“Detective Sergeant, Tacoma Police Department.”
“Homicides and major crimes.”
“Retired twelve years ago in May.”
Then they moved on to the case at bar.
“Were you involved in the investigation of the murder of Jordan McCabe?” Quinlan asked.
“Yes, sir,” Halcomb answered. He’d been trained, like all cops, to deliver his answers to the jury. Jurors usually appreciated it when a witness looked at them while explaining something or recalling an incident. It felt forced when the witness looked at the jurors, but said ‘sir’ back to the lawyer he wasn’t looking at.
“How were you involved?”
“I was the lead detective,” Halcomb told the jurors. That was more natural. Talon considered how she might use his training against him.
Then Quinlan took the witness through the crime scene and early investigation. It was important, and it took a while, but it wasn’t substantially different from what either Quinlan or Talon had said in opening statement. No bombshells. Jordan McCabe was shot twice in the chest and bled out in the middle of Cushman Avenue. That much was not in controversy. Throughout, Halcomb delivered his answers to the twelve people in the jury box who were going to decide Michael Jameson’s fate. He was affable enough and the jurors seemed to like him. Talon would need to undo that.
Halcomb explained all the steps he took, but ultimately the leads dried up and the case went cold. He retired before it was solved. But, he made sure to tell those rapt jurors, he never forgot about poor Jordy McCabe.
“No further questions,” Quinlan advised the judge and he returned to his seat.
“Cross-examination?” Judge Kirchner asked Talon.
Talon stood up and tugged her suitcoat into place. “Yes, Your Honor.” Oh, yes.
In truth, Talon didn’t have that much to ask him about. It wasn’t going to be so much what he said, as how he said it. She took a spot at the bar, a little closer to the witness, but not quite as close as she might have otherwise. It needed to be an unremarkable place to stand; she didn’t want him to notice her proximity. That would ruin it.
“Good morning, detective,” she started.
“It’s retired detective now,” he told the jurors with a smile.
“Of course,” Talon replied. “As I said, good morning.”
Halcomb hesitated, then returned the greeting. “Good morning.” But it was delivered more to the jurors than Talon.
“You were in charge of the investigation into Jordan McCabe’s murder?” she confirmed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Again, though, Halcomb looked away when saying ‘ma’am.’
“So you decided what investigative steps to take, correct?”
“Correct.”
“What evidence to send to the crime lab, whom to interview, which leads to pursue? Those were all your decisions.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Again, an affable smile to the jurors. And Talon was sure to notice a few smiles in return.
“So, the decision to terminate the investigation was also yours, correct?”
Halcomb shrugged his shoulders equivocally. “It wasn’t a matter of terminating the investigation exactly,” he told the jurors. “It was just a matter of running out of leads.”
“Well, who decided there were no more leads to follow?” Talon asked. “That was you, right? You were the lead detective.”
“I was the lead detective,” Halcomb confirmed. “But the leads dried up on their own.”
“Well, there’s also the question of resources, right?” Talon asked. “You had other cases as well, right?”
“I did have other cases,” Halcomb told the jurors. “We have plenty of crime here in Tacoma. Especially back then and especially up on the Hilltop.”
“You mean especially in the Black neighborhood,” Talon challenged.
If a record had been playing, it would have scratched to a halt. Halcomb turned away from the jurors to finally look directly at Talon. “That’s not what I said.”
“It might not be what you said,” Talon agreed. “But it’s what you meant. The Hilltop. That’s the Black neighborhood, right? Especially ‘back then’?”
“It was a high crime area,” Halcomb answered grimly. Then he remembered to look at the jurors again. “It doesn’t matter who lives there.”
“Doesn’t it?” Talon asked. “Would you have given up on the case so easily if it had been a young White teenager gunned down in the middle of Proctor Avenue, the nice neighborhood?”
“We didn’t give up on the case,” Halcomb told the jurors, but without the previously ubiquitous smile. “The case gave up on us.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Detective,” Talon pointed out. “Can you honestly tell these jurors that, twenty-five years ago, you would have let the case go cold if the victim had been a White teenager from the rich neighborhood instead of a Black teenager from that neighborhood?”
“I would never do that,” Halcomb assured the jurors.
“Are you sure, Detective?” Talon pressed. “Is it possible you did it without even realizing it? That you had some unconscious bias you didn’t even know about that enabled you to let go of that case a little bit easier than if the victim hadn’t been just another young Black man gunned down on the Hilltop?”
“I don’t have unconscious bias,” he told the jurors.
“Oh really?” Talon asked. “Then why have you refused to give me the common decency of looking at me when you answer my questions? Is it because I’m a woman of color?”
“No,” Halcomb insisted. “Of course not.” But he couldn’t decide whom to address, and his head swiveled back and forth like an owl. A startled owl.
“Isn’t it common decency to look at the person you’re talking to?” Talon demanded.
“Well, yes, but,” Halcomb started.
“And aren’t I the one asking you questions?”
“Yes, but my training—”
“You were trained to ignore women? To ignore minorities?”
“No, of course not. I was trained to look at the jurors when testifying.”
“So, you’re using a parlor trick to make the jurors like you more?”
The jurors weren’t smiling any more.
“No, no,” Halcomb told them. Then he made sure to look at Talon again. “It’s to help them understand my testimony.”
“To understand, for example” Talon challenged, “that there was just a lot of crime up there, in that neighborhood, with those people?”
“That’s not what I said,” Halcomb repeated.
Talon ignored his answer. “Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to look away from a woman when answering her questions?”
Halcomb caught himself. “No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Just like you didn’t realize the reason you closed the Jordy McCabe case so easily was because it was just another Black-on-Black shooting back then, in that neighborhood.”
“I didn’t do that,” Halcomb maintained.
“But you just admitted,” Talon pointed out, “that you didn’t even realize it was rude to turn your back on me when answering my questions. How can you be so certain you didn’t have some unconscious bias when you closed this case with no further investigation?”
“I’m certain,” Halcomb answered.
“You’re certain you’re not biased?” Talon asked.
“Yes. Absolutely certain.”
Talon stepped into his comfort zone finally. “That’s how we know you’re lying.”
She turned her back on him. “No further questions.”
Quinlan popped to his feet before the judge even asked if he had any redirect. He couldn’t let that stand.
“Detective,” he stated, “did you close the Jordan McCabe murder investigation early because Mr. McCabe was African-American?”
“Absolutely not,” Halcomb answered. He made sure to respond directly to Quinlan.
“Did you addres
s your answers to the jury because you were trying to disrespect Ms. Winter?”
Again, “Absolutely not.”
That seemed to be enough for Quinlan. “Thank you, Detective. No further questions.”
Talon stood up. Re-cross. She retook her position within his personal space.
“Mr. Quinlan is a White male, correct?” she started.
Halcomb hesitated, but there was only one answer. “Correct.”
“And you just looked directly at him to answer his questions, didn’t you?”
“That’s because—”
“Didn’t you?” Talon interrupted. “Answer my question, sir, even if I am a woman.”
Halcomb set his jaw. “Yes, I looked directly at him.”
“And you didn’t correct him just now when he called you ‘detective’ instead of ‘retired detective,’ now did you?”
Halcomb thought for a moment. “I guess I didn’t notice he said that.”
“But you noticed it when I did,” Talon pointed out. “And you felt it was appropriate to correct me about the exact way I addressed you—in the middle of a murder trial.”
“I’m sorry,” Halcomb offered. “I didn’t realize.”
“You didn’t realize you might be doing things that are biased, even though you had the best of intentions.”
“Right,” Halcomb conceded.
“That’s all I wanted you to realize, Retired Detective Halcomb,” Talon thanked him. “Nothing further.”
Quinlan stood up as Talon returned to her table, but then he demurred. There was no good way to rehabilitate that. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
And Retired Detective Harold Holcomb was done.
CHAPTER 33
Following the testimony of Retired Detective Harold Halcomb, Judge Kirchner looked at the clock and decided to adjourn the trial for the day. Talon checked in with Michael, then sent him home; every day at home with his family was a gift. She packed up her things in silence while Quinlan and McDaniels did the same. No amiable small talk between attorneys after the judge and jury left the courtroom. Some attorneys could do that: drop the advocate’s role like an old cloak and grab drinks with the enemy. But not Talon Winter. Trial was like a drug to her. Her adrenaline was flowing and her synapses were in overdrive. She couldn’t just turn it off with the bang of the gavel. She was in her zone. And it was a small zone. There wasn’t really room for anyone else.
Which made it all the more jarring when she headed for the exit and found Curt standing at the doorway, waiting for her.
“Ruthless,” he commented, leaning against the wall next to the doors, arms crossed and biceps bulging. “That’s a compliment, by the way.”
“Of course it is,” Talon rejoined, concealing her surprise at seeing him. She’d been so focused on her own performance in the trial, she’d almost forgotten about her investigator. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to see you in action,” he returned with a calm smile. “I like to watch.”
The double entendre wasn’t wasted on Talon. If anything, the adrenaline of the trial made her more susceptible to it. She was jacked up, in more ways than one. But she wanted to stay focused on the trial. Mostly.
“Good to know,” she said. “I just hung a mirror in my office.”
Curt raised an interested eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Talon announced, “Dinner.” It wasn’t a question.
“But a quick one,” she added. “I have to prep for tomorrow.”
Curt pointed first at Talon, then at himself. “Wish. Command.”
Talon smiled and reached out to pat him—firmly—on the cheek. “Good boy. I like a man who knows his place.”
“Under you, right?” Curt continued the flirtation.
Talon’s smile deepened as her adrenaline rush spread further through her body. “Depends on my mood.”
She pushed the doors open and strode into the hallway. She didn’t have to tell him to follow her.
CHAPTER 34
Trials could take a long time, and murder trials even more so. After Halcomb, the prosecution called a series of witnesses from the original investigation. Beat cops who’d been the first called out, forensic technicians who’d photographed the scene, and the like. Talon minimized her cross-examination of these lesser witnesses. She wasn’t going to convince anyone that Jordy McCabe hadn’t been murdered. She just had to convince them that Michael Jameson didn’t do it. Or rather, she needed to convince them the State hadn’t proven he’d done it.
So when the witnesses turned to those who might connect her client to the murder, she was ready.
“The State calls,” Quinlan stood to announce their next witness, “Detective Sarah Jefferson.”
Jefferson was the new lead detective, the one who’d reopened the case after the ballistics from Jameson’s gun were found to match the casing left at the scene of Jordy McCabe’s murder. She was in her forties, with straight reddish-brown hair, and wore the dark blazer and slacks combo favored by detectives whenever they testified.
Once she was sworn in and seated, Quinlan set to work. And Talon prepared to do the same.
“Could you please state your name for the record?” Quinlan started. It was the usual biographical and professional background all the cops provided. Years on the force, units and divisions, awards and distinctions. Then, finally, into the case.
“How did you become involved in the investigation of Jordan McCabe’s murder?”
Detective Jefferson nodded at the question. She looked to the jury, but only briefly in acknowledgement, and turned back to Quinlan to answer. Obviously, Quinlan and McDaniels had retrained their witnesses after Talon’s little attack on Halcomb.
“I was contacted by Detective Kevin Brewer of our cold case unit,” Det. Jefferson said. “There are too many cold cases for Detective Brewer to handle them all, so the rest of homicides help out sometimes when he gets a new break on an old case. Well, anyway, Detective Brewer called me and told me—”
“Objection!” Talon sprang to her feet. “Hearsay.”
Jefferson knew not to continue until the lawyers and the judge worked out the objection. Quinlan looked more put out than surprised. “It’s not hearsay, Your Honor,” he almost whined.
“The witness was about to recount what another person told her,” Talon pressed. “That’s the definition of hearsay.”
“Actually,” Judge Kirchner corrected, “the definition of hearsay is an out-of-court statement offered to prove the matter asserted therein.” She looked at Quinlan. “How is what another detective told her about the case not hearsay?”
“Uh, well,” Quinlan thought for a moment. “I’m not offering to prove what Detective Brewer said was true, just that he told it to Detective Jefferson.”
“Relevance,” Talon added to her objection.
But Judge Kirchner raised a hand to her, as if to say, ‘I got this.’ “Why is that relevant?”
“It explains why she took the steps she took next,” Quinlan said. “It’s a classic non-hearsay use: effect on the listener.”
“Can’t she just explain what she did next without telling the jury whatever Detective Brewer might have told her?” Kirchner asked.
Quinlan hesitated. “I suppose so,” he admitted, “but it won’t make as much sense without the context.”
Kirchner thought for a moment. Quinlan decided to interrupt her thoughts. “I could always just put Detective Brewer on the stand to say what he told her.”
Talon shook her head. “That would be hearsay too,” she pointed out. “Anything someone says out of the courtroom, even if the witness said it himself.”
Kirchner nodded. “She’s right. You don’t avoid the objection that way either, Mr. Quinlan. I’m going to sustain it. Ask another question.”
“I can’t ask her what Detective Brewer told her?” Quinlan whined.
Judge Kirchner didn’t mind a healthy exchange of ideas, but she didn’t take well to being challenged—at le
ast not in front of the jurors, who had remained in the jury box to listen in on the legal discussion. “The objection is sustained. Ask another question.”
Quinlan took a few seconds. In part, to gather his thoughts. In part, Talon guessed, to figure out another question to ask.
“Uh, okay,” Quinlan ramped up again, “so, what was the first thing you did after you spoke with Detective Brewer?”
Jefferson nodded. “I ordered the original file from archives. It took a few days to arrive. While I waited for that, I read the reports from the burglary of the defendant’s home.”
“And what did you learn from those reports?” Quinlan asked.
Talon popped to her feet again. “Objection! Hearsay.”
Quinlan threw his hands down. “I’m asking about what was in the reports, not what someone told her,” he told the judge.
“It’s still hearsay,” Talon rejoined. “Those reports were drafted out-of-court. This witness can’t tell the jury what other witnesses learned.”
Kirchner looked at Quinlan. “She’s right. It’s hearsay. Objection sustained.”
Quinlan lowered his gaze to floor as he considered his options. “Your Honor, could I be heard outside the presence of the jury?”
He wanted to make a fuller argument. Talon guessed it was one that would involve telling the judge exactly what Detective Jefferson would say, if allowed. He couldn’t do that with the jurors in the room. It would undercut Talon’s objection, and Judge Kirchner’s ruling. Kirchner knew it too. But that didn’t mean she had to let him. “No,” she said simply. “Ask another question.”
Quinlan sighed audibly. He looked up at Jefferson, his expression betraying his growing frustration. “So, you read the burglary reports, and I assume you read the cold case file when it arrived. What were your next steps?”
“Well, the thing that really jumped out for me,” Jefferson said, “was the ballistics match between the handgun from the defendant’s residence and the fired cartridges from the murder scene, so—”
“Objection!” This time Talon slapped the table. “And I have a motion.”
‘I have a motion.’ That was defense attorney for ‘The prosecutor just stepped in it. And I’m going to make him pay.’
Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set Page 18
