Capitol Offense (15 page)

“Could he have used his left hand?”

“I suppose he might have. But why would he? He had no reason—”

“You’re not answering the question, Doctor. Is it possible he could have done it?”

Barkley sighed. “Yes, I suppose it is possible. But why—”

“Thank you. Were you close to Detective Sentz, Doctor?”

“No.”

“Do you have any knowledge regarding his mental state?”

“I have no reason to believe—”

“Please answer the question, sir.”

Barkley still wasn’t showing the slightest irritation, but Ben sensed he might at least be getting marginally closer. “No, I was not familiar with his mental state. But why would he want to kill himself?”

“Maybe because he was responsible for the death of Dennis Thomas’s wife?”

Guillerman sprang to his feet. “Objection!”

Christina turned toward the bench. “The witness did raise the issue of whether Detective Sentz had any motivation for suicide. And this is cross-examination.”

Judge McPartland nodded. “The objection is overruled. But counsel—don’t waste my time with a lot of nonsense that serves no purpose other than confusing the jury.”

“Of course not, your honor.” Why on earth would they want to confuse the jury?

Christina returned to the witness. “All we know for certain is that there was at least one person in that hotel room who believed Sentz killed Joslyn Thomas. What if there were two? What if Sentz was racked with guilt, guilt that only became even more profound when he met the bereaved husband face-to-face?”

“Your honor,” Guillerman said, “I object again. This is not closing argument.”

“This time I agree with him,” McPartland said. “Sustained.”

Which was fine, because Christina had already made her point, and any further remarks from the witness would only mess it up.

“Thank you, your honor.” Ben smiled. Christina had learned to always thank the judge, whether she won an objection or not, because jurors often didn’t understand the meaning of the judge’s rulings. If she said thank you, they thought she’d won. Even when she hadn’t. “Dr. Barkley, can you tell this jury that you can absolutely rule out the possibility of suicide in this case? To a medical certainty?”

“Well, gosh, Christina, if you put it that way, I guess not.”

“Thank you. No more questions.”

The next witness was Detective Sentz’s dentist, who presented the victim’s dental records and showed that they matched the impressions produced by Dr. Barkley from the autopsy. In other words, the victim was definitely Christopher Sentz, a point never in dispute, but another fact the prosecution had to prove to make their case. Ben didn’t cross this witness. He knew he could play with these quickie tech witnesses once and get away with it, but twice would be pressing his luck with both the judge and the jurors. He had no reason to interrogate the man, and Ben had learned some time ago about the danger of going on a fishing expedition during cross-examination. You might not like what you catch.

“Well, that went well enough,” Dennis said during the lunch break. “I don’t think they’ve laid a glove on us yet.”

“They haven’t tried,” Christina said bluntly. “But they will.”

“I thought your cross was excellent.”

She shrugged as she scarfed down a french fry. “I don’t believe for a minute that Sentz killed himself. But doubt is doubt. And you never know what evidence might turn up later to support it.”

Dennis stared down at his meal. He hadn’t taken a bite. “I was so worried last night I couldn’t sleep.”

Ben and Christina looked at one another. “Imagine that.”

“I was so angry before, but … now all that seems to have gone away. I think Joslyn took it away. That was her last wish for me. Took it a while to sink in, but it’s starting to become clear. And now that I’m getting my head on straight, I’m afraid … I’m afraid it won’t matter because—”

Christina patted his hand. “It’s much too early for this kind of talk. Eat your lunch. You need to keep up your strength.” She inhaled another fry. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

The first witness after lunch was much more important: an eyewitness who placed Dennis at the scene of the crime. Officer Peter Shaw was an eight-year member of the force and had been working with Sentz at the time of the murder. He claimed he was at the hotel in the downstairs lobby and saw Dennis approach the elevator. He couldn’t quite put Dennis in the hotel room, but he could put him practically on the front doorstep. More importantly, he testified that Dennis appeared angry if not enraged, determined, and potentially violent. He also said he thought Dennis was packing a gun.

Ben had previously determined that Christina should take this cross. Loving had given him the lowdown on Shaw, a bully but still a young man who apparently hadn’t had a date in a long time and tended to put his foot in his mouth around women. Hence Ben thought a smart, comely redhead might do a better job on the man than he could. Worked on the coroner. Not that he wanted Christina to think he valued only her feminine charms. But he certainly didn’t have any.

“I have a few things I’d like to clear up,” Christina said, with a casualness that was not likely to disarm anyone. “Why were you at the hotel on April twelfth?”

“Detective Sentz was captaining a stakeout we hoped would evolve into a sting operation. We believed there was a smuggling ring planning a major operation at the hotel. Sentz had taken a room near theirs and planted surveillance equipment so he could monitor what went on next door. I was planted in the dining area near the front door so I could see who went in and out. We maintained contact via cell phones.”

“How long had you been at your post?”

“Over three hours when I first spotted the defendant.”

“Did you get breaks?”

“Not unless one of the other men on the case came by. We had to keep the door monitored at all times.”

“I see.” Ben suppressed a smile. He loved watching Christina cross. She seemed so sweet, so fresh-faced and innocent. There was no reason at all to think she might be up to something—until she sprang the trap and you felt the cold metal teeth breaking your neck. “And when did you see Dennis Thomas?”

“Eleven fourteen at night. I made a note.”

“What did you do?”

“At first he seemed content to just sit in the lobby. So I left him alone. Eventually, though, he made a move for the elevators. I followed him.”

“Did you believe he was part of this smuggling ring?”

“No. But I recognized him.”

“Why did you recognize him?”

“I’d seen him in the police station. When he was—you know. Coming by.”

“When he was trying to get the police to open a missing persons investigation on his wife but they refused while she bled to death in her car?”

Shaw averted his eyes. “Uh, yeah.”

“So you followed him. Why?”

“Well, I was afraid he might interfere with the operation.”

“Why would you think that?”

“It was hard to imagine he was there by coincidence.”

“Why? It’s a popular hotel, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. But he obviously wasn’t there to spend a relaxing weekend. He seemed angry.”

“How angry?”

“Very.”

“Enraged?”

“I’d say so.”

“Irrational?”

Shaw’s eyes darted to the prosecution table.

“Don’t look to the DA for your answers,” Christina said. “Answer for yourself!”

“I wasn’t—” He took a deep breath. “I didn’t think he looked crazy, if that’s what you mean.”

“Why? Because the DA told you not to say he looked crazy?”

“I just … didn’t think he was that bad.”

“But he was bad enough for you to leave your station, which you previously wouldn’t even leave to go to the bathroom, to try to intercept him.”

“Well … yeah.”

“Sounds like you must’ve thought he looked dangerous.”

Shaw thought a long time before answering. “I thought he might be dangerous to our operation.”

“Why did you think he was angry?”

“He had an intense expression on his face.”

“You’re telling me you left your post and went after him because he was making a frowny face?” As Shaw’s eyes darted, she added, “And this time, answer without help from the peanut gallery!”

“I just … thought he was mad.”

“Why?”

“He was muttering to himself. Under his breath.”

“He was talking to himself?”

“Constantly. Over and over again.”

“Did that concern you?”

“Yes.”

“But it didn’t seem crazy.”

“Objection!” Guillerman was on his feet before Christina had finished speaking the magic word. “She’s putting ideas into his mouth.”

“I can lead on cross,” Christina said. “He’s a big boy. Can’t he take care of himself without help from his master?”

“That’s enough,” Judge McPartland said crossly. “I’ll allow the question. The witness will answer.”

“I didn’t think he seemed crazy,” Shaw said. “Just very angry.”

“What’s the difference?”

Shaw hesitated a long time before answering. “I … I don’t know.”

Ben knew that was as good as it was going to get, but it was pretty good. Christina let that sink into the jurors’ brains before she moved on.

“You also testified he was carrying a gun, right?”

“Yes.”

“Did you see the gun?”

“I saw a bulge under his leather jacket.”

“Ah. So when you told the jury he was carrying a gun, you actually meant that he was carrying a bulge.”

“We found his gun in the hotel room.”

“Move to strike,” Christina said, not missing a beat. “The jury wants to know what you saw, Officer Shaw. And all you saw was a bulge.”

He blew air through his teeth. “That’s correct.”

“And that could’ve been his iPod for all you know.”

“Whatever.”

“Did you stop him?”

“I tried.”

“So what was the problem? Did the English professor overpower you?”

Ben could see Shaw was getting angry, which of course was Christina’s primary objective. Angry people sometimes said things they shouldn’t.

“No, but I was undercover. I couldn’t flash a badge and I didn’t want to create a scene. I did try to pull him to one side so we could talk, but he pushed me away and got in the elevator.”

“Did you do anything further?”

“I watched the numbers light over the elevator and saw that it went to the seventh floor. Where our surveillance room was. I called Chris. Detective Sentz. Told him he might be getting a surprise visitor.”

“I see. Did you have any further contact with Detective Sentz or Dennis Thomas?”

“No.”

“Did you see him go into Detective Sentz’s room?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him holding a gun?”

“No.”

“Did you see who pulled the trigger?”

“No.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” She turned and started toward the defendant’s table, then stopped. “Oh, one more thing.”

Ben’s eyebrows rose. Shades of Columbo. What was this about?

“You said Dennis Thomas was muttering. Could you hear what he was saying?”

“Um, yeah. Some of it.”

“And what was he saying?”

“The same thing, over and over again. I didn’t understand it at the time. Now I do.”

“What was it, Officer?”

“A name. Joslyn.” He paused, swallowed. “He just said her name, with that same weird fixed look on his face. ‘Joslyn. Joslyn. Joslyn.’ That was all.”

“Thank you,” Christina said, a solemn expression on her face. “No more questions for this witness, your honor.”

On the second day of the trial, there was no evidence that public interest had subsided at all. The morning news shows had been full of coverage, reporting and predicting and commenting. Ben still had to pass through a gauntlet just to get into the courtroom. And the gallery was still full.

DA Guillerman seemed considerably less cheery than he had been the day before. This warmed Ben’s heart. Perhaps he and Christina had done more damage to his case than they realized.

Ben had an easy morning. Guillerman started with a few softball witnesses. Apparently the DA subscribed to the common belief that jurors mostly saw jury duty as a sort of holiday, free time off work, so they tended to sleep in and get to the courthouse as late as possible. Consequently, there was no point in putting important witnesses on early, because most of the jurors weren’t really awake yet.

He started with forensics witnesses. The first confirmed that the handgun found in the hotel room had in fact fired the bullet that killed Christopher Sentz. He also mentioned that the police had run a search and found that it had been sold and registered to one Dennis Thomas several years before.

The next two witnesses were considerably more problematic. The fingerprint analysts established that there were more than sufficient correspondences between the prints on the gun and the prints Dennis gave when he was arrested to show that he had fired the gun. On cross, Ben made the point that the prints at best showed that Dennis had held the gun—hardly unusual, since he owned it. It was a thin point—especially since no one else’s prints had been found—but Ben made the most of it. The truth was, in the post-DNA universe, fingerprint analysis was not nearly as important as it once had been. But juries were comfortable with it and they expected it, and the DA wanted to keep them happy.

Guillerman’s next forensic witness testified that they’d found GSR (gunshot residue) on Dennis’s clothing. Ben argued on cross that since Dennis was found lying on the gun, that was hardly surprising. He also established that they did not find residue on Dennis’s hands, but the expert asserted that since the test had not been taken until after Dennis had been in the hospital for several hours, he might well have washed his hands, several times over, with hospital-strength cleansers. Basically, the testimony was a wash. It didn’t help Dennis, but Ben didn’t think it hurt him much, either.

The final forensic witness was the DNA expert. Traces of dead skin on the gun demonstrated that Dennis had held it. Some of those flecks were found on the trigger. It didn’t take a science degree to understand what that implied. But it still was far short of conclusive proof.