Bear Bones

by Charles Cutter

  “No one had been there.”

  “Please answer the question.”

  Brooks stood. “Objection. This is irrelevant.”

  Burr was going to keep going until Brooks objected, but he didn’t think Brooks would object so soon.

  “Sheriff Harris, please answer the question,” Judge Fisher said.

  “I suppose someone could have been there.”

  “Sheriff, how long was it from the time you learned about the body until you reached the crime scene?”

  “Not very long.”

  “That is not an answer.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Let me help you. You would have to get your equipment. You would have to get your deputies. You would have to launch your boat and take it out to the island. Once you got to the island, you’d have to walk to the crime scene. Since you don’t remember, I’d say that would take the better part of a day.”

  “Four hours, no more.” The sheriff started to hitch his belt. He looked up at Burr, then stopped.

  “So, there was a known crime scene left unguarded for at least four hours.”

  “No.”

  “Was anyone from the sheriff’s department guarding it?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ask the Park Service to watch over it?”

  “It wasn’t necessary.”

  Brooks jumped up again.

  “Sit down, Mr. Brooks,” Judge Fisher said.

  Brooks sat.

  “Are you quite through, Mr. Lafayette?” she said.

  Burr wasn’t about to let the tubby sheriff off the hook. He hadn’t forgotten the night he’d spent in the Leelanau County Jail.

  “Not quite, Your Honor.”

  Burr looked at the sheriff. “You didn’t ask anyone from the Park Service to watch the body until you got there and, in fact, when you got there, there was no one guarding the body. Is that right?”

  The sheriff looked past Burr to Brooks. Then, “It really…”

  Burr raised his hand. “Yes or no. That’s all.”

  The sheriff turned redder than Brooks had. “Yes.”

  “Yes, you didn’t ask anyone from the Park Service to guard the site and, yes, no one was guarding the site when you got there.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Brooks said. “Asked and answered.”

  “Your Honor, I am just asking for a yes or no.”

  “Answer the question, sheriff.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, sheriff.” Burr started back to the defense table. The sheriff hauled himself to his feet. Burr turned around. “One more thing….”

  Sheriff Harris, clearly flummoxed, plopped back down in his chair.

  “Did the coroner come out to South Manitou to examine the body?”

  “No.”

  “No? Isn’t it customary for the coroner to come to the crime scene before performing an autopsy?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Sometimes? Why not this time?”

  “We didn’t think it was necessary.”

  “Why is that?”

  “We’d done all that was necessary at the crime scene.”

  “Was anyone at the crime scene a doctor?”

  “No.”

  “So, you didn’t think it was necessary. Was it because Dr. Murray is too old?”

  “Objection,” Brooks said. “Sheriff Harris has been in office for over twenty years. His judgment is beyond reproach.”

  Burr walked up to Judge Fisher. He was just above eye level with her rostrum and her gavel.

  It could be dangerous standing so close to that gavel of hers.

  He pressed on. “Your Honor, the reason this is all so important is that it is impossible for my client to receive a fair trial with all of the evidence so corrupted.”

  “It’s not corrupted,” Brooks said.

  Burr looked over at Brooks. “Oh, but it is.” Then, to Judge Fisher. “Your Honor, I move for a mistrial.”

  Judge Fisher looked down her nose at Burr. “Counsel, you are everything I feared and more. Motion denied.”

  Burr made a point of looking outraged, but he knew he didn’t have a chance at a mistrial. Not yet, anyway.

  It’s good to plant a seed. And I’ve made Brooks pay for not starting with the coroner.

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Brooks called Claude Murray, M.D., the coroner.

  I wish Brooks had started with Murray.

  Burr watched the ancient man shuffle to the witness stand. The bailiff swore him in.

  Brooks led the doctor through his qualifications and his service, neither of which Burr intended to question.

  “Dr. Murray,” Brooks said, “were you able to identify the body?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who was it?”

  “Helen Lockwood.”

  “How did you identify it?”

  “The body was badly decomposed. I used dental records.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Murray. And what was the cause of death?”

  “Death by gunshot. There was a bullet hole in her forehead.”

  “Where in the forehead?”

  “Right in the middle.”

  Burr watched the jury cringe.

  Brooks continued, “Can you tell how far the gun was from her head when it was fired?”

  “Not more than ten feet. More like four, I’d say.”

  “Did the bullet come out the back of the deceased’s head?”

  “No, the bullet lodged in her skull. There was no exit wound.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “No. It was a 380 Auto, so it wasn’t terribly powerful.”

  “Were there any other wounds or signs of a struggle?”

  “No.”

  “Would you say that it is likely that Mrs. Lockwood knew her killer?”

  “She certainly could have.”

  “I have no further questions.”

  Burr let his breath out.

  This good doctor is remarkably coherent for a man his age. For any age. I must tread lightly.

  He walked up to the coroner.

  “Dr. Murray, you testified that the body was badly decomposed. Is it possible that there could have been other wounds, bruises or scratches that would have been gone by the time the body was discovered?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, it’s possible that Mrs. Lockwood fought with her attacker. She could have been beaten, even tied up. Then shot, then carried to a grave, untied and buried.”

  “That is possible.”

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

  Judge Fisher recessed for lunch. Lauren led them all – Burr, Jacob, Eve, Tommy and Karen – to Stacy’s, a diner in a storefront on East Front Street. The only waitress was an older woman named Julie who called everyone either Fatso or Slim in a thick Greek accent. Burr was delighted that she called him Slim.

  No one was particularly hungry except Burr, who always had a ferocious appetite when he was in trial. He ordered a cheeseburger and fries. Julie brought him the de rigueur Traverse City cherry pie.

  “On the house,” she said.

  Burr asked for the check. She handed it to him and told him to take his money to the cash register and make his own change.

  “Don’t you get shortchanged?”

  “If I get shortchanged, my customers will have to answer to God,” she said.

  If only my life could be like that.

  * * *

  After lunch, Judge Fisher called them to order. Burr wasn’t surprised when Brooks called Deputy Glen Holcomb, the gangly deputy with the underage mustache and clear blue eyes who’d done his best to keep Burr from the body on
the beach.

  “Deputy Holcomb, you do the diving for the Leelanau County Sheriff’s Department. Is that right?”

  Holcomb sat up, ramrod straight. “Yes, sir.”

  Deputy Glen’s a one-man band. The sheriff’s department really must be broke.

  “And you’re a certified scuba diver.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you, deputy.” Brooks walked back to his table and picked up a sealed plastic bag. He returned to the witness stand, opened it, and took out a small pistol with a short barrel and a black handle.

  Here it comes.

  “Deputy Holcomb, do you recognize this pistol?”

  “Yes, it’s the one I found in the harbor at South Manitou.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I can tell from the splotches of rust on the barrel.”

  Brooks handed the pistol to Holcomb. “Please examine it. Just to be sure.”

  “Stop right there,” Judge Fisher said. “How do we know that the gun is unloaded.”

  “I checked it myself,” Brooks said.

  “Bailiff, take the gun and make sure it’s unloaded. And don’t point it at anyone.”

  The bailiff waddled over to Holcomb and took the gun. Then he pointed it at the floor and made sure there was no clip in the pistol. He checked the chamber, also empty. When he snapped the action back into place, everyone in the courtroom, jury included, jumped in their seats.

  That didn’t help.

  The bailiff handed the gun back to Brooks, who passed it back to Holcomb.

  “Deputy,” Brooks said, delighted with what had just occurred, “is this the gun you found in the harbor at South Manitou?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell us how and when you found it.”

  Holcomb sat up even straighter, if that was possible. “After Mrs. Lockwood’s body was found, the chief had us look all over for the murder weapon. We couldn’t find it anywhere, so he told me to get my gear and dive in the harbor. The ferry captain gave me an idea of where Achilles had been anchored, so I got a helper and went to looking.”

  “And what did you find?”

  The gun. Obviously.

  “Nothing. Couldn’t find a thing. The water is clear as a bell there, but anything like a gun or anything like it would have settled in the sand, especially after a year.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I kept on looking. It wasn’t deep. No more than ten feet. I tried raking. That didn’t produce nothing. So, I got the bright idea to get a metal detector which takes some doin’ on account of it had to be the kind that worked underwater.”

  Brooks nodded.

  Deputy Holcomb continued. “Well, I finally got her rigged up and then, whammo, I found this thing right away.”

  “What is it?”

  “A 380 Auto. The one used to kill Mrs. Lockwood.”

  “Objection,” Burr said. “That has not been established.”

  “It’s about to be,” Holcomb said.

  Judge Fisher looked down at Holcomb. “Deputy, Mr. Lafayette’s objection was not for you to reply to.”

  Holcomb lost his ramrod posture and looked like a puppy who’d just been caught with his mistress’ shoe. “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “Counsel, you are quite right, if only for the next few minutes.” Then to the jury, “Ladies and gentlemen, disregard Deputy Holcomb’s statement that the pistol was used to kill the deceased.” The jury gave the judge a collective nod.

  Brooks cleared his throat. “Deputy Holcomb, was this the pistol you found in the harbor at South Manitou near the area where the ferry captain told you that the deceased’s boat had been anchored on or about the time she disappeared?”

  “Yes,” Deputy Holcomb said. Ramrod straight again.

  “Thank you.” Brooks took the pistol back and pivoted to the judge. “Your Honor, the prosecution would like to introduce this pistol as People’s Exhibit Two.”

  “Mr. Lafayette?” Judge Fisher said.

  Burr had examined the pistol prior to the trial and didn’t want to make any more of it than he needed to. “I have no objection, Your Honor.”

  Judge Fisher smiled at him. “Bailiff, mark this pistol as People’s Exhibit Two.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I have no further questions.”

  Burr didn’t really have any questions, but he thought he should try to muddy the waters a bit, so to speak.

  Standing in front of Deputy Holcomb, Burr said, “Deputy, you testified that you found the pistol in the harbor at South Manitou earlier this summer. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But you have no way of knowing when or how it got there, do you,” Burr said, not asking.

  “It got thrown over the side after she was killed.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “That’s what I’d a done.”

  “Deputy, you testified that you found the pistol at the bottom of Lake Michigan. For all you know, it could have been there for five years or dropped in the day before you got there.”

  “There was rust on it.”

  “It could have had rust on it when it was dropped in the lake.”

  Deputy Holcomb squirmed in his chair and lost his good posture. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

  “The point is, you found the pistol, but you have no way of knowing how long it had been there or who put it there. Do you?” Burr said, the furthest thing from a question.

  “No, no. I guess not.”

  “No further questions.”

  Burr sat down at his table. Tommy whispered to him. “Aren’t they going to show that it was the murder weapon?”

  “That’s next.”

  “Does it matter what you just did?”

  “Of course, it does. I’m going to make Brooks fight for every inch. When he gets tired or sloppy, that’s how we win.”

  “I’m not sure I can take all this.”

  “Neither can Brooks.”

  The prosecutor called Boyd Wilcox, a sergeant with the Michigan State Police Crime Lab in East Lansing. Burr knew him all too well. The sergeant was short and thick and had a flat top you could land an airplane on. His wire-rimmed glasses pressed so tightly against his face, Burr thought it would take pliers to peel them off. Wilcox had testified in another of Burr’s criminal cases. His evidence had almost gotten Burr’s client convicted.

  But what really confounded Burr was the sergeant’s voice. He squeaked like a chipmunk.

  Brooks read through the litany of Wilcox’s credentials.

  “Yes, those are my credentials,” Wilcox squeaked.

  “Thank you, sergeant.” Brooks walked back to his table and picked up a sandwich-size plastic bag. He handed it to Wilcox. “Sergeant, are you familiar with the contents of this bag?”

  Wilcox held it up to the light, turned it over in his hand, and passed it back to Brooks. “This is the bullet delivered to me by the sheriff’s office. It was the bullet that killed the deceased.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “According to the autopsy, the coroner removed a bullet from the skull of the deceased. He delivered the bullet to the sheriff’s office, who then delivered it to me.”

  So much for arguing about the evidentiary chain.

  “Thank you, sergeant.” Brooks looked up at Judge Fisher. “Your Honor, the people would like to introduce this bullet into evidence as People’s Exhibit Number Three.”

  “Mr. Lafayette?”

  “No objection, Your Honor.” Burr thought it smart of Brooks to introduce the gun first, then the bullet, even though he could have had the bullet admitted when the coroner testified. Guns are always more impressive.

  The judge admitted the bullet.

  “Sergeant Wilcox, when you examined the bullet al
ong with the handgun, what did you find?”

  The sergeant cleared his throat, then squeaked, “I found that the bullet had been fired from the handgun.”

  Brooks paused and walked over to the evidence table. He picked up the bag with the bullet and the pistol. “Sergeant, you found that the bullet that killed Mrs. Lockwood was fired from this gun?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So, this gun is the murder weapon.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Without a doubt.”

  “Thank you, sergeant.” Brooks walked back to his table.

  Burr stood and walked up to Wilcox. The two of them had sparred before. Burr didn’t like Wilcox, and the feeling was mutual. Wilcox pushed his glasses back into his face.

  If he pushes them back any further, they’ll have to be surgically removed.

  Burr did his best to look at Wilcox, but it was painful. “Sergeant Wilcox, you testified that the pistol introduced into evidence is, in fact, the murder weapon. Is that right?”

  “Yes,” said the sergeant, knowingly.

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Burr walked over to the evidence table and picked up the pistol. He showed it to Wilcox. “This is the murder weapon?”

  Brooks stood. “Objection, Your Honor. Asked and answered.”

  Judge Fisher sighed. “I’m so tired of all of these theatrics.” Another sigh. “I’ll allow the question. But Mr. Lafayette, please get to the point.”

  He nodded at the judge. “Yes, Your Honor.” Burr was getting there, but he had a point to make and wanted it set up for a big payoff. He took the pistol up to Wilcox, making sure the jury could see it, too. “As I was saying…” Burr looked back at Brooks, then at Wilcox, “Sergeant, this is the murder weapon, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, sergeant. So, it’s true that you know what killed Helen Lockwood. It was this pistol.” Burr paused. “But you don’t know who fired the pistol.”

  The gruff state policeman with the chipmunk voice sat there. He didn’t say a word. Not a word.

  “Do you?” Burr said. “Do you know who shot Helen Lockwood?”

  “The pistol was registered to the defendant.”