Bond was on his feet again. “I object! I object!”
“On what grounds?” the judge inquired.
“It’s insulting!”
The judge looked down at Queenie. “You may answer, madam.”
Queenie glanced at Ray Bond. It showed in her face that she felt sorry for him. “Not exactly,” she said.
From behind him Dennis heard Bibsy sigh. He wanted to turn and say, “Stay with me, we’re almost there,” but he could do nothing. He directed his attention to the witness chair. “Are you telling us, Deputy O’Hare, that you made the decision—on your own, and without Mr. Bond’s advice—to leave out the remarks of Mrs. Henderson that tend to suggest she is innocent of the crime she’s accused of?”
Ray Bond stamped his foot so sharply that the crack of leather on wood echoed throughout the courtroom. “Your Honor, may we approach the bench?”
The judge beckoned.
The prosecutor strode up there in a kind of charge, as if time were of the essence. Dennis walked slowly. Scott Henderson also lagged behind. On the way, Dennis turned to look at the jury. They were watching the prosecutor and the judge. Bond was already whispering and gesticulating when Dennis arrived.
“ … Your Honor, Mr. Conway is fully aware of the doctrine of optional completeness! He knows that we don’t have to put into evidence exculpatory statements that are self-serving to his client. This happens all the time. I mean, we exclude exculpatory parts of confessions and statements—that’s the way it’s done. He’s just trying to make it seem that we’re loading the dice!”
“Which is exactly what you’re doing,” Dennis said quietly. “That’s the nature of state prosecution. It’s the job of the defense to restore the balance. Make the game honest, if you like. Which, obviously, you don’t.”
“Your Honor—”
Judge Florian raised his pale hand and spoke so quietly that both men had to lean farther forward to hear him. “I don’t like the fact,” he whispered, “that the jury sees you two arguing like this in public. They’re not blind. Now listen carefully. Neither of you is in the wrong. Ray, you have every right to have your witness testify to some but not all of the defendant’s statement. Mr. Conway, you have every right to poke around a little bit on that score, and I’ll allow it.” His eyes bored into Dennis’s face. “The only thing is, you’re doing it in a way that’s too slick for my taste. Not the way we do things here. You’ve got to learn that. I’m giving you fair warning that if you keep it up, I may cut you off at any time.”
“And that might cause a mistrial, Judge,” Dennis whispered.
“We’ll see about that,” Judge Florian muttered. “Now go back to work, both of you. And try to be a gentleman, Mr. Conway.”
Chapter 22
Sting Like a Bee
QUEENIE SEEMED TO have retreated into the depths of the witness chair. Dennis wanted to smile at her, even wanted to wink. It’s not you I’m after. You’re just a conduit. I’m trying to save my client’s life. No more—but no less. And you’re in the way, Queenie.
With a warning frown, he resumed cross-examination. “I asked you a few minutes ago, Deputy O’Hare, if you and Mr. Bond had gone over this supplementary report together in preparation for your testimony. And you said yes, you had—isn’t that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Then I asked you—but we were interrupted before you could answer—if you yourself, on your own, had made the decision to omit from testimony certain remarks that tended to suggest Mrs. Henderson’s innocence. Will you please answer that question now?”
Queenie hesitated. She had been boxed in.
“It was … I’d say it was more of a mutual decision with Mr. Bond. But not such a stated decision as—more of an assumption.”
“An assumption of what?”
“That some things Mrs. Henderson said had no bearing on her guilt or innocence. And weren’t worth quoting in front of a jury.” Dennis stayed silent for a minute. Then he raised Queenie’s copy of the statement toward the bench. “Your Honor, I’d like to enter this report into evidence, as Defense Exhibit A.”
Startled, Ray Bond said, “No objection.”
The court clerk stamped the report and marked it, then returned it to Dennis, who glanced at his own notes and said to Queenie, “You told us you asked Mrs. Henderson her opinion on some matter to do with the four-laning of Highway 82, and she told you she had other things on her mind. Is that about right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Would you read from your own statement where she said she had other things on her mind?” He handed her copy of the report back to Queenie. “It’s there,” he said, “at the top of page three, highlighted in yellow by you.”
Queenie read: “She stated, ‘I guess I have other things on my mind.’ “
“And now please read us the full statement made by Mrs. Henderson in that paragraph, as set down by you in your report.”
More slowly, Queenie read: “She stated, Tm feeling terrible today. Not well. I guess I have other things on my mind. ‘ “
“When you testified on direct examination, you left out that part of her saying that she didn’t feel well, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t do that maliciously,” Queenie said.
“It’s the jury’s job to figure out your motives, Deputy, or the pressures used upon you. I’m only here to ask you questions. And you’re only here to answer them honestly, which I’m sure you will. Would you look at the bottom of page four of your sworn statement?” Queenie bent her head.
“Please read that full statement of Mrs. Henderson’s, the part you highlighted in yellow during your pretrial discussions with Mr. Bond.”
Queenie sighed. “I’d like to say—”
“Just read what you highlighted,” Dennis said coolly.
Queenie read: “She said, ‘Susie and Henry are gone, and I don’t have much time left, either. ‘ She turned to her husband in the backseat, who was still trying to quiet her down. She stated to him, You don’t either, Scott. I hate to lie. God may forgive all of us for what we did up there at Pearl Pass but I don’t think he’ll forgive us for lying about it now. ‘“
“And now please read the next sentences, until the end of that quote. Up to the word convictions. “
Queenie drew a deep breath and read: “J can’t lie. I won’t lie to the police. I didn’t hurt anyone. I didn’t kill anyone. Neither did you. We just have to have the courage of our convictions. “
“That was also what Mrs. Henderson said?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what the word exculpatory means?”
“It means tending to show that someone is innocent rather than guilty.”
“And aren’t those sentences—the ones you omitted, where Mrs. Henderson says, I didn’t kill anyone. Neither did you’—aren’t they exculpatory statements?”
“I suppose they are,” Queenie said.
“Those sentences are clear and unequivocal declarations of innocence, aren’t they?”
“By themselves, yes, they are.”
“You omitted the exculpatory statements, didn’t you, when Mr. Bond asked you what Mrs. Henderson said to you?”
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Queenie volunteered. Quickly she added, “But Mr. Bond and I agreed that they were self-serving and therefore irrelevant.”
“Who decided they were self-serving and irrelevant? You or Mr. Bond?”
She hesitated.
“Please answer,” Dennis said.
“It was Mr. Bond,” Queenie said.
“Didn’t Mr. Bond say to you, flatly, ‘Deputy O’Hare, when you take the stand, you’ve got to omit the exculpatory parts’?”
“No, he didn’t.”
Dennis took the gamble. “Didn’t he say something like, ‘Deputy, it would be better, when you testify, if you omitted these parts’?”
“Well …”
“The truth, Deputy. Didn’t he?”
&nbs
p; “In a sense, he did.”
“Didn’t he tell you that the parts he wanted you to omit were exculpatory?”
“He—”
“Did he?”
“It was understood,” Queenie said sadly.
“We’re almost done,” Dennis said. “And we’ll change the subject.” Queenie’s sigh of relief was audible.
“We’ll get back to your actual conversation in the vehicle on the way to the courthouse. I think you said that Mr. Henderson told you his wife was ranting—am I correct?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And you testified, didn’t you, that he spoke to her in another language?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“A language you didn’t understand.”
“Correct.” ‘
“Was it French, or Portuguese? A dialect of Chinese? Something like that?”
“No, it was a local slang.”
“Local?”
“It was like English, but it was different.”
Dennis smiled. “Pig Latin?”
A few jurors laughed. Even Queenie O’Hare smiled.
“In your written report, Deputy, you even gave it a name, didn’t you?”
“Yes. They call it Springling.”
“I see.” Dennis knitted his brow. “It’s a known fact that it’s called Springling?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve heard. They speak it up in that part of Gunnison County.”
Dennis repeated, “In Gunnison County they speak a slang called Springling. And that’s a known fact. Interesting. Deputy, who in this case is the ‘they’ who speak this so-called local dialect or slang.”
“People from the town of Springhill.”
“I see. People from Springhill speak Springling. You’re sure it’s not called Springlish?”
This time a few more of the jurors laughed.
“I object to this line of questioning,” Ray Bond said. “It’s irrelevant.”
“Make your point, Mr. Conway,” the judge said, “and move along.”
“I’ll drop it, Your Honor,” Dennis said. “I’m confused enough already.”
He turned back to Queenie. “You generated this computerized supplementary report from your handwritten notes, Deputy O’Hare— isn’t that what you told us before?”
“Yes.”
“And those notes were notes you wrote down in the Jeep, driving down from Springhill?”
“Oh, no, of course not.” Queenie looked alarmed. “I was driving—I couldn’t possibly take notes.”
“Well, did you use a recording device in the car to take down Mrs. Henderson’s exact words? In English and in—what did you call it?— Springling.”
“No, I didn’t. Not in either language.”
“When did you write up your notes as to what she said, in English?”
“I wrote them in my office, at my desk, after we got here and I’d delivered the Hendersons to Deputy Pentz, who was going to fingerprint them.”
“How much time had elapsed between the time the statements were made in the moving car—let’s say, by the time they were completed—and the time you sat down at your desk to reduce them to writing?”
“Twenty to thirty minutes, I’d guess.”
“Have you got a good memory?”
“I believe I do.”
“Please answer this next question with a yes or no. It’s not tricky. It’s very simple. My question is: Are you an expert at taking notes on conversations?”
“I’ve taken a five-day course in Denver, at the Reid School of Interviewing & Interrogation.”
“Just yes or no,” Dennis repeated.
“Not an expert, no. I would not say I was an expert. But I told you, I’ve had training—”
Dennis raised his hand.
“Cast your mind back, Deputy, to the afternoon of November 28, 1994, just five months ago. Does that date mean anything to you?”
“Not offhand.”
“I’ll refresh your memory. Wasn’t that the date when you first met the Hendersons? The day you drove up to Springhill to question them about this case?”
“It may well have been.”
“But you do remember the day when you first drove up there to the Henderson home?”
“Yes, I remember that day.”
“Where did you question the Hendersons?”
“In their living room.”
“Who was present?”
“The Hendersons. You were there. And your wife—she’s the daughter of the defendants and also the mayor of Springhill. Deputy Sheriff Doug Larsen of my office was there. And the police chief of Springhill.”
“You questioned Mrs. Henderson first? Before you questioned her husband?”
“Yes.”
“Did you record the conversation on a tape recorder?”
“No, I wanted to. And I’d brought one with me. But as I recall, you objected.”
“I objected?”
“Yes sir, you certainly did,” Queenie said firmly.
“Do you remember what I said by way of objection?”
“Not exactly. I think you just objected. You said—I think you asked, ‘Do you really have to use a tape recorder?’ Words to that effect.”
“Close,” Dennis said. “Didn’t I ask you, ‘Is that necessary?’ “
“That may be it,” Queenie replied. “I’m not a hundred percent sure. It was five months ago.”
“But I did object. You’re sure of that.”
“Absolutely certain.”
“And after I objected, didn’t you then say, Deputy—in front of Deputy Sheriff Doug Larsen of your own office, and in front of Springhill police chief Herb Crenshaw—didn’t you then say to me, in an effort to talk me into accepting your use of a tape recorder—I’m a lousy note-taker. My boss has often been displeased with my notes’?”
Dennis waited a few moments. “Didn’t you say that to me, Deputy?”
Queenie was not an actress, not a professional expert witness who had testified at a dozen trials. She groaned softly. But everyone heard it.
“Yes, I may have, but—”
“No buts or may haves, Deputy. You know better.”
“I was only trying—”
“Did you say those words, or didn’t you say them?”
“I said it,” she replied quietly.
After Ray Bond had tried to rehabilitate his witness and then rested his case on behalf of the People, Judge Florian gazed coolly at the defense table.
“The defense may call its first witness.”
There were only three witnesses on Dennis’s list. The first was a medical examiner from Grand Junction who would testify to the slim possibility that the victims had died from other than injections of potassium chloride. The second was an Aspen pharmacist who would further discuss the possibility of Nitrostat retaining its form—not crumbling to powder—at extremely high altitudes.
I don’t need them, he thought. I’ve made my point.
The third potential witness was Bibsy Henderson. Valium or no, he believed she would make a good witness under direct examination. He was less positive that she would stand up to the thundering dose of cross-examination likely from Ray Bond, even if Dennis was there with a barrage of objections to keep the prosecutor reined in.
In his office, with Scott present, he had coached his mother-in-law. Don’t do this, he had said, and don’t do that. Bond will try to show such-and-such by asking you this question. Be careful not to answer in this fashion. This is your answer, Bibsy. He had done exactly what Ray Bond had done with Queenie O’Hare.
Once again, he remembered what had happened in New York with his client Lindeman.
At the defense table he cupped his hand and whispered to Scott Henderson, “I want to rest my case. I don’t think I can improve Bibsy’s position. Do you agree?”
“It’s your show,” Scott whispered back.
“You’re representing yourself. You can call Bibsy if it’ll help you.”
Scott said, “I don’t mind people thinking I’m stupid, but I sure don’t want to give them any proof. Let it be, Dennis.”
Resting his hand firmly on Bibsy’s shoulder, Dennis rose to face the jury. “Neither Mr. Henderson nor I feel the need to put on any witnesses.” He turned to the judge. “Your Honor, Mrs. Henderson rests.”
Scott rose. “I rest on the evidence, Your Honor.”
In Colorado the judge delivers his charge to the jury before final argument. Judge Florian explained that by their oath they had sworn to uphold the law of the state. That law, if they found the defendants had committed an act of assisted suicide with any premeditation, required a verdict of guilty to the charge of murder in the first degree.
Ray Bond spoke first for the People. He would have one further chance to rebut the defense’s final argument. As compensation for bearing the burden of proof, the state was always Bonded the last word.
Dennis counted on that.
Keeping his anger in check, Bond focused on the evidence that proved the defendants had been at the crime scene. He spoke of the fingerprints, the silver pillbox, and of Beatrice Henderson’s skills as a registered nurse. He came to Bibsy’s statements to Deputy Sheriff O’Hare on the drive from Springhill to Aspen.
“Despite the clever manipulation of the witness by the defense attorney,” Bond said, “there is no doubt that the defendant, Mrs. Henderson, was confessing to a heinous crime—a double murder by injection. I beg you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, to use your common sense. What did Beatrice Henderson mean by the phrase ‘what we did up there at Pearl Pass?’ Did she want God to forgive her for littering in a wilderness area? Does she mean that perhaps she and her husband had shot and wounded an endangered species? No, she meant that she had committed the gravest sin of all. She needed God’s forgiveness because she had murdered two elderly people—for reasons we may never know—by administering a deadly injection of potassium chloride. And she said we. Common sense, ladies and gentlemen, leads you to the one correct conclusion. The law of Colorado that you are sworn to uphold tells you unequivocally that Beatrice and Scott Henderson did not have the right to play at being God and snuff out two human lives, as surely they did.” He pointed a rigid finger at Bibsy. “She was there! We know that! She was a nurse, and she had access to the drugs. Doctors have testified that she knew how to inject them. And—she—confessed/”
Clifford Irving's Legal Novels - 03 - THE SPRING -- a Legal Thriller Page 21
