“Your Honor, the state offers into evidence three items – two work boots and a jacket,” Nelson said with just a hint of smugness.
Judge Schroeder responded, “Very well. Bailiff, you will mark these items exhibits uh, let me see, Exhibits ‘T’ and ‘U.’ You may proceed, Mr. Nelson.”
The prosecutor held the bags in front of the witness once more and said, “Deputy Peters, before I turn these over to the bailiff, and just to ensure we have it in the oral record, would you describe for the court these items.”
“Yes sir. The two boots appear to be ordinary work boots such as worn by many people living or working on farms, brown in color. The jacket is a bright yellow jacket with large navy-colored letters on the back that spell the word ‘NAPA.’”
“I have no further questions, Your Honor,” Nelson said and returned to his seat.
Pike once again had no questions and the judge turned back to the prosecutor. “Mr. Nelson?”
“Your Honor,” Nelson said loudly as he stood. “The prosecution rests.”
***
Tony and Doug met for lunch back at Willie’s. This time it was burgers and fries for both. Doug had the apple pie and Tony added a side salad.
“Salad. Really?” Doug remarked. “I’m starting to think you’re in love with this girl.”
“Yeah, me too,” Tony smiled, but then waved his hand to cut off the barrage of follow-up questions he could sense were coming. It was a futile effort.
“Love, really? Well, well,” Doug’s voice trailed off.
“Let it go,” Tony practically pleaded, but again to no avail.
“Have you told her?” His friend avoided Tony’s eyes and pretended to focus on the slice of an onion protruding from his hamburger bun.
“No.”
“And why not, pray tell?”
“Do we really have to talk about this?”
“Of course we do. What could be more important?”
Tony was primed to reply with some witty response about the trial, or the weather, or the baseball playoffs, or even the latest conflict in the Middle East, but then suddenly caved. “Well, nothing, I suppose.”
“There you go!” Doug smiled and swiped a drop of ketchup from the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “So why haven’t you told her?”
“I’m not sure,” Tony said. “I guess I don’t want to spoil it.”
His friend’s face scrunched into a tight portrait of skepticism to which Tony responded, “No, really. Everything is so perfect, I’m terrified I’ll do or say something to mess it up.”
Doug shook his head but was uncertain what to say. Tony filled the awkward silence. “When I was a senior at Iowa, one of my friends was in a terrible relationship with a girl who walked all over him like he was a hotel bath mat.”
Doug had to be wondering what this had to do with anything, but to his credit he held his tongue. Tony continued, “When they finally broke up, Tru – that was his name, Tru – was devastated. He knew he was better off without her, but he still was inconsolable. He said something to me at the time that sounds corny but has a grain of truth at its core.”
Tony paused to dip a trio of fries in ketchup and wolf them down.
“I’m waiting,” Doug reminded him.
“Tru said, ‘The greatest day of your life is when you realize you’re in love, and the worst day of your life is when she realizes it.’ He said his relationship with Jennifer was never the same after she knew she had him wrapped around her finger.”
Doug was shaking his head again. “Do you really think that’s what Lisa would do if she knew you loved her?”
“No!” Tony was horrified at the thought he had implied something so awful about Lisa. “Of course not, but…”
“But nothing. Tell the girl how you feel. She deserves to know and you deserve to find out if she feels the same way.”
Tony nodded, “I would love to believe that’s how it would go, but what if it doesn’t? Maybe I’m just a coward. Maybe I just don’t want to know the truth.”
“Maybe you’re an idiot,” Doug leaned back in the booth and stretched his arms across the back.
Tony smiled. Determined to change the subject, he suddenly asked his friend, “How much of the trial did you see today? I didn’t see you in there until after the break.”
“Yeah, I skipped out this morning. Slept in and had a big breakfast,” Doug pushed his fork through the apple pie to take his first bite. “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like I was smart to miss it.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Tony nodded, pointing his fork at his friend’s face. “It was horrifying to hear such a young kid describe that night.”
“So what do you think?” Doug asked. “I mean about the whole thing. Does Wells have any chance at all?”
“Despite the fact this whole thing stinks, I think the evidence is overwhelming; the prosecution’s witnesses are unimpeachable; and the emotions are so high they could bring down a GPS satellite. Let me put it this way…if this was a football game, I would say the prosecution is leading 45 to 3, late in the fourth quarter. Mr. Wells and Mr. Pike need a miracle to win. And I mean a literal miracle, like angels floating down from Heaven proclaiming Wells to be innocent.”
Doug chuckled. Football and angels? It might be an awkward way to say it, but it made the point. Doug also wondered, of course, about Tony’s comment that the “whole thing stinks.” He wanted to ask but decided it should wait until they had more time and fewer ears nearby. He was sure that by the time the town heard about today’s testimony, nearly everyone would hate Ralph Adam Wells. He didn’t want that hate to spill over onto someone foolish enough to question the evidence against him, especially when that someone was his best friend.
Chapter 9
As Tony and Doug walked across the square to the courthouse, Tony suddenly offered, “There’s only one thing that bothers me about the state resting its case.” Doug looked up in anticipation and waited for him to continue. “Why didn’t Nelson use the room?”
Doug nodded knowingly and said, “Who knows? Probably they felt they didn’t need it.” Doug was the only person Tony had told about the room.
Tony knew Doug was probably right. Nelson had the case won. Hell, Tony thought. The verdict was practically chiseled on the foreheads of the jurors before the defense even began its case. Why risk the state’s case with unnecessary testimony?
On the other hand, Tony also knew that W. Rodney Nelson loved to grandstand, as much for the press as for the jury. He hadn’t expected Nelson to rest his case without a visit to, or at least a mention of, the room.
As they walked, Tony irresistibly gazed past the courthouse in the direction of the county maintenance garage, eight or ten blocks away. Not many people knew what was there, but Tony had seen it. A good reporter had friends in many places. Barry Allen was the union steward for the local maintenance workers, and he appreciated what he considered to be Tony’s balanced coverage of union activities and labor disputes. So Barry had called Tony at home late one night two months previously and had invited him to come to the garage to “see something interesting.”
Tony’s curiosity never would have allowed him to say no, and besides, the call already had caused him to miss the opening monologue on The Late Show. So Tony had hopped in his Explorer and ten minutes later greeted Barry in the large gravel parking lot that surrounded the garage on all sides. Barry was still wearing his coveralls, steel-toed boots, and a pale green cotton shirt with the union logo over the pocket. Barry was a big man, perhaps six feet, two inches or more, with a pocked face from teenage acne decades before. That night, however, Barry’s grin made him look about twelve. He was as giddy as a kid who couldn’t wait to show his pals his new skateboard.
Tony had expected to see some document. The union guys were always accusing the county officials of acting improperly or in bad faith in their dealings with employees. The “evidence” assembled by the union guys had come to him before in a late-night re
ndezvous like this. However, he had been astonished when he entered the garage.
“What’d ya think?” Barry had chuckled, spitting a chew into the drainage grate in the garage floor. “I bet y’all and Miss Freed could live in a room like this.”
At one end of the huge building was a mock-up of a bedroom. It looked completely real, except for one missing wall. Tony had never seen a Hollywood movie set, but he was pretty sure this was what it would look like.
Tony also had not been in the Ennis house. In this case, his friends in the DCI had stopped short of allowing him inside. It had irritated him at the time, but he had understood their caution. A double murder in rural Iowa was very rare, and statewide attention was focused on the case. He backed down, on the condition that the restriction apply to everyone. His actual words to agent Davis had been, “If I open The Des Moines Register and find a photograph of the murder scene, I swear I’ll put your eighth grade yearbook picture on the Crier’s website.” Davis had laughed, but had gotten the point.
On that night two months ago, however, standing inside the maintenance garage, there had been no question in Tony’s mind about what he was seeing. It was an exact replica of the inside of the Ennis bedroom.
“My God,” he said as he approached it slowly, almost with reverence. “This is unbelievable. Who did this? Not you guys surely?”
“Nah,” Barry laughed, and spit. “This was some smart-ass suits from Des Moines. You haven’t lived ‘til ya seen guys in button down collars swingin’ hammers and paint brushes. They take off their suit coats and they think they’ve dressed for real work.”
“Can I get my camera?” Tony had practically pleaded. But Barry had declined. He could get in enough trouble for just showing it to him. But he allowed Tony to stay more than an hour there, going over the room, imagining how the murders had occurred, and imagining how the prosecution would use this mock-up in the trial.
“Is this the actual furniture?” he asked.
“That’s what they tell me, right down to the sheets on the bed and curtains on the window.”
“Obviously they can’t move this to the courthouse,” Tony pressed. “They must be planning to bring the jury here.”
“Yep,” Barry said. “Me ‘n Charlie have been given the task of cleaning up the rest of the building. I guess them county supervisors don’t want the outside world seein’ how we peons usually live.”
Tony had covered murder trials and other sensational crimes in his nearly six years as a reporter, but he had never seen anything like this. He knew Nelson wanted a conviction in this case. Staring at this movie set, he realized just how desperately Nelson wanted to win.
***
Back in the courtroom, Tony found himself staring at the lead prosecutor. It must have killed Nelson to leave the mock bedroom in the county shed, unused. Tony smiled as he imagined the scene down the hall in the county attorney’s office, where Nelson and his team had set up temporary offices. He could see Nelson fuming as his underlings, and perhaps the county attorney, convinced him it would be a mistake to disrupt a trial going this well, to haul everyone eight blocks down the street for an unnecessary 3-D look at the crime scene, and perhaps a demonstration of the crime.
Judge Schroeder turned to Wells’ attorney, Lawrence Pike. Tony thought of Pike as a has-been. On the verge of retirement, with a relatively quiet career in small-town law to his credit, Pike was certainly not the type of attorney Tony would have selected if his life was on the line. “Is the defense prepared to proceed, Mr. Pike?”
“To be honest, Your Honor, the brevity of the state’s case has surprised us. I respectfully request a recess to give us an opportunity to contact and schedule our witnesses.”
“Very well, Mr. Pike,” Schroeder replied. “This court stands adjourned until 9 a.m. tomorrow morning, at which time the defense will begin presenting its case. Any other issues or motions for the court at this time?”
This was the point in the trial at which, in some cases, the defense attorney would make a motion to dismiss the case, claiming the state failed to present adequate evidence. In covering three previous murder trials, Tony had never seen a judge rule on the motion in the defendant’s favor. He knew attorneys only used it as a way to plant doubt in the jurors’ minds that they had seen convincing evidence. Tony was not surprised that Pike didn’t attempt it. In this case, the jury could only have thought Pike was crazy if he tried to claim there wasn’t enough evidence to require a defense. Besides, if Pike made the motion, the jury would hear the judge deny it, which would only lend credibility to the state’s case. So no motion was made.
Hearing no response to his offer, Schroeder began his routine admonishing of the jury not to discuss the case and not to read, view, or listen to any media during the course of the trial. Tony wasn’t listening. He was already preparing to bolt from the courtroom as soon as the judge was off the bench. As a matter of habit, he was writing the next morning’s story in his head. It was predictably straightforward.
Because he had the afternoon free to write, Tony was able to get away from the newsroom early. It was just after 4 p.m. when he drove down the alley behind his rented bungalow and turned into the small detached garage. He was spent, but not too spent to appreciate seeing Lisa’s classic 1967 Mustang parked in the yard beside the garage. The relationship with Lisa was still new enough that his heart beat just a little faster at the thought of her, and even faster at the realization that, before the night was out, it was likely they would be in his bed resuming their exploration of the physical side of their romance. Hell, Tony thought, I’ve been exploring so much lately I feel like Christopher Columbus.
He was smiling broadly as he walked through the back door, dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, and slowly stepped around the corner into the living room. His expression changed to a different kind of pleasure when he discovered he was not going to be disappointed. Sitting cross-legged on top of the old RCA console television cabinet, which now served primarily as a pedestal for his real TV, was Lisa. She was wearing his blue and white striped bathrobe. The robe was open to her navel, where it was tied. Much of her chest was exposed, with just her nipples hidden by the soft terrycloth. Her blonde hair lay loosely on her shoulders, and her hands rested lightly in her lap. Tony was certain she wore nothing underneath.
Lisa was smiling but her face was slightly flushed. At the sight of her, Tony was instantly hard and at a complete loss for words.
“I thought I would fix your problem,” Lisa said, her voice low and raspy.
“What…?”
“You know, you always complain that by the time you get home, there’s nothing on TV.”
It was an old, tired joke, but it was perfect. Tony practically raced across the room and wrapped his arms around her. As their lips met, she opened her legs and locked her ankles behind his back. Tony was consumed by her – her looks, her smell, the feel of her skin, her silliness, her passion. Almost before he realized it, they were on the floor, her hands under his shirt, tugging at his belt. As quickly as he was free, she was on him and he was in her. He wanted her so much. They rolled over, then rolled again, never slowing their furious pace. He couldn’t contain himself and it was over quickly, but before either of them uttered a word, he picked her up and lay her gently on the couch. He was all over her again, using his lips and tongue until he was ready to enter her again. The third time was in his bed, where they had room to stretch and twist and explore.
“My, oh my,” Tony gasped as the quivering finally subsided. Lisa snuggled up next to him, head on his chest.
“I agree,” Lisa said quietly. “That was wonderful.” She closed her eyes and began humming softly. It was a melody Tony recognized but he couldn’t quite place it.
He looked down at the top of her head and followed the lines of her body all the way to her toes. She was simply beautiful, inside and out. Tony wasn’t sure how true love was supposed to feel, but he knew this had to be close.
***
After pulling on shorts and T-shirts, Tony and Lisa fixed a late dinner of BLTs and chips. They boiled a couple of ears of sweet corn, making it feel like a real meal, and ate in front of the TV. Lisa volunteered to “do the dishes” which primarily meant throwing paper plates in the trash and putting two pans and two glasses into the dishwasher. When she returned, she was carrying a glass of White Zin for herself and a diet soda for him. Tony rarely drank alcohol. He had seen it destroy too many people, from fellow students at college to victims of car accidents and violent crimes in his news coverage. Lisa didn’t seem to mind and never commented about it, which was one more thing he adored about her.
As they cuddled up on the couch, Lisa turned on PBS to watch the latest British drama series, allowing Tony to let his mind wander back to his work.
He ticked through a mental list of the key points of the prosecution’s case: Ralph Wells’ old .22 rifle was almost certainly the murder weapon. The ballistics expert from the Iowa DCI had been convincing on that point. And there was the clothing. The young girl had seen a jacket and boots identical to those found in Wells’ trunk.
And then there was Francie Wells and the bag of meth. Ralph’s sister and Sheriff Mackey had provided the key points missing from the pre-trial coverage. Until they took the stand, there had been no indication of what Wells’ motive might have been. They had provided the “why” with the introduction of a drug deal gone bad and the growing wrath of a cheated partner. Even though Wells had no criminal record and no other evidence of his involvement in drugs had been offered, Francie had sworn to it. Tony knew that coming from Wells’ sister, it would be believed.
Lastly, Wells was known to be around that night and hadn’t been seen by anyone during the apparent time of the killings. While the defense hadn’t presented its case yet, the testimony of the sheriff was that Wells had no alibi.
So there it was: means, motive, and opportunity. Convincing evidence in all elements required to prove Wells’ guilt. Tony knew these three elements were more factors of popular culture than a technical aspect of criminal law in Iowa, but he also knew this was how some jurors thought. Tony felt himself react physically, sighing and slumping back against the couch.
Burying the Lede Page 8