“I agree,” responded the judge. “Detective Donovan, please answer the question.”
“Yes, the victim in my investigation did have a carving on his stomach that looked something like that.”
Without missing a beat, Elizabeth asked, “Isn’t it true that in the killing for which Mr. Miller is accused, the victim had the same marking, the circle with three triangles inside, carved into his stomach?”
“Yes.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but note that Grace’s eyes never wavered and continued in their challenging stare.
“Isn’t it true that during the investigation of the first murder, the police withheld from the public the fact about the triangle carvings?”
“I wasn’t the detective on that case, so I cannot answer that.”
“I have nothing further, Your Honor.” Elizabeth turned her back, abruptly ending the verbal sparring, and took her seat, once again busying herself with her notes.
After ADA Burke waived redirect examination, the judge said, “We got a late start this morning, so I think we’re going to call it a day.”
Grace stepped down and moved past, but Elizabeth refused to look up and acknowledge the blue eyes once again; however, she did watch the long legs stride past her table. Pants.
Chapter Seventeen
On the second day of the trial, Elizabeth brought a small box of crayons and a book of coloring paper to keep Raymond busy. Again, Elizabeth’s mother sat behind him.
The ADA first called a forensic expert to testify, who confirmed that the blood on the rosary beads matched that of Father Francis Portillo. He also described the injuries the victim sustained, the circle with the trio of triangles carved into his abdomen, likely with a hunting knife, and his cause of death. There were no surprises for Elizabeth. A second expert went on to establish that the fingerprints of Father Francis Portillo were found on the Bible in Raymond’s shed. Elizabeth attempted to shake the forensic experts’ findings, especially with the passage of time, but with no success.
“The People call Patrick Sullivan to the stand.”
The former detective was what Elizabeth thought to be the epitome of a seasoned detective. He had mostly gray, thinning hair. He carried a slight bulge in the middle. Deep creases were etched in his forehead.
Patrick Sullivan detailed his history with the police force and his date of retirement, which came weeks after the conviction of Raymond Miller. A series of questions allowed him to explain the search of Raymond’s shed, the discovery of the victim’s articles, and finally, the confession of Raymond Miller. Multiple photographs depicting the victim and the shed were introduced and displayed on several easels within the jury’s easy view.
In closing his examination, the ADA inquired about the anonymous phone call that lead to the arrest of Raymond Miller, an obvious attempt to alleviate any doubt Elizabeth might have raised during her cross-examination of Grace.
“The police receive anonymous phone calls all the time. Some people are reluctant to give their names for fear of retaliation. Just because this was the first time someone called to report Mr. Miller doesn’t mean it hasn’t been on their minds for a long time. Sometimes God acts as our leader. Who knows how many more he would have killed.”
“Objection!” Elizabeth dropped her pen as she quickly rose, nearly knocking over her chair.
The judge didn’t wait for Elizabeth’s explanation. “Sustained. The jury will disregard the witness’s last two statements. Mr. Burke, please proceed.”
Self-satisfied, he said, “I have nothing further, Your Honor.” He knew that even with the judge’s admonishment, the jury would never disregard the former detective’s statements.
“Your witness, Ms. Campbell.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Sullivan—”
“I’m retired. I’m no longer a detective,” he interrupted.
“Yes, of course. Mr. Sullivan, did you personally search the shed?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone open the shed before you got there?”
“No. I arrived with the first unit.”
“Was the shed locked when you got there?”
Sullivan paused for a moment as though searching his mind. Aha, a question you hadn’t rehearsed.
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“You believe it was?”
“It was locked,” he said more firmly.
“How was it locked?”
“I don’t understand,” he puffed out in irritation.
“You said it was locked. What kind of lock was on the shed?”
“I don’t know. One of those kind you need a key.”
“So how did you get in the shed?”
“His mother must have opened it.” He gestured toward Raymond as he spoke. “She let us in.”
“I’m looking at the inventory report from the items removed off of Raymond Miller when he was arrested. Raymond didn’t have a key. So how did Raymond get in his shed?”
“His mother, I suppose.”
“Did you talk to Raymond Miller’s mother?”
“Yes, when we conducted the search. As I said, she let us in. She spoke to us freely.”
“Did she tell you that Raymond Miller couldn’t tie his shoes?”
“So what?”
“The government’s forensic expert testified that the victim’s wrists and ankles were securely bound by a rope. How is it that Raymond Miller, a person who cannot even tie his own shoes, was able to securely tie him up?”
“I’ve seen much stranger things in my years as a detective.”
“Isn’t it possible that Raymond Miller didn’t tie up the victim and someone else did?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“He confessed to killing the priest.”
“Ah yes, the confession. How long after his arrest did Raymond Miller give his confession?”
“A day, I believe. We first got the search warrant based on the rosary beads we found on him and searched his mother’s home and the shed.”
“Did anyone talk to Raymond from the time he was arrested to the time you questioned him?”
“No. He stayed in an isolation cell in the jail.”
“Wasn’t Raymond confused when you questioned him?”
“No. He knew why he was there.”
“Did you offer him an attorney?”
“I read him his Miranda rights.”
“You read off a legal statement to a person with an IQ of a young child and believed that was enough?”
“I did what the law required.”
“How long did you interview Raymond before he confessed?”
“Not long, five, ten minutes. He was happy to talk.”
“Mr. Sullivan, isn’t it possible that Raymond Miller found the cross and Bible in a trash can? After all, that’s what he was doing when he was arrested.”
“Not likely.”
“Why is it not likely?”
“He confessed to killing them,” he said, drawing every word out slowly, as though Elizabeth was dense.
“Did Raymond have a car?”
Sullivan hesitated. “A car, uh, no.”
“Did Raymond even have a driver’s license?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
Elizabeth turned and pointed to Raymond who was selecting a crayon from the box. “So it’s safe to say that Raymond doesn’t know how to drive a car, correct?”
Sullivan crossed his arms. “Yeah.”
“So, then how did he transport the victim?” She gestured to the picture of Father Francis Portillo. “Did he carry him through the streets without anyone noticing?”
“I don’t know.”
Shifting gears, she asked, “Are you aware that there was another murder much like this murder?”
“I read something about it.”
“Did you also read that the newest victim had the circle with triangles carved into his stomach?”
“I didn’t pay that much attention.”
<
br /> “Well, let me help you out. Detective Donovan testified earlier that this newest victim had the triangles carved into his stomach, just like that.” She pointed to the close-up picture of Father Portillo’s abdomen.
“Then I guess it is so,” he said.
“Isn’t it true that in this case the police didn’t release to the public the fact that the victim had the triangles carved into his stomach?”
“I can’t remember that detail. It’s been several years.”
“Here, let me help you refresh your memory.” She pulled out the former detective’s investigative notes that she had copied from the Raymond Miller file and handed it to him. “These are your notes from the investigation, correct?”
He reviewed the notes as Elizabeth stood in front of him.
“Yes, these are my notes.”
“Will you read the bottom of page two?”
He complied, moving his lips as he read. When he lifted his head, she asked, “Do you recall now?”
“Yes.”
“Let me ask again, isn’t it true that in the case of this murder, the murder of Father Francis Portillo, the police did not release to the public the fact that he had the circle with three triangles carved into his stomach?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Raymond Miller has a pretty solid alibi for the latest murder, considering he was in prison at the time. Isn’t it possible that someone else killed Father Portillo and made this carving?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he confessed.”
“The confession was from a child who doesn’t even understand what was going on. The confession doesn’t explain how a fact that had never been disclosed, this carving, could end up on a new victim, unless Raymond Miller was not the killer.”
“No, that’s not true. Mr. Miller could have relayed that information to someone else. He could have set this whole thing up. Have someone kill another victim the same way he did, so he could get his conviction overturned.”
“I see.” She turned and looked at Raymond who was hunched over his paper, busily coloring a picture, oblivious to the world around him. She pointed to him. “You think he’s a criminal mastermind?”
The ADA stood, “Objection, argumentative.”
“Sustained.”
Elizabeth rounded the defense table and sat in her chair. She looked down at her notes from the direct examination of Patrick Sullivan. Most were scribbles, as his testimony followed the script.
“Ms. Campbell, do you have any more questions?” the judge asked.
“No, Your Honor.” As she said the words, she focused on a single phrase, God is our leader. She underlined the words and popped up out of her chair.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor. I actually do have a few more questions.”
“Proceed then.”
“Mr. Sullivan, where did you go to high school?”
On cue, the ADA jumped from his chair. “Objection! How is that relevant?”
“Ms. Campbell?” the judge looked at her questioningly.
“Your Honor, if you just allow me this line of questioning, its relevance will become apparent.”
“Ms. Campbell, I will allow you to proceed, but be advised that I expect this to be going somewhere.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
Turning her attention back to the former detective, she said, “Mr. Sullivan, you attended Saint John’s Boys School, correct?”
“Yes,” Sullivan replied dubiously.
Elizabeth flipped through her file and pulled out two enlarged photographs that she took of the school gate. She placed one copy on the prosecutor’s table, then crossed to the witness. “This is a photograph of the front gates of Saint John’s Boys School. Do you recognize it?”
He squirmed in his seat. “Yes.”
She then walked to the enlarged photo of Father Francis Portillo and tapped it. “What is the victim here hanging on?”
“A gate.”
“Yes, thank you, we all see it’s a gate, but what gate?”
“The front gate of St. John’s Boys School,” Sullivan said without looking at her.
Elizabeth held her photo of the school gate next to the photo of Father Francis Portillo, so the jurors could compare.
“Father Samuel Rossi, the current murder victim that Detective Donovan is investigating, who also had this carving,” she pointed to the Father Portillo’s abdomen in the photo, “did you know him?”
“What?” Sullivan asked, a little surprised.
She expelled a breath. “Did you know Father Samuel Rossi?”
“Objection, relevance!” the ADA barked.
“If Mr. Sullivan would answer the question, the relevance would be apparent.”
“Objection overruled. Answer the question,” Judge Walters instructed.
“Yes, he was in charge of the school.”
“By ‘school,’ you mean St. John’s Boys School, the school that you attended and where Father Portillo was left hanging on the front gate.”
“Yes,” he said, exasperated with her.
“Interesting. It all seems to be coming back to this school.”
“Ms. Campbell, is there a question there?” the judge asked, preempting ADA Burke’s objection.
“No, Your Honor. I’m finished with this witness.” Elizabeth returned to her table and didn’t need to make eye contact with Sullivan to feel the daggers that were directed at her.
After the prosecution rested, Judge Rose Walters turned to Elizabeth. “Is the defense ready to present its case?”
“Your Honor, I respectfully request a brief recess to be able to present my witness. She’s not in the courtroom.”
“It’s just as well,” responded the judge. “It’s Friday. We can pick this up on Monday.” She then turned to the jury and issued a series of instructions before rising from the bench and making her exit.
Elizabeth breathed a sigh and turned to Raymond. “Okay, Raymond, let’s go home.”
Elizabeth walked Raymond and her mother to her mother’s black Mercedes and stood watching until they drove safely out of the parking lot, and then she turned toward the direction of her car, hitting her car remote to follow the beep. After settling behind the wheel, she noticed a white slip of paper sticking out from her windshield wiper. Frustrated that vendors would have the audacity to distribute flyers in the court parking lot, she lifted herself out of the seat, leaned over the car door, and snatched the paper. She crumpled the offensive advertisement and threw it on the passenger seat.
Using her Bluetooth, Elizabeth dialed Father Parker, and Mary answered on the third ring, breathing heavily.
“Hi, Mary, this is Elizabeth Campbell. Is Father Parker available?”
“I’m afraid not. He’s counseling a parishioner. May I take a message?”
“Yes, thank you.” Elizabeth recited her phone number and disconnected.
Uninspired to return to the clinic, Elizabeth decided to visit a friend at the county recorder’s office.
*
“Hey, Rich, how’s it going?” Elizabeth offered as a greeting, as she strolled up to the counter of the county recorder’s office.
Rich Porter was a lifer in government service. He had been with the county recorder’s office since before there were computers. He was tall and extremely slim, and a worn black belt circled his waist, not for fashion, but for necessity. A few gray wisps of hair were combed over the top of his shiny head in hopes of disguising his impending baldness.
Elizabeth met Rich shortly after joining SILC when she was on a mission to dig up an old property deed of a slumlord’s apartment building. Over the years, Rich proved to be invaluable. He knew where every record was kept, even documents not housed at the county recorder’s office. He had a network of connections. Elizabeth was able to repay the favors with a dismissal of an overdue parking ticket that would have cost him half a month’s salary. For that, he felt indebted; however, to make sure he never lost that f
eeling, she plied him with jelly beans, Rich’s vice, every time she came.
“Well, hello, stranger,” Rich called back to her.
As he approached the counter, Elizabeth dropped the colorful bag of beans in front of him. “A bribe.”
“Not necessary, but much appreciated. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping you could dig up any information you can find on a school that was closed down about thirty years ago.”
“Which one?”
She provided the minimal details that she had. Rich scratched his head, causing a rogue hair to stand on end, and she tried not to stare at it.
“That’s a tough one. It may take some time,” he replied.
“I appreciate anything that you can find.”
“This may be a two-bagger job,” he joked as he juggled the bag of jelly beans in his hands.
“I’ll get you the whole candy store, if needed. Thanks, Rich.”
*
After an endless Friday, Elizabeth pulled up to her parents’ home and dragged herself up the steps. When she opened the door, swing music filled the entryway. She crossed the foyer to the sitting room to investigate and stared in incomprehension at the sight in front of her. Her mother and Raymond were clasping hands and moving their feet. I think they’re dancing.
Her father sat on the couch clapping along to the beat and offering words of encouragement to Raymond. Raymond’s face was red with exertion, but he beamed with excitement. Elizabeth stepped into the room, letting her presence be known. “Who are you and what did you do with my parents?”
Her parents both laughed, but her mother and Raymond continued their dance.
“Your mother is teaching Raymond how to dance,” her father explained.
Elizabeth observed Raymond stepping on her mother’s feet several times in his desperate attempt to keep up, but it only caused her mother to laugh harder. Bewildered, but enjoying the show, she joined her father and clapped along. However, her joy was short-lived, as she realized that if she failed, she would not only be letting down Raymond, but her parents.
*
Patrick Sullivan paced the dimly lit room wringing his hands. “She’s putting it together. Something must be done.”
Sins of Our Fathers Page 12
