by A R Kennedy
Chief Holden Owens found Officer Pugliese seated on a bench outside the building, on the alley off First Street. It was likely the only quiet place in the area. The chants and murmurings of the crowd could be heard but it was light background noise here. Not the overwhelming pandemonium it was in the front of the courthouse. Owens had expected a smaller contingent of protestors today. He’d assumed people would be put off by the shooting. He was wrong.
Holden sat next to the glum officer and asked, “Was Sewell that bad? Or was it Briscoe?”
“I thought you said Mrs. Chandler didn’t tell anyone what I did the night the ankle monitor alarm went off?”
It was Sewell then, Owens realized. “If CeCe told the lawyer, it was after the hearing with the judge. Most importantly, she didn’t tell the judge.”
Pugliese ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Calm down. If Sewell was going to do something with it, he would have done it by now.”
“Well, he just did something with it! If the media finds out—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Owens’s phone buzzed.
It was a text from Briscoe. “Where are you?! You’re on stand in ten.”
Owens got up to head inside the courthouse. “It’s almost time for your shift. Just keep the peace out there, alright?” he told him, pointing to the front of the courthouse. Pugliese nodded.
Briscoe was standing outside the courtroom, arms crossed, when Owens arrived.
“Where have you been?”
“I’ve been working, Briscoe,” Owens answered, but Briscoe had already moved onto his next gripe.
“I wanted to go through a few key questions again.”
Once had been enough, Owens thought. “I got it. Keep the answers simple.”
They entered the courtroom and Holden stood in the back. All the seats in the gallery were taken. The judge and jurors filed back in and, when the judge gave the signal, Briscoe announced, “The prosecution calls Chief Holden Owens to the stand.”
Cecilia avoided eye contact with him as he walked to the stand in full uniform. She’d become accustomed to seeing him in his stealth attire. She’d seen him more often in that than in his police uniform.
She kept her head down, looking at the legal pad in front of her, and didn’t notice the many women in the gallery who admired him, and checked for a wedding ring, as he took his oath.
Holden avoided eye contact with Cecilia as well. He felt all eyes on him, as he put his hand on the Bible, repeated the oath, and sat down in the witness stand.
Briscoe had the same line of questioning with Owens as he did with Pugliese. When had he arrived on scene, what had he found, what procedures were taken.
Owens answered each question succinctly. Cecilia, and the jury, did not hear one thing new. She, and the defense team, noticed more than one jurors’ eyes glaze over by the monotone and tedious testimony.
Briscoe completed his questioning and turned to find his assistant, Marcy, smiling. He misinterpreted it, believing the testimony had been effective. It was a smile not intended for him, but for the witness.
Sewell stood and began his cross-examination from the podium. There was a pit in Owens’s stomach as he waited for Sewell’s first question. He’d never been nervous before on the stand but the stakes had never been as high.
With Briscoe, he’d known what was coming; with Sewell, he had no idea. Owens glanced at Cecilia, who was looking at the jury. She was in a pink blouse and blue skirt, not the usual tight pants and old band T-shirt he was used to seeing her in. Or that he had come to look forward to seeing her in.
He briefly wondered how much she had told Sewell about him. She had told him about Pugliese breaking down her door, only after Sewell’s questioning after the hearing. Could she have told him what caused the alarm? That cleaning around the monitor had triggered it? And that he was the one who had been cleaning it? During one of his evening visits to her home?
Further questions evaporated from his mind when Sewell began his cross-examination. “Are you finished with your Christmas shopping, Chief Owens?”
Owens was startled by the question. He didn’t have anyone to buy for anymore. Not since the divorce. He sent money to his sister and sister-in-law and they would buy gifts for his niece and nephews.
Briscoe objected before he could answer.
“Just making conversation, Your Honor,” Sewell explained. “Did you know Robert Gabbert?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know him?”
Owens looked at Judge Lowe. “Objection,” Briscoe yelled. He scurried up to the judge. “You’ve ruled on this matter, Your Honor.”
“Yes, Mr. Briscoe, I have. Mr. Sewell, I’m warning you. Bring this up again and I’ll be forced to grant a mistrial.” Through clenched teeth, he added, “I do not want a mistrial. I do not want to go through this mess again.”
Mr. Sewell nodded understanding and returned to Chief Owens. “You didn’t immediately arrest Mrs. Chandler, did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Owens glanced over at Cecilia and contemplated his response. She was looking at her hands. He could feel Briscoe’s glare. He answered as Briscoe had instructed him. They both knew this question was coming. “I arrested Mrs. Chandler when Mr. Briscoe obtained an arrest warrant.”
Holden braced himself for Sewell’s next question on why he would wait for an arrest warrant when he found the shooter, only yards away, from the deceased.
“Do you like dogs?” Sewell asked.
The question put him off balance and he answered, “Yes.”
“Do you have one?”
“Not currently.” Owens had been trained to answer all lawyer questions succinctly, yet he heard himself go on. “Baxter died a couple years ago.” A chocolate Labrador who had loved the water and would spend hours with Holden at the lake.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sewell said. Owens nodded, appreciating the condolences. He’d taken the loss hard. It was the last time he could remember crying. “Did you buy him Christmas presents?”
Owens smiled. “Yes. A big rawhide bone every year.” The biggest he could find.
“Your Honor,” Briscoe interrupted.
“Move it along, Mr. Sewell,” Judge Lowe instructed him.
Sewell nodded and walked over to the jury box. The jurors were more engaged in his questioning than with Briscoe’s. They sat at attention, waiting for his next question, most of them watching Owens, especially the ladies. “You have the ability to arrest someone at the scene of the crime, do you not, Chief Owens?”
With happy memories of Baxter floating through his head, it took him a moment to process the question before he could answer, “Yes.”
“You do not need an arrest warrant to arrest someone, do you?”
“No.”
“So, I’ll ask again, why did you not immediately arrest Mrs. Chandler?”
Chief Owens looked at Sewell. He didn’t want to look at Cecilia or Briscoe. He didn’t want to waver. “I did not feel a crime had been committed.”
With his point made, most defense attorneys would have ended the questioning there. Ask for a lunch break to leave this as the last statement in the jurors’ ears.
Mr. Sewell was not most attorneys.
“Do you buy your couch a Christmas gift?”
Owens laughed and shook his head no, while Briscoe yelled objection.
CHAPTER 47
Lunch had lulled many of the protestors into quiet. Many sat talking to each other, no longer shouting at their opposition. Holden was leaning against his patrol car, enjoying the peace and hoping it would last.
Vinnie joined him and they watched the crowd for several minutes before Pugliese shattered the peace. “You look better than me after testifying.”
Holden shrugged.
“I guess he wasn’t as tough on you,” Vinnie said.
Holden shrugged again.
“Mrs. Chandler
looked very nice today, didn’t she?”
Holden turned to Vinnie, not liking where the questions were going.
“So how long has it been going on?” Vinnie asked.
“What?” Holden asked.
“You and Mrs. Chandler.” Vinnie smirked at the glaring Holden. He corrected himself. “Or should I say you and CeCe?”
Owens shook his head and asked again, “What?”
“I saw those looks between the two of you in the courtroom.”
Holden had used every ounce of strength not to look at Cecilia while testifying. He’d only failed once.
“You weren’t in the courtroom when I testified. You’re not allowed in the courtroom in case they call you on rebuttal,” Holden reminded him and resumed monitoring the crowd.
“Fine,” Vinnie conceded. “But I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Vinnie smiled. “You’d be surprised how much I know. I’m a detective.”
“You’re a patrol officer,” Owens corrected him. He looked over at Vinnie. “Detective? I thought you wanted my job.”
“After this mess?” He pointed to the circus in view. “No thanks. I want to transfer to the city and be a detective.”
“Okay.” This was news to Holden and hard to imagine. He couldn’t picture Pugliese lasting a week in the city’s police department.
“So back to you and Cecilia.”
“There is no me and CeCe.” Holden bit his lip on the slip. He now realized he’d made it before in Vinnie’s presence.
Vinnie ignored him. “How long have you been seeing each other?”
“We are not seeing each other.”
“Another term then? I don’t know what your generation says.”
“I’m not that much older than you, Pug.”
Vinnie smiled broadly. “I have hit a nerve. That’s your tell. You only call me ‘Pug’ when you are annoyed.”
“Yes, I am annoyed. You are implying I’m dating a defendant. It is a fireable offense.”
Pugliese nodded and turned somber. He was disappointed that the chief thought he’d use the information against him. He was only motivated by one thing. The same thing that motivated him to find Jeremiah. To prove that he was right. “Let’s talk in hypotheticals then.”
“Talk all you want. I’m not listening to this nonsense.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve observed.” He cleared his throat. “Ferris likes you. Fearful of all the other officers, he ran to you. You know where his biscuit jar is. Your truck’s tire imprint was on the side road by her house. The one to the reservoir. Where I found Ferris when he got loose. Because he was looking for you. Because you must have been visiting pretty regularly.” Pleased with himself, Vinnie took a break before continuing. “Last night, your shoe print was on her property. By the fence, in the mud. You must have gone over there to check on her after the shooting. You must have seen Michael and gotten jealous, because you were in a mood when I got to the station. When I told you that the defense team had been kicked out of the hotel, you were relieved. You smiled.”
Holden couldn’t hide his surprise. He had grossly undervalued Pugliese’s policing skills. Maybe he could make it as a detective in the city.
Cecilia sat with Abigail at the defense desk, while Michael and Wyatt spoke over in the corner. Cecilia watched them and wondered what they were discussing. She couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. For all she knew it could be about what to have for dinner.
The case was called back to trial and everyone returned to their spots.
Briscoe announced, “The prosecution calls Dr. Alfred Kinney to the stand.”
Ferris’s veterinarian walked to the witness stand. He was dressed in a gray suit, not his usual blue scrubs and lab coat.
“How long have you been Ferris’s veterinarian?” Briscoe asked.
“Three years. Since Joe took him in.”
“Joe?”
“Mr. Chandler.”
Briscoe remained at the podium. He didn’t wander the courtroom like Sewell did. He didn’t want to distract the jurors. “You said Joe took him in. Not Joe and Cecilia Chandler?”
“No,” he answered. He looked at the jurors and added, “I didn’t meet Mrs. Chandler until Joe’s funeral.”
“So she wouldn’t come to Ferris’s checkups?”
“No,” the veterinarian answered.
Briscoe didn’t need to but he glanced at his list of questions. He’d reviewed all his questions so many times he knew them all verbatim. “Did Ferris have any emergency visits?”
“Yes. Three.”
“Did she come to any of those?”
Dr. Kinney shook his head. “No.”
“In your records, who is Mr. or Ms. Chandler to Ferris?” Briscoe asked.
“His owner.”
Mr. Briscoe smiled. Dr. Kinney had been prepped well by him for his testimony. The doctor answered the questions quickly and briefly. Briscoe had made two of his points regarding Ferris and headed toward the remaining two.
“Do you carry malpractice insurance?” Briscoe asked.
“Of course.”
“How much is it annually?”
“Four hundred and eighty-seven dollars.”
“How much is malpractice insurance for a human doctor?”
“I don’t know.”
Briscoe walked over to the prosecutor desk. He’d prepped Marcy well also and she handed him the requested pieces of paper. He handed one to the defense team, one to the judge, and one to Dr. Kinney.
“Do you perform surgeries in your clinic?” Briscoe asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you know the malpractice insurance for a surgeon who works on people?”
“No.”
“Can you read the highlighted section regarding surgeon malpractice insurance in this state?” Briscoe held up the paper and pointed to the highlighted area, so the jurors could see.
Dr. Kinney put his glasses on and read, “Twenty to twenty-eight thousand dollars per year, based on coverage purchased.”
“Why do you think your insurance is so much less for working on animals as doctors working on people?” Briscoe asked.
“Objection,” Sewell interrupted. “Dr. Kinney is not qualified to answer questions on insurance premiums.”
“Sustained,” Judge Lowe ruled.
“What is Ferris worth?” Briscoe asked.
“He failed out of service training, so nothing.”
There were a few murmurings in the crowd. Judge Lowe slapped his gavel. “Quiet.” The side talk ceased. “Anything else, Mr. Briscoe?”
“No, Your Honor. I’m finished with this witness.” Briscoe sat at the prosecution desk and exchanged smiles with Marcy. They were the only ones smiling in the courtroom.
Mr. Sewell got up to question the veterinarian. Briscoe’s questioning had been effective. He noted several jurors taking notes at the high points. The bow-tied elder gentleman took notes at every good point Briscoe made.
“If Ferris hadn’t failed out of service training, would he be worth something?” Sewell asked.
“Well, he’d have more value.” Sewell didn’t push for what that meant exactly. He didn’t want a dollar figure placed on Ferris. Sewell already had one.
“Do you have any pets, Dr. Kinney?” Sewell asked.
“Of course,” he answered. “Two dogs and a cat.”
Sewell walked over to the jury box. “Do you buy them Christmas gifts?”
“No.”
Mr. Sewell was surprised by the answer but didn’t let the jury see. He noticed the veterinarian’s wedding band. “Does your wife?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Do you buy your wife a Christmas present?”
“Of course.” Although being taught by Briscoe to answer all simply, he couldn’t help himself and added, “I’d be in the dog house if I didn’t.”
Mr. Sewell laughed at the pun. “Is Ferris in good health?”
“Yes.”
“Joe…Mr. Chandler would bring him in for checkups.”
“But since his death last year, has Mrs. Chandler maintained the appointments?”
“No.”
Sewell turned and returned to the podium. With his back to the jury, Sewell shot Cecilia a look. She had sworn Dr. Kinney could say nothing to harm her.
The defense team had instructed Cecilia to remain neutral at all times at the defense team desk. If she needed to react, she would have to wait for a break and go into their room to do so in private.
“What appointment did she miss?” Sewell asked.
“The follow-up after the incident. When he was cut with the knife.” Dr. Kinney turned to the jury and told them, “He had stitches.”
Cecilia scribbled something on a piece of paper and slid it over to Abigail. She looked at it and slid it to the corner of the desk for Sewell.
“Did Mrs. Chandler bring him into the clinic after the attack?” Sewell asked, heading over to the desk.
“No, I made an emergency house call. It was three in the morning.” He smiled, proud of himself for his dedication to animals. “Mrs. Chandler was not there.”
“Because she was at the hospital,” Sewell clarified, for the benefit of the jury. He took a quick peek at the note and slid it in his pocket. He initiated another round of rapid-fire questions. “Did she pick him up from your clinic?”
“Yes.”
“Did she seem concerned about Ferris’s well-being?”
“Yes.”
“The stitches. They were absorbable?”
“Yes.”
“So a follow-up wasn’t really necessary?”
“Well, no. But I like to check.”
“So you can collect the office visit fee?” Sewell asked. Dr. Kinney didn’t answer and Sewell continued. “Do you know why Cecilia didn’t make the follow-up visit?”
“No.”
“Did you call to check on your patient?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Dr. Kinney stuttered, “I—I—”
“If she had called for a home visit, would you have gone?”
Sewell waited for an answer that would not come. Dr. Kinney did not want to answer that he wanted nothing to do with Mrs. Chandler. Her house was inundated with media the days after the attack and he would not have wanted to be seen entering her home. It could have negatively affected his business. “Well, she was under house arrest, so a follow-up visit was not possible,” Sewell stated.