Blind Justice (28 page)

“I searched her, then handcuffed her. That’s when she made the statement.”

Moltke’s eyebrows rose, feigning surprise for the jury. “Statement? What statement was that?”

“She said, and these are her exact words, ‘I killed him.’ ”

“Are you sure that’s what she said?”

“Absolutely positive.”

“And did you provoke or elicit this statement in any way?”

“No, I did not.” He faced the jury. “I had no reason to. Frankly, it was perfectly obvious she had killed him. I didn’t need a confession. She volunteered it.”

“Objection, your honor!”

“That’s all right, your honor,” Moltke said. “We’ll strike the last remark. Are you aware of any other evidence indicating Ms. McCall’s guilt?”

“Yes. Just last week—”

“Again I object,” Ben said. “Your honor, this touches upon my motion in limine. Regarding the events of last week.”

“Well,” Derek said, “was Mr. Abshire personally involved in the investigation of last week’s incident?”

“No,” Moltke admitted, “he wasn’t.”

“Well.…then we’d better not have him testifying about it,” Derek said grudgingly.
It was always a struggle to do the right thing, huh, Dick?

“Very well,” Moltke said. “Nothing more at this time, your honor.”

“Excellent,” Derek said. “And let me commend you, Mr. Prosecutor, for your succinct, straight-to-the-point examination.” He glanced at Ben. “I only hope defense counsel has been paying attention.”

Ben repeated all the points he’d made at the preliminary examination—that Abshire didn’t see Christina holding the gun, that he found no drugs on her (at that time) or elsewhere in the apartment, and that he found no weapon on her person. Ben decided not to pursue the theory that Abshire’s zeal for conviction biased his testimony. He could tell the jury liked Abshire, and they would probably find his zeal admirable, not impeaching. No, he would have to see what he could do with the gun.…

“You found no gun of any kind on Christina’s person, right?” Ben’s job was to humanize his client, to make her seem like a real person to the jury. Therefore, he would always call her by her first name (and refer to prosecution witnesses by their last).

“True,” Abshire said. “We found the gun on the floor beside her.”

“You don’t know that she actually used that gun, right?”

“Of course we do. There were clear latent fingerprints on the gun. The prints belonged to Christina McCall.”

Ben could object to this evidentiary harpoon—Abshire was not the forensics expert. But the evidence would come out eventually, and he had a different plan of attack in mind.

“Well, let’s talk about that, Mr. Abshire. You say Christina’s prints were on the gun.”

“That’s right.”

“But—didn’t the FBI also perform a paraffin test?”

“Objection, your honor,” Moltke said. “We have an expert who will testify about that.”

“This witness opened the door,” Ben insisted. “He inserted the fingerprint evidence into his testimony. Now I’m permitted to cross-examine him about his statement.”

Derek sighed. “I will allow limited cross-examination regarding the testimony given by the witness. Don’t exceed that scope.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Ben turned back to Abshire. “Was a paraffin test performed on Christina?”

“I believe so.”

“Can you explain what a paraffin test is to the jury?”

Reluctantly, Abshire did so.

“And did the paraffin test reveal any nitrous traces on Christina’s skin?”

“No, it did not.”

“Well, doesn’t that prove she didn’t kill Lombardi?”

Abshire made a snorting noise. “Obviously, she wore gloves.”

“Really.” Ben leaned forward against the podium. “Tell me, Mr. Abshire. If she wore gloves, why were her fingerprints on the gun?”

Abshire stuttered for a moment. “I…I suppose she must’ve taken the gloves off later.”

“I see,” Ben said. “Although she was smart enough to wear gloves when she fired the gun, she later removed the gloves and rubbed her prints all over it.”

“Something like that.”

“Mr. Abshire, does that make any sense to you?”

It was the classic one question too many. “Cards-on-the-table time? Murder often doesn’t make sense, Mr. Kincaid. Especially a crime of passion like this. Only in the movies do you find cold-blooded killers who do everything right. Ms. McCall was angry with Lombardi, emotionally distraught. She wasn’t thinking clearly. She could easily have absentmindedly taken some action that seems illogical in retrospect.”

Ben saw a slight nodding of several jurors’ heads. Made sense to them. Made sufficient sense to support their predisposition to convict, anyway.

“Did you in fact find any gloves on Christina’s person?”

“No. I found some in Lombardi’s clothes closet, though.”

“So your testimony is that, after shooting him, this emotionally distraught woman removed the gloves, put them neatly back in the clothes closet, and pawed the gun?”

“I don’t know that she used those gloves. I’m just saying it’s possible. She may have flushed the gloves she used down the toilet. It’s been done before.”

More nodding in the jury box. Ben knew it was time to move on.

“Mr. Abshire, you mentioned an alleged confessional statement made by Christina.”

“That’s correct.”

“Do you recall when we discussed this matter at the preliminary hearing?”

“Yes.”

“And at that time, you testified that you said something that provoked Christina’s statement.”

“I said I might have said something,” Abshire replied. “I was confused. Frankly, you caught me by surprise with that one; I didn’t really remember. But since that time, I’ve had a chance to think about it, and to talk to my superior, Mr. Stanford, who was also present. I’m certain now. I didn’t say a word to her. Her statement was completely voluntary.”

As it would have to be, Ben noted, to get around your enormous Miranda problem. “So you’re changing your testimony in the courtroom today.”

Abshire gave the jury a gosh-shucks grin. “I’m not changing anything, sir. Before, I didn’t remember clearly. Now I do. Her statement was unprovoked.”

And there’s nothing you can do to prove otherwise, Abshire said but did not say, unless you put the defendant on the stand, something no defense attorney ever wants to do. Having smoked out Ben’s Miranda argument during the preliminary hearing, Abshire and Moltke had put their heads together and figured out a clever way to salvage the evidence.

“No more questions, your honor,” Ben said regretfully. He returned to defendant’s table.

“Any redirect?”

“I don’t see the need,” Moltke said. Derek smiled back, obviously in agreement.

“Very well. Mr. Abshire, I thank you for your testimony.

You may step down. Mr. Prosecutor, call your next witness.”

“T
HE UNITED STATES CALLS
Officer John Tompkins.”

Tompkins, the surprise witness from the preliminary hearing, took the stand in full uniform. If the jury had liked Abshire, Ben thought, they were going to love this guy. It would be difficult to imagine a straighter arrow.

Moltke introduced Tompkins and ran through his background, before and after he joined the police force. Eventually, they discussed the day Tompkins went to Christina’s apartment to assist the follow-up investigation of the breaking and entering. He described his initial conversation with Christina, the search of her apartment, and the discovery of cocaine in the Betty Boop doll.

“Was there any identification or marking on the drugs?”

“Yes. The top plastic Baggie contained a strip of paper with the word
Lombardi
written on it.”

“Officer Tompkins, based on your years of experience in matters of this sort, can you draw any conclusion from that strip of paper?”

“Well, the obvious conclusion is that these drugs were part of a shipment received by or intended for a man named Lombardi.”

“Do you have any idea how Ms. McCall might have obtained the drugs?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Calls for speculation.”

“That’s all right,” Moltke said. “I’ll withdraw the question. I believe the jury is capable of putting two and two together.”

Yeah, Ben thought. Especially if you do the math for them.

“Now, how many days after Lombardi’s murder was this?”

“Just three, sir.”

“So three days after Lombardi was killed, Ms. McCall had the drugs that were probably delivered to him the night of the murder.”
Good grief, Moltke, why don’t you just draw a diagram on the chalkboard for them.
“Based upon your years of experience, Officer, would a person of average intelligence be able to dispose of these drugs?”

“Easily,” Tompkins replied. “I hate to admit it, but there are well-known drug drops all over Tulsa. We can’t possibly police them all. Anyone who wants to score some drugs could do so.”

“And would this cocaine be valuable?”

“Extremely so.”

“Now, you were in Ms. McCall’s apartment, Officer. Would you say she is a wealthy person?”

“Objection!” Ben said.

“Overruled.” Derek motioned to the witness. “Proceed.”

“No, I would not. All indications were of a relatively low income level.”

“Do you think a quantity of cocaine such as you discovered could significantly improve such a person’s lifestyle?”

“Again, your honor, I object!”

“I think you’ve made your point, Mr. Prosecutor,” Derek said.

“Very well, your honor. No more questions.”

Ben positioned himself for cross-examination. He knew he had to be careful. The jury didn’t want to see Tompkins taken apart; after all, he was just doing his job. Ben would have to impeach him without casting any aspersions on his character or competence.

“Officer Tompkins, you testified that the packet of drugs you allegedly found in Christina’s apartment bore a label with the word
Lombardi
written upon it, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Isn’t that rather unusual?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, drug smuggling is a criminal activity, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“People don’t normally go around posting signs saying
THIS IS MY STASH OF ILLEGAL DRUGS
, do they?”

“The label was probably affixed by the supplier.”

“And why would the supplier want to create identifying labels? Isn’t he just as subject to criminal liability?”

“Probably more so.”

“And if Lombardi gets caught, the supplier is likely to go down next, isn’t he?”

“It does often happen that way. But the fact that an activity might not be prudent doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. You have to realize we’re not discussing rocket scientists here. These are drug smugglers.”

Score one for Officer Tompkins. “Nonetheless, Officer, before this incident, had you ever seen a similar label?”

“No,” Tompkins admitted.

Hallelujah. “Now let’s talk about this cocaine in the stuffed doll. The doll was not intact when you found it, was it?”

“No. All of the dolls were damaged. A chunk of their midsections had been removed.”

“That’s strange. Why would anyone tear up a bunch of stuffed animals?”

“Possibly a rival member of Lombardi’s organization was searching for the stolen drugs.”

“And somehow that rival member knew to look for the drugs in the stuffed animals?”

“The entire apartment appeared to have been ransacked.”

“Tell me, Officer, if this rival knew to look for the drugs in the dolls, and ripped open the dolls while looking, why didn’t he find and
take
the drugs?”

There was a short pause. A line appeared between Tompkins’s brows. This question obviously had occurred to him before, and it troubled him.

Suddenly, Derek broke the silence. “Counsel, I think that question calls for speculation. Let’s move on.”

Ben turned slowly toward the bench. “Excuse me, your honor. Was there an objection?”

“No,” Derek said, casting a quick look at Moltke, “although the need was obvious. I’m sure the prosecutor was just being polite. The court, of course, has the inherent discretion to limit speculative testimony. Move on.”

Ben stared at him, speechless. Ben was finally making some headway, and Derek was shutting him down.

“I said, move on, counsel.”

Ben closed his trial notebook. “I have no more questions, your honor. Other than those the court has just forbidden.”

Derek looked at him sharply, but let it pass. Since there was no redirect, the witness stepped down.

“It’s been a long day,” Derek said, “and I don’t want to inundate the jury with too much information at once. We’ll resume tomorrow morning at nine o’clock with the prosecution’s next witness.”

He banged his gavel against the bench. “Court is adjourned.”

B
EN WAITED UNTIL EVERYONE
but the security guards had left. He was overdue at the office. He needed to prepare for the next day’s trial, he needed to see how Christina was holding up, and he needed to contact Wolf’s parents. But he was determined to talk to Derek first.

Derek was still puttering around in chambers—making phone calls and attending to administrative matters. Ben decided to give him time to unwind, take care of his business, and have a quick snort from the bottle of Scotch he’d removed from his bottom desk drawer.

Ben stood just outside the doorway and listened while Derek dialed the phone. “Hello, Louise?…Yeah, I’m still here.…I don’t know, I’ll probably be home in an hour or so.…Of course I’m working, I started a trial today, for God’s sake. Where else would I be?…Look, Louise, I don’t give a good goddamn what you suspect. I’ve been in court all day, and you can take it or leave it.…Yeah, well, the hell with you, too.”

Derek slammed the receiver back into its cradle. Ben heard an undercurrent of indistinct muttering. He decided to give Derek a few more moments to cool off.

After he’d clocked a full minute on his watch, Ben stepped inside. Derek’s chambers seemed sparsely decorated, but to be fair, he’d only been in them about eight months. Ben did see Derek’s Harvard law diploma, squarely placed where it couldn’t be missed, just beneath Derek’s pride and joy, a large stuffed bobcat, poised forever in mid-spring.