“Not that I know of.”
“So … this was a girl with absolutely no history of violence, as far as you know.”
“That’s right.”
“Hmm.” Devlon paced a few steps. “And that last argument you spoke of between Laura and her mother. You said they made up the day before your wife was killed?”
“Yes. Laura apologized.”
“Did she show any signs of anger toward her mother after that?”
“No. It appeared the argument was over.”
“When you saw Laura the next morning—the day of your wife’s death—did she display any signs of anger then?”
“No.”
“Did you think everything was all right between them?”
“Yes.”
What was her father thinking as he answered these questions? Was he glad the answers helped her case?
Devlon switched to a new line of questioning. “Are you dating someone now, Mr. Denton?”
Whoa. Laura didn’t know her attorney would do that.
Cantor objected. The issue was “beyond the scope” of his direct. Devlon shot back that Cantor had “opened the door” through some of his questions. The judge called both men up to the bench, where they argued in heated but low tones. Finally Judge Myers allowed the testimony. Cantor did not look happy. Neither did Laura’s father.
Devlon again asked the question.
“Yes.” Her dad shifted in his seat.
Devlon asked for the woman’s name and what she did for a living. Laura’s dad had to answer.
Her lawyer raised his eyebrows. “I see. On the San Mateo police force. How long has she served in that capacity?”
“Five years.”
“And when did you meet Miss Fulder?”
Laura’s dad looked down. “About two months after my wife was killed.”
“Two months.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t know her before that?”
“No.”
“Where is Miss Fulder living at this time?”
“At my house.”
Laura froze. Tina was living in her house? Sure, Laura’s friends had seen her there, but Laura had just assumed she came over a lot. She lived there? What could her father be thinking? What was supposed to happen when Laura got home? Like she was just going to accept this cop in her life?
Laura stared at her hands, seeing their cracked and dry skin. One of the many reminders of how hard her life had become. No fancy creams in juvey. Nothing soothing at all. When she got home she wanted everything to be as comforting as possible. It would be hard enough with her mother gone. No other woman was going to take her mom’s place. Tina Fulder was moving out.
Devlon kept her dad on the stand for another hour or so. After awhile Laura tuned out. She just couldn’t listen to her father’s voice anymore. It hurt too much. By the time he was done testifying, every muscle in Laura’s body felt like stone. This was only the first day. How was she going to get through an entire week of this?
Her father took a seat in the courtroom. Laura could feel his eyes on her back. She couldn’t help but picture him going home to Tina. What they would talk about. How he would describe his day.
She hated Tina Fulder.
Before Laura could take a breath, Cantor summoned the woman who’d answered her 9-1-1 call to testify. Soon he was playing a tape of the call in court. Laura heard her own voice, screaming, crying. Begging for help. She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head. The sounds were like a knife in her heart. They brought back all the memories, fresh and raw. She could see herself in her mom’s bedroom, feel the bang of her heart, smell the blood …
The tape ended. Laura’s face was wet with tears, and she trembled in her seat. Judge Myers asked if she needed a recess. She shook her head. If she stopped the trial every time she felt bad, they’d never get done.
“Are you sure?”
She took deep breaths—and nodded.
“Okay.” The judge motioned to Cantor. “Proceed.”
Next up began the series of cops and paramedics who’d come to the house. What they’d seen, what they’d done. More reminders of the chaos. The nightmare. Laura pressed her mind deep inside itself. Maybe if she just didn’t listen …
When lunch break came, she didn’t want to eat.
By mid afternoon Laura felt sick. She couldn’t take any more of this. But the day was about to get worse. Cantor called Detective Standish. Her lawyer had warned her that the detective may testify for a long time—a day or more. Laura hadn’t seen him since she’d been arrested. The very sight of him made her stomach turn over.
The detective sat on the stand like he owned it, looking all factual and perfect. Answered questions like he had all the answers. Didn’t take long for Cantor to ask him about the words she’d said to her dad all those months ago. “I didn’t mean it.” Yes, the detective verified he’d heard those words too.
Well, good for him. Clearly the man could read Laura’s mind. Sure enough, those words had to mean she was a cold-blooded murderer, and then was sorry about killing her mother when it was too late.
The prosecutor moved on to questions about what Detective Standish had found at the scene of the crime. A pair of Laura’s shoes with blood on them. The green shoes were brought out for everyone to peer at. The bloodied hammer with Laura’s fingerprints. Everybody in court got to see that too. And on and on. The prosecutor made it sound like everything about Laura’s life pointed to the fact that she killed her mom. By the time the day was done, Laura had to admit, if she’d been sitting in the courtroom listening, she’d have believed that, too.
She left the courtroom on weak legs. On the drive back to juvey, she didn’t even look out the window. She could only stare at her lap and cry. And first thing tomorrow morning she’d get to listen to more of Detective Standish.
She would never survive the rest of the trial.
Chapter 14
Laura’s trial dragged on. Detective Standish’s testimony covered every minute they’d spent together in her two interrogations. Turned out that little camera in the top corner of the room had taped it all. She got to watch herself on a monitor, knowing everyone else in the courtroom was gawking as well. She saw her scared face, her tears, the denials. Couldn’t everyone see she was telling the truth? Did they really think she was that good at lying?
She stole long glances at the judge, wondering what he was thinking.
The prosecutor was finally through questioning Detective Standish in the afternoon of the second day. By then Laura’s insides had frozen over. She didn’t know if she couldn’t feel or just didn’t care anymore. Every minute that ticked away had made her look worse. How could her attorney ever turn things around?
Devlon rose to cross examine, bristling with energy.
He took Detective Standish back to the afternoon of the murder. He’d found blood spatter on the shoes hidden in Laura’s closet, correct? Had he noted any blood spatter on Laura herself? Her long-sleeved T-shirt? Her pants?
“She had quite a lot of blood smeared on her hands and shirt,” the detective replied.
“I’m not talking about smears. Those she could have gotten from finding her mother on the floor and turning her over, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Blood spatter is different. In your testimony you noted that it occurs at the time of attack. You found it very significant that spatter was on the shoes. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you find blood spatter anywhere else on Miss Denton’s person?”
“No.”
“Really? Not anywhere?”
“No.”
Devlon paused, as if surprised. “Didn’t you find that significant?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You can’t always figure where blood spatter will go.”
“I see. So are you saying in this case the spatter went down
ward only? To the shoes?”
“I … no, I can’t say that.”
“You testified you saw spatter on the walls by the bed, did you not? Both the wall that the headboard was up against, and the side wall that ran parallel to Mrs. Denton’s body?”
“Yes.”
“So it did go upward as well as down.”
“Apparently so.”
“I see. If it went upward, and Miss Denton had been present at the time of the attack, wouldn’t it have gotten on her clothes as well?”
“Depends on where she was standing.”
“There was only one place to stand, wasn’t there? In the three feet of space between where Mrs. Denton fell and that side wall?”
“Yes, but exactly where in that space? The defendant could have been near Mrs. Denton’s head or more at her waist level.”
Devlon consulted his notes, then launched into a series of questions that came harder and faster. Hadn’t the detective testified that the blood spatter on the side wall was found from the corner to eighteen inches out, then stopped, then started up again at thirty-eight inches from the corner? So there was a blank space of twenty inches? Why would that be? Wasn’t it safe to surmise that’s where the perpetrator had been standing? What else could have possibly blocked that spatter? And if that was the case, the spatter would have gotten on the person’s clothes, wouldn’t it? Is that not what the law of physics would require? Had the detective ever known blood to bend around nothing, going in two directions of its own accord? Yet there was no spatter on Laura’s clothes, only her shoes, was there? Did the detective have any explanation for that?
Laura had to work to keep a smirk off her face. How long she’d waited to see Detective Standish squirm. Now maybe he knew how it felt to be pounded with questions. The only difference was—he was guilty of the things he was being accused of—ignoring the truth, homing in on her alone. She hadn’t been.
But her attorney wasn’t done. Next he wanted to know about the bathrooms and kitchen sink in the house. Had the police checked the drains for blood?
The detective admitted they hadn’t.
“Wouldn’t that be a standard part of a murder investigation?”
Later, when the detective slipped and mentioned the blood on Laura’s hands, Devlon pounced on it. Did he mean to say the police had focused on her immediately as a suspect? So much so that they hadn’t conducted the investigation of the crime scene as thoroughly as they should have?
The detective tried to explain his actions, but with every statement Devlon managed to corner him more.
“So what you’re telling me is, if the perpetrator of this heinous crime washed the blood off his hands before leaving the premises, you wouldn’t know it. Because you never checked for it.”
“We did not check.”
“If you had checked and found blood in a drain, wouldn’t that have alerted you to the presence of someone else in the house other than Miss Denton? Since she clearly had not washed her hands when you arrived on the scene?”
The detective went around and around the question. On the fifth try, Devlon finally got him to admit that would have been something they’d have “looked at.”
When five o’clock came and court had to stop for the day, Laura was surprised to find herself disappointed. She could have watched Devlon’s show all night. That evening she went over and over Standish’s cross examination in her mind. Was the judge seeing the truth? All the things that should have been done in the investigation—that weren’t?
The next morning Devlon talked to Laura before court began. He looked rested and ready to fight, wearing a dark blue suit and red tie. Cantor looked dull in comparison, wearing his standard gray. “I need to warn you I’ll be bringing out some information you haven’t heard yet,” Devlon said.
Laura didn’t like the word warn. “Like what?”
“About a man at your mom’s work. Apparently he had a crush on her.”
Laura’s eyes widened. “Somebody you think could have killed her?”
“I don’t know. Thing is, the cops never looked at him.”
The judge entered, calling court to order. Laura’s heart tumbled around. Some man who liked her mom? Had he tried to make moves on her, and she said no? That could make someone mad enough to kill—if he was a sick person. Maybe, just maybe, this was the answer to her burning question.
As Standish sat down to testify, Laura tried to gather her whirling thoughts. The news about this man at her mother’s work was exciting. But why hadn’t she heard about him before, including from her own attorney? Wasn’t this her trial? It was like the adults pulled all the strings, and she was just some puppet. The puppet who’d pay for their mistakes.
Devlon started in on Standish. “You testified about interviewing some of Mrs. Denton’s coworkers at the hospital. Ever hear the name Roger Weiner? One of the male nurses at the hospital?
“Yes.”
“Did you interview him?”
“No.”
“I see. You testified you did interview Myra Bastion, Mrs. Denton’s best friend at work?”
“Yes.”
“And she told you about Mr. Weiner’s obsession with Mrs. Denton?”
Another objection from Cantor. Laura wished he’d just shut up. In time the judge let Devlon continue. He repeated the question.
“She mentioned it.”
“Why didn’t you follow up on that?”
The detective tried to skate around an answer. Devlon finally got him to admit by then the evidence was “so against” Laura, they stopped interviewing people at her mom’s work. Another example of their tunnel vision.
Devlon had to stop there with Standish. He’d told Laura he would bring out more of the information on Mr. Weiner during the defense questioning. There was only so much he was allowed to do during cross exam. The detective left the stand and courtroom without one glance at Laura. Well, good for him. The man who knew everything. He might not hold his head so high when she was acquitted.
The worst thing about Devlon finishing with Standish was that the prosecution took over again. Cantor started calling some of Laura’s friends—her own friends—to the stand. One was Natalie Dross. Laura used to gossip with Natalie every day. They’d go to movies or the mall together, talk on the phone. Laura would have trusted her with anything. Now Natalie wouldn’t even look at her.
Cantor asked Natalie to recount what Laura had said about her mother the last time they’d fought. Devlon objected that it was hearsay, and he and the prosecutor argued back and forth until the judge called them both up to the bench again, where they argued some more. In the end the judge let the evidence in.
The prosecutor looked so pleased with himself. “So what did Laura say to you about her mother?”
Natalie looked straight at Cantor. Laura had the feeling they’d practiced this. “She said, ‘If you think my mom’s so great, you can have her.’”
Laura couldn’t even remember saying those words. But even if she had—so what? She wouldn’t have meant it. How could that possibly mean she’d killed her mom?
As if Natalie wasn’t bad enough, Cantor called in a second friend—Derra Tobert. And Derra testified Laura said the exact same thing to her. Laura couldn’t believe it. She sat at the defense table, shoulders hunched, trying to keep it together. These girls got to live in the outside world. Got to go to school, and talk on the phone, and go to the mall. Who were they to say anything against her? Didn’t they know they were helping the prosecution? Or did they think she was guilty, too? Just like her dad.
For the first time Laura began to fear getting out of juvey. What would her life be like? Her dad with some other woman. Both of them believing she was guilty. Friends who also thought she was guilty. Everywhere she went people would look at her and talk about her. How could she go back to school? Find her mom’s real killer on her own? How could she ever resume a normal life?
Fact is, her life woul
dn’t be normal. Ever again.
Chapter 15
On the fourth day of Laura’s trial the prosecution rested. Finally her own attorney could question people—who’d tell her side of the story. And she’d get to testify herself.
This is it, God. Please help!
Laura took her seat behind the defense table, more confident than she’d felt since the trial began. The reporters were still there. Now they’d hear the truth. And they’d better write it in their stupid articles.
Devlon gathered his notes and rose. He was looking good today in a dark pinstriped suit. His tie was a swirl of mauve and blue. Definitely cool.
Her attorney began by calling one of her mom’s coworkers to the stand—Paula Dewey. Laura had never heard of her. Paula was a large, no-nonsense-looking woman. Older, with gray hair and green-framed glasses. She sat in the stand comfortably, like she had nothing to hide.
Turned out Paula supervised the nurses, including Roger Weiner, the male nurse who was “obsessed” with her mom, as she put it. Laura sat up straighter. Ever since she first heard the name Roger Weiner it had run through her head. Someone who could be guilty. Who’d actually killed her mother. Those kinds of things—jealous would-be lovers—happened in the movies, didn’t they? And sometimes in real life.
Cantor wasted no time in interrupting. He objected to the word obsessed. The witness was stating an opinion. The judge sustained. Laura hated it every time Judge Myers agreed with Cantor. Made her wonder if the judge favored the prosecution. Devlon had reminded her the judge had agreed with him on some important issues. Laura didn’t care. He could agree with Devlon one hundred times, she’d retorted, but the one time he sided with Cantor would be the one she’d remember.
Devlon tried another approach with Paula Dewey. “Did Roger Weiner work on the same shift and floor as Sally Denton?”
“Yes, at first.”
“But then you moved him to a different floor?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask you to put him back on the same floor as Mrs. Denton?”
“Yes. Numerous times.”
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