Hate Crime

by William Bernhardt

  “Understood.”

  “Not that I normally think taking out defense attorneys is a bad thing. But I make an exception for you.”

  “Thanks, Mike. You’re sweet.”

  “I suppose there’s no point in trying to talk you into dropping the case.”

  “ ‘Fraid not.”

  “Right. Can’t be sensible. You get that from Ben. I could probably get the local PD to assign a security detail.”

  “I can’t do my job with security dogs hanging over me.”

  “Yeah. That’s what Ben said, too. Give my best to that former brother-in-law of mine, okay?”

  “Will do, Major. Talk to you again soon.”

  Christina gazed at herself in the mirror. No matter how many times she tried a case, she knew she would never get used to it. The pressure, from the first smash of the gavel to the last, was unrelenting. And it was worse when the stakes were so high. Worst of all when she knew the next witness was a critical one, perhaps the critical one. And she had to cross-examine.

  Life was simpler when she had been a legal assistant. But not as much fun.

  Before she left the ladies’ room, she made the traditional last-minute glamour check. Hair all properly pinned back. Check. No makeup smears. Check. Lipstick not on teeth. Check. Lunch not in teeth. Check. Everything as it should be.

  She took a deep breath and smiled at that cute freckled face in the mirror. Show time.

  Roger Hartnell was waiting for her in the corridor outside the courtroom. He was using a cane today but seemed to be able to get around reasonably well. “Ms. McCall! I need to speak to you.”

  “I’m surprised to see you up on your feet so soon.”

  “Turned out it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Bullet just winged me.”

  “Hurt much?”

  “Only when I move.”

  “Then why aren’t you at home in bed?”

  “Because I need to talk to you.”

  “Look, if it’s about my dropping the case-”

  “I’ve just come from a meeting of the ANGER steering committee.”

  “Mr. Hartnell, I understand how you feel about our representation. I’m sure if I’d known Tony I’d feel the same way. But I can’t drop the case. So no matter what you and your committee think-”

  “Miss McCall, you have been targeted.”

  Christina felt a cold grip at the base of her spine. “You mean-the sniper-the figure hanging in the lobby.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. We don’t condone violence. What I’m talking about is… publicity.”

  “I’m not following.”

  He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a display mounted on stiff cardboard. “Starting tomorrow morning, these ads are going to run in major newspapers and magazines all across the country.”

  The layout contained four photos. The top and largest bore the caption: THIS IS TONY BAROVICK. Below, in a photo that appeared to have been taken at Remote Control, were seven people, including Roger and Shelly and the club owner, Mario Roma. THESE ARE HIS FRIENDS. The third photo was captioned: THIS IS THE MAN WHO KILLED TONY BAROVICK. Johnny Christensen, dudded out in his prison coveralls. And the final row of photos was captioned: THESE ARE HIS FRIENDS.

  There were only two. Ben and Christina.

  Christina felt her jaw stiffening. “You can’t do this. This is slanderous.”

  “Our attorneys assure me it is not. All we say is that you have befriended your client, which you clearly have done.”

  “I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about Johnny. This ad calls him a killer-which has not yet been established in a court of law. He could sue you.”

  “But by the time that case comes to trial, this murder trial will be over, and he will be a convicted killer. Imagine a convicted killer crying because we called him a killer a week early. I just don’t see him raking in the dough.”

  Christina pushed the layout away in disgust. “You’re determined to see that Johnny is convicted, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. I loved Tony. I want his killer punished.”

  “No, you want Johnny punished. You have no idea who killed Tony. All you know is what the police tell you. And take it from me, Roger-sometimes they’re wrong.”

  “Not this time. I’m certain of it.” He put the layout back in his briefcase. “And soon the rest of the world will be certain, too.”

  As soon as Christina saw DA Drabble coming through the metal detector, she stepped forward. “Oh, Richard! Glad I bumped into you. The courtroom assignment has been changed.”

  He looked at her warily. “It has?”

  “Yeah. Apparently a larger room opened up when Judge Pennington finished a big rape trial. We’re going to take over his space.”

  “And that’s?…”

  “Top floor. End of the corridor.”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Vengeance is sweet, huh?”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “But he who laughs last, laughs best.”

  “You’re just a bundle of clichés this morning, aren’t you?”

  He laughed. “Nice try, Ms. McCall, but you’re not going to throw me for a loop on my own home court.”

  “You don’t believe the court has been moved?”

  “Oh, I can believe that easily enough. I was in the clerk’s office last night and heard them talking about a reassignment. But they were discussing the possibility of going to Judge Cantrell’s courtroom. In Building Three.”

  “But there was-”

  “So nice try, little lady, but it’ll take a better scam than this lame bit of business to make me late for Lacayo’s court.” He grabbed his briefcase and hurried merrily down the corridor.

  Ben came up behind her. “We really are going to Judge Pennington’s courtroom, aren’t we?”

  Christina nodded. “Cantrell’s has to be fumigated. Someone saw a rat.”

  “And you knew Drabble wouldn’t believe you when you told him.”

  “Which is why I met him at the door. Before he had a chance to hear it from someone he trusted.” She checked her watch. “He’s going to be fifteen minutes late. At the least.”

  Ben whistled. “You know, Christina, you are just evil.”

  She held up her hands. “I can’t help it if he’s a suspicious person.” She smiled. “Who needed to learn a lesson about the consequences of messing with me.”

  Among the reasons Christina wasn’t looking forward to this cross was the fact that Amber Wilson seemed like a nice person who was, after all, only doing her job. But in this case, the coroner’s testimony was too important to give her a pass. She had to cross the lady as if she were a combination of Satan, Hitler, and Richard Nixon combined.

  Once court finally got under way-and Judge Lacayo finished tongue-lashing Drabble and his entourage for being late-the DA began his direct examination.

  “Dr. Wilson, would you please tell us when you became involved in the Tony Barovick case?”

  Wilson twisted around to face the jury. “I arrived soon after the body was discovered.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “A severely damaged corpse. As was immediately apparent, the victim had a shattered jaw, two shattered legs, and numerous cuts and abrasions. The body was covered with blood.”

  “He was dead?”

  “Very.”

  “Were you able to determine a cause of death?”

  Wilson ran a hand through her brown hair. “Technically, the cause of death was cranial asphyxia-technically, that’s the cause of almost every death. What caused oxygen starvation of the brain is more difficult to say. In this case, the victim had been so mistreated, had been so… damaged in so many ways, it’s impossible for me to say exactly which blow killed him. It could have been the one to his neck and jaw causing a closure of the respiratory passages in the neck, or a compression of the major blood vessels in the neck-the carotid arteries and jugular veins. The blows to the legs could have caused shock
, leading to heart failure.”

  “Are there ways to determine which blow resulted in death?”

  “Not reliably, not in this case. The body was too severely damaged. I did detect evidence of heart failure-but he had been beaten so severely that he had two cracked ribs. He’d been subjected to intense electric shock. Any of those things could have been lethal. It’s really just a matter of which one kicked in first.”

  “And you can’t say for certain which did?”

  “Not reliably.” She glanced at Christina. “And I feel certain the defense counsel wouldn’t want me to speculate. Bear in mind-contrary to what some people believe, the human body’s physiological and muscle systems do not immediately shut down at death.”

  “But you can reliably say that the beating caused the death.”

  “Absolutely. That was evident.”

  Christina could see that Wilson had prepared carefully for this testimony. She also appeared to have anticipated Christina’s planned line of attack; she was very carefully delineating what she could be certain about and what she couldn’t. While at the same time making sure she gave Drabble what he needed to get a conviction.

  “Dr. Wilson,” Drabble continued, “the defendant has raised some questions regarding when death occurred. Is it possible for a medical examiner to make a determination as to the time of death?”

  “Yes, it is. There are several methods of doing it. Liver mortis-which is the discoloration of the skin to a pinkish color caused by the settling of blood cells in the small vessels of dependent skin and tissues-does not begin until one to two hours after death, and rigor mortis-the progressive stiffening of the body caused by chemical changes in the muscle tissues-does not begin until two to four hours after death. Since only a short period of time had passed, neither of those were very useful. Fortunately, there are other indicators of the stage of decomposition-body temperature, analysis of the stomach contents, and so forth. Immediately following death, the human body begins to decompose. The rate of decomposition is steady, predictable, and measurable, and barring extraordinary circumstances, will provide a reliable measure for at least the first two hours after death.”

  Drabble nodded. “I see. Did you reach any conclusions regarding time of death in this case?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So the time of death would be…”

  “Eleven p.m. Eleven-fifteen at the latest.”

  Drabble nodded thoughtfully. “The defendant has suggested that the beating took place at another location at around 9 P.M.-just after Tony Barovick left the club-and was over by 9:30.”

  “No. Not possible. The beating might have begun then, but the killing stroke-the death of Tony Barovick-came later.” She was adamant, and with good reason, Christina knew. Johnny was with fraternity brothers who could alibi him from about 9:30 to 10:45. Wilson was placing the murder at a time when Johnny was alone, before he rejoined his friends at Remote Control.

  Christina watched carefully as several of the jurors shifted around in their chairs. They’d been hoping medical science could tell them with certainty who was lying. And that was what they were getting now-or so they thought.

  “And you’re sure of this?”

  “Beyond a doubt. To a medical certainty.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. Your witness, Ms. McCall.”

  Christina slowly made her way to the podium. She hated experts. Cross was bad enough with normal people-it was all but unbearable with someone who was only on the stand because it was an accepted fact that she knew more about the matter at hand than you did.

  “First, Dr. Wilson, I’d like to talk about the cause of death.”

  “Very well,” she said, all forthright and chipper. Christina knew that wouldn’t last long.

  “I appreciate your honesty in telling the jury that you really don’t have the slightest idea what the cause of death was. Very forthcoming of you.”

  “Ye-ess,” Wilson said, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  “I was troubled, though, by your assertion that the death must’ve come as a result of the beating by Johnny Christensen and Brett Mathers. Since you don’t know what the cause of death was, how can you pretend to know who caused it?”

  “I believe he has admitted beating the boy-”

  “Yes, but not to killing him.”

  “And I saw the results of the beating. Given the severe trauma of the body, it would be ridiculous to suggest that anything else could’ve caused the death.”

  Was that a challenge, Doctor? “My point is that you don’t know exactly what Johnny did. The killing stroke-to use your own words-could have come from another person.”

  Wilson shook her head. “Even if it was his fraternity friend-”

  “But what if it was another person altogether? A third person.”

  “I’ve heard no evidence of a third person.”

  “But you can’t rule out the possibility.”

  “When we have two self-confessed perpetrators who conducted an extensive torture and beating, it seems absurd-”

  “Dr. Wilson, could Tony Barovick have been strangled?”

  Christina’s sudden switch threw the coroner off balance. “Uh-strangled?”

  “Sure. You said he died of oxygen deprivation to the brain. You hypothesized that a jaw or neck injury might’ve caused asphyxiation. Wouldn’t a simpler explanation be that someone strangled him?”

  Wilson hesitated. “I haven’t heard anything about any strangling…”

  “And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You don’t want to attribute the death to strangulation-because Johnny never confessed to any strangling. You want to attribute death to one of the things he did confess to. But that doesn’t make it the cause of death. Especially if a third person was involved.”

  Wilson was beginning to squirm. “I think it’s pointless to speculate when we know the victim endured a hideous assault.”

  “You’ve read the transcript of Johnny Christensen’s so-called confession, haven’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “So let me ask you, Doctor-is it possible that a person could have endured all that Johnny described and still live?”

  “Oh, anything’s possible, but-”

  “In fact, judging from Johnny’s description, the beating-although horrible, to be sure-did not involve anything that would absolutely, positively cause death, right?”

  “I assume the defendant downplayed the intensity-”

  “Well, now assume he told the absolute to-the-letter truth. Despite the severity of the injuries, those wounds were not necessarily fatal, right?”

  “I agree that survival was possible. But given that he didn’t-survive, that is-and that we know this horrible assault occurred, to speculate about third parties and intervening causes is just indulging in fantasy.”

  “Were there contusions on Tony Barovick’s neck?”

  Again, the switch caught her flat-footed-which, of course, was exactly what Christina wanted. “It’s true, there were abrasions on the anterior neck, but-”

  “And streaking arethema on the lateral aspect of zone one?”

  Wilson did a double take. “Ye-esss…”

  “And the cartilaginous tracheal rings were crushed?”

  Wilson sighed. “Been doing some reading, Ms. McCall?”

  “I try to stay informed. All of those factors are possible indicators of strangulation, aren’t they?”

  “True. But just the same,” Wilson continued, “with a body so severely tortured and mutilated, those injuries could have been caused by any number of things.”

  “Including strangulation by a third person?”

  Wilson’s frustration was mounting. “This whole speculation about a third person is useless.”

  “Useless to the prosecution, yes. You don’t want to suggest strangulation as a possible cause of death, because in his confession Johnny didn’t say anything about strangulation. You want to pin it on something he confessed to doing.”


  “No, that isn’t-”

  “Nonetheless, simple strangulation, subsequent in time to the beating, is a possible cause of death. Correct?”

  Wilson took a deep breath. “As I testified, the time of death was shortly before the body was found. There wasn’t time-”

  “Well, let’s talk about that,” Christina said, flipping a page in her notebook. “You say the time of death was about 11:15-and in no case earlier than 11:00.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And you base this conclusion on the body’s decomposition, which you tell us is steady and predictable.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Christina snapped her fingers. “Come to think of it, what you actually said was that absent extraordinary circumstances, the rate was steady and predictable. What would some of those extraordinary circumstances be, Doctor?”

  “They are all wildly improbable.”

  “Try me.”

  “If the body was exposed to radiation-which it wasn’t. If he’d been feverish at the time of death-which he wasn’t.”

  “What about if he’d been refrigerated?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Refrigerated. What if?”

  “But the body wasn’t refrigerated. It was found in a fraternity house.”

  “Was it terribly cold in that fraternity house?”

  She looked at Christina as if she’d asked to see her knickers. “Not that I recall.”

  “Think harder, Doctor. When I visited your office last week, you mentioned that the room was cold. And Officer Montgomery told us it was so chilly he sent his partner after his coat.”

  “If you say so.”

  “But it was you who said so, Dr. Wilson. And you were right. Do you know how cold it was? When the doors and windows in the room were shut? Before the police arrived?”

  “I couldn’t possibly know. No one could.”

  “Well, actually, Doctor-I could.” From the defendant’s table, Vicki passed her a photo that had already been admitted into evidence. “The crime scene technicians photographed and videotaped the entire room where the body was found-including the north wall, which is where the thermostat is located. I took the liberty of having that section of the photo enlarged.” She slid it across the witness stand. “Let me ask you again, Doctor-what was the temperature in that room?”