Again, Trejo showed no emotion.
Cho established that the traffic lights at that intersection were working properly and that there was no surveillance videotape of the intersection from any of the businesses. In response to the next question, Jensen said, “Subsequently, we determined there was a traffic camera approximately one hundred yards west of the intersection controlled by the Washington State Department of Transportation, and we obtained a copy of that video.”
“Before we get to that video, what else did you find of significance at the crime scene?”
Jensen discussed the car part found by the patrol officer. Cho signaled to Clark, who handed him the part, sealed in a see-through evidence bag. Cho handed the bag to Jensen, who testified that he took it to the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab, which provided him a serial part number and determined it had come off a Subaru. He also testified to taking it to a Subaru dealership and determining that the vehicle was black in color.
“It was from the front headlight and turn signal, on the passenger side of the vehicle.”
Jensen testified that knowing the type of car, as well as its color, made it easier to go back through the video and locate the Subaru.
Cho set forth the groundwork for having the video played in the courtroom. Since Battles and Rivas had both seen the video, they knew it did not show the impact and would not be disturbing to the gallery. Cho asked Jensen to narrate the video. As he did, Battles heard more muted sobs behind her. Cho asked that the video be stopped when the dark vehicle appeared in the picture frame. He was milking this for all he could.
“The film is in black-and-white,” Jensen said, “but we can see from this angle the light changes from the top light, red, to the bottom light, green, to allow traffic on South Henderson Street to proceed.”
The car continued through the intersection without slowing, the impact with D’Andre Miller hidden by the angle of the camera.
Cho waited a beat. Then he said, “Were you able to determine the speed at which the car in the video was traveling?”
“Yes.”
“Would you explain how you did that?”
“It’s physics. The video is 30 frames a second. We measured the distance between the apartment building on the southeast corner and the closed restaurant on the northeast corner.”
“How far was that?”
“That was 193 feet. It took 75 frames for the car to travel between those two points, or 2.25 seconds. If you divide the feet by the seconds, you determine that the car was traveling 77 feet per second. We know there are 5,280 feet in a mile, and 3,600 seconds in an hour. If you divide the first number by the second number, you get the conversion factor of 1.466 feet per second equaling one mile per hour. To convert 77 feet per second to miles per hour, we divided 77 feet per second by the conversion factor 1.466 and determined the car in that video was traveling at just over 52 miles per hour.”
Cho took his time asking the next question. “Detective, what’s the speed limit on Renton Avenue South at that intersection?”
“It’s 30 miles per hour,” Jensen said.
Cho let that thought linger. Trejo continued to stare at the wall.
Jensen testified about the patrol officers’ discovery of the car in the backyard and his ability to confirm the car using the piece of the headlight cover found in the road.
“Did you impound the vehicle?” Cho asked.
“We did, and I sought a search warrant to search the interior.”
Jensen spent time going through the search of the vehicle, the blood located on the driver’s cloth seat belonging to Trejo, Trejo’s fingerprints, and the DNA evidence. Cho asked that TCI’s report be admitted into evidence, then discussed with Jensen the fact that the vehicle had been wiped down with an antiseptic wipe.
“What deductions, if any, did you make from that information?”
“In my opinion, the only reason someone would wipe clean the air bag and try to clean up the blood would be if they were trying to wipe away DNA evidence that they’d been driving the car when the air bag deployed.”
“Did you find anything else within the car?”
“Yes,” Jensen said. “We found a receipt in the backseat dated the night of the accident. It was for the purchase of two bottles of the energy drink Red Bull from a convenience store in Renton.”
Cho established the date and the time of purchase and went through the steps to authenticate the receipt, sealed in an evidence bag, and introduced it into evidence.
“We ran the license plate and registration, and we were advised that the car had been reported as stolen by the owner the morning after the accident.”
“And in your experience was that significant?”
Jensen grimaced and looked off before readdressing Cho. “It makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up a bit—just the coincidence of it.”
“And who was the registered owner of the vehicle?”
Jensen looked at Battles’s side of the courtroom. “Laszlo Trejo.”
CHAPTER 21
Del had received a call on his cell phone early that morning from Mike Melton, who said the Technical and Electronic Support Unit had successfully secured Allie’s e-mails and text messages from her computer and her phone. Because the request for the information had been signed in under Faz’s name, Del called him at home and asked if he’d take a drive with him to the Washington State Crime Lab.
Del picked him up.
“You spoke to Maggie?” Faz asked from the passenger seat of Del’s Impala.
“I did.”
“Is she still doing better?”
“Day by day. She made hamburgers and milk shakes for the boys, which thrilled them, and me. She’s still not eating much, but it’s better.”
“Is she seeing the counselor?”
“Twice a week now.”
“And you told her we got the e-mails and text messages off of Allie’s phone?”
“She knows. She asked to see them when I’m through.”
“She has a right,” Faz said, nodding.
“Yeah, she does,” Del said. “I just hope she can take it. I’m not sure I can.”
A minute passed. KJR Sports Radio filled the silence. Faz said, “Have you seen that prosecutor again?”
Del looked across the car. “Celia McDaniel?”
“Yeah. The good-looking black lady.”
Del smiled. “I just bought her a drink after work to make up for being rude.”
“You didn’t take her to dinner?”
Del shrugged. “Dinner and a drink.”
“Sounds like a date.”
“What date?” Del said, dismissing it. “I offered to buy her a drink. She suggested dinner because she doesn’t like to drink on an empty stomach.”
“So call her again. Make this one a date. See what she says.”
“Who are you, Dear Abby?”
“I’m just saying it would be nice if every once in a while you came over to the house with someone Vera can talk to,” Faz said.
Del sat back. After a few seconds, he asked, “You think she’d say yes?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a while, you know.”
“What, since your divorce?”
“Since I’ve been on a date.”
Faz waved it off. “Don’t sweat it. You’re like this car. You have some miles on the tires, but you take care of the exterior. You’re still in good shape.”
“I’ve lost ten pounds the past two weeks.”
Faz moaned. “Don’t tell me that. And don’t tell Vera that. You lose weight and Vera’s gonna make me lose weight. Why are you losing weight? You sick?”
“No, just trying to be healthy. Healthier.”
Faz smiled. “You son of a bitch. You like this woman, don’t you? That’s why you’re losing the weight.”
“What, a guy can’t lose weight for no reason?”
“Not when he’s Italian, he can’t. To us
Italians, eating is like breathing. So unless you got a good reason, like a woman . . .”
“So, you think she’d say yes?”
“She said yes before, didn’t she?”
“That was different.”
“Why? You asked her for a drink and she upped the ante to dinner. Me, I don’t see that as different. I see that as a woman saying yes.”
“Maybe I’ll call.”
“Call her now.”
“I ain’t calling her with you in the car.”
“So call after we get done meeting Melton.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Don’t wait. Just get back and do it, first thing.”
“I said I’d call.”
“How are you fixed for condoms?”
Del faked a backhand. “I swear to God.”
Mike Melton, director of the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab, was as much a dinosaur as Del and Faz. He’d worked at the lab for more than twenty years. Melton told Del he’d accepted the position of director for much the same reason he’d coached each of his six daughters in sports. “If anyone is going to screw them up, I’d rather it be me.”
He was being modest. Three of his daughters had obtained athletic scholarships. The crime lab had also flourished under his leadership. Nearly as big as Faz and Del, Melton looked like a lumberjack more than a scientist. The detectives called him “Grizzly Adams” because of his close resemblance to the television actor on that show. He had wild brown hair and an equally thick beard, which was becoming more peppered with gray each year.
Melton kept an office on the first floor of the concrete building on Airport Way. While others in the building framed and hung their various diplomas, Melton displayed trinkets from past cases, like ball-peen hammers and baseball bats.
Del came to an abrupt stop upon entering Melton’s office. The scientist had trimmed his beard and his hair, both of which now bordered on civilized. “Whoa,” Del said. “You’re really taking this director position seriously.”
“You know me better. I’d never do this for a job. I’m marrying off daughter number four this weekend, and my wife said I needed to be presentable for the new in-laws.”
“Bring them in here,” Del said. “You’re sure to scare them away.”
“I bring in every one of my son-in-laws.”
Del looked around the office. “Love what you’ve done with the place since your promotion.”
“They keep threatening to move me. I told them to put my ashes on top of my computer and shut the door when I’m gone.” Melton looked at Del. “You look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Yeah, I’ve lost a few pounds.”
“You look the same,” Melton said to Faz.
Faz shook his head in disgust. “See what you’ve started,” he said to Del.
“Very sorry about your niece,” Melton said.
“Thanks. And thanks for expediting this.”
Melton handed Del a USB drive. “The documents go back two weeks from the date you provided on the subpoena to the phone company. We pulled all the e-mails and text messages.”
“What if she deleted a text or an e-mail?” Del asked.
“TESU pulled the current ones first and copied them over, then restored her backup. There weren’t a lot, but there were some. You got them all.”
“Thanks, Mike,” Del said.
“Crappy reason to have to do it,” Melton said.
CHAPTER 22
Leah Battles had been itching to cross-examine Joe Jensen. She wanted to establish not what he knew, but what he didn’t know. She wanted to establish that he didn’t know whether D’Andre Miller had crossed at the crosswalk, or whether Miller had been paying attention when he’d stepped from the curb or whether he had been distracted by the basketball. According to Terry O’Neil, who opened the rec center, Miller had had quite a night, the first time he’d been allowed to play. Maybe in his excitement he’d stepped off the curb without looking. Maybe he’d been listening to music on his headphones, also found in the street. It had been dark out and the clothing he’d worn had been dark. There were a number of points she could have scored on cross-examination, but it wouldn’t prevent a judge from finding probable cause, and it would only educate Cho as to where she would attack his witnesses and allow him to better prepare for the court-martial. As hard as it was to remain silent, she knew that sometimes the best thing to say was nothing at all.
“No questions,” she said, and Rivas dismissed Jensen and called for a short break.
Tracy Crosswhite made her way to the witness stand after the break. This morning she dressed like a lawyer, wearing a blue suit, but she still had the unmistakable demeanor of a cop. She did not look the least bit intimidated. Battles had done some research on Crosswhite in preparation for the hearing and found that the two women had a few things in common. Battles had also grown up in a small town, though on the East Coast. Her parents didn’t have much money—not the kind that can make a difference in a kid’s life. So whatever Battles was to achieve, she was going to have to earn. Chess had provided her with scholarship money and that same swagger she now detected in Crosswhite. Battles surmised that it came from the single-action shooting competitions at which Crosswhite apparently excelled. Battles knew you didn’t get that self-assurance by just getting up every day and driving into an office. It came from competition, from putting yourself at risk of losing, then winning anyway.
After swearing Crosswhite in, Cho made short work of establishing her credentials, background, and her presence at the hit and run.
“So your initial impression was the same as Detective Jensen’s?” Cho asked. He glanced at Battles, tweaking her for not moving to exclude Crosswhite from the courtroom during Jensen’s testimony, and perhaps pimping her to object. She ignored him.
“It appeared to have been a hit and run,” Crosswhite said.
Crosswhite then testified about the meeting the following morning at Police Headquarters with Detective Jensen at which he’d advised them of the Department of Transportation video of the Subaru and how they’d been able to get the information out to the officers on morning roll call.
Cho moved forward quickly.
“Can you tell us what you did next?”
“I was in the office later in the day and received a call from Detective Jensen. He said that a woman had reported a car in her backyard that fit the description of the car we were looking for.”
“Can you tell us about your trip to that site?”
Crosswhite did.
Cho went through the car part matching the damage to the car, and how Jensen had linked it to Trejo, who had reported the car stolen that morning. Then he asked, “Did you have any initial reaction to that news?”
“Well, given what had transpired, I wondered if the report that the car had been stolen was legitimate. It seemed too convenient. I thought it was worth exploring further.”
Battles made a note to attack Crosswhite on cross-examination at the court-martial and to insinuate that her and Jensen’s investigation had been colored by the fact that both believed Trejo had lied before ever speaking with him.
Cho methodically went through the meeting between Trejo and Crosswhite and her partner, Kinsington Rowe. “What did he tell you happened to his car?”
“He reconfirmed that his car had been stolen and said he had reported it to the Bremerton Police Department.”
“Anything else of significance that you noted during that conversation?”
“Mr. Trejo was drinking from a can of Red Bull, an energy drink. He also had a cut on his forehead, which he’d bandaged.”
Crosswhite testified as to what Trejo had told her and Kins about how he had hurt himself on the corner of a kitchen cabinet. She said that, later, when confronted with the evidence of blood inside the car, Trejo said he’d thought he’d stopped the bleeding, but that he’d gotten blood on the seat and tried to clean it.
Which would be logical, Battles noted for cross-examinati
on. She also noted that head wounds bleed a lot. She was practically sitting on her hands to avoid objecting.
Crosswhite was clearly a seasoned witness, testifying to questions from Cho about TCI finding a receipt from a convenience store in Renton for the purchase of two energy drinks within a half hour of the accident. It was all foundational, laying the groundwork to introduce the evidence most damaging to Trejo: the convenience store security tape.
As Cho spoke, Battles noticed Lindsay Clark looking through the box of evidence on the courtroom floor and searching counsel’s table.
“Your Honor—” Cho paused when he noticed Clark gesturing to him. “Excuse me, Your Honor, if I may have a moment to confer with co-counsel.” Cho walked to Clark and turned his head to engage in a whispered conversation. He looked perplexed then began digging through the evidence box. A moment later he approached the court reporter, Bob Grassilli, who Battles knew well. Cho said something inaudible. Grassilli began to look around his desk.
Cho said, “Your Honor, I wonder if we may have a brief recess to secure a piece of evidence.”
Rivas looked at the clock on the wall. “This hearing will be in recess. How long do you need?”
Cho said, “Just a few minutes, Your Honor.”
The murmur in the crowd increased as the court reporter quickly left the room followed by Cho and Clark. Battles stood to stretch her legs and turned to Trejo, but her client remained seated, facing forward. She was about to talk to him when she noticed Detective Crosswhite looking from her chair to the gallery, to where Joe Jensen sat. Crosswhite gave him a curious shrug.
CHAPTER 23
After picking up Allie’s computer and phone records, Del dropped off Faz at the office but didn’t stay. He knew he couldn’t get anything done with the information in his briefcase. He drove home.
Following his divorce, Del had rented a home on Capitol Hill from a friend who’d been relocated to Portland for her job but intended to move back to Seattle after she retired. At least that’s what she’d said. The neighboring homes had all been remodeled, some more than once, but little had been done to the 1930s Craftsman, which meant it had a lot of charm and needed a lot of upkeep. In exchange for reduced rent, Del took care of the property, fixing what broke and performing needed maintenance. He even tended to the yard, though it wasn’t much. He could mow the front and back lawn in under a half hour.
Close to Home (The Tracy Crosswhite Series Book 5) Page 15
