Animal Instinct

by Rosenfelt, David

  Andy thinks that jury selection will be finished today, possibly by late morning. So far we have seated eight people, so we need four more and two alternates. I’ll be delighted when we’re done, although that means the trial will start. I am dreading the trial because I am more than a little worried about the outcome.

  It takes longer than Andy predicted, and it’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon before the fourteenth person is chosen. Judge Wallace gives them what amounts to a brief pep talk, thanking them in advance for their service and impressing on them the incredible importance of their task.

  Dylan is pretty much beaming; he either thinks they got a pro-prosecution jury, or he’s doing a good job of faking it. Andy, true to his preselection prediction, says he doesn’t have the slightest idea whether we did well.

  Judge Wallace says that we will begin opening arguments tomorrow. He admonishes the jury to be on time, and also not to watch any media coverage having to do with this trial, effective immediately.

  We all head back to Andy’s to go over last-minute pretrial preparation. Laurie told me that Andy has never before included his clients in these kind of things. She views it as a sign that he respects me; I think it has more to do with his clients usually being in custody during the trial.

  Sam is here to report that Steven Landry did collect on an insurance policy on his mother’s life, $525,000. The policy that was taken out three years ago. He placed the money into his investment account and it is still there. He did not, obviously, give a portion of it to anyone at Ardmore or anywhere else for services rendered.

  Andy’s pretrial preparation session with me consists of his telling me to go home and get some sleep.

  “Do you want to practice your opening statement? Laurie and I could listen and…”

  I stop talking when I see Laurie cringing.

  “I never prepare an opening statement,” Andy says. “I wing it.”

  “You wing it?” I don’t say so, but the concept horrifies me.

  “Yes, I wing it. If it makes you feel better, I have a general idea of what I am going to say. If I were to practice it, I would lose the spontaneity.”

  “Do you ever forget anything?”

  “I’m sure I must, but by definition I never remember what I forget.” At this point Laurie is smiling.

  “I’m going to get some sleep,” I say.

  “Good idea.”

  When I get home, I quickly realize that there is no chance I can get any sleep. Luckily Dani is here; since all this started, she has basically been here full-time. We hadn’t talked about it; it just came naturally.

  She knows I can use the support, but she does it in an unobtrusive way. She is here when I want to talk or vent, but gives me space when I need it, which is often. Tonight she makes some coffee and reads a book while I immerse myself in all these trial documents.

  I am going over the death certificates for the three people whose obituaries Lisa Yates had in her suitcase. As Sam had said, nothing indicates any possibility of murder. Samuel Devers died of heart failure, Eric Seaver succumbed to complications from lupus, and Doris Landry died of pancreatic cancer.

  Doris Landry’s death certificate is the last one I look at. It was prepared by the coroner of Atlantic County, New Jersey, and lists Landry’s name, gender, address, date of birth, date of death, and cause of death. It’s standard stuff, but one thing about it strikes me as odd. I know I must be wrong, but I check it anyway.

  The certificate was prepared on June 17 and lists the date of her death as June 16. I google New Jersey procedures and find that this makes sense: you can get a death certificate on a one-day turnaround.

  But that is not what is strange. I look at the copy of the newspaper obituary that Lisa had in her suitcase. The date at the top of the page says June 15.

  If the death certificate is correct, and death certificates usually are correct, then Doris Landry’s obituary came out the day before she died.

  “COREY Douglas was a police officer in Paterson for twenty-five years,” says Dylan Campbell.

  “By all accounts he served the community well, and I have no interest in disputing that. I’m sure he made mistakes, but we all do. But, ladies and gentlemen, you are not here to render judgment on Mr. Douglas’s service as an officer, good or bad.”

  Dylan stands at the lectern as he talks. His style is formal, almost professorial. But he has a strong voice and he commands the room.

  “You are here to decide whether or not Mr. Douglas brutally murdered one Gerald Kline, by slitting his throat with a knife and watching him bleed to death. It will not be a tough decision; we will place him at the scene along with his bloody clothing, and his bloody knife, all of which he unsuccessfully tried to hide. You will hear this evidence, and I believe that you will come to the conclusion that we have proven our case beyond a reasonable doubt.

  “I brought up Mr. Douglas’s police record for two reasons. One is to acknowledge his service, but the other, more important reason, is because during that service he made a decision that he came to regret.

  “It haunted him ever since and caused him to hate Mr. Kline and to vow revenge. He swore a vendetta against Mr. Kline and he acted on it. He got his revenge in the most heinous way imaginable.

  “Service as an officer does not allow someone to do what was done to Mr. Kline. You may not think that Mr. Kline was a good person, although many think that he was. And you may even think that Mr. Douglas was correct in despising him. But you cannot think that Mr. Douglas acted properly in committing this act; our society simply cannot function if such an act is not punished.

  “You will see photographs that I wish you did not have to see. But you are here to do a job, perhaps the most important job any citizen can ever do. So you must not look away; you must tackle this head-on and face it down.

  “I know you will. Thank you.”

  Dylan was effective; the jury seemed to hang on every word. Judge Wallace calls on Andy to give our side of it, and he gets up, ready to wing it.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Campbell and I agree on something, and it is likely to be the only thing we will agree on for the duration of this trial. And that is that Corey Douglas was a hell of a cop.

  “Twenty-five years … and no matter who Mr. Campbell calls to the stand, you will not hear one negative thing about Corey’s record in all that time. But you’ll hear about his commendations, and his heroism … I’ll make sure of that. His service is something to be proud of, and something we should all be grateful for.

  “But it is true that everyone makes mistakes, and Corey Douglas believed he made one. He thought he should have gone overboard to protect a citizen that he thought was in danger. You will hear all about it, but understand one thing. He did not make a mistake; he acted properly and according to correct police procedure.

  “But it bothered him; it bothered him a lot. That’s because he was a good cop, and he cared about the people he had sworn to protect. He came to believe that Gerald Kline was a criminal, perhaps a murderer, and he set out to prove it. That’s right … to prove it. He is now a respected private investigator, but he took on an assignment without pay, simply because he felt that he owed it to the person that he was unable to protect. It was not a vendetta, as Mr. Campbell would have you believe. It was a man doing his job, even though it was no longer his job.

  “Do you know how Mr. Campbell became aware of this … of Corey’s belief that Mr. Kline was likely a criminal who should be brought to justice? Because he made no effort to hide his presence at the scene; he was open about it. And that is because he fully intended to do things by the book, according to the law. And he also made no effort to hide his belief that Mr. Kline was a murderer, because he had no intention of taking the law into his own hands.

  “But there is something else you should know, and it concerns a vast conspiracy that to this date has left three people dead, one of whom was Mr. Kline. You will hear about it and you will wonder who is behind thi
s conspiracy, and what they are trying to accomplish.

  “But you will know one thing: it is way bigger than Mr. Kline, and Corey Douglas, and you will wonder why Mr. Douglas is the person you have been called upon to judge.

  “Thank you very much.”

  Andy comes back to the defense table and sits down. I lean over and say, “You are really good at winging it.”

  He nods and whispers back, “It’s a gift.”

  “We need to talk after court. I found out something last night that is interesting and strange.” Andy got to court a bit late this morning, and I didn’t have time to tell him about the death certificate date conflicting with the obituary date.

  “Okay. Let’s meet at the house after court ends for the day.”

  Dylan’s first witness is Sergeant Bill Glover, who was among the first cops on the scene at Kline’s house the night he was killed. Dylan gets Glover to confirm that, as well as that a 911 call brought him there.

  “Do you know who made that call, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, it was Mr. Douglas.”

  “When you arrived, was Mr. Douglas the only person on the scene?”

  “Well, Mr. Kline was there, but he was deceased. And Mr. Douglas’s dog was there.”

  “That’s a former police dog?”

  “I believe so,” Glover says.

  “Did you question Mr. Douglas when you arrived?”

  “I did not. Lieutenant Lillard from Robbery-Homicide was going to be there very shortly, so I was leaving that to him. My partners and I just made sure that there was no one else in the house, and that the area was secure.”

  Dylan continues questioning Glover, and even though he has nothing particularly interesting to say, Dylan uses up almost an hour to get him to say it.

  Andy does not do much to challenge him, probably because he didn’t do us any damage. He was just setting the scene, and everything he said was true. If Andy has any bullets in the defense gun, I assume he is saving them for more important witnesses.

  Judge Wallace adjourns court until tomorrow, and Andy says, “I’ll see you at the house.”

  I turn and see Dani sitting in the gallery as it starts to empty out. I hadn’t realized she was here. “Okay. Dani and I will pick up Simon and meet you there. With me in court he’s not getting out much.”

  “I’ll tell Tara her boyfriend is coming over.”

  “And I’ll call Sam; we’re going to need him.”

  Andy smiles. “You’re relying on Sam quite a bit these days.” He’s gently mocking me about my turnaround from my previous resistance to Sam doing his “extralegal” computer work.

  “I know; I can’t help it. It’s like having an investigative genie.”

  “IT’S probably just a mistake,” Laurie says. “Some bureaucrat put the wrong date on the death certificate.”

  “I’m not disagreeing,” I say. “But there’s been something about Doris Landry’s death that’s unusual. First, her son, Steven, lied to us at breakfast that day. Then he turns around and refuses to help when we asked him to connect us to his mother’s friends. And now this. I’m not saying these are earthshaking events, but they’re worth pursuing.”

  “What’s your theory?” Andy asks. “That she was murdered?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Sam, can you find out if anyone other than Steven Landry was the beneficiary of a policy on Doris Landry’s life?”

  “Nope.”

  It’s so unusual for Sam to say he can’t do something that I do a double take. “Why not?”

  “So much for your genie,” Andy says.

  Sam explains, “There’s no place for me to look. I can’t access the financial records of whoever that beneficiary might be because we don’t know who it is. And there are way too many insurance companies; I’d have to know which company we’re talking about.”

  “If you don’t believe Doris Landry was murdered, then what is your theory?” Laurie asks.

  “I’m not sure I’d call it a theory; that might be giving it too much credit. Let’s say it’s the germ of an idea.”

  “Fine. So what’s your germ?”

  “Insurance companies work on actuarial tables; they are essentially making bets based on percentages. So let’s say that Ardmore supplies them with tampered patient information that indicates relatively good health, when the reverse is actually true.

  “So the company writes the policy, and then when the patient dies much earlier than would have been expected, they have to pay off. In the meantime, whoever faked the data in the first place had taken out a policy and collects. They would not have to do this in too many cases to make many millions of dollars.”

  “How does this fit in with the different dates on the obit and the death certificate?” Laurie asks.

  “It doesn’t; I’m on to a new germ.” I turn to Andy. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re probably nuts, but it’s worth pursuing. We have to get a look at Doris Landry’s health records.”

  “Sam?” I ask.

  He nods. “I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Do that, but it’s not enough,” Andy says. “Even if we get them and it shows what we want, the information would have been obtained illegally and we couldn’t use it in court. We’d have to then try and get it through legal means. By the time we did that, you’d be making license plates in Rahway.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “I’ll ask Jason Musgrove for it.”

  I shake my head. “He won’t give it to you. If I’m right about this, and I admit it’s a big if, he’s got to be in on it. And Richard Mahler is as well. That’s why they dumped Don Crystal; they didn’t want him around when they made their move.”

  Andy nods. “I’m sure Musgrove won’t go along with it; he’ll cite privacy concerns whether he’s dirty or not. In the meantime, I’ll be trying to get Judge Wallace to issue a subpoena.”

  “Do you think he will?”

  “Fifty-fifty.”

  Andy calls Eddie Dowd, explains the situation, and asks him to prepare a motion to subpoena the records. Andy wants to file it first thing in the morning.

  When he gets off the phone, he says, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to ask Musgrove for it.”

  “Why not?”

  “He won’t give it to me, especially if you’re right and he’s dirty. And if he learns that we want it, he could have it changed before we get the subpoena. If they can doctor the records once, they could do it again. This way at least Sam will have time to access the real data.”

  “I’m on it,” Sam says.

  “LIEUTENANT Battersby, why did Mr. Douglas ask to meet with you?” Dylan asks.

  “He wanted to know if we were making progress on the Lisa Yates murder case.”

  Dylan gets him to explain that case for the jury, in case they are not familiar with it. Then he asks, “What was Mr. Douglas’s interest in Ms. Yates’s case?”

  Battersby painstakingly tells the story that I told him that day, about my domestic violence call, my belief that Kline was guilty of hitting her, and my frustration that I couldn’t do anything about it.

  “Mr. Douglas expressed to you that he was holding a grudge against Mr. Kline?”

  Battersby nodded. “I don’t remember all of his exact words, but that was the general thrust of it.”

  “Do you remember any of his exact words?”

  Battersby frowns; he doesn’t want to be doing this. “Yes. He said he wanted to ‘strangle’ Kline.”

  Dylan turns the witness over to Andy, who asks, “When Mr. Douglas made the comment about strangling Mr. Kline, did you place him under arrest for threatening a citizen with death?”

  “No, I—”

  “Did you warn Mr. Douglas not to do such a thing?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find Mr. Kline and warn him that an ex-cop was intent on killing him?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Well … I laughed.
”

  “So you didn’t take his comment seriously?”

  “I did not.”

  “Okay, then when Mr. Douglas expressed an obvious interest in the Lisa Yates murder, wanting to know how your investigation was going, did you put him on your list of suspects?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “He was looking to find her killer. Why would he do that if he was her killer? Coming forward like that would have made no sense.”

  “Thank you. No further questions.”

  On redirect, Dylan asks, “Lieutenant, if at the time of that meeting you knew that at some time in the future Mr. Douglas would be in a house alone with Mr. Kline’s dead body, would you have taken his threat more seriously?”

  “I might have,” Battersby says. “I suppose so.”

  Dylan next calls Tony Sciutto, a cop I served with in the Paterson PD. He worked in the records department, so I filed the domestic violence report with him. He’s another obviously reluctant witness, but relates how I expressed my dislike for Kline and my frustration with not being able to arrest him.

  Andy has little to ask him on cross; my dislike for Kline has already been established. All Andy does is get Tony to say that he did not view my attitude as a threat to Kline, and that Tony always knew me to be an outstanding cop.

  Judge Wallace sends the jury home early so he can discuss our motion to subpoena Doris Landry’s health records. Dylan, obviously, is opposed. “The defense has not even come close, they have not even made an effort, to show that whatever happened to Ms. Landry is relevant to this case.”

  Andy responds, “Your Honor, we will do more than make an effort, we will demonstrate relevance quite conclusively. But we will do it during our defense case, which is the appropriate time. It is not necessary for us to do so now because relevance is not a factor here.

  “Federal law is quite clear; the deceased do not have a right to privacy in medical matters. This material is absolutely available under the Freedom of Information Act; we are asking for a subpoena because applying under that act would take far too long.