by Mark Gimenez
"To a hotel on the beach."
"You and your father stayed overnight in Galveston?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you drive back to Austin?"
"My dad said we'd drive back in the morning,"
"And did you?"
"Unh-huh. We got up early and left."
"Thursday night, did you and your father stay in the same hotel room?"
"He got a suite."
"Did you go out that night?"
"No. We ordered room service."
"Did your father leave the room that night?"
She didn't answer.
"Billie Jean, please answer."
"I went to bed, but I heard him leave."
"What time?"
"After midnight."
"Did you hear him return?"
"No."
Scott passed the witness. The D.A. stood.
"Miss Puckett, you knew Trey Rawlins was living with Rebecca Fenney?"
"Yes."
"So you didn't have much future with Trey, did you?"
"He said he was going to leave her for me."
"Really? And did he tell Rebecca?"
"He was going to tell her that night."
"The night he was killed?"
"Yes."
"Maybe he did. Thank you, Miss Puckett."
Scott stood again. "Miss Puckett, were you aware that Trey had had numerous affairs with other women on the golf tour?"
"I knew he had other girlfriends before me."
"Do you think he might've told those women he loved them, too?"
"No. He only loved me."
"I'm sure. Did you know that Trey asked Rebecca to marry him the night he was killed?"
"No, he didn't! He was going to leave her! He was going to marry me!"
"I'm sure he was."
Scott gave the jury a look that said, What a sad young woman.
"What's a five-letter word for a 'gay World War Two bomber'?" Louis said.
"They had gays in the Army back then?" Carlos said.
"Enola," Bobby said.
"Funny name for a guy."
"They mean the plane, not the pilot. Enola Gay was the name of the plane that dropped the first atomic bomb on Hiroshima."
"How do you spell that?" Louis said.
The girls had gone inside to clean up, and they were at the table on the back deck after dinner—Scott, Bobby, Karen, Louis, and Carlos. But not Rebecca. Scott had tried to talk to her about her purchase of cocaine from Benito, but she was too upset after Billie Jean's testimony. She was now pacing the beach alone, as if she had only a few more such evenings left in her life.
Scott had stopped by Benito's office on the way home, but his thugs said he had already left for the day. Scott had then called Benito's number shown on the phone logs, but he did not answer. Benito had sold cocaine to Rebecca, and she had not paid him in jewelry. There was only one possible source of cash: the mob money.
"What's a four-letter word for angry?" Louis said.
"Pete," Bobby said.
FORTY-EIGHT
Pete Puckett was pissed.
At nine on the fourth day of trial, he took the oath, sat in the witness chair, and glared at Scott. He didn't care about the cameras or the jury or the judge. He cared only about Scott. Pete looked as if he wanted to kill him—as if he could kill him.
"Mr. Puckett, let's go back to Thursday, June fourth. That morning you played the first round of the Atlantic Open golf tournament in Orlando, Florida, correct?"
"Yes."
His answer came through clenched teeth.
"You were accompanied by your caddie, Goose?"
"Yes."
"Was your daughter, Billie Jean, there with you?"
"No."
"Where was she?"
"In Austin."
"You teed off at eight A.M. that Thursday?"
"Yes."
"And finished about noon?"
"Yes."
"But you signed an incorrect scorecard and were disqualified?"
"Yes."
"Then you flew home to Austin?"
"You know I didn't."
"You flew to Houston?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To kill Trey Rawlins."
The courtroom erupted with excitement. The judge gaveled the audience into silence. Spectators, lawyers, jurors, the judge, and the bailiff leaned forward as one: Pete Puckett was about to confess to killing Trey Rawlins.
"You killed Trey Rawlins?"
"No."
"But you just said—"
"I said I went there to kill him. I didn't say I did."
The courtroom deflated.
"Okay, let's back up. You flew to Houston, then took a cab to Trey's house in Galveston?"
"Yes."
"With the intent to kill Trey Rawlins?"
"Yes."
"Why that day?"
"My girl was there with him, at his house."
"How'd you know?"
"I put a GPS tracker on her car."
"You tracked your own daughter?"
"Wait'll your girls take up with a bad guy, you'll do it, too."
"And you knew Billie Jean had taken up with Trey?"
"Yes."
"In fact, you had confronted Trey a week earlier in the locker room at the Challenge tournament and threatened to kill him if he didn't stay away from her."
"You know I did. Brett McBride's sitting outside, he was there."
"But Trey didn't stay away from Billie Jean, did he?"
"No."
"So you decided to kill him?"
"Yes."
"You went to his house that day and found him with Billie Jean?"
Pete's stern exterior began to crack.
"Yes."
"How did you enter the house?"
"Up the back stairs to the deck. The doors to the bedroom were open."
"You caught him having sex with your daughter?"
Pete fought the tears.
"They were in the closet."
"What'd you do?"
"I went into the kitchen."
"To find a knife?"
"Yes."
"Did you lean onto the island counter?"
"I don't know."
"Your handprints were found there."
"Then I did."
"Did you get a knife?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Couldn't do it."
"So what did you do?"
"Went back into the bedroom, they were coming out of the closet. I grabbed Trey and threw him against the wall."
"What did Trey say?"
"Not much—I hit him in the mouth."
"You would've killed him if Billie Jean hadn't intervened and stopped you?"
"Maybe."
"But you wanted to kill Trey Rawlins?"
The tears broke loose now.
"Yes, goddamnit!"
"Just because he had sex with your seventeen-year-old daughter?"
"No!"
"Then why?"
"Because he gave her cocaine!"
Scott hadn't expected that. It threw him for a moment. And the jury. The judge. The D.A. Everyone in the courtroom.
"Uh … Mr. Puckett … Trey gave Billie Jean cocaine?"
Pete wiped his face on his sleeve. Several jurors were now crying. Pete Puckett was no longer a hard-ass; he was a broken-hearted father.
"What kind of man does that? What kind of man gives cocaine to a seventeen-year-old kid? Every time they were together, now she wants it all the time. What would you do if a grown man gave your girls cocaine?"
Kill him.
"My Billie Jean, she's a good kid, I'm trying to raise her right, but since her mama died, I don't know how to help her understand things … a girl needs a mama when she gets that age, a woman to talk to her about boys and what they'll say to get what they want … all I know is golfing and hunting … I've been lost since her mama died … We both have."
; He put his face in his hands and sobbed. The judge called a fifteen-minute recess.
Scott—and Louis—went to the restroom. Scott opened the door and came face to face with Pete Puckett. He had obviously just washed his face.
"I'm sorry, Pete."
"Fuck you. You're a goddamn lawyer, don't give a shit about no one or nothing except getting your wife off."
He stormed down the corridor. Scott looked after him and sighed.
"Ex-wife."
When the trial resumed, Pete Puckett had gathered himself.
"Mr. Puckett, you went to Trey's house that day to kill him?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"No."
"You dragged Billie Jean out of the house, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"We know Trey was not killed until after midnight. We know you went to the Galvez with your daughter and checked into a suite. We know you were enraged and in town. We know you left the hotel after midnight. Did you return to Trey's house?"
"Yes."
"To kill him?"
"Yes."
"You put on gloves, didn't you?"
"No."
"You went up the back stairs again, didn't you?"
"No."
"You entered the bedroom and found Trey and Rebecca sleeping, passed out."
"No."
"You went back into the kitchen and you got a knife this time, a butcher knife."
"No."
"You went back into the bedroom and over to the bed."
"No."
"You stood over Trey."
"No."
"You raised the knife over Trey."
"No."
"And you stabbed the knife into Trey Rawlins' chest."
"No!"
Pete cried again.
"I wanted to. God knows I wanted to kill him for what he did to my Billie Jean."
"Did you?"
"No."
"What did you do?"
"Sat outside in the car, trying to work up the courage. But I couldn't do it."
"Why not?"
"Because I heard Dottie Lynn's voice. She told me, 'Pete, don't do it. You'll go to prison. And Billie Jean will be all alone.' "
FORTY-NINE
Trey Rawlins had brought out the worst in Pete Puckett, father of Billie Jean. But Pete's dead wife had saved him from life in prison.
"That was unexpected," Bobby said through a mouthful of fried shrimp.
The others had gone back to the house for lunch. Scott and Bobby had gone to the seawall. They were sitting on the same stools at Benno's eating lunch. But Scott couldn't eat.
"Sad, ain't it?" Bobby said. "Billie Jean."
"She needed a mother."
"I hope she can get clean."
"I might've killed Trey myself, if he'd given cocaine to Boo or Pajamae."
"I might've helped you."
After the lunch break, Hank Kowalski stopped Scott again on his way into the courtroom.
"Hank, I didn't throw that guy out the bathroom window."
"Never figured you did." He cut his eyes toward Louis sitting in the spectator pews. "And I know he's one of the goons who beat you up on the beach. Way I figure, all's well that ends well."
Hank reached into his coat pocket and removed the baggie with the four miniature bourbon bottles from the plane.
"Got these prints back. They match the ones on Trey's mirror in the closet."
"Shit."
"So who do they belong to?"
"You don't want to know." Scott tried to think it through. "Hank, hold on to those bottles and hang around. I'm going to call you to testify next."
Hank shrugged. "I'll be here."
Hank left, and Scott called Karen on his cell phone. She was breast-feeding little Scotty, but she answered.
"Karen, when you checked into the judge, did you find out where she was the night Trey was killed?"
"Santa Fe, speaking at a continuing legal education program. Didn't come back until Saturday."
Judge Shelby Morgan was neither a witness nor a suspect. But she had been in Trey's closet. She had probably had sex with Trey. What was Scott supposed to do now? What was his ethical duty? He could bring that fact up and obtain an immediate mistrial. If he did, would the D.A. take Rebecca to trial again? If he did, would she get a fairer trial with another judge? Was Rebecca better off seeing this trial through? Was this her best shot at acquittal? Could Scott hold the judge's relationship with Trey in his pocket like an ace in the hole? If he did, was he risking his own law license? Or something more valuable, like his conscience?
Scott stood and said, "Defense calls Hank Kowalski."
Hank took the oath and sat.
"Mr. Kowalski, after the police department referred this case to the district attorney's office, you were responsible for all the evidence?"
"Yes, sir, I was."
"Mr. Deeks, the criminologist, testified that he found three sets of unidentified prints in the Rawlins house—one on the kitchen counter, one on the headboard of the bed in the crime scene, and one on the full-length mirror in the victim's closet, is that correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"And he testified that he handed those prints over to you?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you subsequently determined that the set on the kitchen counter belonged to Pete Puckett?"
"Yes, sir."
"And how did you do that?"
"You gave me a number of items bearing fingerprints of possible suspects. I ran all those prints, including an item with prints on it which you said were Mr. Puckett's. I ran the prints and they matched those on the counter."
"Did you subsequently determine to whom the set of prints on the headboard belong?"
"Yes, sir."
"And how did you do that?"
"On a hunch, I obtained the subject's fingerprints and ran them. They matched."
"And who was this subject?"
"Renée Ramirez."
The courtroom audience gasped. It hadn't been Hank's hunch. After Scott's meeting with Renée at the Hotel Galvez pool bar, he had taken her Mimosa glass and given it to the D.A. for prints. Renée had interviewed Trey at his house only a few weeks before his death. She had given him more than a nice profile on the news.
"Renée Ramirez's fingerprints were found on the headboard of Trey Rawlins' bed?"
"Yes, sir."
"Interesting."
"I thought so."
Unlike in federal court where the lawyers must stand at a podium to question witnesses, in state court counsel may stand next to the witness, if they so chose. Scott walked over and stood next to Hank but faced the judge.
"And what about the last set—the prints on the mirror in Trey's closet?"
"Yes, I've identified those as well."
The judge's eyes came up.
"And to whom do they belong?"
"Well, Mr. Fenney, you're gonna have to tell me that."
"Why is that?"
"Because all I know is that the prints on the mirror match the prints on the bourbon bottles."
The judge interrupted. "Bourbon bottles? What bourbon bottles?"
Hank reached into his coat and removed the baggie with the miniature bourbon bottles. "These bourbon bottles. Kind they give you on airplane flights."
Hank handed them up to the judge. She looked closely at them, and when her face came up, Scott knew she had recognized them.
"Are these in evidence?"
"No, Your Honor, they're not. Not yet, anyway."
"And what is the point of this testimony?"
"If I may, Your Honor, that will become evident." Scott turned back to the witness. "Mr. Kowalski, where did you get those bottles?"
"From you."
"And what did you do with them?"
"I had them checked for fingerprints. Which were found. I then ran the prints against the prints on the mirror. They matched. I then ran them through the FBI's fingerprint database. There was no match."
/>
"What does that mean?"
"Means that whoever these belong to has never been arrested and fingerprinted or otherwise had their fingerprints taken by law enforcement and put into the system."
"On what occasions other than an arrest would someone have their fingerprints taken by law enforcement?"
"Oh, if you want to work with children, say in child care or as a coach, you have to have a criminal background check. If you want to be a cop or work for the Feds, you've got to."
"Really? Most federal employees are fingerprinted?"
"The important positions."
"Such as?"
"FBI, DEA, border patrol agents … White House personnel … persons nominated for federal judgeships, that sort of thing."
"Mr. Kowalski, what would happen if the person to whom the prints on those bourbon bottles belong was now fingerprinted by law enforcement?"
"Well, the prints would be put into the system and would be spit out as a match to these prints because they were involved in a murder case."
"But no one would ever know the identity of that person unless that person were to be fingerprinted at some time in the future?"
"That's correct."
Scott turned to the judge. Their gazes met for a long moment. The nameplate on the bench read "Hon. Shelby Morgan." He wondered if she was. Honorable. He passed the witness. The D.A. gave Scott and the judge suspicious glances, but he knew better than to ask any questions.
The judge recessed the trial for the day. She seemed flustered when she stepped off the bench. Scott walked out of the courtroom. Renée Ramirez was not in her booth. She would not return to the trial. The Trey Rawlins murder trial proved to be her ticket off the Island after all.
Scott seldom slept well during a trial. That night was no exception. But there was a good reason for his restlessness that night: Rebecca would testify the next day.
He drifted off to sleep around one, but woke just before four. He thought he had heard a noise. He got up and checked on the girls then went downstairs. The sliding glass door leading out to the back deck was open. Rebecca was standing at the far railing, staring out to sea. Scott went to her.
"I couldn't sleep," she said.
She was wearing a short white nightgown tight against her body in the breeze and holding onto the railing as if afraid she might be blown off the deck.
"I had a nightmare—I was in prison." She hesitated. "Scott, if the jury acquits me, can the D.A. charge me with murder again?"
"No. It's called double jeopardy. Means the government can't try you twice for the same crime. But they can charge you with perjury if you testify and lie under oath."
