He receives a few nods from the jury and the crowd.
“I would appreciate it if you would address me when spoken to, Mr. McVain,” Judge Carter recalls his attention. “And, Ms. Raines, I’ll thank you to think about where you’re going with your current line of questioning. Proceed.”
“There have been reports. Documented reports that you are the Vigilare. Are you Vigilare, Ms. DeLuca?” Aubrey asks, with an almost starry-eyed gleam.
Gina shuffles her bodyweight from one hip to the other in her chair. “If I am Vigilare, I have no recollection of it.”
“The fifteen men who were murdered, most likely in self-defense, as all CSI reports reflect a struggle of some sort, were convicted rapists and pedophiles. Do you believe those men deserved to die, Ms. DeLuca?”
“No. I believe they should be tried in a court of law and sentenced in accordance with the severity of their crimes. If I believed in vigilante justice, I certainly wouldn’t waste my time jumping through all the legal hoops as a detective.”
“Let the record show, my client has no memory of being Vigilare and she empathizes with the fifteen victims, believing they should have had a right to fair and just treatment in accordance with the law,” Aubrey concludes. “Thank you, Detective...Ms. DeLuca,” she quickly corrects, taking her place at the defense table.
Mr. McVain, in exaggerated fashion, pushes himself up from his chair. He removes his suit jacket, laying it nonchalantly across his desk. As if that gesture wasn’t enough to say the gloves are off, he continues, rolling up the sleeves of his neatly pressed, white button-down shirt, purposefully drawing out his approach to the witness chair.
Gina intuitively sinks back into her chair, propping herself against it, rather than remaining attentive. Her arms fold across her chest, displaying closed and completely disinterested body language.
“Ms. DeLuca,” he begins. “You were a detective for several years. A highly-decorated detective, as we have learned.” He extends an arm to Aubrey Raines. “What are the chances a person murders fifteen men, on fifteen different occasions, all in self-defense, without premeditation of some sort, or without intent?”
“Slim to none.”
“Is it possible the reflection of a struggle reported by CSI in each incident was not initiated by the victim? Could it be indicative of each man defending himself against the perpetrator?”
“Anything’s possible.”
“Ms. Raines made a point to acknowledge the fact that you do not recall being the Vigilare, who at this time is considered the primary suspect in this string of murders.” He shakes his head at the very premise of a Vigilare. “Am I correct in assuming your counsel may be headed toward a temporary insanity plea.”
“You know what they say about assuming, Mr. McVain.”
He smiles. “Yes I do, Ms. DeLuca.” Walking back to his desk, he pulls two evidence bags attached to files from his briefcase. “Therefore, I shall rely on concrete evidence.” He holds the bags up to Aubrey Raines as he passes by her desk, making a beeline for the jury, sure to drive home the point of substantiation. “So far, we’ve heard only speculation. I give you evidence. Fact.” He holds up the bag in his left hand. “Blood. A very rare and distinct blood type, matching only that of the defendant. Found at eight of the fifteen murder scenes.” His left hand returns to his side as he hoists the bag in his right hand. “Skin. A perfect match to Ms. DeLuca. Found at one of the fifteen murder scenes. Two different types of DNA on one rope used to strangle the victim to death. The skin of the victim, and the skin of one Gina Marie DeLuca.” He walks to Judge Carter, handing her the evidence bags. “Ms. DeLuca is a fan of circular answers,” he says, eyeing her. “Making two relative statements, garnishing a proposed outcome. What would you make of such evidence, Ms. DeLuca?”
She leans forward in her chair, resting her forearms on the railing separating her from Mr. McVain. “I would say, if it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, and looks like a duck...it must be a duck, Mr. McVain.”
He props himself against the railing, catty-corner to Gina. She does not flinch with his closeness, simply maintains eye contact. “You’re quite indifferent to this whole process aren’t you, Ms. DeLuca? Are we boring you?” He gestures to the jury and the courtroom at large. “Do you have something more important to do with your time?”
“Objection,” Aubrey Raines intercedes.
“Slay another human being, perhaps?” he asks.
“Sustained,” Judge Carter confirms.
“Who will it be this time? A rapist? A pedophile?” Mr. McVain continues, walking away from the witness chair, his hands shifting up and down alternatively symbolizing a scale, his voice on the rise and projecting to the back of the courtroom.
“Objection!” Aubrey stands.
“Sustained,” Judge Carter warns again.
“Maybe an ordinary Joe? Your brother?” He points to a juror. “Your son?” He extends his hand, making eye contact with a woman midway back in the courtroom. The place erupts at a low rumble. Tony watches, both legs nearly clearing air as they bounce feverishly off the bench beneath him, his system surging with pent-up adrenaline.
Judge Carter beats her gavel. “Counselor, one more leading statement, and I’ll have you in my chambers.”
He holds his hands up at shoulder level, a sign of retreat, returning to the space in front of the witness bench. “Ms. DeLuca, do you remember the first person you ever killed? In the line of duty?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember the second?”
She sits back in her chair, reasoning his line of questioning. “It’s not like smoking your first cigarette, or saying your first cussword. It doesn’t get any easier. Even if they are criminals.”
“A regular martyr,” he sputters. “Ms. DeLuca, do you have any children?”
“No, I do not.”
“Any sisters?”
“No.”
“Female friends?”
“Not many.”
“Have you ever been the victim of rape or sexual assault, Ms. DeLuca?”
“No.” Growing agitated, she continues, “If you’re trying to establish a motive, you’re wasting your time, Mr. McVain. I have no personal experience with rape or pedophilia. I have no reason, nothing harbored in the recesses of my being to justify taking an active stance in killing men convicted of such crimes.” She leans forward in her chair. “Now, if you want to know, am I capable of killing a rapist...a pedophile? I think we all are. If a man assaulted my body without my consent or the body of someone I loved, especially an innocent child, then yes, I’m sure I would be capable of murder. Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me? Did I murder those men?” She props her hands up on the railing, one crossed into the other. “The truth is, I don’t know.”
“Here we go again,” he scoffs. “That’s not an answer Ms. DeLuca. That’s why I have to beat around the bush, finding questions and ways to ask them to find out the truth, because you seem to have reverted back to childhood. ‘Jenny, did you break the lamp?’” he mocks in a fatherly tone, speaking to a young child. “‘I don’t know,’” he replies in a childlike manner. “Once again, either you did or you didn’t. Yes or no, Ms. DeLuca.” He slaps his hand down on the railing in front of her.
She slaps her hand down harder, drawing a berated reaction from Judge Carter.
Gina nods, toning it down, her vocal cadence controlled, but still biting. “I have no recollection of killing those men. I have no recollection of being some Vigilare. Check the polygraph report. It will verify my answers to be true. Unless of course, you think I beat the lie detector.”
“Are you saying the evidence was planted? You were framed?” he challenges. “The report given by your fellow officers, Sam Marks and Tony Gronkowski, finding you at the scene of the attempted murder of Randall Barnes, in full Vigilare-mode, dressed in black from head to toe...that was a lie?” He turns toward the courtroom, pointing out Tony and Officer Marks. Both of them,
displaying sympathy mixed with contempt on their faces. “When Officer Gronkowski…”
“Detective,” Gina corrects him. “Detective Gronkowski.”
Mr. McVain shakes his head agitatedly. “When Detective Gronkowski pulled the black ski mask from Vigilare’s face—your face—that was a lie? Somebody was impersonating you?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth,” she warns quietly through nearly gritting teeth. “If Officer Marks and Detective Gronkowski say that was me under the ski mask, then it was me. I don’t deny that. What I am saying is, I have no recollection of that moment, nor any other moment involving myself as some Vigilare, killing rapists and child molesters. No matter how many times you ask me, or how many different ways you rephrase the question, you’re going to get the same answer—I have no recollection. I...don’t...know.”
“You seem to have all the answers, Ms. DeLuca. At least when it suits your point. So, just exactly how do you propose I continue?” he beams sarcastically.
“Objection,” Aubrey Raines speaks up.
Judge Carter, annoyed yet strangely amused, responds, “Sustained.”
“I propose you do your job, Counselor. Is that too much to ask?” she beams back sarcastically. “Instead of strutting around here, flipping your golden locks, putting on a show, why don’t you try talking less and showing more. Hell, you’ve got my blood and my skin, what more do you need? Let the evidence speak for itself.”
“Language, Ms. DeLuca,” Judge Carter scolds routinely.
Mr. McVain approaches the witness chair, smiling, running his fingers through his golden locks, clearly pleased that she mentioned them. “I guess that’s what I’ll have to do. Let the evidence speak for itself, because conveniently, you have no recollection, and cooperation from your Vanguard PD counterparts seems relatively akin to pulling teeth. Mums the word.” He places his arm across the railing in front of her, leaning in curiously with his body. “So tell me, just exactly how did you get Detective Gronkowski wrapped around your pretty little finger?” he asks with full insinuation of a sexual relationship.
Gina smiles charmingly, leaning in toward him with her body in kind. “You think I’m pretty?”
Her response causes quiet laughter to surface through the courtroom, with a few exceptions. Dr. Patricia Ryan sits stiff-armed, unimpressed at the interplay between the two, as does Tony.
“My courtroom is not an appropriate arena for foreplay,” Judge Maybelline Carter curbs any further repartee. She thumps her gavel with authority, sending a ripple of silence through the room. “Bring it back around, Counselor, and Ms. DeLuca.”
Mr. McVain smiles at her cunningly. She nestles gracefully back against her chair. “A Vigilare in sheep’s clothing,” he says, pulling away from her. “Femme fatale or sly fox?” he builds an image for the jury.
“I assure you, I’m not that complicated,” Gina replies.
“How would you know ? You claim you don’t even know if you’re the said Vigilare.” His mannerisms have softened, no longer interested in sparring, he seeks the truth.
A moment of ingenuousness passes between the two. “Follow the evidence.” Addressing the jury, she continues, “Trust your instinct. Somewhere between evidence and instinct, therein lies the truth.” She focuses her attention back to Mr. McVain and the courtroom at large. “Two weeks ago I thought I knew who I was, Gina DeLuca, Detective, Vanguard PD. Now, I’m not so sure. I woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by a bunch of strange faces.” She gestures to the white coats. “Poking and prodding me, testing this and testing that. As if I am some kind of thing, inhuman.” With the words, the emotion hits her. She looks down at her lap, refocusing her mind before making eye contact again. “You think I want to run around killing people in the middle of the night? As a cop, I took an oath to serve and protect. If I am the...Vigilare,” the word barely audible, as if it hurts to say. “If I have murdered fifteen men, in cold blood, then find me guilty and punish me to the fullest extent of the law.”
The courtroom is silent.
Mr. McVain could easily clap dramatically, sarcastically, and comment on what a noble declaration she makes. He does not. He simply unrolls his shirt sleeves, attaching the buttons at his wrists as he walks back to the prosecution desk. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Chapter 11
“YOU MAY STEP down, Ms. DeLuca,” Judge Carter dismisses her. “Your next witness, Counselor.”
Aubrey Raines looks to the judge, a humble grin on her face, showing understanding that she is referring to the prosecution. Gina takes her seat next to Aubrey.
“The prosecution calls Dr. Patricia Ryan.”
Dr. Ryan makes her way hastily to the witness stand, as if she has something to say that can barely wait to be heard. If attractive and precise were ever to mesh into one definition, she would be that word in the dictionary.
“Please clarify where you work, and in what position,” Mr. McVain directs.
“Vanguard Police Department. Doctor of Psychology.”
“What is your relationship to the fifteen victims?”
“They were all in my care at some point in time for the city’s rehabilitation program. Three years ago, the city mandated any man or woman, convicted of rape or sexual assault of a child or an adult, must undergo psychological rehabilitative counseling for the duration of their probation, quite possibly even longer.”
“What is the purpose of such a program?”
“To prepare them to be better citizens once they return to society.”
An audible huff is heard from William Truly, garnering a disciplinary glance from Judge Carter, her head cocked, hand positioned over her gavel should he feel the need to continue. His daughter pats his arm, quieting him.
“In your opinion, does the program work?” Mr. McVain continues.
“For some,” she keeps it short, without elaborating, refusing to make eye contact with William Truly. She can feel his eyes burning through her.
Mr. McVain holds up several notable psychological journals. “You’re quite the celebrity in your field, Dr. Ryan.”
She neither confirms nor denies the statement, allowing her work to speak for itself.
Mr. McVain addresses the jury, “If anyone has doubts as to the qualifications of Dr. Patricia Ryan, her numerous studies and innovations within the professional psychological realm speak for themselves. She’s quite the trailblazer, especially in the topic of rehabilitation, as it pertains to sexual misconduct among criminal populations.” He stacks the journals neatly on top of many other journals, providing a visual tower of Dr. Ryan’s work. “We’re not here to talk about your involvement with the deceased, however.” He runs his hand across the railing in front of the witness stand, making a circle until he stands between Dr. Ryan and Gina. “What is your relationship to Ms. DeLuca?”
“As a psychologist for Vanguard PD, I was asked to monitor her case and mental well-being after the discovery that she fancies herself the Vigilare.”
Gina nudges Aubrey. “Objection,” Aubrey blurts out. “My client has never fancied herself the Vigilare.”
“Sustained,” Judge Carter advises.
“Is it accurate to assume you worked with Ms. DeLuca and her partner, Detective Gronkowski, in their assignment to the case?”
“Yes. I had the pleasure of meeting and collaborating with them both.”
Gina and Tony roll their eyes at the same time, both of them crossing their arms over their chest and sitting back, unimpressed.
“What is your personal opinion of Ms. DeLuca?”
She crosses her hands, one over the other, her expression and her body language softening. She looks to Gina and smiles. “I find Ms. DeLuca to be a fine individual and a top-rate detective.”
Gina does not soften her position, remaining sunk back in her chair, arms closed across her torso, simply waiting for the venomous shrew to strike.
“A little misguided, though,” Dr. Ryan finishes, a deeply concerned expression settlin
g across her face.
“Misguided?” Mr. McVain asks.
“Impulsive, eager. Quite possibly positive traits, if directed in the appropriate manner. However, borderline dangerous if mixed with desperation. Creating an outlaw of sorts. On the few occasions I interacted with Detective...Ms. DeLuca, her intensity was exasperating.”
“She was nervous? Antsy?”
Dr. Ryan nods. “She would say things. Alarming things about the victims. Asking me if I believe they reap what they sow. And very protective of her files regarding the case.”
Gina slaps her hand down on the witness table in frustration, earning another reprimanding glance from Judge Carter. She hastily scribbles notes onto Aubrey’s legal pad.
Dr. Ryan looks down at her hands lying in her lap momentarily, purposefully as if Gina’s actions scared her.
Mr. McVain plays to her, “What is it, Dr. Ryan?”
“The rope burn. I saw Ms. DeLuca the morning after the incident with Aubrey Raines, her current legal representation, which, might I add, I believe to be a conflict of interest. Ms. Raines was nearly raped, in her bedroom while studying for the Bar exam. The alleged rapist ended up strangled to death in the corner of her bedroom. The rope used to strangle the alleged rapist is the one you speak of, Mr. McVain, the one that carried two types of DNA, the skin of the alleged rapist and the skin of Gina DeLuca.” She pauses. “I saw Ms. DeLuca the day thereafter, and she had a visible rope burn on her neck.”
“Visible rope burn? And you’re the only one who saw this pivotal evidence?”
“No,” she says defiantly. “Her partner, Detective Gronkowski.” She points to him in the back of the courtroom. “He saw it too.”
Mr. McVain circles the floor, shaking his head and clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth, much like a mother would admonish a child who has done something inappropriate. “Why would Detective Gronkowski keep such evidence a secret? Evidence that was obviously pertinent to his case.”
Vigilare Page 14
