The Motive (50 page)

“What for?”

“I don’t know. But that’s kind of been the mantra around Missy, hasn’t it? Nobody knows anything about her. Even the tabloid guys never printed any dirt, and if they couldn’t find anything, I’ve got to believe that if something was there, it was well hidden. But now I wonder if somebody found some nasty secret of Missy’s and threatened to tell Paul. So Missy would have had to pay to keep it quiet.”

Catherine barely dared say the words. “Are you thinking Theresa?”

“She’s the ex-wife,” Hardy said. “She hated Missy more than anybody. She’d be motivated to look for dirt on her.” He didn’t add, though they both knew, that Theresa had no alibi, that she’d paid cash for a new car soon after Missy had withdrawn the money. Hardy didn’t want to overplay it, but the suddenly very real possibility that Theresa might have killed Paul and Missy was there in the cell between them. “Did anybody else in the family ever talk to Missy about her life?” Hardy asked. “Even when you all were first introduced to her?”

“It wasn’t like we all got together and played parlor games, Diz. She and Paul ran in different circles than all of us. We’d see them both at holidays or sometimes at some social thing, but we weren’t doing sleepovers and trading intimate secrets, I promise you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hardy saw the bailiff appear in the small, wired-glass window to the courtroom door. They heard the keys, and the door swung open.

Showtime.

They were just back from the first morning recess, and so far Hardy felt he was doing very well on the eyewitness front. He was delighted with Rosen’s decision to call Jeffrey (Jeffie) Siddon, since the young gas station attendant’s demeanor was unsympathetic, to say the least. Flat of effect and subtly hostile to if not bored by the entire proceeding,
his mumbling responses surely didn’t inspire any confidence in the jury.

Further, his identification of Catherine was not exactly emphatic. Yes, he’d picked her out of a photograph, then out of her booking mug shot. Hardy had already made his point about IDs from a single photo, but the fact is that other people were saying they recognized Catherine, and this guy would be just one more. But facing her in person, he seemed to hesitate. Rosen had to ask him twice if he recognized in the courtroom the person who had bought the gasoline in the container from his station. Could he point out that person to the jury? Jeffie had raised his hand an inch or two, nodded, and pointed briefly at Catherine. Hardy thought, from the performance, that it was almost as if he had pantomimed the words “I think” afterward.

Even beyond all that, though, and far more important, was the legal nicety that even if every word Siddon said were completely true in all respects, and if his identification of Catherine had been firm and convincing—even given all of that, his testimony did not put her at the crime scene at any time. There was simply no connection.

Hardy had argued in a motion to exclude this testimony before the trial, but Braun had allowed it for God knew what reason. The inference that because Catherine may have bought gasoline in a container somehow implicated her in the arson was, Hardy thought, absurd. He could tell that the judge and most of the jury thought the same thing. Still, he rammed the point on cross-examination, reestablishing that Jeffie hadn’t picked Catherine out of a six-pack of photographs—Cuneo had only shown him one at a time; he hadn’t even seen Hardy’s client leave the station, hadn’t noticed the direction she’d driven in when she left, hadn’t ever seen her again afterward. And then Hardy had completely destroyed him on the question of what day, even what
week
, he had noticed the woman in the blue shirt. The station records showed that
someone
had purchased two gallons of gasoline on that Wednesday afternoon, and Jeffie had finally admitted—in his defensive manner—that he figured it
must have been
her. He remembered her, and therefore she was the one who had come by that day.

Maxine Willis would be rougher, but still, Hardy thought, manageable.

Unlike Jeffie Siddon, she had no trouble pointing out Catherine as the woman she’d seen leave the Hanover home a half hour before the discovery of the fire. Fortunately, though, Hardy had interviewed both her and her husband at some length. In the course of these talks, he had discovered a foothold from which he was confident he might pick his way through cross-examination.

“Mrs. Willis,” he began. “Your initial identification of the woman who left the Hanover home a few houses down from yours on the night of the fire was made to an arson inspector on the night of the fire, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Could you tell the jury about that?”

Cooperative, she turned to face the panel. “There really isn’t much to tell. My husband and I live three houses down from Mr. Hanover’s house and were evacuated the night of the fire when it looked as though our place might catch fire as well. We were all standing outside when a gentleman came up and identified himself as being an arson inspector with the fire department. He got our names and address and asked if we had anything we’d like to report about the fire.”

“Did the man have identification?”

“Yes.”

“And did that identification say that his name was Sid Bosio?”

“That was it, yes.”

Hardy went back to his desk, pulled a sheet of paper from his open binder. He showed it to Rosen and the judge and had the clerk enter it as the next defense exhibit, then came back to the witness. “Mrs. Willis, do you recognize this document?”

“I do.”

“Would you tell the jury what it is, please?”

“It’s a statement I wrote for the arson inspector after he talked to me on the night of the fire.”

“All right. And is this your name and address on the top of the paper and your signature on the bottom of this piece of paper?”

“Yes it is.”

“Indicating that the statements are true and correct?”

“That’s right. As I knew them at the time.”

No surprise, Mrs. Willis had been coached since the last time Hardy had spoken to her. Now she looked out into the courtroom, over to Rosen, finally back to Hardy. She knew what was coming, even gave him a confident smile.

“Mrs. Willis, will you please read for the jury what you signed off on?”

“Sure. The whole thing?”

Hardy smiled back at her. “After your name and address. The highlighted area.”

“All right.” She studied the document for a minute. “‘Saw occupant of house, Miss Damien, exit structure shortly before fire.’”

“And by ‘Miss Damien,’ you actually meant one of the victims in this case, Missy D’Amiens, isn’t that right?”

“Yes. I got her name a little bit wrong.”

“Thank you. That’s fine.” Hardy took the paper back from her, placed it back on the evidence. “So, Mrs. Willis, just to make this absolutely clear, you gave this statement to arson inspector Bosio on the night of the fire?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then, moving along. The next time you had an opportunity to identify the person leaving the Hanover home a short while before the outbreak of the fire, it was by photograph, was it not?”

“That’s right.”

“A photograph shown to you by Inspector Cuneo, correct?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, did you pick the photograph of the person you saw leaving the Hanover home that night out of a group of photographs?”

“No, there was just the one.”

“Inspector Cuneo showed you only one photograph and asked you to identify who it was, is that right?”

“Correct.”

Nodding amiably, Hardy cast a casual eye over to the jury. He strolled easily back to his table and took from it both the newspaper picture of Missy D’Amiens and the original he’d subpoenaed from the
Chronicle
’s files. After
having them marked as the next defense exhibits, he showed the glossy of it to the witness. “Do you recognize this photograph?”

“I sure do. That’s the picture I saw the first time Inspector Cuneo came by.”

“All right. So Inspector Cuneo showed you this picture. Now Mrs. Willis, do you know who this is a picture of?”

“That’s my ex-neighbor, Missy.”

“The same Missy D’Amiens who is one of the victims in this case, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And the same Missy D’Amiens you identified to arson inspector Bosio as the woman who’d left the Hanover house just before the fire, is that right?”

“Yes, but…”

“And you identified her to Inspector Cuneo as well, is that correct?”

She hesitated. “Well, that was before…”

“Mrs. Willis, I’m sorry.” Hardy cut her off in his most respectful tone. “Is it correct that on this first occasion with Inspector Cuneo, you identified the woman in that picture, Defense Exhibit F, as Missy D’Amiens? Yes or no.”

“Yes, but…”

Hardy held up a palm. “And it was only later that you ID’d the photo of Catherine, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And each time you were shown—Sergeant Cuneo showed you—a single photo, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Just to be clear, he never showed you a variety of photos from which to choose, correct?”

“Right.”

“And when Sergeant Cuneo showed you the first photograph, Exhibit F, you had already said it was Missy coming out of the house, right?”

“Right.”

“And so he clearly expected you to ID the person he named?”

“Yes.”

“And you did identify the woman in Exhibit F as Missy D’Amiens on that occasion, did you not?”

“Yes, I did.”

Hardy took a breath. “All right,” he said. “Now let’s talk for a minute about the next time Sergeant Cuneo asked you to identify the person who’d left the Hanover home that afternoon. On that second occasion, did he also show you one photograph of a single person?”

“Yes.”

“And he told you that you must have been wrong the first time, since Missy D’Amiens was dead?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“So it couldn’t have been Missy that you saw?”

“Right.”

“Okay. And next he told you, did he not, that he thought the person whose photo he now showed you was the person you must have seen?” Hardy didn’t give her a chance to answer. “And again, you ID’d the person whom Inspector Cuneo clearly expected you to ID, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true, but that doesn’t mean…”

“Let me ask you this, Mrs. Willis. Did Sergeant Cuneo ever give you an opportunity to view several photos of different people?”

“Well, no, he…”

“Did he ever ask you to consider the possibility of a third person?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Willis. That’ll be all.” He spun on his heel and took a step toward his table.

“But…” She started again.

He whirled on her. “Thank you,” he repeated with slightly more emphasis. “No more questions.”

But Rosen was already on his feet, moving forward. “Redirect, Your Honor.” A nod from Braun. “Mrs. Willis, did you know Missy D’Amiens well?”

“No. Hardly at all.”

“Hardly at all. Had you ever had a conversation with her?”

“No.”

“Spoken to her at all?”

“No. Never.”

“All right. So you could easily have been mistaken in identifying her?”

“Your Honor!” Hardy said. “Speculation.”

But Braun was already ahead of him. “Sustained.”

Rosen stood in the center of the courtroom for a moment, then came at it another way. “Mrs. Willis, did you have occasion to change your mind about the identity of the woman whom you’d earlier identified as Missy D’Amiens?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And when was that?”

“When Inspector Cuneo brought a picture of another woman and I realized it wasn’t who I’d first said.”

“And that is the picture of the defendant, Catherine Hanover, People’s Exhibit 12, that you identified earlier, is that correct?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And did you subsequently identify the defendant as the woman who’d left the Hanover home minutes before the fire from the booking photograph, People’s 11?”

“Yes.”

“Did you also identify the woman who’d left the Hanover home minutes before the fire from a police lineup held on or about July eleventh of last year? A lineup that included five other women?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And would you please tell the members of the jury once again if you see the woman you saw leaving the Hanover home minutes before the fire in this courtroom today?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You have already pointed her out to the court, but may I ask you to please do so once again?” She pointed and Rosen said, “Let the record show that the witness has once again identified the defendant, Catherine Hanover. Mrs. Willis, thank you. No further questions.” He turned to Hardy. “Recross.”

Hardy was in front of her before Rosen had sat down. “Mrs. Willis, when you ID’d the first photo of Missy D’Amiens, you were telling the truth, were you not?”

“Of course I was.”

“Of course. And you were as sure of that first ID as you later were of the second, true?”

“Well, at the time…”

“Let me rephrase. Did you express any hesitation or reservation with that first ID?”

“No.”

“And that’s because you were sure. Correct?”

She didn’t like it, but she had to admit it. “At the time, yes, but…”

“So you were sure. As sure as you are now that it was Catherine, correct?”

She didn’t answer, and Hardy didn’t wait. “But of course you were wrong.”