Devil in the Dock (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery) (23 page)

“Autolysis is . . .”

“A process of self-digestion begun by the living enzymes contained within the body’s cells.”

“And putrefaction?”

“Putrefaction results from bacteria that escape from the body’s intestinal tract after death. After about thirty-six hours the skin of the trunk and head begins to develop a greenish tinge.”

“And the deceased’s skin had developed this tinge?”

“It had.”

I hated to ask. “What’s the next step in autolysis and putrefaction?”

“Bloating.”

Of course it was.

“The bacteria produce gas that accumulates most visibly in the face, making the eyes and tongue protrude as the gas inside pushes them forward.”

It was enough to make a girl squeamish, and I didn’t see that it was getting me anywhere. I had no reason to think that Pavlicek’s estimate of the time of death was off. Melissa Stimmler’s testimony was going to cut his time window in half anyway, and Bob Shorter had no alibi for any relevant time period.

“Had the body been moved after death?” I asked.

“Not in my opinion, certainly not after livor mortis had begun.”

I had him tell the jury what livor mortis was: the settling of the blood after the heart stopped beating, a process that darkened the body tissues closest to the floor.

“Did your examination reveal evidence of a struggle? Skin under the fingernails, defensive wounds to the palms or forearms?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“I noticed from the autopsy report that there was a cut on the front of the right thigh.”

“Yes, but that wasn’t a defensive wound. It was a cut that had evidently occurred sometime earlier. There was a piece of tape across it, nipped in over the wound to create a makeshift butterfly bandage.”

“The leg was taped so as to hold the wound closed?”

“That’s right.”

“Is the presence of the tape the only reason you say the cut was made sometime before the murder?”

“Well, there was no cut or a tear in the pants leg.”

“What does that tell us? That the cut was made while Mr. Hill wasn’t wearing any pants?”

“At least not those pants.”

“Do you know anything about another pair of pants with a cut or tear in the pant leg?”

“No, though I don’t think there’s any reason to look for one. The blood loss was insignificant, and the wound bore no relation to the cause of death.”

“When you say the blood loss was insignificant—how do you know there was any blood loss at all?”

“A small amount of blood had seeped into the fabric of the pants.”

“On the inside?”

“Yes, though there was enough blood to show through the outside of the pants, too.”

“The pants the decedent was wearing at the time of his death, the ones with no cut or tear in the pant leg?”

“Yes.”

“So this was a recent cut, and fairly deep. Would you say this cut was made on the day of the decedent’s death?”

“Yes, I would.”

“What could have caused it?”

He tilted his head and raised his shoulders. “A household accident of some kind? Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Could it have been done with a blade like the paring knife that’s been identified as the murder weapon?”

“Certainly.”

I retrieved the aspirin tin from the court reporter and took it to Dr. Pavlicek. “Could you open that aspirin tin and take a look at what’s inside?”

He opened the box. “Two pills,” he said.

“Do you recognize them? Can you tell us what kind of drug this is?”

“No.”

I went back to the lectern to look at my notes, but there wasn’t a lot more I could do with Dr. Pavlicek. “No further questions,” I said, and returned to my seat.

“Mr. Maxine?” the judge said. I didn’t know how he managed to keep a straight face.

Ian Maxwell was flipping pages on his yellow pad. He looked up and said, “The prosecution rests, Your Honor.”

The judge looked at the clock, which read 10:55 a.m. “I assume you’ll want to recess over the lunch hour before beginning your case,” he said to me.

“Actually, Your Honor, I have one witness I’d like to call before lunch. Melissa Stimmler is in the witness room. I believe we can finish with her before noon.”

Judge Cooley looked at the clock again. He sighed. “Very well.” The bailiff slipped through the side door to get Melissa. I went to the rail. Paul and Brooke and Mike were seated together on the first row of seats, and for once our suite mate, Rodney Burns, was sitting with them. I leaned over the rail to talk to Rodney. He wasn’t my closest friend of the bunch, but he was a private detective.

“How long would it take you to get copies of Bill Hill’s medical records?” I asked him.

“I don’t know. Who’s his doctor?”

“No idea. Wait.” I turned to check the folders on the table, then, not seeing what I wanted, dug another one out of my briefcase. I flipped through photographs until I came to the ones I had taken of Hill’s medicine cabinet. I handed one of them to Rodney. “Here’s a close-up of his prescription bottles. Does that say Dr. Gore?”

“It looks like it.” He sounded uncertain.

“What a name for a doctor,” I said. “Actually, here.” I dug out a subpoena issued in blank and scribbled the name “Dr. Gore,” a time, and “medical records of William Hill” in the appropriate blanks. “We can’t force him to leave his practice on such short notice, but bring him back with you if you can. I’d like him to testify.”

“Testify to what?”

“I’m still working on it. Oh, and one more thing. I need the doorknob off Shorter’s back door.”

“I’m supposed to have all this by when?”

“Two o’clock would be good.” The bailiff was back. I gave Melissa a smile and a nod as he led her to the front of the courtroom to be sworn.

“Do you at least have a key to Shorter’s house?” Rodney asked.

“Oh yeah. Give me a minute.” I got it from my purse.

“How do I secure the house after I’ve removed the doorknob?” Rodney asked.

I looked at him in exasperation.

“Okay, okay,” he said, raising a hand. “I’ll work it out.”

“Thank you.”

Paul said, “Did you know Rodney was going to be here? What would you have done if he hadn’t been?”

I turned my smile on him.

“Oh. Right,” he said.

Melissa stepped up into the witness box, and I went to the lectern.

“Hi, Melissa.”

She regarded me with wide, anxious eyes.

“We need to start off with your full name for the record.”

“Melissa Rae Stimmler.” Her voice was so low that the judge leaned forward to hear her.

“Where do you live in relation to the decedent, Bill Hill? Say it as loudly as you can. There are a lot of people who need to hear you.”

“Next door.” Her voice was still too soft, but she cleared her throat and tried again. “Right next door to him.”

“You live on the corner. He lived next to you?”

She nodded. “That’s right. We’ve lived right next to each other since, I don’t know, maybe fifteen years?” She looked up at the judge and gave him a smile that seemed apologetic.

“Did you see him very often?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes he came over for tea, not too often. He had trouble walking.”

“Did you visit him?”

“It’s been a few years. Our dogs used to play together in his backyard.”

I sensed a stirring in the jury box. We already knew what had happened to Bill’s dog. “How about more recently?” I asked.

“More recently, I’d see him when he sat out in his backyard. I’d tap on my kitchen window and wave. That wasn’t too often.”

“When was the last time?”

“The day . . . the day they say he died.”

“The day someone killed him.”

She nodded solemnly. “The day someone killed him.”

“When was this? What time of day?”

“The sun had just gone down. He had a lawn chair on his patio, an old aluminum one with yellow straps that had turned brown at the ends. He was sitting there when I saw him, not doing much of anything, just sitting and thinking, it looked like. I tapped on the window, like always, and he looked up at me. I waved, and he . . . I just remembered. He kissed the ends of his fingers and held them out to me. That’s strange, isn’t it? It was like he was saying good-bye.”

“Had he never done that before?”

“Not that I remember.”

“How do you fix this date in your mind, the date this happened?”

“It was Friday. Two days later he was found dead.”

“Did you see Bob Shorter that day, as well?”

Her gaze drifted to Shorter where he sat at the defense table, and she jerked it away. “Yes. I saw him. He was going by the house on one of his walks.”

“So he was on the street that runs in front of your house?”

“Yes, mine and Bill’s. He turns the corner and goes by my house, then Bill’s, and he continues on down the street.”

“And that Friday, his walk was along that same route.”

She nodded.

“Yes?”

“Yes,” she said.

“When was this exactly?”

“Right before I went into the kitchen and saw Bill.”

“So it was dusk, just getting dark?”

“Yes. Six o’clock or so.”

“Bob Shorter didn’t turn toward Bill’s house, just continued down the street as usual?”

“No. I don’t think he even glanced at it, just walked along swinging his stick.”

If Larkin’s testimony about seeing a bloodied Shorter leaving Bill Hill’s house at four o’clock still had any lingering credibility, her testimony should put an end to it, I thought. To drive home the point, I said, “We’ve heard some testimony that a couple of hours earlier Bob Shorter came out of Bill’s house with blood on him. Did you see Bob Shorter coming out of Bill Hill’s house earlier that day?”

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t seen Mr. Shorter at Bill’s house in years.”

“And you didn’t see any blood on him that evening when you saw him?”

“No. Of course, it was getting dark.”

Fair enough.
“Did Bill Hill have blood on him that you saw?”

“No, but like I said, it was getting dark.”

“But he didn’t seem injured to you.”

“Objection,” Maxwell said. “Leading.”

“Did he seem injured or in pain?” I asked, rephrasing the question.

“Not that I noticed.”

“Thank you, Melissa. That’s all I have.”

Judge Cooley, his eyes on the clock, picked up his gavel and said, “It’s right at the noon hour.”

“It’ll be just a few questions on cross-examination, Your Honor,” Maxwell said, standing.

The judge rolled his eyes toward him. “Very well.”

Maxwell went to the lectern. “You live next door to Bill Hill, is that right?” Although they weren’t permitted on direct examination, on cross, leading questions were the standard.

“That’s right.” Her voice had gone soft again, as if she were retreating back into herself.

“I assume the police came by to ask you about what you saw or didn’t see that day?”

“They came by.”

“You didn’t tell them about seeing Bill Hill in his backyard, did you?”

“I don’t think I did.” Her voice was even softer.

“In fact, you specifically told them you didn’t see Bill Hill that day, didn’t you?”

For a moment I thought she wouldn’t be able to answer. Then she cleared her throat and said, in a louder voice, “No, they didn’t ask me.” She glanced at the judge with an anxious expression. “The police seemed mostly interested in whether I’d seen anyone going into or out of Bill’s house that day, whether I’d heard anything.”

“Did you make it clear to those police officers that you’d seen Bill Hill on the actual day of the murder?”

She shook her head.

“The truth is, you weren’t sure what day it was you’d seen him—isn’t that right?”

“I knew when it was.” She was looking down into her lap now.

“But you didn’t make that clear to the officers,” Maxwell said.

This had gone on long enough. I stood. “Objection, Your Honor. The question has been asked and answered.”

Judge Cooley peered over his glasses at Maxwell. “Is that the only question you have for this witness, Mr. Maxworth?”

Maxwell looked as frustrated as I’d ever seen him. “Just a few more, Your Honor.”

“Let’s get on with them then.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” He took a breath. “How did Ms. Starling, Mr. Shorter’s attorney, find out about this sighting of yours?”

“She asked me,” Melissa said.

“And you told her.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t tell the police officers when they asked you?”

“Asked and answered,” I objected.

“Sustained.”

“How long did you speak to the police officers?” Maxwell asked the witness.

“I don’t know. They might have been at the door ten or fifteen minutes.”

“You didn’t let them in.”

She shook her head. “No, they didn’t insist on it.”

“But you let Ms. Starling in.”

Melissa’s upper lip and her eyebrows rose in an expression of wonder. “Ms. Starling can be pretty persuasive,” she said.

I didn’t know whether Maxwell was succeeding in his efforts to cast doubt on Melissa’s testimony or whether he was just making my investigative work look more thorough than that of the police. It did seem to me that Hernandez and Jordan had missed something here. They’d settled on their theory of the case too quickly.

“Did Bill Hill spend many evenings in his backyard staring at your window?” Maxwell asked.

“He wasn’t staring at my window. I had to tap on it to get his attention.”

“What was he looking at?”

“I think he was looking at Mr. Shorter’s house. You can see it from there, just past the end of the alley that runs behind the houses. We just have chain-link fences, Bill and I. No privacy fences or anything like that to block the view.”

“Did he often sit and look at Mr. Shorter’s house?”

She nodded. “Yes. All the time.”

Maxwell looked at the clock. “I have no further questions.”

The judge had already picked up his gavel.

“No questions on redirect,” I said as the gavel fell.

“Court is adjourned until two o’clock.”

The four of us—Mike, Brooke, Paul, and me—had lunch near the hospital. While we waited for our food, I texted Rodney,
How’s it going?