Downfall

by Robert Rotenberg

  “Thank you for allowing us into your home.”

  She led them down a narrow hallway to a small room dominated by a bed in the middle. Roshan was sitting, propped up by a few pillows. He flashed a gracious smile when Kennicott and Sheppard walked in. Kennicott said hello to him and introduced Sheppard.

  “Welcome,” he said in a gentle voice.

  There was room for a chair in the corner beside the bed and Babita sat in it cradling the baby.

  “We wanted to see how you are doing and ask you a few questions,” Kennicott said.

  “Thanks to Allah, I am alive. The doctor said my leg is bruised and nothing is broken.”

  “He insists on going to work tonight,” Babita said, frowning.

  “There is a party at the club and they will pay overtime. Mr. Waterbridge, my employer, says he will send an Uber to pick me up. I will not walk the perimeter but drive the security cart.”

  “You see,” Babita said.

  “We’re glad you weren’t badly injured,” Kennicott said.

  “My children and my wife, they are what kept me alive.”

  Kennicott took out his notebook and saw Sheppard do the same. “We’ve read the statement you gave to the police earlier today. You were riding your bike to work when a dark car hit your back wheel and you landed in the valley. Can you describe the vehicle?”

  “It was an SUV. Black.”

  “Anything more?”

  Roshan shook his head. “It was still dark and the windshield was tinted. I only saw it for a second. I don’t think the driver even saw me.”

  “Can you tell us anything about the driver?”

  He shook his head. “I wish I could tell you more.”

  “Could you see if it was a man or a woman?” Kennicott asked.

  “Yes, it was a man.”

  “And could you see his face?”

  Roshan shook his head again.

  “How about his hands. Could you see where they were?”

  Roshan closed his eyes, and then opened them. “The man had a cell phone in his hand. That is why I could not see his face.” He paused. “I am supposed to wear a reflecting T-shirt that Babita made specially for me when I ride my bicycle to work but unfortunately I did not wear it this morning.”

  Kennicott saw Roshan sneak a peek at his wife, who shook her head. She did not approve of his forgetfulness.

  “Babita is an excellent seamstress,” he said. “It was negligent of me to forget to wear it.”

  Kennicott started writing in his notebook. He heard a baby crying in the next room. Babita stood.

  “Here,” Sheppard said, stuffing her notebook in her pocket and holding out her arms. “I’ll hold Obax while you go get Sagal.”

  “Thank you so very much,” Babita said, comfortably handing the baby over to Sheppard.

  “Try to remember everything that happened after,” Kennicott asked after Babita left the room. “Please tell me all you can about the person you met down there.”

  Roshan nodded. Shook his head. Kennicott could see this was hard for him.

  “I rolled off the woman I had fallen on, and I realized she was dead. I tried to yell for help but it was of no use. I lay on the rocks, and I saw a bird in the sky. It was a sign from Allah that I was going to live. Then I heard footsteps, and a woman appeared.”

  “Can you describe her for me?”

  “She was a white woman. She was tall. She wore many layers of clothing.”

  “You’re a security guard at the golf club and deal with the people who live there,” Kennicott said. “Ever seen this woman before?”

  “Never.”

  Roshan described for Kennicott how the woman examined the dead body, then looked at his leg and bound it with some tree branches before she climbed out of the valley.

  “She had a cell phone,” he said. “She told me that she was going to get me help.”

  Kennicott nodded. A homeless person with a cell phone, who seemed to know the basics of first aid, if not more. Who was she?

  “Can you tell me anything else about this woman?” he asked.

  Babita walked back in the room, holding the second baby, and took her seat again. Sheppard was still holding Obax, who seemed very comfortable in her arms.

  “She wore an overcoat that she put over me to keep me warm,” Roshan said. “When I tried to give it back to her, she said, ‘Keep it for your wife.’ ” He looked at his wife. “Babita, please show Detective Kennicott.”

  Babita stood and Kennicott noticed that a long overcoat was draped over the back of her chair. She handed it to Kennicott. It was dirty, but he could see it was beautifully designed. He looked at the label. It was a Max Mara cashmere coat. Kennicott’s former girlfriend was a fashion model, and she’d done a number of photo shoots for the company. He knew how expensive this coat would have been.

  “Detective,” Babita asked him, “why would someone with such a costly overcoat and a cell phone be living this way?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  The coat had many pockets. He slid his hand into the outside ones. Nothing. Then the inside ones. Nothing. But wait, there was a hidden little pocket down near the hem. He reached in and pulled out a business card with the letterhead of a well-known law firm on it and the name Melissa Copeland, Barrister & Solicitor written in bold letters.

  Kennicott turned it over. A phone number was written on the back in black ink.

  He handed the coat back to Babita.

  “Enjoy it,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  Without Roshan or Babita seeing, he slipped the business card in his pocket. He knew the number well. It belonged to Ari Greene.

  12

  “Oyez, oyez, oyez,” the court clerk said, her voice ringing out in the near-empty courtroom. “All rise, the Honourable Justice Tator presiding.”

  The clerk sat as Tator strode from a door behind the bench and raced up to her seat on the raised dais. She was a thin, fit woman, with strong arms that she spread out as if she were stretching in a gym class, before she opened her court book, picked up a pen, wrote something in it, looked up, and scanned the courtroom.

  It was a wide, windowless room lit by dull fluorescent light. There was nothing on the pallid beige walls except for printed-out sheets with the next four calendar months that were messily taped to the wall to the left of the witness box.

  The seats in the body of the court were hard, functional wooden benches. The only people in attendance were the court staff, an elderly attendant dressed in uniform stationed by the door, Parish, Melissa, and Fernandez standing behind the counsel tables, and a pair of young people in the back row with clipboards taking notes. They looked like college students doing an assignment.

  Tator scowled. “Good morning, Ms. Parish, Mr. Fernandez.”

  “Good morning, Your Honour,” Parish said.

  “Your Honour,” Fernandez said.

  Tator grabbed the court docket from her desk, glanced at it, tossed it down, and stared down at Parish, her eyebrows arched.

  “Ms. Parish, your matter is the only one on my docket. Are we having a trial today or is this being resolved in some other way?”

  Parish knew the question was judge-speak meaning: What the hell is going on? Are you really going to have a trial about this? A mere breach of bail conditions? She was a busy judge with serious trial matters to deal with.

  But Tator was wily. She knew that even though her voice was full of sarcasm, none of this would come through on the court transcript, which would read as her being an even-handed and reasonable jurist.

  Parish stiffened her back. It was important to look strong in Tator’s court or she’d run right over you.

  “Thank you very much, Your Honour. Yes, we are here for trial.”

  Tator gave a slow nod. She looked over at Melissa, who was still standing at Parish’s side. “Tell your client to be seated,” she said. Then to Fernandez, “Mr. Fernandez, call your first witness.”

  “
The Crown calls Doctor Rebecca Ennis.”

  Doctor, Parish thought.

  Fernandez could have simply referred to Ennis by her full name: “The Crown calls Rebecca Ennis.” Instead he’d made sure that Doctor was the first word that Tator heard about his first witness. It was a signal to her about how credible Doctor Ennis would be. And what a waste of time it was to have her appear in person in court.

  Tator looked at Parish and frowned.

  Damn.

  Fernandez turned to the court attendant by the door and nodded. The attendant nodded back, and opened the door.

  Ennis walked in, looking tentative. For most people, their only image of what a courtroom looked like came from TV and movies, where the courtrooms were big and luxurious and packed with spectators. It was disorienting for them to enter this ugly, utilitarian room.

  “Doctor,” Tator said, breaking out into her first smile of the morning. “Step right up beside me to the witness box here, to my left, your right.”

  Doctor, Parish thought. Great.

  Ennis looked to be in her mid- to late forties. She wore a crisp white shirt under a modest sport jacket. She stood in the witness box and scanned the courtroom. Parish watched her carefully. As she suspected, Ennis looked everywhere but at Melissa.

  The woman is embarrassed to be here, Parish thought. Uncomfortable.

  “Good morning, Doctor Ennis,” Fernandez said, after rising to his feet and making eye contact with her.

  “Good morning,” Ennis said, looking relieved to have someone to talk to.

  Doctor, doctor, doctor, Parish thought.

  Fernandez was an efficient advocate. He quickly established Ennis’s qualifications and her address.

  “Now, Doctor, do you know a woman named Ms. Melissa Copeland?”

  Ennis bit her lip. “Yes, I do.”

  “And Doctor, do you see that person in the court today?”

  She stole a glance at Melissa. “Yes, I do,” she said again.

  “Could you point her out, please?”

  She flicked her finger at Melissa.

  “Indicating the accused, for the record,” Fernandez said.

  The rest of his examination was standard examination-in-chief by an experienced prosecutor who knew how to get a witness’s story out efficiently: How did the doctor know Melissa? They’d been neighbours for about ten years, until Melissa left the neighbourhood. How did Ennis know about Melissa’s bail conditions? The police had informed her and her neighbours, who all lived four blocks away from the Hodgson home. How often had she seen Melissa walk on her front lawn? Three days in a row until finally she felt compelled to call the police.

  “Are you certain the person you saw was the accused?”

  She nodded, with a sad look on her face. “It was Melissa. Even though she wore different clothes every time. We used to take our daughters to Gymboree classes together. Sometimes we’d go for coffee while the girls played. One winter my husband and I built a skating rink in our backyard, and Melissa would bring Britt over on the weekends if she wasn’t working.”

  This was why it was usually better for the defence to work out an agreed statement of facts with the prosecutor before a trial if the evidence was uncontested, to avoid having a witness such as Ennis take the stand. Not only did it anger a judge that you were wasting court time and dragging a law-abiding citizen into court unnecessarily, but when people testified in court, they were more compelling than dry words on the page. Inevitably, just as Doctor Ennis was doing now, the witness remembered more detail than when interviewed by a police officer.

  “Thank you,” Fernandez said. “Those are my questions.” He turned from the witness stand, caught Parish’s eye, and gave her a little tilt of the head, his way of saying, “Well, you asked for it.”

  Ennis looked at the judge, confused. “Am I done?”

  “I’m afraid not, Doctor Ennis.” Tator turned her head to ensure the doctor couldn’t see the sour look on her face as she faced Parish. “The defence lawyer may have some questions for you.”

  Parish stood. She avoided the judge’s eyes, instead looking directly at Ennis, who seemed to steady herself, as if she was expecting some kind of assault. The other thing people saw all the time on TV and in the movies was defence lawyers who berated witnesses, harshly cross-examining them about the minutest details.

  Parish knew that would have been the worst possible approach with such a credible witness. The key was to acknowledge, and indeed celebrate, her honesty, not to question it.

  She smiled. “Doctor, I understand you are anxious to get back to work.”

  “I am.”

  “You have patients at your clinic who are waiting for you.”

  “Yes, I’ve rebooked people, and I’ll work tonight.”

  “Thank you for coming to court. This won’t take long. I’ve only got a few questions.”

  “Okay,” Ennis said. Relaxing.

  “Melissa and you were neighbours for years.” Parish put her hands on Melissa’s shoulder. She intentionally referred to Melissa by her first name. Make the witness feel they were having a conversation about a mutual friend.

  “That’s right.”

  “You yourself never had any problems or conflict with her, did you?”

  “Me? With Melissa? No.” Ennis looked relieved to be able to say something positive about her former neighbour. “Well, sometimes Melissa got stuck at work,” Ennis added, still sounding nervous. “Then I’d pick up Britt and take her if Karl, her husband, wasn’t available.”

  “Normal parenting stuff, correct?”

  “Yes, normal.”

  “And you’re still friends with her ex-husband, correct?”

  “I wouldn’t say friends, but we know each other. It’s a tight-knit neighbourhood.” She was starting to sound wary.

  “Can we agree you were normal friendly neighbours?”

  “That’s right.”

  “In other words, you are totally neutral about this matter. You’re not taking sides.”

  “Absolutely not,” she said, shaking her head.

  “You are here for one reason, and only one reason. To tell us exactly what you observed the three times you say you saw Melissa walk across your lawn.”

  “Yes, and it was Melissa.” She was starting to sound defiant. Exactly what Parish wanted.

  “You saw her clearly all three times.”

  “Yes, I did. She was right in front of the window.”

  Parish glanced up at the judge. Tator looked surprised that Parish seemed to be conceding what she assumed was the key point of the defence—the identity of the woman walking across her neighbours’ lawns.

  Parish was still standing behind her desk. She pulled out three sheets of paper, walked over to Fernandez’s desk and dropped one in front of him, and then went up and gave another copy to the court clerk, who gave it to the judge. She approached the witness box with the third and last copy in her hand.

  “Doctor,” she said in a soft voice, “I went on Google Maps this morning and printed out a photo of what I believe is the front of your house. Can you look at this, please.”

  “Sure.” She took the photo.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Parish could see Tator looking closely at the photograph she’d been handed.

  “This is our house,” Ennis said.

  Parish put her arm on the edge of the witness box as if she were leaning on the fence of a friendly neighbour, about to have a casual conversation. “You’ll agree with me that at the bottom of the photo we can see your street, above that the sidewalk, and above that your front lawn and then your house and front window you were looking out of.”

  Ennis nodded.

  “Excuse me, Doctor,” Parish said. It was her turn to play the doctor card. “You will need to say the words yes or no for the court record.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Yes. Yes, it’s our house.”

  “Can you do me a favour then?” Parish asked, pulling out a red marker and uncapping it. “
Please mark with an X where you saw Melissa walking in front of your house and the path she took.”

  “Sure,” Ennis said, happy to do such an easy task. She took the marker and put an X mark in the middle of the lawn and drew dotted lines going across it parallel to the sidewalk.

  Parish took the photo and examined it. “And did Melissa walk on the same part of your lawn each time?”

  “She did. The same way all three times.”

  Parish took the marker and marked-up photograph back and walked over to show it to Fernandez. She could tell by the look on his face that he’d figured out what she was doing. He glanced at it, frowned, and said, “Thanks.” She took it back to the clerk, who passed it up to Tator.

  Parish watched her study the photo for a minute with a quizzical look on her face. Parish could tell that, unlike Fernandez, Tator didn’t get it.

  “Proceed, Counsel,” Tator barked. “This witness has sick people waiting for her.”

  Parish smiled at the judge and turned to the witness stand.

  “Doctor, you’ll agree with me, your front lawn is quite large.”

  “Yes. Our house is set back twenty-five yards from the street.”

  “You saw Melissa walk across the middle of your lawn, as you’ve indicated here on this photo. Three times.” Parish was using her kindest voice.

  “Yes.”

  “You never saw Melissa set foot on the street itself, did you?”

  “Absolutely not.” The doctor let herself smile and stole a glance at Melissa.

  “You never saw her set foot on the sidewalk, did you?”

  “No. I never saw Melissa walk anywhere but across our lawn. I’m one hundred per cent sure of that.”

  Parish turned from the witness and now it was her turn to catch Fernandez’s eye. He put his head in his hand and nodded ever so slightly.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said, adding her own emphasis to the word, “those are my questions.”

  Parish took her seat before she looked up at Tator. But the judge already had her head down reading through the court documents. Her focus would be on the key line in the charge, that Melissa had breached her bail by being “on the street…”

  Tator glared up at Parish. But Parish could see she was also thinking, I get it. Clever.