Judgment at Santa Monica

by E. J. Copperman

  My feet were feeling better. Was it weird that I didn’t want to dry them in front of Patrick? I sat with them in the mini-tub I had bought at the CVS and pondered my neuroses.

  Angie’s eyes narrowed. ‘If it’s not the murder case, what is it?’ she asked. ‘They wouldn’t try to kill you over a couple of parking tickets, would they?’ I had gotten two parking tickets in one week six months ago and refused to pay them because I felt the citing officer had been acting out of an inflated sense of power. It’s a long story and Angie won’t let me forget it. The tickets were still pending.

  ‘I’ve been racking my brain trying to answer that one,’ I told Angie. ‘And the only thing I can come up with is the Forsythe case.’

  ‘The suburban prostitute?’ Patrick said. Never let it be said he wasn’t attentive to discussions of my work.

  ‘The alleged prostitute and for the record, non-prostitute,’ I corrected him. The heck with it; if that was going to be his attitude, I’d towel off my feet right in front of him. I took to doing just that. It didn’t seem to bother anybody but me. ‘But it seems to me that this started right around the time I took her case.’

  ‘How does that fit?’ Cynthia said. ‘Could there be people in the police department who were using her services and don’t want their wives to know?’

  What was it with that family? ‘She’s not a prostitute,’ I said. It’s best not to yell at your clients and, truthfully, I didn’t. It just felt like I had. ‘Sorry, Cynthia. I get worked up about my clients.’

  ‘I noticed,’ she said with a little smile.

  ‘But that’s the problem,’ I went on. ‘Maddie isn’t a call girl. She wasn’t trying to sell sexual acts in exchange for money. But the charges continue to be pressed and someone keeps trying to kill or incarcerate me. So what does that tell us?’

  ‘The chief of police has her mistaken for someone else?’ Patrick offered.

  Feet now operational, I stood and drained the tub into the sink in the galley kitchen to wash it out. ‘That’s a highly unlikely possibility,’ I told Patrick. ‘If you don’t want the client to talk, no matter how mistaken you might be, eliminating her lawyer is hardly the way to do it. There was that one attempt on her by the guy with the knife, but it was the only time that happened.’ (He had been released and was no doubt out in the world knifing people just as a hobby now.) ‘I’ve been shot at three times and jailed once.’ I got out the cleanser and washed the sink.

  I put the tub away under the sink and sat down, picking up the pair of socks I’d taken out before I started my foot therapy. I put the socks on. ‘Maybe it’s not Maddie’s case. Maybe somebody just hates me because I’m obnoxious and disliked.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd.’ Patrick didn’t approach me. I thought it was the feet. ‘Everyone loves you.’

  ‘The men with the guns would disagree,’ I said. I picked up my phone and dialed (if that’s the word, because ‘pushed for’ seems odd) Nate Garrigan.

  ‘What can I do for you now?’ Nate is a man of deep feelings, most of them aggravation. And it’s not like I hadn’t asked him to look into quite a number of things in relation to Cynthia’s trial. But hey, I was paying him (OK, so the firm was paying him, but whose idea was that?), so you’d think he might at least try to take a more civil tone. That’s what you’d think.

  ‘I’m trying to figure out why people are shooting at me and having me arrested,’ I said. ‘Consider it more of a personal favor.’

  Nate sighed for effect. ‘Fine. Who do you want me to follow this time?’

  ‘The deputy chief of police.’

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  ‘Detective Brisbane, what did you find when you entered Wendy Bryan’s house on the night in question?’ Valencia, now that he didn’t have to question Trench anymore, was practically throwing Brisbane a testimonial dinner, that’s how excited he was to have the detective who had investigated the case now testifying.

  ‘I discovered a body on the floor of the center hall, having bled profusely from a chest wound,’ Brisbane said. He was a man of about fifty, his hair what I’m sure he thought was a distinguished salt-and-pepper but was just gray. He was neither thin nor overweight, not especially tall or short, and his eyes were the color that boredom would be if it could take on pigment. He was speaking in a tone that indicated this wasn’t his first homicide and he certainly hoped it wouldn’t be his last. ‘But the officers on the scene informed me she had no pulse and the EMTs said she was dead. That was confirmed by the medical examiner when she arrived.’

  ‘Was the murder weapon found with the body?’ Valencia asked, despite the jury having been told the story twice before during testimony from the two uniformed officers.

  ‘No. The officers found the award in the adjoining room with the defendant clutching it in her arms,’ Brisbane said. I considered objecting to the word clutching but let it go. You don’t want to be seen as a nag or a nitpicker. Juries don’t like that, and they especially don’t like it if you’re a woman. Juries were brought up in this society too.

  ‘Was there any doubt that the TeeVee award was the murder weapon?’

  He gave exactly the response I was hoping for: ‘No. It had the victim’s blood all over it and the defendant’s fingerprints everywhere. The ME’s report made it clear that the wings on the statue, which were very sharp, had been what made the wounds in the victim’s chest and back.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective Brisbane,’ Valencia said. His case had been made. He thought.

  I stood up and started talking as I approached the witness box. ‘Detective, you arrived in the house after the uniformed offices and the emergency medical technicians, is that right?’

  ‘Yes. It’s not unusual. I don’t get called until the officers on the scene suspect they have a homicide on their hands.’ Great. Not only was Brisbane a witness who would answer more than the question, he was also keen on making sure he came out looking great. He was the anti-Trench.

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘Did you notice any markings on the floor between the body and the entrance to the den, where Cynthia Sutton was discovered?’

  ‘Markings?’

  ‘Yes. A trail of blood, let’s say. If the defendant had stabbed her mother-in-law with the statue and then carried it into the den, wouldn’t the blood on the award have dripped on the floor?’

  ‘I would assume so.’ Brisbane was also not like Trench in one particularly relevant area: he wasn’t a good detective.

  I nodded to Jon, who produced a very big enlargement of one of the crime-scene photographs, which he brought up to the bench. I approached and looked at Judge Hawthorne. ‘Your Honor, this is an enlargement of a crime-scene photograph that has already been entered into evidence by the prosecution. May I show it to the jury?’

  Hawthorne beckoned to Valencia, who walked up to the bench. ‘Mr Valencia, the defense wants to show this photograph to the jury. Ms Moss says it is one that you have already introduced. Do you recognize it?’

  Valencia looked at the picture, grimaced, and then nodded to the judge. ‘I recognize it.’

  ‘In that case I will allow the photograph,’ the judge said. Valencia didn’t look happy walking back to the prosecution table, but his happiness was not my responsibility. Thank goodness.

  Jon put up an easel we had brought for this exact purpose and put the picture, mounted on card stock, up for the jury to see. ‘This photograph, taken at the scene of the murder, clearly shows part of the victim’s body on the floor,’ I told them. I had made sure to crop out some of the more gory areas. They’d seen these pictures already and I wanted it to be the prosecution’s fault they’d had to look at all that blood. There was a little in this picture because I needed to make a point, but every juror knew it could have been much worse. ‘This is the side of the room that leads to the door into the den, where the defendant was found. Yet there is no blood trail leading from the body to the door.’

  ‘Is the defense questioning the witness?’ Valencia said, h
and in the air.

  ‘Please ask the witness a question,’ Hawthorne agreed.

  ‘Detective, why no blood?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say,’ Brisbane answered. All that fuss for I don’t know.

  ‘Why can’t you say?’ I asked.

  ‘There are any number of possible reasons. She might have wrapped the statue in her clothing so it didn’t drip.’ Brisbane looked pleased with himself for thinking that one up.

  I made a point of looking at him for a moment, but not too long a moment. ‘The defendant was found in the next room wearing a T-shirt and linen trousers and clutching the statue,’ I said. ‘How could she have possibly wrapped it in her clothing?’

  ‘Objection.’ Valencia. Who else? ‘The defense is asking the witness to speculate.’

  ‘I’ll withdraw the question, Your Honor. Detective Brisbane, is it possible that someone else killed Wendy Bryan, did indeed wrap the TeeVee in something else or take it elsewhere, and then the defendant found it, discovered the body and was so shocked that she is unable to remember those few seconds before she ended up curled on the floor of the den and crying her eyes out?’

  ‘Again, Your Honor.’ Guess who. ‘The defense counsel is once again calling upon Detective Brisbane to speculate on something he was not there to witness.’

  That gave me an opening. ‘Your Honor, the prosecution has been doing nothing but that since Detective Brisbane sat down. He was not there when the crime was being committed and yet Mr Valencia has asked him a number of questions about his opinions regarding how it was done. How it this different?’

  ‘Objection overruled,’ the judge said. ‘The witness will answer.’

  ‘Is it possible,’ I reiterated, ‘that someone other than Cynthia Sutton killed Wendy Bryan and then left the TeeVee there for her to find, thus causing the fingerprints and the bloodstains?’

  ‘A lot of things are possible,’ Brisbane said, unwittingly giving me a ‘reasonable doubt’ argument for my closing statement.

  ‘Is that one of them?’ I asked.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘No more questions.’ I sat back down at the defense table.

  Once prompted, Valencia stood up for redirect. ‘In your opinion as an experienced homicide detective, is it likely someone else killed Wendy Bryan and then made the murder weapon disappear until they could miraculously hand it to Cynthia Sutton in another room?’

  ‘No,’ Brisbane said.

  ‘No further questions.’ Valencia made a point of looking self-righteous as he walked back and sat down.

  ‘I’m beginning to wonder if I did it,’ Cynthia whispered to me.

  ‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘You didn’t.’

  I got the chance to prove it once Valencia, having exhausted the number of law enforcement officials he could trot out (plus Wendy’s housekeeper and a few lesser ‘experts’) rested his case, I began calling witnesses for the defense. Because I’d promised to give Valencia some time before I trotted out the star witness on nail polish, I began with Gail Adams, the representative of the Academy of TV and Video. Gail, with whom I’d spoken three times before, couldn’t have been a better rep for a body that liked to project dignity. She was polite, soft-spoken, but authoritative and as proper as a fourth-grade teacher.

  After some back-and-forth from Valencia, which ended up in pretty much the same exchange we’d had before about Gail, she was sworn in and seated in the witness box. I began by asking about the academy and her position there, to get the jury acquainted and establish that Gail would know about such things. But I kept that part of the questioning brief, because not just the jury but the judge certainly was wondering what strange point I might be trying to make.

  And make no mistake: it was indeed a strange point.

  ‘Ms Adams, what is the composition of a TeeVee award?’

  Gail nodded once, having known in advance I’d ask the question. But she had known the answer off the top of her head the first time I’d called and asked her. Gail knew everything there was to know about TeeVee awards and television. I had been holding back on introducing her to Angie, who probably would have monopolized the rest of Gail’s natural life asking her questions about actors and shows.

  ‘The TeeVee is made of copper, nickel and silver and has a veneer of gold on its outside, except for the base,’ she said.

  ‘Aside from the gold, those are not soft metals,’ I noted.

  ‘No. It’s quite a sturdy statue.’ Gail seemed proud of the construction of the award that had been identified as the weapon responsible for the death of Wendy Bryan.

  ‘How much does it weigh?’ I asked.

  ‘A little under seven pounds.’

  ‘Your Honor,’ Valencia said, standing and looking pouty. ‘I’m sure this is very interesting testimony, but what does it have to do with this case?’

  I looked at Judge Hawthorne. ‘If Mr Valencia waits another minute, the relevancy will become very clear,’ I said.

  Hawthorne nodded. ‘Proceed.’

  I turned back to face Gail and caught a glimpse of the jury, who mostly seemed to be accepting her well. You do see facial expressions and these were – at the worst – respectful. ‘As you said, the TeeVee is a very sturdy award. Now, I’m going to show you a photograph and I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me what you can discern from it.’

  The picture, of the statuette that had been taken from Cynthia at the scene, was one I’d shown to Gail before when we were prepping her for testimony. I’d already entered into evidence and Valencia had seen it and, for once, not offered an objection, so he and the jurors knew it had been identified as the murder weapon. Hawthorne had it projected onto the flat screen mounted overhead so the jury could see it. But I handed the original print to Gail for her examination.

  It took her only a few seconds. ‘That’s not a real TeeVee award,’ she said.

  For the first time in this trial there was a murmur among the spectators, and a few members of the jury looked at each other in something like disbelief.

  Cynthia looked positively stricken.

  I didn’t feign surprise because the jurors surely knew that I had been expecting Gail to say that, but I did ask her, ‘How can you be sure after such a quick look at that picture?’

  ‘The physics of the statue are wrong,’ she answered. ‘It’s the same general shape but it’s proportionally incorrect, and the fact that the figure has been bent forward like that proves it’s not authentic.’ Gail spoke with authority but not in a way that made her seem like a know-it-all. I knew from our conversations that she’d never testified in court before, but the experience certainly wasn’t overwhelming her.

  ‘A real TeeVee wouldn’t bend like that?’ I asked, just to drive the point home.

  ‘Absolutely not. It’s too dense and the metal is too hard. You’d need some very strong tools and probably superhuman dexterity to bend a TeeVee like that.’ I wanted to get Gail to testify at all my trials, even the divorces.

  ‘But Cynthia Sutton was awarded a genuine TeeVee award, wasn’t she?’ That was to make my client feel better and to establish that such an object did exist in her possession.

  ‘Oh, goodness yes,’ Gail said. ‘She won it fair and square and it was given to her at the Prime Time TeeVee Awards show three years ago. If the real one was lost or stolen, it would be replaced by the Academy.’

  At the defense table Cynthia’s shoulders relaxed a little. She looked at Angie, seated behind her. Angie smiled reassuringly and nodded. Actors are so insecure.

  ‘So if this was what killed Wendy Bryan …’ I said.

  ‘It was not Cynthia Sutton’s TeeVee,’ Gail assured me.

  ‘Agreed. One last question, Ms Adams. Can a TeeVee winner sell her award for money?’

  ‘The Academy tends to frown on that and will take legal action if someone, even the original recipient, attempts to sell a TeeVee award,’ Gail said.

  That was all I could possibly have wanted so I turned her over to Val
encia, who looked just a little flustered as he approached the witness stand. ‘Ms Adams, are you an expert in metallurgy?’ he began. Oh, good. He was going to try to make my witness, who was anything but, look silly.

  ‘No,’ Gail told him. ‘I am an expert in the TeeVee awards.’ She was gracious enough not to add, And that isn’t one, which I thought was awfully telling about her character.

  ‘So you can’t say for certain that the metal couldn’t have been bent in order to create a weapon,’ Valencia went on, seemingly having missed Gail’s answer to his previous question.

  ‘Yes, I can. I’m very familiar with the composition of these awards, and they can’t be bent that severely by hand, or even with most household tools.’

  Valencia thought he had an opening there. ‘Then what sort of tool could do that kind of alteration on the statuette?’

  ‘Probably an industrial vice or a blacksmith,’ Gail told him.

  I could see the heave of his chest as he sighed, but he rallied. ‘But even if this pictured object is not an official TeeVee award, it might still be strong enough to stab a woman to death, is that correct?’

  ‘I would have no way of knowing,’ Gail said. ‘I’m not an expert on fake TeeVee awards.’

  ‘No further questions.’ Valencia, having made the point he needed to make but none of the others, sat down and looked exhausted.

  I stood up. ‘If Mr Valencia prefers, I could ask Ms Adams to bring in a real TeeVee award and Mr Valencia could bring in a professional wrestler to see if he can bend it as we see in the photograph.’

  ‘Sit down, Ms Moss,’ the judge said. I always listen to judges.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  ‘Leopold Kolensky was poisoned,’ Nate said.