Proof of Intent (24 page)

“Mr. Sloan said that I ought not to go in the room with the victim, that I was liable to disturb important evidence. He said that if I wanted to look like a professional to my superiors, I should go outside and put up crime scene tape, leave the examination of the body and the scene to the detectives. He pointed out some trees and stuff that I could wrap my tape around.”

“So what did you do then?”

“I went out and started stringing tape around the property.”

“Just out of curiosity, did Mr. Sloan's advice turn out to be popular with your superiors?”

Ingram blushed again. “Well, Sergeant Borden, my supervisor, he got a little hot about me leaving Mr. Sloan and Mr. Dane in there alone with the body.”

“Thank you, Officer.”

Judge Evola leaned forward. “Mr. Sloan, do you have any questions for this witness?”

I stood without leaving the spot where I'd been sitting. “Officer, did you observe me doctoring evidence?”

“No, sir.”

“Sneaking out of the house with weapons under my coat, anything along those lines?” “No sir.”

“Moving furniture? Hiding secret decoder rings?”

“No sir.”

“Good. You're a fine young man, and if in my zeal to protect the scene of the crime from contamination so that evidence leading to the capture and conviction of the
real
killer could be preserved, I may have gotten you in dutch with your boss, well, I sincerely apologize.”

After lunch Stash put Detective Chantall Denkerberg on the stand. She looked even more Catholic-girl's-school than ever as she walked to the front of the courtroom. Spine straight, hair cut short and neat, blue suit, starched white cotton blouse, sensible blue shoes.

“Detective Denkerberg,” the prosecuting attorney began, “could you tell us about the morning of October 21 of last year?”

“I received a page from Dispatch at 4:07
A.M.
,” the detective said in her firm, big voice, “indicating that a violent death had occurred at 221 Riverside Drive. I was instructed to investigate. At that time I proceeded to the scene. I was greeted at my car by Sergeant Dale Borden, the senior uniformed officer at the scene. He and his officers had just arrived and were in the process of securing the scene. At that time he informed me that the victim was named Diana Dane, a white female, age fifty-seven. His observation at the time was that it appeared to be a homicide by beating.”

“And who was the next person you spoke to?”

“As I approached the front door of the residence, a man came out and identified himself as Charley Sloan. Mr. Sloan indicated that he was an attorney and that he represented the victim's husband, Mr. Miles Dane.”

“Did Mr. Sloan say anything else?”

“He said that Mr. Dane had told him that the murderer had apparently been a burglar who had jumped out a window after committing the crime. Then he added that Mr. Dane was very distraught and that he would not be capable of making a statement until later that morning.”

“You run into lawyers often at crime scenes?”

“Almost never. In my experience innocent people don't call their lawyers the minute a crime is committed.”

I popped out of my seat. “Objection!” I said. “In twenty years of law practice that is the most inaccurate and prejudicial thing I've ever heard. The defense moves for a mistrial!”

Judge Evola looked down at me darkly. “First, Mr. Sloan, you can forget about a mistrial. Motion denied. However, I'm going to sustain the objection. Detective Denkerberg, keep your opinions to yourself if you would.” He turned to the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, Detective Denkerberg has implied that because someone calls a lawyer, one may infer that they are guilty of something. Not so. People call lawyers for all manner of reasons. I'm instructing you to put this statement out of your minds and give it absolutely no weight.”

The old put-it-out-of-your-minds trick. Ladies and gentlemen, please pay no attention to the elephant sitting over there on your sofa. Evola was enjoying the moment, I could tell.

Stash continued. “Detective, typically what do you as an investigator prefer to do when you reach the scene of a crime?”

“I do two things. First, I want to tour the perimeter and make certain the crime scene is secure. While doing so I begin to identify potential avenues of investigation. Second, I want to speak at least briefly to any and all witnesses. In this case I was prevented from doing that by Mr. Sloan.”

It was time for me to hop up again and look apoplectic. “Your Honor, not only is that factually inaccurate, it entirely misrepresents my intent at the time! What I was trying to do was
assist
her. Mr. Dane's wife had just been murdered. He was extremely distraught and I merely suggested to Miss Denkerberg that by giving Mr. Dane time to collect himself, he could most coherently explain what had transpired that night, and thereby best aid police in their finding the
actual
perpetrator of this heinous crime. Apparently I was unsuccessful in that because here we sit with Mr. Dane unjustly pilloried and—”

Judge Evola whacked his gavel lazily on the bench a few times. “Mr. Sloan, that'll do just fine. Save your windy speeches for closing arguments. And if you want to get up here on the stand and testify that Detective Denkerberg's recollection of events conflicts with yours, you may feel free to do so. Objection denied.”

I sat.

“Detective Denkerberg, continue please,” Stash said.

“At that point I circled the property. I noted that there was a window open on the second floor. I photographed and documented the fact that there was glass on the ground outside the window indicating that the window had been broken from the inside. I then carefully examined the ground under the window. It was at that point that I became somewhat puzzled.”

Stash looked interested. “Oh?”

“At that time I had no reason to doubt the story Mr. Sloan had related—the burglar-kills-Mrs.-Dane-and-jumps-out-the-window scenario, if you will. So when I saw the broken window, I naturally assumed the perpetrator had jumped out that particular window. Well, it had rained the day before, and the ground was very soft beneath the window. Anyone jumping out that window would almost certainly have left footprints when they hit the ground. Very likely even indentations from hands and knees as they pitched over to regain balance. So I was quite puzzled when a very careful search revealed no footprints at all.”

“Surely something? Scuff marks, dents, something?”

The detective shook her head. “Nothing. Just glass.”

Stash Olesky proffered several of her crime scene photographs, which appeared to confirm the lack of footprints.

“What did you do then?”

She explained about her further examination of the grounds, then her investigation of the house as she circled in toward the body.

“Eventually I reached the body.”

“Tell us about your first impression.”

Chantall Denkerberg showed emotion for the first time. She looked at Miles Dane with fire in her eyes, and said, “Horrific violence. I've investigated hundreds of homicides and assaults in my career and this was by far the worst beating I'd ever seen. Diana Dane was barely recognizable as a woman.”

“Did you make any immediate determination as to cause of death?”

“Obviously the final determination on that would be the medical examiner's purview. But it was clear she'd been beaten savagely.” She went on to describe where Diana Dane lay, the condition of the room, the apparent lack of struggle, the blood on the walls and ceiling, then she explained how she and the state police crime scene technician had worked together to document everything.

“So did you ever get a chance to talk to Mr. Dane?”

“Yes. Eventually Mr. Sloan slithered in and said Mr. Dane was ready to talk.”

Up I went, hands raised heavenward. “Your
Honor
! Please!”

Judge Evola raised his eyebrows at Detective Denkerberg. “You're an experienced witness, Detective,” he said piously. “If you want to engage in sly character attacks, do them elsewhere. This is a court of law.”

“I demand you sanction the witness,” I said. “A night or two in jail might assist her in doing her job a little more conscientiously.”
Slithered
in? I wasn't posturing now: I was mad.

Judge Evola gave me a big, cool smile. “Mr. Sloan, when you get to be a judge, you can do what you want. In my courtroom, however, you will not presume to instruct me in how to do my job.”

I didn't apologize. I just stood there with my arms folded, giving Denkerberg the evil eye.

“That's your cue to sit, Mr. Sloan,” Evola said, still smiling.

I went down slow, not hiding how I felt.

Stash Olesky jumped in quickly, not wanting to let me disturb the flow of his examination. “All slithering aside, Detective, what happened next?”

“Mr. Sloan led me to Mr. Dane's office in the back of the house and introduced me to him. I then questioned Mr. Dane about the events of that night. He explained to me that he had been in his office most of the night and into the morning. Frankly, it took a while to get the story out because Mr. Sloan kept interrupting on some pretext or other.”

“Objection!” I said. I didn't even stand up this time.

Stash held up his hand. “Now, Your Honor, let's get real here. This is a highly trained and experienced investigator. In the course of conducting an investigation she's drawing on years and years of experience to draw conclusions as to the
totality
of the scene she's investigating. Mr. Sloan—and his conduct—are part of that scene. It's part of her evaluation of what's what. The state contends that she is not merely entitled but
obliged
to testify as to
all
the facts and impressions on which she drew to make her conclusions in this case. To steer around Mr. Sloan as though he were some untouchable, unseeable black hole in the middle of the room is to mislead the jury and to render a disservice to the cause of justice.”

“Your Honor,” I said. “Once again I must protest that this case is not about me. It's about Mr. Dane's guilt or innocence.”

Evola frowned as though this were a grudging decision. “Alright, Mr. Olesky, as long as your witness sticks very carefully to how Mr. Sloan's conduct impacted her evaluation of the crime scene and her immediate impressions of the case, I'll allow it. But tread lightly. Mr. Sloan is not on trial here.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” I said, “for coaching the witness on how to hide prejudicial testimony behind the rules of evidence.”

“Don't test me, Mr. Sloan,” Evola snapped.

I sat quickly.

Stash smiled. “Very good, Detective. Did Mr. Sloan's conduct in some manner change or contribute to the totality of your evaluation of the case as it presented itself at that place and time?”

I rolled my eyes. This was leading the witness at its finest.

“It did.”

“Good. Let's get to the whys and wherefores later. You were about to discuss your conversation with Mr. Dane.”

“Yes. Mr. Dane indicated that he customarily worked from midnight until four in the morning. He then explained to me that on or around three-fifteen or three-thirty that morning, he'd heard a noise, a suspicious sound that had made him leave his office. He indicated he'd gone upstairs and seen a man fleeing down the hallway adjoining his wife's bedroom. He added that he was unable to give a description of the man, saying that the lighting was bad. I asked if he saw the man carrying a weapon. He said he wasn't sure. Mr. Dane then said he chased the man down to the guest bedroom. As he was approaching the room, Mr. Dane said he heard a loud crash, like breaking glass. Upon entering the room, Mr. Dane indicated he had found the room empty and a window had been smashed out. He had then looked out the window whereupon he saw, I believe the exact words he used were ‘a shadowy figure' fleeing across the lawn toward the road.”

“That was the entire substance of his story?”

“Basically, yes.”

“Let me shift gears a little. How was Mr. Dane dressed?”

“He was wearing a white robe, white pajamas.”

“Did he indicate that he'd been wearing them when he discovered his wife's body?”

“That was what he claimed.”

“So he hadn't changed clothes.”

“Like I say, that was his story.”

“Anything to indicate he had had physical contact with his wife after she was beaten? Were there bloodstains on the clothes?”

“No. None whatsoever.”

“Okay, let's turn to his behavior. Was there anything you noted about Mr. Dane's demeanor that you found worthy of note?”

“He seemed combative, uncooperative.”

“As a trained investigator, what did you make of that?”

“It seemed, on the face of it, inconsistent with a grieving man. Different people react differently to stress, of course. I won't say it's an absolute rule . . . but in my experience as an investigator, the family members of a victim generally view police as allies, not enemies.”

“You mentioned Mr. Sloan's behavior. Again, we're not interested in whether you like Mr. Sloan or for that matter whether his presence there seemed to imply anything. I'm asking whether Mr. Sloan acted in a way that seemed significant to you as a trained investigator.”

I sighed loudly enough for the jury to hear me.

“Yes,” Detective Denkerberg said. “As I mentioned before, he interrupted the interview in a way that seemed clearly, to my ear as a trained investigator, to be a bogus pretext. He pretended he was choking, so I went to get him a glass of water. When I got back from the kitchen, I found the door closed and locked. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I could tell that Mr. Sloan had a lengthy conversation with his client while I was standing out in the hall.”