, I responded with you that night and we went to the location of Ms. Garrett’s car.”
“Subsequently, is it correct that you concluded that the defendant might have information about the disappearance of Ms. Garrett?”
“Yes, after talking to her parents, our investigative team, including you, learned that Ms. Garrett and the defendant had a relationship years ago that had, shall we say, ended badly.”
“And why did that cause you to conclude that the defendant might have information about Ms. Garrett?”
Before the trial, O’Hara had been told by Jamison to avoid any mention of the homicides because it would result in a motion for mistrial by raising uncharged crimes in front of the jury. “We had become aware o
f the past relationship between the defendant and Ms. Garrett. It seemed like normal follow-up. I had met the defendant in the course of other investigations involving the hospital where he worked, so I knew him.”
“So you went to his home to talk to him?”
“Yes, the four of us, you, Sheriff’s Detective Arthur Puccinelli, DA Investigator Ernest Garcia, and myself.”
Meticulously Jamison guided O’Hara through the events at the house, the refusal of St. Claire to answer the door, and the decision to break it down when he heard the screams from the back of the house.
“And did you ultimately see Ms. Garrett?”
“Yes, after we cuffed the defendant, I ran down the hall. I saw Ms. Garrett wrapped in a blanket. The window was broken and Investigator Garcia was shielding her behind him with his gun drawn.”
“How did Ms. Garrett appear to you?”
“She was almost incoherent and there was some blood on her, possibly from cuts of her own or because of cuts sustained by Investigator Garcia.”
Jamison then took O’Hara through the rest of the investigation. He nodded at McGuiness. “Your witness.”
Any perfunctory pleasantries were disregarded as McGuiness immediately attacked. “Investigator O’Hara, you didn’t have a warrant when you broke in my client’s door?”
“I didn’t need a warrant. When I heard him running and a woman screaming we were afraid for the life of the victim.”
“That assumes, does it not, that Ms. Garrett was a victim?”
“Yes, counselor, it assumes that. It’s my job to decide when to act. If I make mistakes somebody can get hurt or die. My job was to protect Ms. Garrett.”
“Did you see my client attempt to harm Ms. Garrett in any way?”
“No, but when I went through the door your client was running down the hall. I saw where she had been tied to the bed.”
“You saw that after you threw Dr. St. Claire on the floor and both you and Detective Puccinelli put your knees into his back, isn’t that correct?” McGuiness’s tone was biting.
“Yes.”
“And when you did that, twisting Dr. St. Claire’s arms behind him, he was screaming something, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, he said a number of things.”
“And you said a number of things to him, I believe, such as calling him”—McGuiness gestured apologetically—“‘fucking asshole’ while you had a gun pointed at his head, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, I did use words to that effect and, yes, both Pooch, Detective Puccinelli, and I had our weapons drawn and pointed at the defendant when he was subdued. It was a chaotic situation. It wasn’t a ballroom dance, counselor. It was a potentially very violent situation and you try to gain control. The objective is to avoid hurting anybody physically. It isn’t about trying to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. We didn’t hurt your client physically. He was appropriately subdued.”
“And while he was being ‘appropriately subdued’ as you put it, one thing Dr. St. Claire said to you was that you were making a mistake, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“As a matter of fact, Dr. St. Claire repeated several times that you were making a mistake, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did. I’ve arrested a lot of people, Mr. McGuiness, and it isn’t the first time I’ve heard one of them say that. It isn’t like television where they say, ‘You’ve got me. I did it.’”
McGuiness paused, tilting his head as if he was taking the full measuring of O’Hara. “No, Investigator O’Hara, it isn’t like television, is it? But sometimes on television things aren’t what they seem, are they?”
“Is that a question?”
“No, that’s not a question. But let me ask you this. When you heard the footsteps running down the hall, you also heard the window crashing?”
“I heard the crashing of the window and the footsteps very close together.”
“Can you say which you heard first?”
O’Hara hesitated a moment before answering. “No, it all happened very quickly.”
“So would it be fair to say that it’s possible that Dr. St. Claire heard the glass breaking and Ms. Garrett screaming at the same time you did?”
“I would have to make an assumption, counselor. I don’t know what he heard.”
The expression on McGuiness’s face reminded O’Hara of a snake trying to decide where to strike. “Let me ask you this, Investigator O’Hara. The breaking of the window and the screams of what turned out to be Ms. Garrett, that’s what made you break through the door, is that correct? That’s what made you run into the house and down the hallway?”
“That and my sense that your client was running away from the door.”
“Isn’t it fair to say, Investigator O’Hara, that Dr. St. Claire could also have been running toward the room where Ms. Garrett was screaming to rescue her from a threat?”
“We weren’t a threat.”
“That must be why Ms. Garrett screamed.” McGuiness let his comment hang in the air for a moment. “Thank you, Investigator O’Hara. I have nothing further.” The defense attorney turned back toward the counsel table and then paused as if caught in further thought. “Oh, yes, there is one more thing. You questioned Dr. St. Claire, didn’t you?”
The question made O’Hara uncomfortable. He had enough experience to know that it was improper for a prosecutor to tell a jury that a defendant had asked for a lawyer, but McGuiness wasn’t a prosecutor. He looked warily at McGuiness. “Yes.”
“And my client told you that things weren’t what they might appear. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But that didn’t cause you to question your arrest, did it?”
“No, I don’t usually find people tied to a bed after their car is left by the side of a road.”
“I suppose not, but let me ask you this. At the time you crashed through that door and arrested Dr. St. Claire was it possible that she might have been cooperative with being tied to the bed?”
O’Hara rubbed his mustache, debating with himself as to how to answer. “Are you asking me whether it was possible that Ms. Garrett was emotionally involved with the defendant and had allowed herself to be tied to the bed?”
“I am asking you whether at the time you went crashing into that house and saw Dr. St. Claire and Ms. Garrett if there was anything about the circumstances that was inconsistent with the possibility this was a consensual situation.”
“We spoke to Ms. Garrett—”
McGuiness interrupted. “You didn’t speak to Ms. Garrett until later, after all of this happened, did you?”
“No.”
“So I take it the answer to my question is that based on what you saw after you broke down my client’s door and handcuffed him and saw Ms. Garrett, that you assumed this was not a consensual situation. Would that be a fair statement?”
O’Hara’s face turned darker and his mouth drew into a hard line. “Mr. McGuiness, I’ve been a cop for over twenty years. Is what you are suggesting possible? Yes. But did I think this was a consensual situation? No.”
“So while you had your knee in my client’s back and he was screaming that it wasn’t what it looked like, you didn’t believe him, did you?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Investigator O’Hara. You’re a police officer and a very good one. We all appreciate that, but as a highly experienced investigator, you know sometimes things just aren’t what they appear to be, are they?” McGuiness held up his hand. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Judge Wallace indicated that O’Hara would be the last witness of the day. Trial would resume in the morning.
Jamison, O’Hara, and Pooch returned to the district attorney’s office. After he took Garrett home, Ernie joined them. They went over the day’s testimony and the cross-examination, trying to divine what evidence McGuiness might have or the direction he was going. Jamison did most of the talking while the others listened.
“So we alr
eady knew that the location of Garrett’s car was out of the way if she was going directly home. Her explanation is that she was listening to music and she missed her turn and came back using the road where her car was found. So where is McGuiness going with that?” He already suspected the answer, but he just wanted to hear their thoughts.
“Well,” O’Hara began speculating, “our case is that St. Claire was following her and stopped her when he saw the opportunity. My guess is that McGuiness is going to argue that they met there. It would be consistent with consent and that she went to that location because it was off her normal route home. But whatever McGuiness does, her story makes a lot more sense than his as far as I’m concerned.”
Ernie nodded in agreement. “My kids listen to music and forget about everything around them. You could drop a bomb outside their door and they wouldn’t notice. She wasn’t paying attention and he had to be following her. If she was going to meet St. Claire there are a lot of other places they could go instead of leaving her car in the middle of a deserted cemetery road. Besides, there’s still the blood on the seat. How’s McGuiness going to explain that? Sometimes defense attorneys just have to explain too many things. McGuiness has raised a little dust, that’s all.”
As he listened quietly, Jamison knew everything they said was true, but there was one thing that he understood as an experienced trial lawyer. No good lawyer asked questions unless he had answers that worked for his benefit.
The next morning Art Puccinelli took the stand and recounted everything he had seen. He identified photographs of the car, acknowledging that footprints and tire tracks were disrupted by the number of people who had approached the vehicle before the forensic crew arrived. He described the smear of blood on the driver’s seat and ended by describing the frantic scene at St. Claire’s home.
McGuiness stayed behind the counsel table and wrote on his legal pad, letting Puccinelli remain in the witness chair in silence for a moment. He looked up.
“I have just a few questions of this witness, Your Honor.” McGuiness flipped again through his notes. “Detective Puccinelli, did you supervise the investigation of Dr. St. Claire’s car, a 2006 dark blue Lexus sedan?”
Fractured Justice Page 18
