“What do you mean?” said Bobby.
“If we make the accusation that there’s a serial killer sitting on the jury, and right now we don’t know which one it is, then the entire jury will take it like we’ve accused them of this crime. They will all take it personally. That will mean they’ll probably find you guilty. If we try this and it doesn’t work, and we don’t catch this guy, you could end up behind bars for the rest of your life.”
I liked Bobby. For all the money and fame, he really hadn’t changed much from the farm boy who’d left home with his father’s savings in his pocket. Sure, he had his problems. We all do. But he didn’t come to court in a Bentley. He didn’t have twelve lackeys hanging off his shoulders telling him how great he was twenty-four hours a day. At an early age he discovered what he wanted to do with his life. He was lucky enough to be good at it, and he’d followed his dreams, fallen in love, and made the dream a reality. Now, he was a young man grieving for a lost love. No amount of money or fame could change any of that.
“This man killed Ariella and Carl. And all those other people. I want you to catch him. Do what you have to do. It doesn’t matter about me. I know you’re going to get him,” said Bobby.
“There has to be another way,” said Holten.
I didn’t want to put Bobby at risk either. Right then, I couldn’t think of another plan. I knew I was missing something. The DNA had bothered me from the start. How the hell did a dead man’s DNA get onto a dollar bill?
It was impossible.
As soon as that thought flashed in my mind, I understood exactly how Pena’s DNA had gotten onto the bill in Carl’s mouth. I gave Delaney a short list of things to check out. Dollar Bill was plenty smart.
But nobody is perfect.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Interlacing his fingers over his stomach, Kane breathed out slowly and settled himself to watch Pryor take control of the case. The jury had talked during the lunch break. Whispers, here and there. If the jury had to vote now it would be a two-thirds, guilty vote. He guessed the rest were still undecided but most leaning toward guilty. Kane had faced worse situations in the jury room.
Pryor called his first witness of the afternoon. A tech called Williams who’d examined the motion-sensor security camera system installed at the Solomon property. The tech confirmed he’d taken the system away for examination and found a relevant video.
The court screen came to life with a black-and-white image of the street, looking out from above the front door of Solomon’s home. In the bottom left-hand corner a time stamp displayed 21:01 as a hooded figure came into closer view. Kane couldn’t make out the face. A glimpse of the man’s chin came into view as the man raised his arm. He kept his arm raised.
“What is the figure in the video doing?” asked Pryor, pausing the footage.
“He may be putting his keys into the door. That’s what it looks like in my opinion,” said Williams.
The footage resumed. The hooded figure kept his head down, staring at the iPod. A white cable snaked from the device and disappeared into the hood: earbuds. The door opened and light spilled out. The figure stepped inside and the footage ended.
“How does this video security system work, Officer Williams?” said Pryor.
“It’s motion-sensor activated. The camera turns on automatically when the motion sensor is triggered. I tested the sensor in the lab and I can confirm it was fully functional, as you can see here. The sensor had a range of ten feet. Any movement within that field triggers the camera.”
“The defendant, in this case, says that he got home around midnight. And that he did not meet his neighbor at nine p.m. What do you say to that proposition?”
“Not possible. The camera picks him up at nine-oh-one p.m. It looks like Bobby Solomon using his front door key to enter the property. I checked the system, and there are no videos after this one.”
Pryor sat down, and Kane watched Flynn get to his feet. Before Flynn got started, Kane became distracted. He glanced to his left, toward the source of the disturbance. The courtroom doors were open and two NYPD detectives came in. One was Mike Anderson, still wearing his cast. The other, older man with gray, slicked back hair, Kane guessed to be Anderson’s partner. Both men stood at the back of the court.
Kane diverted his gaze back to Flynn and thought about his knives. He imagined Flynn, tied up in a quiet place somewhere far away. Somewhere where he could let Flynn scream. He imagined himself, choosing a knife. Letting Flynn watch him choose it. Then the slow walk to the bound lawyer. Kane could make a cut last a lifetime. The slow insertion of steel into flesh was delicious.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the fantasy. His work here wasn’t done yet. Not by a long way. Flynn strode over to Pryor, handed him a bound document. The prosecutor flicked through it. Even from the jury stand, Kane could hear the prosecutor clearly.
“How did you get this?” said Pryor.
“With the NYPD’s permission. No one stopped him. And Torres is a federal agent. He had probable cause. No need for a warrant if there was no objection,” said Flynn.
Kane listened for Pryor’s reply, but didn’t catch it. The two men approached the judge. He saw them argue. After a few minutes, Judge Ford said, “It’s admissible. If there was no objection from NYPD, having granted access, then I’m allowing it.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
I almost felt bad for the cop at Solomon’s house. If he’d known the FBI were conducting an analysis he might have objected. And he might have arrested Harper and Torres. Thing is, he didn’t notice. No objection. No problem. Harry let my report be admitted in evidence.
Man, I needed it.
Bobby needed it. If I couldn’t get a mistrial I needed at least some of the jurors to vote our way.
I held on to a copy of the report. It felt like clinging to a life raft.
“Officer Williams, you can’t see Robert Solomon’s face in that video, can you?” I said.
“Not his full face. You can see part of his glasses, some of his mouth and chin. The hood is pulled up and it covers most of his face. But I can tell that it’s him,” said Williams.
When Pryor had finished his examination-in-chief, he’d rewound the video and paused it with a view of the hooded figure in the doorway.
“The person in that video is holding an electronic device. Can you tell what it is?” I asked.
“It looks like an iPod,” said Williams.
“And just remind the jury what time this video is recorded at?”
“Just after nine p.m. on the night of the murders.”
I used the screen control to bring up one of the crime scene photos. The view of the hallway. Staircase ahead, hall table on the left with the telephone, WiFi router and a vase resting on top of it. I gave the report Torres prepared to Williams and got to it.
“Officer, the report you have in front of you was prepared earlier today by Special Agent Torres of the FBI. It’s a forensic examination of the WiFi router you can see in this photograph. Did you examine the router?”
“No, I did not.”
“Agent Torres was able to grab historic data from the router memory using an interface. You’ll see the breakdown on page four. Take a look, please,” I said.
Williams turned the pages, and started reading. I gave him thirty seconds. He finished reading and sat there with a blank look on his face.
“The defendant told police he got home around midnight. Look at the entry halfway down page four – the entry marked number eighteen. Please read it,” I said.
“It says, connection 00:03 Bobby’s iPod,” said Williams.
“And look at the previous evening’s entry at number seventeen.”
“It reads, unconnected device – connection not authorized 21:02.”
I grabbed the screen control and brought up the image of the hooded figure outside the front door.
“It’s reasonable to assume, officer, that the device we can see in this still is the device that attempted to
connect to the router in the defendant’s home?”
“I can’t say that for sure,” he said.
“Of course you can’t. But it would be a strange coincidence if it wasn’t this device, isn’t that fair?”
Williams swallowed, said, “That’s fair.”
“Because if someone had dressed up to look like Bobby Solomon to gain access to the house, they would know Bobby walks around with an iPod. It also gives them a good excuse to hide their face from the camera?”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” said Williams.
“Maybe, indeed. And if this person did gain access to the property, he could simply kill the power to the camera, couldn’t he? That way the camera wouldn’t pick up anyone else coming to the house,” I said.
“He could do that, but I have no evidence that was the case,” said Williams.
“Really?” I said.
He paused, thought about it. “Really,” he replied.
“Okay, so, Officer Williams, I’d like you to show the jury the video of the police arriving and gaining access to the property through the front door.”
Williams mouthed the word, shit.
“There is no video. The video of the defendant entering the property is the last recording on the device.”
“But we know for a fact that the police attended the scene of the crime. The only way they wouldn’t be on the video, and the only way my client wouldn’t be on the video when he came home at midnight would be if someone turned off the camera earlier in the evening – correct?”
He shifted in his seat. Williams had scrambled for answers, and got himself tied in knots.
“That’s possible. I mean, yes, that may have happened.”
I could’ve pushed it further, but I was on shaky ground. For now, I wanted the jury to at least entertain the idea that this was someone else. Torres had given us that hope. Damn, I should’ve known to examine the router sooner.
Pryor did a quick re-direct.
“Officer, we have no information on the range of that router, do we?” said Pryor.
“Eh, no, no we don’t. The router could’ve been picking up a device from a passing car,” said Williams.
Good enough. Pryor adjusted his tie, and sat down.
“Just one point arising from that,” I said, looking at Harry.
“One question, Mr. Flynn, that’s all,” said Harry.
I clicked play on the screen. We watched the forty-five-second video again. I stopped the playback and saw Williams had already realized what I was about to ask but he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Officer, just confirm for the record that the video gives us a view of the street, and there are no passing cars or pedestrians.”
“Correct,” said Williams, with a sigh.
I was done with this guy.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Shifting in his seat, Kane felt uncomfortable for the first time. He cursed himself, silently, for not thinking about the WiFi router. This lawyer was a curse. Kane was used to the ebb and flow of trial. He’d seen it before. Never like this. Flynn, out of all the defense lawyers he’d seen in action, was clearly the best. He wondered if Rudy Carp would have measured up to Flynn. Not that it mattered now.
Kane heard Pryor announce his final witness. The prosecutor moved at a brutal pace compared to others. It was effective. In one trial, many years ago, Kane had had to remind most of the jurors of the testimony they’d heard weeks ago. They’d forgotten most of the important pieces of evidence. No chance to do that with Pryor.
The reporter stepped up, took the bible and gave his oath. Kane wondered what the reporter would have to say. Very little. But then, Pryor was a player – perhaps not Flynn’s equal, but close. One thing Kane had learned to rely upon was the underhanded methods of prosecutors.
He had a feeling that Pryor was about to play a card which he’d been keeping up his sleeve for the entire trial.
First of all, Pryor established Benettio’s credentials. The reporter was well connected to Hollywood. He was an insider.
“What can you tell the jury about the relationship between the defendant and the second victim, Ariella Bloom?” said Pryor.
“They were recently married after meeting and falling in love on a movie set. Their marriage proved to be a powerful alliance. It was their union which allowed them to form a powerbase in Hollywood. You know the power of celebrity couples. Like Brad and Angelina. Soon after, they started their own reality TV show. And they were both cast as the leads in the recently released sci-fi epic. The studios were throwing money at them. They had it made, because they were married.”
“And how was their personal relationship?”
“You know, in Hollywood there are always rumors. That’s the nature of the beast. There are always those who cast doubt on a relationship. I’m one of them. In this case, I am going to break with journalistic privilege. I had a source. Right at the heart of their relationship. He told me the marriage was one of convenience. Sure, they got along. But they were more like brother and sister – on account of Robert Solomon’s homosexuality.”
CHAPTER SIXTY
I love America. I love New York. I love the people. But sometimes it depresses me. Not individuals, mostly the media. For all the news channels, newspapers, and digital news outlets, Americans are not served well by the media. The court was mostly filled with members of the media. And it was their gasps that were heard around the courtroom when Benettio said Robert was gay.
These reporters hadn’t even blinked when Pryor had put up the pictures of Ariella’s body, her wounds, her young life ripped apart and put on display in HD. But reveal someone famous had something other than a heterosexual lifestyle and they go crazy.
Bobby shook his head, and I whispered to him that it would be okay. He nodded, and said it was fine.
“Mr. Benettio, these are rather extraordinary claims. And they don’t appear in your statement or deposition. Why not?” said Pryor.
“I wished to protect my source. Now that this trial is here, I feel compelled to reveal the truth,” he said.
“And who is your source?”
“My source was Carl Tozer. He offered me a story on what really went on in their marriage. Ariella had always suspected it. She had even taken Carl into her bed. Ariella and Robert had separate lives. They were together for the cameras, but that’s all. I believe that—”
“Objection, Your Honor,” I said, but before Harry could shut him up, Benettio continued, even talking over the judge.
“It’s my firm belief that Robert Solomon found out about Carl’s contact with me and that’s why he murdered him, and Ariella. Robert had lived a lie, and he couldn’t face the truth. Coming out as a homosexual in Hollywood would have killed his career. He knew that. So he killed them instead!” said Benettio.
I objected again, citing speculation. Harry sustained it, and told the jury to disregard everything the witness had said. It was too late. Even as I spoke to Harry, Benettio had continued to talk. The jury heard it all. The damage had been done.
“Nothing further,” said Pryor.
I knew if I started questioning Benettio he’d try and bring it up again. No point. The judge had told the jury to disregard him. There was no mileage in making the trial about Bobby’s sexuality. I told Harry I had no questions.
“The prosecution rests,” said Pryor.
Decision time. Pryor had already told me he didn’t want to cross-examine the mattress guy, Gary Cheeseman. And Torres’s report on the WiFi router was already in evidence, Pryor couldn’t keep it out.
I only had two real witnesses. Delaney and Bobby.
“The defense calls Special Agent Paige Delaney,” I said.
For over an hour, Delaney laid it out for jury. Dollar Bill, displayed in all his foul glory. We spent time talking through each case, each victim, the dollar bills and trace evidence leading to the innocent person who was to be framed for Dollar Bill’s crimes, the markings on each bill, and the kill
er’s psychology.
I kept one eye on the jury the whole time. Especially the men. They all listened, transfixed by Delaney’s testimony. Daniel Clay, the unemployed sci-fi nut, lapped it up. He was the right age, but I didn’t think he had it in him. Something about his eyes. He looked repulsed with each murder Delaney recounted. It wasn’t him. Although his identity would be easy to steal.
The translator, James Johnson ticked a lot of boxes. He was the right age, and not many people would notice his disappearance for a few days. He worked from home. Again, though, he stared at Delaney with utter fascination. I could tell, from his body language and the way his lips moved, that he believed Delaney. And that scared him. No. It wasn’t James.
Terry Andrews, the grill man, and Chris Pellosi, the web designer, were also possible candidates for Dollar Bill. Men whose identity could be plucked away for a short time. But Andrews was very tall. And I thought the killer would’ve struggled to mimic such a tall man on so many occasions. Pellosi was a possible.
Sixty-eight-year-old, retired, Bradley Summers was the wrong age group. And looked to be popular amongst the other jurors. They seemed respectful to him, perhaps on account of his age.
That left Alec Wynn. Out-of-work college professor. Outdoorsman. A man who owned guns and kept himself to himself.
The man that Arnold had noticed. The man whose face had seemed to change.
Arnold hadn’t made it to court, and I made a mental note to call him. I was flying by the seat of my pants, and in truth I was so used to trying cases on my own I hadn’t immediately noticed he hadn’t shown up. But I needed him here. I wanted his take on Wynn.
I stood in front of the jury, and asked Delaney my last question. We’d rehearsed it.
“Agent Delaney, how is it possible that Dollar Bill could ensure that the other men were convicted of his crimes? Surely a criminal trial can always go in a defendant’s favor even with good evidence against them.”
Thirteen_The serial killer isn’t on trial. He’s on the jury Page 29
