Chasing Justice

by H. Terrell Griffin

  It was becoming obvious that Erickson was involved somehow in drug operations. He was connected to the Favereauxes and Bannister. Erickson had been with Bannister when Bannister tried to borrow money from Jon Boscia, and Bannister had transferred all his stock in BLP, Inc. to Erickson in return for ten million dollars and the promise of fifteen million more. The money from Erickson had gone into BLP, Inc., which Erickson now controlled, so the net effect was that Erickson had lent himself the money and he now owned the real estate on which the project was to be built. It was a nice slight of hand and a good way to launder drug profits. There was still the question of where Erickson would have gotten the ten million. Had to be drugs.

  J.D. went to a website where she could access tax return summaries of not-for-profit corporations. Unlimited Futures showed a very high percentage of its proceeds going to administrative expenses and another large part being contributed to other charities. She could find no information on the other charities.

  “My guess is that most of that money is going back into dealers’ pockets,” J.D. said, “but it seems like a pretty basic scheme. You don’t have to look too deep to find that the money trail peters out.”

  “But who’s going to be looking?” I asked. “You have a distinguished professor and his wife running a charity to help kids, and the administrative expenses are high but not completely unreasonable. The charities that Unlimited Futures sends money to haven’t filed returns, but maybe they’re so small, they don’t have to file. If the charity’s income is less than twenty-five thousand dollars per year, it isn’t required to file a return.”

  J.D. took another look at the information on the computer screen. “There are a lot of charities supported by Unlimited Futures, but every one of the contributions to those entities was just under the twenty-five thousand mark.”

  “There you go,” I said. “Unless somebody was really looking for it, Erickson would just continue to slip in under the radar.”

  “I’ll bet you anything Unlimited Futures takes in a lot more money than it reports,” J.D. said.

  J.D. had made sure that Walker was completely isolated so that Erickson would not know what happened to him. She put out a press release saying that the Longboat police had found a body on the key, that of a man who had died of a heart attack. The story included an artist’s sketch of Walker, but there was no identification on the body, so the police were asking the public to call if they thought they knew the victim. It wasn’t perfect, but we hoped the ruse would hold for a day or two. The story ran in the Thursday morning edition of the Sarasota Herald-Tribune, so that by the time the trial resumed, chances were good that Erickson would think his man had not made contact with me before he died.

  * * *

  The show was about to begin. The jury was in the box, and it was time for me to give the opening statement I’d deferred until the state had finished its case. I planned to keep it short. I didn’t want to give away any of the surprises I had in store for the day.

  I wanted to hit Swann cold with the facts as they came from the witness stand. He’d have no time to prepare, to figure out how to dilute the impact of the testimony. That is, unless he knew a lot of what I’d discovered, unless he was better prepared than I thought, unless he had some surprises for me, unless he was a better lawyer than I believed him to be, unless he had not underestimated me and my case, as he seemed to have done. That little devil on my shoulder, the bane of every trial lawyer, was whispering baleful predictions of doom, and warning me of my inadequacies.

  I stood before the jury, not close, no hand on the rail like they always do on TV. I didn’t want to invade their personal space and make them uncomfortable. I wanted their attention. I needed to grab it and hold onto it for the few minutes I would need to make my statement. I knew the importance of not promising them evidence I could not produce. I had neither podium nor notes, and I did not smile or chuckle or try to pander to them in any way.

  “May it please the court,” I said with a nod to the bench. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you have heard Mr. Swann’s case and now it’s time for me to present the defense’s evidence, the evidence I believe will prove that Abby Lester did not kill Nate Bannister. Mr. Swann has done a masterful job of presenting every shred of evidence he has, and he will argue that those facts are all you need to convict.

  “Perhaps he would be correct if there was no other evidence. Unfortunately for the prosecution, there’s a lot more evidence, and I will present it to you over the next day or two. You will begin to see that Mr. Swann’s case is very weak to start with, and it falls completely apart when you hear the testimony that will come to you today and tomorrow.

  “My job is not to prove the innocence of Abby Lester, although I think you will have no doubt of her innocence. The burden of proof is on the state to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Abby killed Mr. Bannister. The prosecution’s evidence has been designed to point in only one direction, that Abby was the killer, that there is no one else who had motive, opportunity, and the means to kill Mr. Bannister. But Mr. Swann’s evidence isn’t all the evidence.

  “By the end of tomorrow, you will have seen that there are a number of people who had better reason to kill Mr. Bannister than any Mr. Swann has attributed to Abby. You will also hear the evidence that Abby didn’t even know the victim and that she certainly did not have an affair with him.

  “I’m not suggesting to you that Mr. Swann has deliberately attempted to convict an innocent woman. I am suggesting that the evidence will show that the state may not have done as good a job as it should have in following up on evidence that was available to them. You—”

  “Objection, Your Honor.” Swann was back on his feet. I’d thought that last statement might raise his blood pressure a bit. After all, I was suggesting that he was incompetent. I expected the objection, and I was pretty sure it was not one the judge would sustain. I was walking a fine line between arguing the case and explaining to the jury what evidence I would present, but I hadn’t stepped over it. Well, not more than a little bit. I also knew that the objection would focus the jury on the very point I was making.

  “Grounds, Mr. Swann?” Judge Thomas asked.

  “He’s arguing. This isn’t closing.”

  “I’ll let him finish. I grant you that he’s walking close to the line, but he hasn’t stepped over it. Yet. Overruled.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” I said. I turned back to the jury. A faint smile crossed the face of Judith Whitacre, the fragrance company executive. “As I was saying,” I continued, “I am suggesting to you that the evidence you will see, the rest of the evidence, will be that Abby Lester has been the victim of an elaborate frame-up. You will hear from some of the players in this drama, people whom Mr. Swann chose not to call as witnesses. You will hear the reason Abby is being framed is to hide the identity of the real murderer, and you will hear of other people who had reason to kill Mr. Bannister. Abby Lester played no part in any of this, except that she was an unwitting victim herself.

  “The United States Constitution says that Abby Lester cannot be compelled to testify in this trial. She cannot be subjected to cross-examination if she does not testify. But Abby will testify. She will open herself to cross-examination by Mr. Swann. She will tell you the truth. You will see the real person, this high school history teacher married to a career police officer, and you will be able to distinguish between the real Abby Lester and the calculating, sex-crazed monster that Mr. Swann has tried to make her out to be. Thank you.” I took my seat and smiled at Swann.

  “Call your first witness, Mr. Royal,” the judge said.

  “The defense calls Dr. William Sawyer,” I said.

  The first witness of the day was on the stand. I was standing at the podium at the far end of the jury box from the witness, the jurors between us. This arrangement required the witness to look at me and speak loud enough for me to hear and thus loud enough that the jury didn’t miss anything he said while answering my questi
ons. I wanted the jurors to get a direct, head-on look at my witnesses. “State your name, please.”

  “William Sawyer,” the witness said.

  “What is your occupation, sir?”

  “I’m director of the DNA lab for Biogenesis Laboratories in Tampa.”

  I took him through his educational background, including his Ph.D degree, his knowledge of his field, and the years he’d worked in it. I wanted to demonstrate his expertise to the jury and the judge. When I finished, Judge Thomas accepted Sawyer as an expert in his field, thus qualifying him to give opinion testimony relating to his work.

  “Have you had occasion to review DNA samples provided to you for purposes of this case?”

  “I have.”

  “Who provided you those samples?”

  “Dr. Bert Hawkins, the chief medical examiner of this circuit.”

  “Describe the samples for me.”

  “One was a blood sample, a vial of blood, obtained from a murder victim, Nate Bannister. The other was part of a bed sheet found on the bed in Mr. Bannister’s bedroom.”

  “What was the purpose of sending you the blood sample?”

  “I was not told that at the time. That’s not unusual. I really don’t need that information.”

  “Did you run the sample?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you provide a report to Dr. Hawkins?”

  “I did.”

  I handed the witness a copy of the report with his signature at the bottom. “Is this a copy of the report you sent Dr. Hawkins?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You also received a bed sheet from which you were asked to extract DNA material.”

  “I did.”

  I handed him another report, and he verified that it was the report from the bed sheet.

  “Were you able to identify DNA from that bed sheet?”

  “Partially. There was DNA from two different people. One of them was Nate Bannister. The other was unknown. We could find no match in any of the databases.”

  “Did you also receive another blood sample from Dr. Hawkins taken from another homicide victim a few days later?”

  “I did.”

  “What was the victim’s name?”

  “Linda Favereaux.”

  “And did you provide Dr. Hawkins with a report on this sample?”

  “Objection,” Swann said, rising to his feet. “Relevance.”

  “I’ll tie it up with the next witness, Your Honor,” I said.

  “Overruled,” the judge said. “You may answer the question, Dr. Sawyer.”

  “I sent the report to Dr. Hawkins,” Sawyer said.

  “Thank you, Dr. Sawyer. I have nothing further.” I returned to my seat.

  “You may inquire, Mr. Swann,” the judge said.

  Swann stood. “No questions, Your Honor.”

  “Call your next witness, Mr. Royal,” the judge said.

  “We’ll call Detective J.D. Duncan,” I said.

  J.D. walked into the courtroom wearing a dark suit, white blouse, and navy-blue pumps. She looked very professional. She took the witness stand and was sworn by the deputy clerk.

  “State your name, please,” I said.

  “Jennifer Diane Duncan.”

  “Your occupation?”

  “I’m a Longboat Key police detective.”

  “And how long have you been so employed?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “And before that?”

  “I was a police officer and detective on the Miami-Dade County Police Department.”

  “What was your job there?”

  “For most of the time, I was a homicide detective. By the time I left there to come to Longboat Key I was the assistant homicide commander.”

  “How many murders have you investigated in your career?”

  “At least two hundred.”

  “So, it’d be fair to say that you know your way around a murder case.”

  “I think so.”

  “Objection,” said Swann, rising from his seat. “Is Mr. Royal trying to qualify this witness as an expert?”

  “I’m not, Your Honor. I’ve called Detective Duncan as a fact witness.”

  “How can her testimony be relevant to this case?” Swann asked. “It did not occur in her jurisdiction, and to my knowledge, Detective Duncan played no part in the investigation of Mr. Bannister’s murder.”

  “Mr. Royal?” the judge asked.

  “Your Honor, if I may have a little leeway here, I think the court will see that Detective Duncan’s testimony will have a lot of bearing on this case.”

  “Okay,” Judge Thomas said, “but I expect you to tie this up quickly.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and turned back to the witness stand. “Detective Duncan, I want to get some personal stuff out of the way before we proceed. You and I know each other, correct?” I had to bring our relationship out in the open because Swann certainly would. I didn’t want the jury to think we were hiding anything. J.D. and I had talked about how to present this.

  “Yes. We’re in a relationship.”

  I thought that would suffice. Everybody on the panel would know what she meant, and if Swann tried to make too big of a deal out of it, the jury wouldn’t like it. I glanced at the jury box. They were all stone faced, except for Judith Whitacre. She looked straight at me and smiled quickly, as if saying, “good for you.”

  “Would the fact of that relationship in any way color your testimony in this case?”

  “No.”

  “When did you first become aware that Nate Bannister had been killed?”

  “On the morning of April 1 of this year.”

  “And how were you notified?”

  “Detective Harry Robson of the Sarasota Police Department called me.”

  “What was the gist of that call?”

  “Detective Robson told me that Mr. Bannister’s body had been found in his condo in Sarasota and asked me to notify Mrs. Bannister, who lives on Longboat, of his death.”

  “Did you do so?”

  “I went to her house, but she wasn’t home. I returned to the station and mentioned the request to Chief Lester, and he told me he would take care of the notification.”

  “Were you investigating another case on the morning of April 1?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell us about that.”

  “A woman named Linda Favereaux had been murdered in her home on Longboat Key earlier that morning. I was just starting my investigation.”

  “Was there a connection between the deaths of Mrs. Favereaux and Mr. Bannister?”

  “None that was apparent.”

  Swann stood. “Your Honor, this has gone far enough.”

  Judge Thomas interrupted him. “Do you have an objection, Mr. Swann? If so, state your grounds without any commentary.”

  “Relevance.”

  The judge frowned. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” he said, “on occasion the lawyers and I have to discuss legal matters that are outside your responsibility for determining the facts of this case. This is one of those times, and I will have to excuse you for a few minutes. I appreciate your patience. Deputy, please escort the jury to the jury room.”

  When the jury was gone, the judge said, “Where are you going with this, Mr. Royal?”

  “Your Honor, I will tie this up with a few more questions. I think we’ll see that the two cases are connected.”

  “Mr. Swann?” the judge asked.

  “I can’t see how the Favereaux case is possibly connected to this case. I think Mr. Royal is just trying to throw mud on the wall and see if anything sticks.”

  “Your Honor,” I said, “just a few more questions and this will all fall into place.”

  “Okay, Mr. Royal, but let’s get to the point. Objection overruled. Deputy, bring in the jury.”

  When the jury was seated, I said, “Detective Duncan, did you identify Mrs. Favereaux at the scene of the crime?”

  “Yes, her maid
identified her and one of our officers knew her.”

  “But you ordered a DNA analysis. Why did you do that if you had positively identified the victim?”

  “The medical examiner routinely runs fingerprints of murder victims. It’s part of a backup system that ensures we have made a proper identification. When Dr. Hawkins’ office ran Mrs. Favereaux’s prints, they came back as those of a woman named Darlene Pelletier who had been arrested in New Orleans twenty years ago on a minor shoplifting charge. That, of course, meant that either the fingerprints were somehow wrong, or Linda Favereaux was not the person she seemed to be.”

  “So you ordered the DNA analysis?”

  “Yes. I went to New Orleans to follow up on Darlene Pelletier. It was important to my investigation to find out who my victim really was. It might lead to the killer.”

  “Why the DNA?”

  “I came across a woman in New Orleans named Connie Pelletier, whom I thought may have been related to the woman we knew as Linda Favereaux. The day after I talked to Connie Pelletier, she was murdered. I asked Dr. Hawkins to run a DNA analysis on Mrs. Favereaux so that we could compare it with that of Connie Pelletier.”

  “Was there a connection between the two women?”

  “Yes. Connie was Linda’s mother.”

  “Did anyone accompany you to New Orleans?” This was a question that I didn’t want to ask. I doubted that Swann would have known anything about J.D.’s trip to New Orleans, but any competent lawyer would ask if anybody had gone with her. My name would come out, and it would look as if we were hiding something. Which we would have been doing.

  J.D. smiled. “Yes. You went with me.”

  “Did I take part in the investigation?”

  “You were there, but you weren’t part of the investigation.”

  “Did I have anything to do with your asking for the DNA samples?”

  “No. At that time there was no reason to think there was any connection between the Bannister and Favereaux cases. If I thought there had been, you would not have been with me.”

  “Thank you, Detective. I have no further questions.”

  Swann stood, his face a mask of derision. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight, Ms. Duncan.”