Kat nodded tentatively. “Okay. So what?”
“So the defense attorney interviewed them prior to trial, and absolutely shredded them. Took them to task on the distance and the lighting and the beveled edges. By the time he was done, I didn’t even believe them.”
Kat smiled. “Perfect. So let’s do that.”
“No.” Brunelle shook his head. “Not perfect. That was just an interview. Not under oath or anything, and certainly no jury. When the trial came, they were ready for him. They’d had a chance to think about everything. The light was dim, but the couple was right by a streetlight. They were a couple houses down, but they’re thin houses so it wasn’t that far. The beveled edges might distort things, but they weren’t looking through the edges. And each of them said they’d had a chance to think about it since the interview and, after full and careful consideration, they were certain the defendant was guilty. The jury never saw the devastating cross the lawyer did in the interview. They only saw the completely ineffective cross he did at trial. And the jury convicted.”
Kat frowned, but her expression betrayed her understanding.
Brunelle grinned. “We’ll get our chance. But we need to keep our powder dry. If she made a mistake, let’s get her to embrace it fully here, then expose it as a mistake on cross, in front of the jury.”
Kat’s frown gave way to a begrudging smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think maybe you actually liked this defense gig.”
Brunelle had to smile to. “It’s growing on me.”
Dr. Tuttle returned then, with Jim Westerly in tow. Brunelle stood and shook his hand, then commenced the introductions. “This is my investigator, Sophia Farinelli, and my, um…” He hesitated, not wanting to give Kat away, least of all her relationship with the defendant.
Kat stood up and shook Westerly’s hand too. “Kat Anderson. I’m his partner.”
Well, that’s kind of true, Brunelle supposed. Misleading, but true. She’d make a good lawyer.
Westerly’s expression betrayed a desire to inquire further, but there was something about the way Kat had said ‘partner’ that left the meaning ambiguous, and personal. Rather than ask anything, he said simply, “Nice to meet you.”
They all sat down again and the interview could begin.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us,” Sophia began. It wasn’t like Tuttle really had a choice. The court rules required the prosecution to make its witnesses available for pretrial interviews by the defense. Still, it was polite to thank her anyway. “We just have a few questions.”
“Of course,” Tuttle replied. “Glad to do it.
Good, thought Brunelle. We’re all lying.
“I’d like to start with your conclusion,” Sophia said. “Could you explain what you concluded regarding Vanessa Stephenson’s death?”
“Did you read my written report?” Tuttle asked. It was a bitchy question. Of course they had. That wasn’t the point. She needed to say it again, and explain it. She knew that. She was just being difficult.
“Pretend I haven’t,” Sophia replied. Brunelle smiled. It was the perfect reply.
Tuttle huffed and crossed her arms. Brunelle suppressed an even bigger smile. The jury was going to hate her.
“The cause of death was strangulation,” Tuttle said simply.
“Okay, and strangulation causes asphyxiation,” Sophia said. “How were you able to tell the difference between asphyxiation caused by strangulation and asphyxiation caused by the fire?”
Tuttle shifted in her seat. There was a certain lack of respect in the inquiry, questioning, however subtly, Tuttle’s conclusion. But the answer was simple. “In strangulation, one sees injuries to the throat, which were present here. In addition, when someone dies from smoke inhalation, there is very visible blackening of the lung tissues, but that was totally absent here. She never breathed in any smoke, which tells me she was dead before the fire was set.”
Brunelle nodded. That would have been his conclusion too. Westerly was going to have little difficulty convincing the jury the fire was set after Vanessa died.
But the real question was what happened before she died.
“Did you do a full external examination of Vanessa’s body?” Sophia asked. She wasn’t really looking at the doctor. Her eyes were cast down again at her notepad, checking off questions and writing down responses.
“Of course,” Tuttle replied, but Brunelle saw Kat’s almost imperceptible shake of her head. He met her eye and gave his own imperceptible shake of the head. His way of telling her to hush.
“Why?” Sophia asked.
Tuttle cocked her head then looked at Westerly, obviously confused by the question. “Why what?”
“Why,” Sophia finally looked up, but her expression was still soft smiles, “did you do a full external examination of the body if it was so obvious it was a strangulation?”
Brunelle liked the question. He wondered if he’d like the response.
“Well, we always do an initial examination of the body,” Tuttle began, a bit cautiously. “And we also photograph the body extensively, so we can always return to it later if needed.”
Brunelle expected a bit more of an answer. She mostly avoided the question.
Sophia noticed it too. “So, perhaps the external examination wasn’t as thorough as it would have been if there had been external trauma like stab or gunshot wounds, but you fully documented the condition of her body?”
Tuttle thought for a moment, looked to Westerly for confirmation, then nodded. “I think that’s fair. There was no reason to believe there would be extensive external injuries. She was found dead inside a burned out store front. I checked for burns. Seeing there were none, my investigation turned next to likely smoke inhalation, but when I saw the lungs were pink, not black, that’s when I discovered the fingerprint bruises on her neck.”
“Could you tell the age of the bruises?”
Tuttle smiled, sensing a trick question apparently. “They were still purple. That’s how I knew they were fresh. They hadn’t had time to heal before she died.”
Sophia ignored the smile. “What about the other bruises on her body? How old did they appear to be, based on healing?”
Tuttle’s smile held, but it got just a touch shaky. “I don’t recall any other bruising.”
“You don’t recall?” Sophia clarified, “Or you didn’t look?”
Tuttle stiffened. “I told you, I always do a preliminary external examination, and I documented everything photographically. Any medical examiner could look at those photos and draw an accurate conclusion about bruising or any other external features.”
And that’s a wrap, thought Brunelle.
Apparently, Sophia agreed. She looked over to him. “I don’t think I have any more questions. Do you, Mr. Brunelle?”
Brunelle shook his head. He just needed a transcript of Tuttle saying Kat’s conclusions would be accurate. “No, I think we’re good.”
He knew not to ask Kat. She definitely had questions.
Brunelle stood up. The others followed suit. “Thank you for your time,” he said. He turned to Westerly. “Thanks for setting this up.”
“No problem,” Westerly replied, “Who do you want to talk to next?”
Brunelle looked to Sophia. She looked to Westerly. “Detective Ayala,” she said.
Westerly nodded. “Okay. I’ll make that happen. Give me a day or two. I don’t know what his schedule is.”
Then they parted company, Westerly staying back with Dr. Tuttle to debrief, and the defense team heading out into the hallway.
Kat was the first to speak. “Ooh, I wish you would have let me ask her some questions. What a shitty autopsy.”
Brunelle smiled. He liked her enthusiasm. Well, he liked a lot more than that about her, but right then enthusiasm was toward the top of the list. And her eyes, the way they flashed when she was agitated.
“We’ll get our chance,” he soothed. “What about the bruising issue? I’d
like to know if she had any bruises, especially on her arms. It might indicate a struggle if they were fresh. Can you examine the photos and give me your opinion?”
Kat shrugged. “I can examine them, but I can’t give you a full opinion.”
Brunelle raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
“Garbage in, garbage out,” Kat grumbled. “I can only examine what she bothered to photograph. I can’t see an injury if she didn’t photograph it.”
“But she said she photographed everything,” Sophia interjected.
“Not everything,” Kat replied. “She was so ready to conclude strangulation, she didn’t check for other injuries. The x-rays would have caught any broken bones, but there’s a major area she didn’t check but which is prone to receive injuries during a struggle.”
“Where’s that?” Brunelle asked.
“Her head,” Kat answered. “She didn’t shave her head, so she never checked for bruising to the back of her head. That would be huge in an alleged homicide.”
“Are you saying someone hit her over the head?” Brunelle asked.
“No,” Kat answered with a grin. “I can’t say that. But she can’t say it didn’t happen.”
Brunelle grinned too, enjoying for once the benefit of the reasonable doubt.
Chapter 23
The interview of Ayala would be different. For one thing, Kat wouldn’t be there. She was back at the hotel, scouring over the autopsy photographs. Another difference was that while Tuttle was kind of a cold bitch, Ayala seemed like a pretty likeable guy. Brunelle kind of wished they weren’t on opposite sides.
The final difference was that Brunelle would be asking the questions. Sophia would be taking notes and listening for inconsistencies with Ayala’s written reports or any other aspect of the investigation.
“Thanks for meeting with us,” Brunelle started once they were all seated around the conference table in the SFPD headquarters, again inside the Hall of Justice. Brunelle felt the urge to call someone ‘Aquaman.’
Westerly was there again too. Ayala nodded toward the prosecutor. “Like I said, I got no problem talking with you, so long as Jim’s present.”
Brunelle nodded. He understood. That’s how his cops played it too. Most of them were pleasant enough to the defense attorneys. They waited for them to leave the room before they bad-mouthed them.
“So how long have you been a detective?” Brunelle started. It was part ice-breaker—most men enjoyed talking about their careers—and part cross-exam prep. If he was a newbie detective, that would help Brunelle cast doubt on his work and conclusions.
“Twelve years,” Ayala answered. “The last five in major crimes.”
Nope. Not a newbie. Damn.
“Major crimes?” Brunelle followed up. “Not homicide?”
Ayala shook his head. “We don’t have a homicide division. Just major crimes, but homicides are pretty major crimes, so I’ve done a lot of those. I just happened to be the one on call that night.”
Brunelle nodded. “What about arson?”
Ayala shrugged. “I wouldn’t say arson is really a major crime, I mean, it’s important. All crimes are important, but…”
Brunelle gave a shake of his head. “No, I mean, have you ever done those? Like, before you went into major crimes?”
“Oh, right.” Ayala thought for a moment. “We do have a couple of arson detectives, but I never did that. I had some cases that involved burned buildings, but they were secondary to some other, more violent crime. Kinda like here.”
Brunelle liked that answer. He could expound on Ayala’s lack of relevant experience in front of the jury. But not right then. Right then, he moved on.
“So, could you describe what you saw when you arrived?”
“The building was still smoking,” Ayala explained, “but the fire was out. There were a lot of firefighters there and so I held the police back until the fire lieutenant okayed our entry. They’d called us when they found the body, so that was the first place we went.”
Brunelle nodded. “Okay, describe the body.”
This was key.
Ayala thought for a moment, then answered. “She was kinda curled up on her side in a back room. She almost looked peaceful. It seemed strange.”
“Like someone posed her that way?” Westerly interjected.
“Right,” Ayala agreed. “Like someone posed her.”
Brunelle pursed his lips. Westerly shouldn’t have done that. It was Brunelle’s interview, not his. He could talk to Ayala any time he wanted by just picking up the phone. This was Brunelle’s one shot. He knew all this because he’d sat in Westerly’s chair more times than he could count. He had a policy: he never said anything. Anything. And he told the cop in advance. Sometimes, they expected help or even a little defense from him. But Brunelle didn’t do that. Apart from potentially starting a time-consuming argument with the defense attorney, it was perfect fodder for cross.
And when I interviewed you on such-and-such date, isn’t it true the prosecutor fed you answers to make my client look guilty?
So his conundrum was whether to tell Westerly to shut the hell up so he could get the information he needed from Ayala, or let him keep interrupting to use on cross-exam. But Westerly saw his hesitation and solved the dilemma.
“Sorry,” he said. “I won’t interrupt again.”
Brunelle grinned and nodded. Perfect. He’d interrupted enough to bring it up on cross, and now he’d stay out of the way. Maybe. If he’d interrupted once, he might not be able to help himself later. Especially if Brunelle could piss him off a little bit. It was always nice to have a secondary goal.
He turned back to Ayala. “So you knew right away it was a homicide?”
Ayala shifted in his seat. “Uh, I wouldn’t say that exactly. I mean, we came across a burned out building with a body inside. The initial thought was that she’d been overcome by the smoke.”
Brunelle barely managed to suppress a smile.
“So we called the M.E.,” Ayala continued, “to pick up the body. We didn’t realize it was a homicide until the next day when Dr. Tuttle called me.”
“Did you attend the autopsy?” Brunelle asked. Detectives usually attended the autopsy on murder cases.
Ayala shook his head. “No. Like I said, we didn’t know it was a homicide. We thought it was just an accident.”
Brunelle considered how the investigation of the scene might have differed if they’d realized it was a homicide. Scene photography, evidence collection, arson investigation. All the stuff that either was missing from the reports entirely or seemed shoddy and hurried. Now he knew why, and was grateful for it. He also knew not to ask about it then.
“So, once you knew it was a murder.” Brunelle moved on, “how did you identify a suspect?”
“Well, when it’s an accident,” Ayala replied, “there are no suspects, just family to notify. But when it’s murder, well, you still start with the family.”
Brunelle had to smile. “Why is that?”
Ayala shrugged. “Who can muster enough hatred to kill someone except someone who knows the person really well? Sure, gang murders and drive-bys can be pretty impersonal, but most murders are committed by someone the victim knows intimately. In this case, that’s your client.”
“The husband,” Brunelle acknowledged.
“The second husband,” Ayala emphasized. Then he corrected himself. “Well, she was the second wife, I guess. She hadn’t been married before. But the middle-aged divorced guy who marries the blond aerobics instructor fifteen years younger than him and then gets into financial difficulty? Oh yeah, he’s suspect number one.”
Brunelle nodded, to encourage more information, but he wasn’t willing to agree with the detective’s assertion.
“Plus,” Ayala added, “the patrol officer who notified him of the death said he reacted kind of weird when he heard the news. We notified him that night, before the autopsy, so he was told it was an accidental death in a fire. Instead of break
ing down or crying, he asked if there were any witnesses.”
Brunelle winced. “Any witnesses?”
Ouch.
“Yeah,” Ayala laughed. “So when Dr. Tuttle said it was a homicide, he was the first person we contacted.”
Brunelle had to nod. Makes sense. “What happened?”
“Well, we didn’t get very far,” Ayala admitted. “We met him at his office. We tried to be all smooth and not let on that it was a murder investigation, but we didn’t want to lose any confession either, so we went ahead and Mirandized him. But as soon as we finished, he asked if he was a suspect? When we hesitated—because, after all, he was—he saw right through us. And why wouldn’t he? He knew he was the murderer. He lawyered up and so we placed him under arrest.”
“So you never questioned him?”
“Nope,” Ayala confirmed. “Once a suspect invokes, we stop all questioning.”
Brunelle nodded. That was the rule. He was just hoping his guy might have said something to a cop other than, ‘Were there any witnesses?’
“Do you do anything further on the investigation?”
Ayala thought for a moment, then replied, “The usual. Collected reports from the patrol guys. Sent some stuff to the crime lab. Booked all the evidence. Then forwarded the case to the prosecutor.”
He gave a nod to Westerly, who returned it, then said, “And we filed the charges.”
“Yeah,” Brunelle replied. “I knew that.”
He looked to Sophia. “Anything else?”
She nodded. “You mentioned financial difficulties. What evidence did you find of that?”
“We talked with his partner,” Ayala answered. “Over-something.”
“Overstreet,” Brunelle interjected.
“Right, Overstreet,” Ayala said with a nod. “He said Stephenson hadn’t really been pulling his weight around the practice. Overstreet was bringing in over seventy percent of the income, but Stephenson still wanted to split it fifty-fifty. Overstreet was thinking about dissolving the partnership.”
“He told you that?” Brunelle questioned. “That’s funny. He didn’t say anything about that to us when we talked to him.”
A Prosecutor for the Defense (David Brunelle Legal Thriller Series Book 4) Page 9