Capitol Offense (26 page)

“And you told your therapist about this later?” Ben asked.

“Of course I did. I felt terrible. I am not a violent man, not at all. I won’t even step on cockroaches. I capture them and throw them outside. And even though hitting Joslyn was largely accidental, it still tore me up inside. So I brought it up at my next session.”

“Did it ever happen again?”

“No.”

“Did you ever believe your wife was having an affair?”

“No. There was one time when she stayed out late and I had concerns. Not even concerns, really. The thought just flashed into my head. She came home and I got over it.”

“Were you ever concerned that she was having some kind of relationship with a police officer?”

“No.”

“Prior to your wife’s disappearance, have you ever had any hostility or ill will toward police officers?”

“No.”

So much so good. Ben could tell the instant he walked into the courtroom that everything was different. Part of it was the surprise turn the trial had taken the day before. Part of it was the knowledge that the testimonial part of the trial could well end today. And Ben had to acknowledge that part of the reason for the increased tension arose from the possibility that Dennis Thomas might take the stand.

Throughout the pretrial period, Ben knew the local pundits had debated whether Dennis would testify. Most felt certain he would not, and for most of that time, Ben had agreed with them. But now, after the dangerous testimony that had gone before, expertly planned by Guillerman to have the maximum and most disastrous impact, that had changed. Even Guillerman recognized that. When Ben entered the courtroom, he didn’t ask who Ben’s next witness would be. He asked which exhibits Dennis would be using.

“Had anything changed in your relationship with your wife prior to the evening of April twelfth?”

“Nothing dramatic. It had been a rough week. She was very stressed about her job.”

“How so?”

“Joslyn worked with cancer patients. Mostly women. As you might imagine, it’s difficult, emotionally numbing work. No one is ever happy to see her. Treatment is difficult, often painful. She has to subject people to chemotherapy and radiation treatments. Successes are uncommon and usually temporary.”

“I can see where that might be difficult.”

“You can’t imagine. Not unless you’ve done it. Many nights she would come home in tears. She was such a loving person. She would become attached to her patients, even though she knew their dire circumstances. And the likely outcome. It’s one thing to deal bravely with bad news when you receive it. But Joslyn was thoroughly healthy. She chose this work. She chose to put herself out like that. A lot of people talk about helping others, but there aren’t many who are willing to do it like she did.” Dennis fell quiet. “She was a very special woman. Strength like you can’t imagine.”

“What happened on April twelfth?”

“It was mostly a normal morning. She left a little earlier than usual. Said she had to talk to someone. I was the usual breakfast chef at our house. She was actually a much better cook, but I had more time before I had to get to work. I made her favorite—a western omelet. She barely tasted it. And that was unusual for her.”

“When did you talk to her next?”

Dennis pressed his lips together. Ben knew they were beginning to approach the material that would really be delicate and difficult.

“I called her during her lunch hour. I usually did, when I wasn’t in class. Just to chat. She seemed fine. Didn’t refer to anything outside of the usual work stuff.”

“Did you get any idea what was troubling her?”

“Not really. She told me she’d taken a stroll through the children’s ward. That usually brightened her spirits, even though the children were very ill. Apparently on this occasion it had not done the trick, though.”

“Anything else?”

“I know she had an elderly patient she really liked who was dying. She’d been treating the woman a long time.” Dennis smiled a bit. “She called her ‘flinty.’ Joslyn liked flinty.” He paused. “That may have been getting to her.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Not that I know of.” His voice dropped a notch. His eyes fell. “That was the last time I spoke to her. Until … you know.” He cleared his throat, coughed a bit. “Until she was almost dead.”

Ben stepped away from the podium. The jury appeared riveted by the testimony. That did not surprise him. But what were they thinking about Dennis?

“What happened next?”

“For me, it was a day much like any other. Two classes, a few student advising sessions. Until Joslyn didn’t come home. I wasn’t concerned at first. It wasn’t that unusual for her to be late. She worked very hard. But when it was nine and she hadn’t even called, I knew something had happened. I couldn’t get her on her cell phone. That’s when I began to worry.”

“What did you do?”

“I called her office. Someone at the front desk of the hospital had seen her leave. She’d signed out. Her car was no longer in the parking lot. So that left two possibilities. Either she had gone somewhere on her way home and not mentioned it to me, or she’d run into some trouble. I didn’t believe the former. She would’ve called, even assuming she went somewhere, which was unlikely. She would’ve answered when I called her cell phone. I knew she was in trouble.”

“What did you do?”

“I got in my car and drove. It was dark by then, but I searched everywhere, using my brights and a flashlight. We live out in Skiatook. Well outside the city limits. You take Lombard Lane and keeping going on curvy country roads for about fifteen minutes. These roads aren’t on maps—not even a GPS can help you. We journeyed quite a distance out of town so we could buy a significant piece of property. It was worth it—or so I thought. That night, I wished we lived closer to the city.”

“Did you have any success?”

“None. I worked all night—didn’t sleep a wink. I called her friends—no one knew anything. I looked for signs of car trouble, signs that she’d had an accident. I called hospitals. Nothing. And no one had any information for me. No one could help.”

“So what did you do next?”

“That morning, as soon as the sun came up, I went to the Tulsa Police Department, Uniform East Division, since Tulsa was the last place she was seen. I’ll admit it—I had been up all night and I looked a mess. Hadn’t shaved or showered or changed clothes.”

Ben nodded and gently steered him back to his story. The most challenging part of direct examinations was that you could not ask leading questions—meaning your question could not suggest an answer. In cross, of course, virtually every question was leading. But in direct, the attorney was primarily limited to drawing out the relevant story and asking what happened next.

“What occurred at the police station?”

“At first, they were helpful, encouraging. An officer took my report. He couldn’t have been more kind. But as it turned out, he was the exception, not the rule. My report was filed. Nothing happened. I was told later that it had been referred to a detective downtown who would decide what to do. Still nothing happened. So I went downtown to see the detective. I talked with an Officer Torres at the front desk. He, too, was encouraging and helpful. But he told me that I would have to see the detective. He was the one who would decide what course of action should be taken.”

Ben recalled what Loving had told him about his private conversation with Torres. He wondered how much more that man knew than he had told. “So then what happened?”

“Officer Torres took me to Detective Christopher Sentz. He said that Sentz would take care of me. Boy, did he ever.”

Ben could immediately see a change come over Dennis—and he knew the jury would see it, too. He seemed to harden. His neck stiffened. His eyes became cold. Every time he said Sentz’s name he looked as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.

“Detective Sentz was uncooperative, almost from the start. He told me that she had not been gone long enough to be a cause for concern. So I asked him how long she had to be missing. He said there was no set number of hours, it just depended on the circumstances. I asked him to tell me what circumstances were required. He said that since Joslyn was not elderly or a minor or off her medications and had no history of mental illness, he would need some evidence of foul play.”

“What was your reaction?”

“I was stunned. The evidence of foul play was everywhere! The most responsible, reliable woman on earth had failed to come home, failed to call. Obviously something had happened to her. Either she’d had an accident or someone had gotten to her.”

“What was Sentz’s response?”

Dennis shook his head. “I wanted to scream. He said that even if she had an accident, that didn’t constitute foul play. So I guess if she was hurt and bleeding on the side of the road—which she was—that wasn’t a police concern. What do we pay these people for? And then he oh so nonchalantly said that they got these kinds of complaints all the time and that they almost always turned out to be nothing. He implied that she had run off with another man. He thought it was a big joke. A joke! My wife—gone without a trace!”

Ben cut in. “I’m sure that must have been very difficult for you, Dennis. That would have been unbearable for any loving husband.” Dennis was becoming agitated, and although Ben wanted the jury to feel his emotion, he did not want them to see a temper. That was the problem with temporary insanity; the tightrope was just too slender. He had to show that the events could have driven Dennis insane, without giving them the impression that he actually was insane. “Did the detective offer you any other assistance or advice?”

“Sentz ran a check on her credit card, but that turned out to do more harm than good. He found a charge for gasoline the night she disappeared. So he explained that it proved she was not in any danger. But it didn’t. I was the one who made that charge. I used the same credit card account.”

“I guess he made a mistake.”

“I think he knew.” Ben heard a sharp intake of air from the jury box. “I’m sorry, but I do. He had access to the receipt—unlike me, at the time—and it was clearly my name on the receipt. If I hadn’t been so tired and muddled, I would’ve recalled sooner. But I didn’t.”

“Anything else?”

“Sentz also noted that Joslyn had been reported missing once before. Said she had a history of this sort of behavior. He was using that as an excuse to do nothing. Here’s what really happened. More than ten years ago, when she was in college, she was taking a few days off after breaking up with a boyfriend. But her mother wasn’t able to reach her and got worried, so she called the police. As if that was remotely the same!”

“Did you make any further requests?”

“I asked if he could at least issue an APB. Get the other cops looking for her car. He explained that he wasn’t permitted to do that for the same reasons. I pressed him. I insisted that he could do it if he wanted and he did not disagree. For a brief beautiful moment, I actually thought he was going to do it. I could see it in his eyes.”

“And then?” Ben urged.

“It never happened. I saw him look across the room at some guy. I never knew who he was. I haven’t found out since.” Which was true. Both Ben and Loving had been looking, without success.

“And you don’t know who it was?”

“No. I never got a good look at him. No one else seems to know what I’m talking about. Everyone at the police station says this person doesn’t exist, that I must be—” He caught himself, though not so quickly that the jury didn’t know what he was about to say. “Anyway, I’ve never located him.”

Ben didn’t know how much he should encourage this line. It was certainly interesting, but none of the police witnesses had indicated that the decision was made by anyone other than Sentz, and Ben didn’t know that suggesting otherwise got them anywhere.

“And Detective Sentz did not issue the APB?”

“No.”

“Did you ever see him again?”

“Oh, yes. Many times. I continued to search. I did not go to work once that entire week. I continued to call hospitals. I called everyone Joslyn knew, never once turning up anything helpful. And I went to the police station over and over again, every day. Nothing changed. Sentz was just as stubborn as ever. I tried coming at other times and going to other stations, but my report was in the system, so they always referred the matter back to Sentz. But he never changed his mind. And he became increasingly offensive.”

“How so?”

Dennis’s neck straightened. He sat up in his chair. He was visibly suppressing anger. “As the week progressed, it was clear to most people that something had happened to Joslyn. Something bad. So you would think Sentz would consent to open an investigation. But he didn’t. Even after seven days missing, he wouldn’t agree that there was any indication that something was horribly wrong. Instead, he kept suggesting that Joslyn had run off with another man.”

“Really?”

“Yes! To my face he said that. I was tired and desperate, and this man was suggesting that my wife probably disappeared with someone. He made some slimy comment about how a doctor could do better than an English teacher. He looked at her picture and said she could have any man she wanted, then looked at me as if to say, Who wouldn’t leave a schmuck like you?”

Dennis was becoming more agitated by the second, but Ben thought that was okay. These were extreme circumstances. Who wouldn’t be angry, given what happened?

“When did Detective Sentz finally change his mind?”

“Never. Never once did that—” Dennis caught himself in time. Ben wasn’t sure exactly what descriptive term had come next, but he knew it wouldn’t have been pretty. “It was Officer Torres who finally authorized the investigation. And he took all kinds of grief for it afterward, too.”

“Why?”

“Sentz said it was because he acted outside his authority. But I know better. He did not want Joslyn’s disappearance investigated. And Torres did it anyway. They put the poor man on suspension, till the media got wind of the story. Since his action did lead to Joslyn being found, they reinstated him. Although I understand he still has some bad marks on his record.”