The Letter Of The Law

by Tim Green

  "You've done this a lot, haven't you, Sergeant?" Casey began.

  "What would 'this' be?" Bolinger wanted to know. He wasn't going to make it easy.

  "This," Casey said, spreading her arms to encompass the entire courtroom, "testifying in a case, being cross-examined by a defense attorney."

  "Yes, I have."

  "And you don't like it, do you, Sergeant?" she said.

  "It's all right," he replied.

  "You don't like having your work questioned by someone like me, though, do you?"

  "No, I don't think anyone likes to have their work questioned."

  "You don't like it when an attorney points out all the things you've done wrong, do you?"

  "I haven't done anything wrong," Bolinger said, bristling a little.

  "No?" Casey said, arching her eyebrow and giving the jury a knowing look. "But we all make mistakes, don't we, Sergeant? I know I do from time to time. You're not telling us you're perfect, are you, Sergeant?"

  "No. I'm not."

  "Because you make mistakes, isn't that right?"

  "I suppose," Bolinger said sullenly. "Like everyone else."

  "Yes, that's what I said, like everyone else," Casey said with a pleasant smile. "You make mistakes and you don't like to have them pointed out… You made a lot of mistakes in this case, didn't you, Sergeant?"

  "No," Bolinger scoffed. "No, I didn't."

  "No?" Casey asked.

  "No," he replied firmly.

  "But isn't it true that Mr. Sales was at the crime scene, Sergeant?"

  "Yes. What's that got to do with it?" he demanded.

  Casey smiled sweetly at Bolinger, then said to the judge, "Your Honor, I would appreciate it if you'd help me to remind Detective Bolinger that I am the attorney and he is the witness."

  "Please just answer the questions," Rawlins said to the cop.

  "Thank you, Your Honor," Casey said cheerfully. When she turned to Bolinger, her face clouded over with intensity and disgust.

  "Mr. Sales was violent at the scene, isn't that true?"

  "Yes."

  "He resisted arrest. He screamed. He fought. In fact, he had to be Maced and blackjacked and handcuffed before he could be brought to bay, isn't that true?"

  "Yeah," Bolinger said, apparently bored.

  "He was in a highly emotional state?"

  "Yes. He was."

  "And he was a suspect at that time, wasn't he?"

  "Everyone was a suspect at that time," Bolinger said disdainfully. "At that time we had no clue as to who killed the girl. You were a suspect at that time, Ms. Jordan."

  Casey looked to the judge.

  "Detective…," Rawlins said in a warning tone.

  "So," Casey said after the appropriate pause, "Mr. Sales was in a highly emotional state. He was violent, and at that time, he was your best suspect."

  "I don't know about-"

  "He was your best suspect at the time!" Casey cried. "Come on, Detective. Let's not play games with the jury. At that time, he was your best suspect, wasn't he?"

  "Maybe at that time. He was the first person connected with her on the scene."

  "Yes, he was. And so then you took him into the police station, didn't you?"

  "Yes, to talk."

  "Did you handcuff him?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you chain him to the floor?"

  "That's standard procedure."

  "So you chained him to the floor, didn't you?"

  "Yeah," Bolinger said wearily.

  Casey now marched back to her table and lifted a stack of papers in front of Patti Dunleavy, who was looking on with widened eyes. "But in all these police reports, I see that in all your investigation, your thorough investigation, that Mr. Sales's clothes were not checked for blood, were they?"

  "I could see that he didn't have blood on him," Bolinger said irately. "I have eyes."

  "You could see?"

  "Yes."

  "Detective, you know as well as I do that oftentimes blood is present that cannot be seen, isn't that true?"

  "It's possible," he said after a pause.

  "Yes, and you certainly examined my client's clothes in a lab, didn't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And you found no blood on my client's clothes, did you, Detective?"

  "No, not on his clothes. Just on her underwear."

  "Your Honor!" Casey bellowed in disgust.

  "Detective." Rawlins glared. "If you do anything but answer Ms. Jordan 's questions, I can have you locked up for contempt and I'll do it. Do I make myself clear?"

  "Yes," Bolinger muttered.

  "The jury is to disregard the detective's remark," Rawlins said. "It will be struck from the record."

  Casey took a deep breath and huffed out through her nose. Bolinger had broken her momentum, exactly what he wanted to do.

  "You've been a police officer how long, Detective?" she asked.

  "Twenty-seven years."

  "And in your experience, how many times did you fail to examine the clothes of a murder suspect?"

  "I can't examine someone's clothes without a warrant," Bolinger said craftily.

  "But, Detective, you searched Mr. Sales's home and his vehicle, isn't that true?"

  "Yes."

  "Because he let you. He signed a consent waiver, isn't that true, too?"

  "Yes."

  "But you never asked to examine his clothes, isn't that right?"

  "Correct."

  "And you never took nail clippings from Mr. Sales, isn't that true as well?"

  "Yes."

  "Because you made a decision that day that Mr. Sales wasn't the killer, isn't that right, Sergeant Bolinger?"

  "Yes," he said defiantly. "I had a gut feeling that he wasn't the killer."

  "So, acting on that gut feeling, you neglected your duty as an investigating officer, didn't you?"

  "I never neglected my duty," Bolinger growled.

  "Isn't your duty to be thorough?"

  "Yes."

  "But you made a final judgment on who was innocent and who was guilty, didn't you?"

  "I guess I did," Bolinger said, again defiant.

  "But isn't your job to collect the evidence, Detective?"

  "Yes, that's my job."

  "In fact, it is the jury's job to interpret the evidence, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, it is. And the jury doesn't know if Mr. Sales had blood underneath his fingernails, do they?"

  "No."

  "And the jury doesn't know if there were traces of blood on Mr. Sales's clothes, do they?"

  "No."

  "No, they don't because you didn't do your job!" Casey roared. "You made yourself the jury, didn't you, Detective?"

  "No, that's ridiculous."

  "What's ridiculous," Casey said, at a boil, "is that you made a decision not to gather all the evidence from your best suspect at the time, and now I have to live with that, my client has to live with that, and this jury has to live with that!"

  "Objection, Your Honor," Hopewood complained. "Counsel is simply badgering the witness."

  "Sustained," Rawlins said. "Are those all the questions you have for the witness, Ms. Jordan?"

  Casey didn't answer. She went back to her table and her notes. She wanted the jury to absorb what she'd just done. She wanted them to consider the detective figuratively lying on the floor, gasping for air, before she stepped on his neck. She couldn't help the surge of pride she felt when Lipton looked at her with admiration. He nearly smiled.

  "I'm sorry, Your Honor," she said, turning back suddenly. "I have a few more questions for the detective."

  "Then go on," Rawlins told her.

  Casey approached the jury and saw that they were right there with her, following her every move. When she had joined them in front of their box, she smiled grimly at them before turning back toward Bolinger. In a clear voice she said, "We've heard the evidence you have against Professor Lipton, Sergeant. But we haven't heard about the evidence yo
u don't have. I'd like to ask you about that…"

  Bolinger glared at her with a malicious frown.

  "You don't have any of my client's fingerprints at the scene of the crime, do you, Detective?"

  "No."

  "And you don't have the weapon used to commit the crime against Miss Sales, with my client's fingerprints on it, do you?"

  "No, we don't," Bolinger said stoically.

  "You haven't even found the weapon, have you?"

  "No."

  "In fact, you don't have any physical evidence linking my client to the scene of the crime, do you?"

  "He was there," Bolinger said triumphantly. "He hit that woman's car when he was racing to get away."

  "Oh, he was there," Casey said, moving toward the witness now. "That's true. He went there for a consensual tryst, saw the girl's body, and fled in an extremely disturbed state of mind. But what I'm saying is, you don't know for a fact if he was inside that living room where the crime was committed, do you?"

  Bolinger hesitated, looked at Rawlins, then said, "No, not for a fact."

  "Because there wasn't one shred of physical evidence to prove that he was in there, isn't that true?"

  "He didn't leave anything in the living room," Bolinger cunningly replied, glancing furtively at Rawlins to see if he had incurred any more wrath.

  "In fact, you don't even have a motive, do you, Detective?" Casey continued without pause. "You never, in everything you told us today, told the jury why Professor Lipton would want to kill Miss Sales, did you?"

  "No, but I don't always know the motive of people's crimes," he said.

  "But in your experience as a policeman, isn't it true that most people commit crimes for a reason?"

  "Sometimes, I guess mostly they do, yes."

  "Robbers rob for the money, don't they?"

  "Yes."

  "Yes, and most people who are killed are killed for a reason, like jealousy or revenge or unrequited love, isn't that true?"

  "Yes, I suppose."

  "But none of those applies to Professor Lipton," Casey said incredulously. "He had no reason to harm Miss Sales in any way, did he?"

  "I don't know."

  "Well, you haven't been able to find any reason in your year-long investigation of this case, have you?"

  "No," Bolinger said defiantly.

  "Detective, I'm sorry, but you just told us you have no fingerprints, no weapon, and no other solid evidence linking my client to the exact scene of the crime. You haven't given us any explanation as to why my client would have committed the crime. And, by your own admission, we know you conducted a sloppy, erroneous investigation, allowing potentially vital information to go uncollected because in your judgment, Mr. Sales wasn't the killer. With that set of facts, can you tell me what the hell we're even doing here?"

  "Objection!" Hopewood roared.

  "Sustained!" Rawlins said with a rap of his gavel.

  "I have nothing more for this man, Your Honor," Casey said with disgust.

  Rawlins called an adjournment for lunch. Casey had no appetite. Sales was next.

  CHAPTER 13

  Like many people Casey had seen, Donald Sales, while imposing and impressive in everyday life, was ill at ease on the witness stand. She liked it that way.

  "Please tell us, Mr. Sales," Hopewood began after laying a foundation explaining to the jury that Sales was the victim's father, "the nature of your daughter's relationship with Professor Lipton."

  "Objection!" Casey roared, jumping to her feet. "Calls for the witness to speculate on state of mind."

  Rawlins twisted his mouth and sighed. "Sustained."

  "Let me rephrase the question," Hopewood said patiently. "Please tell us what your daughter told you about the nature of her relationship with Professor Lipton."

  "She was scared to death of him, she-"

  "Objection! Hearsay, Your Honor! The witness has no idea what the actual emotional state of his daughter was." Casey knew it was a minor technicality, but she wanted to badger Sales as much as she could within the confines of the law.

  Rawlins pursed his lips but told Sales, "Please limit your testimony to the things she said to you, Mr. Sales. Although, as a father, I'm sure you think you know how your daughter felt, it's not legally acceptable for you to speculate in that way."

  "She told me she was scared to death of him," Sales said, staring hatefully at Casey as he did so.

  "Objection! Hearsay!" Casey barked as she stood.

  "Now," Rawlins said, pointing his gavel at Casey, "that's enough, Ms. Jordan."

  "It's hearsay, Your Honor," she said stubbornly.

  "It is allowable hearsay under the state-of-mind exception to the rule, as you damn well know, young lady!" Rawlins bawled. "Now sit down!"

  "But her fear is irrelevant!" Casey protested. She knew better than to back down to any judge. Rawlins might despise her personally, but she would be damned if he wasn't going to respect her.

  "I'm allowing it." Rawlins scowled. "Overruled!"

  "She told me he gave her the creeps," Sales added defiantly.

  "Did your daughter at any time indicate to you that she had any kind of relationship with Professor Lipton beyond the normal student-teacher relationship?" Hopewood asked.

  "Objection, hearsay," Casey said.

  "Overruled."

  "No," Sales scoffed.

  "Did your daughter say why she was afraid of Professor Lipton?" Hopewood asked.

  "She thought he-"

  "Objection!"

  "Overruled," Rawlins said tiredly. "The jury has the right to know what gave rise to the girl's state of mind."

  "She told me the way he looked at her made her uncomfortable and that when she had gone to see him for something about the class that he asked her out and talked to her in a way that was inappropriate, that he alluded to sexual things…"

  Hopewood paused and looked knowingly at the jury before saying, "Did you talk to your daughter on the day she was killed?"

  "I did."

  "And can you tell us about that conversation?"

  "We were supposed to have dinner together that night. I was going to pick her up-"

  "Objection, the witness is not responding to the question," Casey said.

  "Overruled."

  Sales continued, "She said she was going to study all day for her final in a criminal law class."

  "Professor Lipton's class?"

  "Objection, Your Honor," Casey cried. "The class she was studying for is totally irrelevant."

  "Overruled."

  "Yes, it was his class… She asked me"-Sales stopped choked on his words, then mastered his emotions and continued-"she asked me to take a look around the house before I came in."

  "Objection!" Casey practically howled.

  "Overruled."

  "She said she felt like someone had been watching her through the windows sometimes and that the neighbor's dog had been barking the past few nights and that it never did that unless someone was around. She-"

  "Objection."

  "Overruled."

  "She told me she'd feel safer if I looked around…"

  Sales's face was contorted now in pain. His eyes welled with tears, but none spilled down his face. He kept his chin held high but avoided looking at the jury. Casey knew it was a good move by Hopewood to put him up there. But then, Hopewood probably didn't know what she had coming.

  "But when I got there, the police were already there… and I saw her…" Sales dropped his face into his hands. His broad shoulders shook quietly.

  "He killed her," Sales sobbed. "He killed her."

  Casey quickly assessed the jury. She could see that they felt his pain. She knew better than to object now.

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Sales," Hopewood said compassionately. "That's all."

  "Do you wish to cross-examine the witness, Ms. Jordan?" Rawlins said with as much distaste as he could muster.

  "I do," Casey said. She sat waiting patiently for the emotions in the room to ebb.<
br />
  "Well, Ms. Jordan," Rawlins said. "We're waiting."

  Casey slowly rose and approached the father. He glared back at her with unadulterated malice. She positioned herself between the jury and Sales so that they, too, could feel the full effect of his hateful stare.

  "You're a violent man, aren't you, Mr. Sales?" she said abruptly.

  "No, I'm not."

  "But you have been arrested on assault charges, isn't that true?"

  "Yes."

  "And you've been arrested for disorderly conduct, isn't that right?"

  "A long time ago, yes."

  "Yes, and you attacked a police officer during that incident the same way you attacked an officer the day your daughter was killed, isn't that true?"

  "I wouldn't say I attacked anyone the day Marcia was murdered. I don't really remember."

  "But you've seen the police reports that say you struck an officer?"

  "Yes," Sales said solemnly, nodding his large head.

  "You've attacked a lot of people in your day, Mr. Sales."

  "Objection," Hopewood cried. "Badgering the witness."

  "Sustained."

  "So you are violent, aren't you?"

  "You say so."

  "Yes, I do," Casey quipped. "And you have a history of mental illness as well, isn't that right, Mr. Sales?"

  Sales stared at her hard before answering.

  "When I got back from Vietnam I had some problems," he said.

  "Mental problems?"

  "You could say that."

  "In fact, you suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, don't you, Mr. Sales?"

  "That's what they called it. But that was a long time ago. I've been fine for a long time."

  "Really?" Casey said skeptically. "You don't attribute your violent behavior to your mental condition?"

  "No," he said, spitting the word at her.

  "But PTSD is something that can recur at any time," Casey said. "In fact, that's one of the characteristics of the disorder, isn't it? In fact, don't people who suffer from PTSD often lapse into fits of inexplicable violence?"

  "Objection," Hopewood said. "Mr. Sales is not qualified as an expert in that area."

  "Sustained. You will limit the scope of your questions to those the witness is qualified to answer, Ms. Jordan."