Glitsky 02 - Guilt (37 page)

Emil Balian had dressed well, in a conservative dark suit with a white shirt and rep tie. Amanda Jenkins had paid for his haircut, which eliminated the unruly shocks of white hair which normally emanated, Einstein-like, from the sides of his scalp. Most importantly, Glitsky thought, he'd shaved, or someone had shaved him. Abe thought, all in all, he looked pretty good – respectable, grave, old.

Abe had met Balian on the day after the murder. With Paul Thieu, he'd gone back to the scene early in the afternoon and there was an elderly man in plaid shorts and Hawaiian shirt standing in the driveway. 'Saw all about it on the television,' he said without preamble as they'd gotten out of their car. 'You guys the cops?'

Balian introduced himself, saying he lived a couple of blocks over on Casitas. So this was the place, huh? Too bad about the lady. He'd known her a little. He knew just about everybody, which was what happened when you walked as much as he did. You got to know people, stopping to chat while they worked on their gardens or brought in groceries or whatever.

Emil worked for forty years as a mail carrier and just got in the habit of walking, plus he had a touch of phlebitis and he was supposed to stroll three or four miles a day, keep his circulation up.

Balian wasn't shy. He talked incessantly, telling Glitsky and Thieu all about his life in the neighborhood. He bought into St Francis Wood back when a working man could afford a nice house. Eleanor, his wife, had a job, too – and this was in the days before women worked like they do now. They hadn't had any children, so pretty much had their pick of neighborhoods. Money wasn't much of a problem back then, not like it is now being on a fixed income.

During this extended recital, Glitsky kept trying to back away, get to the house. He knew they were going to have to canvass the area sometime for witnesses anyway. He was reasonably certain that this old man was talking for the sheer pleasure of hearing himself talk.

But it turned out better than that.

Jenkins crossed the floor and came to rest a couple of feet in front of the witness box. 'Mr Balian,' she began, 'would you tell us what you did on the evening of June 7th of this year?'

'I sure will. I had supper with my wife, Eleanor, at our home on Casitas Avenue, and after supper, like I always do, I went out for a walk.'

'And what time was this?'

'It was just dusk, maybe a little before, say eight o'clock, thereabouts. We always eat at seven sharp, used to be six, but about ten years ago we went to seven. I don't know why, really, it just seemed more civilized or something. So it was seven.'

'So to get the timing right, was it seven o'clock when you began dinner, but near eight when you started your walk?'

'That's right.'

'Was there any other way you could mark the time? Did you check your watch, anything like that?'

'No, I don't usually wear a watch. In fact, I don't
ever
wear a watch. After I retired, I said what do I need a watch for anymore and threw the old thing in my drawer…'

'Yes, well, was there any other…?'

'The time. Sure. As I said, it was near dusk. When I left it was still light out and when I got back home, maybe an hour later, it was dark. While I was out, the street-lights came up, so that ought to pinpoint it.'

'Yes, it would, thank you.'

Jenkins turned back to where Glitsky sat at the prosecution table and he gave her a reassuring nod. The way Balian answered questions drove Amanda crazy, and she didn't want to lose patience with him. After all, he was her witness, the backbone of her case. She took a breath, turned and faced him again.

'All right, Mr Balian. Now on this walk, did you happen to notice anything unusual?'

'Yes, I did. There was a different car parked out in front of the Murrays'.'

'A different car. What do you mean?'

'I mean the Murrays don't own that car, or else they just bought it, so I wondered who it was might be visiting them, was how I come to notice it.'

'Can you describe the car, Mr Balian?'

'It was a late-model, light-brown Lexus with a personalized license plate that read ESKW.'

Jenkins entered a photograph of Dooher's car into evidence. The vanity plate was meant to be sort of a humorous rendering of ESQ, for Esquire – Dooher's advertisement that he was a lawyer.

'And what street was this car parked on?'

'Down the end of my own street, Casitas.'

'Which is how far from Ravenwood?'

'Two blocks.'

'And did you ever see this car again?'

'I sure did. The very next day, which was how I remember it so clear.' Balian was getting caught up in his story, enthusiasm all over him. Glitsky knew that this was where he tended to embellish, and hoped Jenkins would be able to keep him reined in.

'And where did you see this car?'

'It was parked in the driveway at 4215 Ravenwood Street. That's why I was still standing out front when the police got there the next day. I thought I'd go by and see the house where there'd been the murder- it was all on the TV – and there was this same car the next day in the driveway, so I was looking at it, wondering what the connection was.'

Farrell got his blood up when it was time to perform. Leaning over to both Dooher and Christina as Jenkins handed him the witness, he whispered, 'It's almost unfair.'

He rose slowly and made a little show of pretending to be reading something from a file in front of him, getting his questions down. From the table, finally, he raised his head and smiled at the witness. 'Mr Balian. On the night we've been talking about, June 7th, before you took your walk, you had dinner with your wife at your home. Do you remember what you had for dinner that night?'

At the opposite table, Christina saw Glitsky and Jenkins exchange a look. They must have known what would be coming, but that didn't make it any easier to sit through.

On the witness stand, Emil Balian crossed his arms and frowned. 'I don't know,' he said.

Farrell looked down at the file before him again and creased his own brow. 'You don't know? And yet in your second interview with the police, didn't you tell Lieutenant Glitsky that you'd had corned beef and cabbage for dinner on that night?'

'I think I said that, yes, but-'

'I've got the transcript of that interview right here, Mr Balian. Would you like to see it?'

'No, that's all right, I know I said it.'

'But in a later interview, were you as sure of what you had for dinner?'

Balian nodded. 'Not really. But that was a week or so after I first talked to the police, and Eleanor reminded me she thought we'd had pork chops and applesauce that night, Tuesday, if it was going to be important. The night before was corned beef. It doesn't have anything to do with the car,' he added petulantly.

'Do you remember
now
which dinner it was, the corned beef or the pork chops?'

'No. I'm not sure.'

Farrell put his pad down and walked around the table, out into the center of the courtroom. 'Mr Balian, would you have had a drink with either of these dinners? Let's say the corned beef?'

'Usually with corned beef, I'd have a beer.'

'One beer? A couple of beers?'

'Sometimes a couple of beers.'

'And how about pork chops? Would you have a drink with pork chops?'

'Sometimes. White wine.'

'A glass or two?'

'Yes.'

'But on this night, you don't remember what you ate or if you had anything to drink exactly, do you?'

'Not exactly, no.'

'You do admit, however, that you probably had a couple of drinks – that was your habit with meals – regardless whether it was corned beef or pork chops.'

'That's the first thing I said, wasn't it? That I didn't know?'

'Yes, it was, Mr Balian. That was the first thing you said, that you didn't remember what you'd eaten. But now, let's get on with what you say you
do
remember, the car with the ESKW license plates. You saw this car parked on your street on Tuesday night, June 7th?'

On more solid ground for a moment, Balian settled himself in the witness chair. He loosened his collar at the knot of his tie. 'I did. It was in front of the Murrays' house.'

'And where were you? Did you walk right by it?'

A pause. 'I was across the street.'

'Across the street? Did you cross over to look at this car more carefully?'

'No. I could see it fine. I didn't study it or anything. I just noticed it, the way you notice things. It wasn't a car from our street.'

'Okay, fair enough. Is Casitas a wide street, by the way?'

The petulance was returning. 'It's a normal street, I don't know how wide.'

Farrell went back to his table and turned with a document in his hand. He moved forward to the witness box. The questions may have been barbed, but his tone was neutral, even friendly. 'I have here a notarized survey of Casitas Avenue' – he had it marked Defense E – 'and it shows that the street is sixty-two feet from side to side. Does that sound right, Mr Balian?'

'If you say so.'

'But you had to be more than sixty-two feet away when you saw the license plate that read ESKW, isn't that true?'

'I don't know. Why?'

'Because you couldn't read the plate from directly across the street, could you?' Balian didn't answer directly, and Farrell believed the question might have struck him ambiguously. So he helped him out. 'From directly across the street, you'd only see the side of the car, wouldn't you? You would have had to have been diagonal to it to see the license plate, isn't that so?'

'Oh, I see what you're saying. I guess so. Yes.'

'Maybe another ten, twenty, thirty feet away?'

'Maybe. I don't know. I saw the car…' Balian paused.

'So how far were you from the car, Mr Balian? More than sixty feet, correct?'

'I guess.'

'More than eighty feet?'

'Maybe.'

'More than a hundred feet?'

'Maybe not that much.'

'So perhaps a hundred feet, is that fair?' Farrell smiled at him, man-to man. There was nothing personal here. 'Now, when you saw this car from perhaps a hundred feet away-'

'Objection.' Jenkins had to try, but she must have known the objection wasn't so much for substance as it was for solidarity. Her witness was beginning to shrivel.

Farrell rephrased. 'When you saw this car from across the street, was it at the beginning of your walk or more toward the end of it?'

'The end of it. I was coming around back to my street.'

'And so the street-lights were on, were they not?'

After another hesitation, Balian responded about the street-lights. 'They had just come on.'

'They had just come on. So it was still somewhat light out?'

'Yes. I could see clearly.'

'I'm sure you could, but I'm a little confused. Haven't you just testified that you walked for an hour, and when you got back to your house, it was dark? Didn't you tell that to Ms Jenkins?'

'Yes. I said that.'

'And this street you live on – Casitas – is it a long way from the Murrays' house, where you saw this car, to your own home?'

'No. Seven or eight houses.'

'And did you continue your walk home after you saw this car in front of the Murrays'? You didn't stop for anything, chat with anybody?'

'No.'

'And you've said it was dark when you got home?'

'Yes.'

'Well, then, I'm simply confused here – maybe you could explain it to us all. How could it have been light, or as you say, just dark, when you were seven or eight houses up the street?'

'I said the lights were on.'

'Yes, you did say that, Mr Balian. But you said they were "just" on, implying it was still light out, isn't that the case? But it wasn't light out, was it? It was, in fact, dark.'

'I said the street-lights were on, didn't I?' he repeated, his voice now querulous, shaking. 'I didn't tell a lie. I saw that car! I saw the license plates. It was the same car I saw the next day.'

Warfare, Farrell was thinking. No other word for it. He advanced relentlessly. 'And it was a brown car, you said, didn't you? You knew for sure that the car you saw the previous night had been brown because it had the same license plates.'

'Yes.'

'When you first saw the car that night, could you tell it was brown in the dark?'

'What kind of question is that? Of course it was brown. It was the same car.'

'Couldn't it have been dark blue, or black, or another dark color?'

'No. It was brown!'

Farrell took a moment regrouping. He walked back to the defense table, consulted some notes, turned. Then. 'Do you wear glasses, Mr Balian?'

The witness had his elbows planted on the arms of the chair, his head sunken between his shoulders, swallowed in the suit. 'I wear reading glasses.'

'And you see perfectly clearly for normal activities?'

'Yes.'

Twenty-twenty vision?'

Another agonizing pause. 'Almost. I don't need glasses to drive a car. I've got fine vision, young man.'

'For a man of your age, I'm sure you do. How old are you, by the way, Mr Balian?'

Chin thrust out, Balian was proud of it. 'I'm seventy-nine years old, and I see just as good as you do.'

Farrell paused and took a deep breath. He didn't want Balian to explode at him, make him into the heavy, but he had to keep going. A couple more hits and it would be over. 'And then the next day, at what you knew was a murder scene, you saw a similar car in a driveway to the one you'd seen the previous night, in the dark, after you'd had a couple of drinks, and Lieutenant Glitsky showed up and suddenly it seemed it might have been the
exact
same car, didn't it?'

'It
was
the same car!'

A subtle shake of the head, Farrell indicating to the jury that no, it wasn't. And here's why. 'When was the first time you talked to police, Mr Balian?'

'I told you, the next day.'

'And Lieutenant Glitsky asked if you'd seen anything unusual in the neighborhood, right?'

'Right.'

'And you told him about the car, and Lieutenant Glitsky pointed to the brown Lexus parked in Mr Dooher's driveway, and asked you if that was the car, didn't he?'