"If you say so."
"And she is going to testify that your police department refused my client's request to take his medications the morning of his arrest. Would you have any reason to disagree with that testimony?"
"I can't really say. I wasn't there."
"You weren't there at the arrest?"
"Correct."
"But you've seen the arrest report? Here, this has been marked as Defense Exhibit 22. I'll hand it to you and ask you, have you seen this before?"
Thaddeus handed the exhibit to the officer, who spent several minutes reading through it.
"Okay, I've read it."
"Third paragraph from the bottom. What's that say?"
"'We were preparing to leave the home of Ansel Largent when he requested that he be allowed to take his morning medications. Subject was advised we had no authority to allow someone in our custody to ingest medications, so his request was refused. He stated that he would "go off the deep end" without those meds. Is that far enough?"
"That's it, thank you. Did you find, when you met with my client that afternoon at the jail, that he had in fact gone off the deep end?"
"I don't know what that means. I'm not a doctor."
"Are you saying he seemed normal to you?"
"Yes."
"How many times had you seen him before that afternoon?"
"Ansel Largent? Never."
"So you wouldn't know his normal affect from an abnormal affect, would you?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"So he could be off the deep end when you saw him and you wouldn't even know that, correct?"
"Correct."
"So let me ask you again. My client's psychiatrist is going to testify that your police department refused my client's request to take his medications the morning of his arrest. Would you have any reason to disagree with that testimony?"
"No, not now. I don't know if I would call it refusal, they just didn't have authority."
"Whatever you decide to call it, the police officers prevented him from taking his meds after he asked, correct?"
"Correct."
"So when the psychiatrist says your police officers refused to allow him access to his meds, you wouldn't disagree with that, would you?"
"No."
"Now, do you know what antipsychotic medications are?"
Thaddeus had no doubt this would go nowhere, but he wanted to get the questions in front of the jury.
"More or less. They stop psychosis."
"Excellent. You agree that antipsychotic medications are used to treat psychosis?"
"I guess. I'm not a doctor."
"Have you ever seen someone having a psychotic episode?"
"Yes. I've seen people who didn't know what was going on. I've seen people who didn't know where they were. I've seen people who didn't know what they were doing. But your client knew all those things the afternoon I saw him. He knew what was going on, he knew where he was, and he knew what he was doing."
"And you're sure of this because?"
"Because he wasn't acting crazy."
"Exactly. In your experience, as you've told us, people going through psychotic episodes act a certain way, correct?"
"Correct."
"And because Ansel wasn't acting in any of those ways, you assumed he was okay and knew where he was, what he was doing, and what was going on, as you put it, correct?"
"I think he did. Yes."
"But again, you're not a doctor."
"Obviously I'm not."
"So he could have been entirely off the deep end in a psychosis and you wouldn't know it, correct?"
"I think that's right. I'm not trained to know all of it."
"With this in mind, did he handle the murder weapon at the jail?"
"He did not."
"You're sure you didn't have it with you?"
"I'm positive. I didn't have it with me."
"But you did handle it that day, correct?"
"Negative. I did not handle it that day."
"So if he testifies you had him hold the gun at the jail, you would disagree?"
"Yes. It didn't happen like that."
"What witnesses were with you in the room where you saw him?"
"Just me and him."
"Aren't you police supposed to act in pairs?"
"Yes."
"Especially for taking statements, interviews, to make sure there's a second witness to what's going on?"
"Yes, that's the idea."
"But in this case it's just your word against his word about the gun, correct?"
"Correct."
"Sounds about like fifty-fifty?"
"Yes."
"Which isn't beyond a reasonable doubt, is it?"
"I didn't mean that it wasn't beyond a reasonable doubt. What was beyond a reasonable doubt? Me having the gun with me?"
"You cannot prove beyond a reasonable doubt you didn't have it, can you?"
"Just my word."
"Well, let's try this."
Thaddeus walked back to counsel table and picked up another document with an evidence sticker already affixed.
"Let me hand you what's been marked Defendant's Exhibit forty-four. Look it over, please."
The detective read it over as asked.
"Okay."
"What is that?"
He spoke softly. "Evidence room receipt."
"Louder, so the jury can hear you."
"It's an evidence room receipt."
"Does it bear your signature?"
"Yes."
"And it says you checked out the murder weapon from the evidence room, correct?"
"Yes."
"And that would have the same date on it as the date you visited Ansel, the date of his arrest, correct?"
"Yes."
"So again. Isn't it possible you had the murder weapon with you when you visited Ansel Largent?"
There was a pause while the lieutenant read the exhibit once again. It was obvious that he was formulating an answer.
"I checked out the gun to--to"
"Yes?"
"I don't remember why. Probably to test-fire it or something. That was probably it."
"Were you at the police range that day?"
"I don't remember."
"Would the range check-in sheet have a better memory of that than you?"
"Yes."
He didn't hesitate this time. Thaddeus could see the certainty come into his eyes that Thaddeus had been prescient, that he had the police shooting range log over on his table. He took great care to say again, "Yes, the range record would be correct about that."
Then Thaddeus surprised him. He didn't produce the range record at all. At least not at that time.
"So when you just told us you didn't handle the weapon that day, that would be false, wouldn't it?"
"Objection! Mistake, maybe, but not a lie."
"Who called it a lie, Your Honor?"
"Please answer."
The officer shuffled his feet. "Yes, that would be false.”
"You did handle the gun that day."
"I did, yes."
"But you want the jury to believe you didn't have it with you at the jail, correct?"
"That would be correct."
"Now, according to the lab report, the weapon was received from you the same day you checked it out of evidence, correct?"
"I wouldn't know."
Thaddeus headed back to the table. "Maybe this will help."
He handed the officer another set of papers clipped together.
"Can you identify this?"
"Exhibit fifty-five. It's a lab report, CPD crime lab."
"Please look at the date the crime lab received the gun."
"Okay, I see it."
"Anything about that date just jump off the page at you?"
The officer put on his reading glasses and read it again.
"Well, it's the same date as I checked it out of evidence, if that's what you mean."
The office
r's hand shook as he held the paper. The jury looked at the shaking hand. Several made their notes.
"So let me summarize. On the date you saw my client at the jail, you also checked the gun out of evidence that day and you took it to the crime lab that day. At the crime lab, according to the report you're holding, they found Ansel Largent's prints and DNA on the gun. And you still say he didn't handle it at the jail?"
"I didn't have it with me at the jail."
"So you checked it out, left it somewhere, visited the jail, then picked it up and took it to the crime lab? Is that what you're asking the jury to believe?"
"Yes."
"That is all, Your Honor."
"Re-direct?"
D. A. Eckles tried to rehabilitate the witness, but the fact remained, he had checked out the gun from the evidence room the day he visited Ansel Largent. There was no getting around it. Then he had taken the gun to the crime lab. There was no getting around that. The rest was pure argument. And Thaddeus was ready for that, at the correct time and place, which would be during closing arguments. He would go back over this whopper at that time.
42
Chapter 42
The Mexican National knew where Ansel Largent lived in Evanston.
He knew the location of his law office in Chicago.
He knew the route he took back and forth, knew his dry cleaners, knew they actually ate the stuff Taco Bell served--or at least ordered from there and took it home--and he knew where Ansel gassed up the Buick he drove.
The target spent from six a.m. to eight a.m. at the office most days, then went to court and attended his trial. He seldom went out to lunch and never wore the same suit twice in the same week, not while he was being observed.
Ansel’s garbage revealed he read both the Chicago Tribune and the Sun-Times, cut out the top one-half of an ad for Phone-Jack from the discarded People magazine, and shredded and discarded a bushel of paper every other day. The shreds were thought to be mostly mail, and most of that was thought to be junk mail.
They slept upstairs. Two different windows, either end of the second floor.
The front gate was successfully opened and the front door to the house and security system were also opened and disarmed with the same four-digit code. The code had been coaxed from a woman named Elvira Hernandez, who cleaned three days a week and drove an ancient Jeep with a garbage bag taped where the right passenger window had once been located.
Mrs. Hernandez had been terrified by Juan Carlos, who pulled her over two blocks south of the Largent property when she was making her way home one stormy April evening. It was four p.m. and almost dark; vehicles were finding their way with headlights, and a light snow was blowing sideways. The Glock, poked against the side of her face, immediately achieved its purpose and Juan Carlos let himself in the house that night while the couple slept upstairs. He disarmed the security system using the same four numbers and quietly began creeping upstairs.
At the second door in the hallway, off to the right, he heard the snoring of a male. He could tell it was male from the snorts and coughs intermittently interrupting the snores perhaps every three or four minutes. After twenty minutes of listening to the ruckus, he entered the room and sat down on the side of the sleeping man's bed. He laid the barrel of the pistol against the man's cheek. A wary eye opened.
"Huh?"
"Sssh, don't be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you."
Ansel's eyes grew wide with terror.
"What the hell?" He struggled upright in the bed.
"Easy. Sit back. Good boy."
"What is it? Is Libby okay?"
"Libby is fine. I want to talk to you, not Libby."
"What do you want?"
Juan Carlos crossed one leg over the other.
"I want my money back."
"What money would that be?"
"That would be the two hundred million dollars you took from me."
"That was never your money. That belongs to my law firm."
"Oh no," said Juan Carlos. He poked the muzzle of the gun against Ansel's chest. "No, no, no. You mustn't think that. Once the money came to me, it was mine. That's how my world works."
"Just shoot me. I'm not giving it back."
"Does the same go for Libby? Shoot her too?"
"No."
"Or what about Winston. My soldiers know where he lives in Berkeley. They're outside his apartment right this minute. I can call them up and give them the word and your second son dies. Should I do that?"
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and tapped its face. A blue light spread over the bed as the cell phone activated.
"No."
"When can I expect my money back?"
"I don't know."
"This is Wednesday. Let's say by Friday noon. I am leaving you with this envelope. It contains information for the Dubai bank where you will wire my money. Two hundred million dollars, American. Noon Friday. Or I will mail you Winston's head in a box. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Will it be done?"
"Yes."
"Now go back to sleep."
Ansel grabbed the man's arm.
"What if I want to make an adjustment?"
Juan Carlos looked puzzled.
"What kind of adjustment."
"Suppose I make a counter-offer. That's what we do in American. Someone makes an offer, someone else makes a counter-offer, then a deal gets made. Are you open to a counter-offer then?"
"Depends."
"All right. Here it is."
"I’m listening."
Eleven minutes later Juan Carlos walked out the front door of the house and calmly walked down the driveway to the gate. He inserted four numbers, the gate opened, he climbed inside his Chevy Silverado, and drove off. The exhaust left a sideways-shifting plume as he drove away.
He hit a speed dial number.
"El Cap."
"The money will be there Friday."
"How much?"
"Two hundred."
"Then you saw him."
"I did."
"How was he?"
"I like this man. He is smart."
"Don't call this number again. Throw away the phone."
Juan Carlos rolled down his window and threw his phone against a freeway abutment as he sped past. The phone shattered and skittered across the roadway in pieces.
Juan Carlos smiled.
Everyone wins.
Business, American style.
43
Chapter 43
On the second day of trial Thaddeus was given the opportunity to cross-examine the CSI team. First up was Nora L. McIlhenny, B.S. She was a matronly woman with thick legs, short blond (bottle) hair, fat fingers, and a great, happy smile. She swung back and forth in the witness chair as she waited for Thaddeus to begin his cross-examination.
He began.
"Ms. McIlhenny, you testified about state's exhibit one-twenty-eight that it was photograph of the floor around Suzanne Fairmont's desk the morning you visited the crime scene, correct?"
Her eyes met his and were steady. She was quite good at testifying, he saw, always directing her answers directly to the jury. She had been to police testifying school, where all police agents were told to look at the lawyer while the question was asked, then to turn to the jury to give the answer. That was the audience, not the lawyer.
"Correct. That would be the floor."
"And right here--" Thaddeus mounted the blow-up of exhibit 128 on the easel, "right here is a dark pool of fluid. That is blood, correct?"
"Correct."
"Is there anything about that picture that looks out of place to you? Anything odd?"
The witness examined the photograph. She rose up from the chair and said to the judge, "May I?" indicating she wished to approach the exhibit. The judge nodded and she got right up in front of the exhibit and studied it. Then she moved to the side so as not to obstruct the jury's view, and gave her answer.
"There are interruptions in w
hat would be the normal, smooth layer of blood."
Thaddeus handed her the pointer.
"Indicate for the jury what interruptions you're talking about, please."
The witness touched the tip of the pointer to the exhibit several times, saying, "Here, and here, and here, and here. Those are some kind of marks in the blood. Interruptions I call them."
"Could they be impressions left in the blood?"
"They could be."
"As if something touched or poked the blood after it was on the floor?"
"Yes. I don't know if 'poked' is the right word. Something interrupted what I would expect to be the normal layering of the blood. It's a heavy spill. It should be level at the area on the floor. But something has interrupted it."
"You say 'interrupted' and I say 'poked.' That wouldn't make me wrong, would it?"
"No, not wrong."
"Whatever word we use, it's clear something touched the blood and left marks in it, correct?"
"That would be correct."
"And those marks were how big?"
"Those marks were one-point-five inches to two inches in diameter."
"And how do you know that?"
"I measured them."
"Did you get any close-up pictures of those marks?"
"Yes, I did."
"Could you direct us to those pictures?"
She re-took her seat and flipped through the stack of marked photographs.
"One-eight-zero, one-eight-one through one-eight-nine, and one-nine-four."
"Those numbers are the close-up pictures of the photographs you took?"
"Yes."
"I'm going to mount on the easel the first of those you named." He placed the 30x40 blow-up on the easel. "Can you describe this for us?"
"Using the close-up lens, I took that photograph under normal lighting conditions. It's a digital, no color enhancement, no digital effects applied."
"So this is what the close-up of one of the interruption marks looked like?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what left this mark?"
"I do not."
"Viewing the photographs, I see four parallel striations. Like two sets of tire marks, but very small. Do you see those?"
"I do."
"Any idea what might leave four parallel marks like that?"
"Zero idea. The tip of something that touched the blood."
The Mental Case (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 21
