Brent Marks Legal Thriller Series: Box Set Two

by Kenneth Eade

  Come on! Come on! Search the car!

  Jack strained to see details through his binoculars. This could have been his big break, but it looked like it wasn’t going to happen. The officer allowed Clairborne to get back into his car and handed his license and registration back to him.

  Clairborne pulled back into the flow of traffic and Jack followed behind him.

  Time for Plan B.

  ***

  Chernow took Tomassi on redirect and succeeded in rehabilitating him in the jury’s eyes.

  “Detective, you testified that there was an explanation for the difference in the description of the height between the suspect Detective Salas described and that of the defendant. What is that explanation?”

  “Detective Salas had only fractions of a second to observe the suspect. Her state of mind, and her primary goal was to keep from getting killed.”

  “And the defendant’s selection of clothes sizes did not strike you as odd?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because those were the clothes he was actually wearing. He had them on.”

  The long day in court took a lot out of Brent, but he wasn’t looking forward to going home. Since he had taken on Joshua Banks as a client, there had been a tension between him and Angela. He clearly felt that she thought he was working for the wrong side. When Brent pulled into the driveway at home, he was happy to find Angela’s car outside. Not another night with just me and the cat.

  He exited the car with excitement, but still held some trepidation because of the tensions they had had lately. Those apprehensions were allayed almost the minute he walked in the door, as Angela came to him immediately and gave him a huge, warm hug.

  “That’s a great homecoming.”

  They broke the embrace, and Angela kissed him.

  “How did it go today?”

  “Rough.”

  “Why don’t you go get cleaned up and then tell me all about it? Or just go get cleaned up and ...”

  “I think I like the second one better.”

  ***

  Jack sent a quick voice text to Brent. “I’m tailing Clairborne. He’s on the move. Give you more when I get it.” Jack disconnected, threw the phone on the passenger seat, and turned his attention back to Clairborne, who pulled off the freeway on Kuehner Drive and turned right.

  He’s probably headed for Sage Park.

  Finally, when Clairborne pulled onto Black Canyon Road, Jack’s suspicions were confirmed. Sage Ranch Park was a rugged 625-acre park in the northwestern Simi Hills. It was popular among hikers, infested with snakes, and a great jump-off spot for someone who wanted to step off the grid for a while without going too far from home.

  The park was nearly deserted, as usual. Clairborne took his car as far as it would go. Jack found a spot about half a mile away to hide and observe him. Clairborne didn’t waste any time. He got out his backpack and rifled through the boxes to pack it completely full.

  Going hiking? Jack zoomed in on Clairborne with his telephoto lens and took pictures.

  Finally, Dusty locked up his car and hit the dusty trail. Jack slipped out of his car and followed carefully behind Clairborne as he hiked through the mountain park. After about an hour of hiking and tracking, just as it was getting dark, Clairborne found a place to camp and pitched his tent. Jack knew that this stakeout had just taken on a new dimension, and that it would not include a marshmallow roast.

  CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

  The evening with Angela was just what Brent needed, but the morning left him in doubt about what he was doing. True, every criminal defendant needed a defense, but this was not Brent’s “thing” anymore. He had struggled through small-time criminal cases in his “dues paying” days. Do I really want to make my mark on society like this? Here lies Brent Marks, shyster to the bad guys. Brent knew he didn’t want this to be his legacy, but there was something that had always bothered him about the Banks case. Sure, Banks was a nut - a whole can of nuts; but the chips in the case just weren’t adding up. So, Brent resolved to set aside his own doubts about the innocence of his client and finish the job he had started.

  Back in court, Bradley Chernow barreled on with the prosecution. He had taken the entire first week, and his case was going well into Tuesday at full steam. Chernow called the blood spatter expert, who reconstructed the anatomy of the murder for the jury. Brent had only a few questions on cross-examination, as the physicality of the murder itself was not the focal point of his defense. Doctor Perez was called, and discussed his autopsy report and the cause of the deaths of James and Ronald Bennett. More gory facts for the jury to digest. Brent emphasized on cross the fact that the fatal damage was caused by a large, military-style knife that had never been found. But this was a case of emotional impact over evidence - which was sorely lacking in the prosecution.

  Chernow called all the members of the forensic team in the case. The clothes Banks were wearing were confirmed to have the blood of both victims on them. Joshua Banks himself exhibited no likable personality characteristics for the jury. If I don’t like him, how is the jury ever going to care about what happens to him? He sat at counsel table and whispered a question to Brent every once and a while. Susan Fredericks sat in the second row of the gallery every day with her constant glare of contempt, which was clearly visible to the jury, directed at Banks.

  Chernow called Angela to the stand to reinforce the findings of the task force against Joshua Banks. It was difficult for Brent to cross-examine her, but her testimony was fairly dry and cumulative; so his questions were short and to the point. He also called Detective Rhonda Salas to the stand to testify, despite the fact that he knew Brent would try to turn her into his own witness on cross-examination. Brent jumped on the opportunity.

  “Detective Salas, you attended training at the Allan Hancock Police & Fire Academy and the program at the Ventura County Justice Center and graduated top of your class, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And you’ve also had specialized training in self-defense and hand-to-hand combat?”

  “Yes, I have had martial arts training.”

  “Did part of your training include how to disarm a suspect in a knife attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Salas, you were the victim of an attack by the alleged Honeymoon Killer, were you not?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  Salas played it plain and dry. It was up to Brent to try to elicit some emotion from her.

  “According to your report, the attack occurred in your bed, while you were sleeping?”

  “That’s right.”

  Then Brent broke the cardinal rule of cross-examination: never ask a question that doesn’t call for a “yes” or “no” answer.

  “Detective Salas, please tell the jury what happened during that attack.”

  Salas looked surprised.

  “From the beginning?”

  “Yes.”

  “The suspect attacked me in my bed.”

  Not dry and boring, Salas! Make us feel it!

  “He came at you with a knife?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you seem him coming?”

  “Yes, I was sleeping lightly, I heard something and I saw shadows in the hallway.”

  “And you prepared yourself for an attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?” Brent elevated his voice.

  “I pressed the panic button on my police radio. But I couldn’t get to my gun.”

  “Why not?”

  “It was locked in the gun safe.”

  “And a gun is not a very good defender against a knife attack, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because, by the time you get a bearing and take aim, the attacker has already had a chance to cut you.”

  “And he cut you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.” Salas’s voice started to waiver. She was back in the memory.

 
“Where did he cut you?”

  “My shoulder.”

  “You must have been afraid.”

  “I was terrified.”

  Now we’re getting somewhere.

  “In fact, Detective Salas, if you had not defended the first attack, he would have killed you, isn’t that correct?”

  “Objection, calls for speculation.”

  “Overruled, you may answer.”

  “Yes, he would have killed me.”

  “How did you protect yourself from his attack?”

  “I kicked him as hard as I could.”

  “Where?”

  “Right in his balls, that’s where!”

  That’s it, Rhonda. Bring it home.

  “Then what happened?”

  “Then I rolled out of the way and got on my feet, but that maniac kept coming at me. I grabbed a pillow to try to deflect the knife, and he sliced right through it and kept coming. I knew I was going to get cut again and that he was going to kill me unless I did something, so I arched back so he couldn’t reach me with the knife, but I could still do something with my hands. I could feel the air from the knife as he swept it within inches of my abdomen. Then I grabbed his wrist with my right hand and immobilized it for a split second while I hit his hand as hard as I could with my left, and the he dropped the knife.”

  “Was he powerful?”

  “He was extremely powerful. I could hardly hold the grip on his wrist. I was just lucky I was able to do it so quickly. I learned how to do it in my martial arts training.”

  “Then, what did you do?”

  “I ran for my life.”

  “Did you get a good look at the suspect?”

  “Yes, but he was dressed in black and he wore a mask.”

  “Was he a big man?”

  “I thought he was. He seemed about six-five or six-six - but I was in shock, so I’m not sure how accurate that is.”

  “He towered over you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re about what, five-eight?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And were you able to approximate his weight?”

  “At the time, it seemed he was about 230 to 235 pounds; but, still, I can’t be sure.”

  “Detective Salas, would you please step down from the witness box?”

  “Objection, Your Honor.”

  “Counsel approach.”

  At the bench, Brent argued in favor of his demonstration, and the judge allowed it.

  “Detective Salas, please stand in front of the witness stand.” Salas took her place as instructed.

  “May I approach, Your Honor?”

  “Proceed, Mr. Marks.”

  “Mr. Banks, please come and join us.” Banks did as he was instructed.

  “Stand here.” Brent motioned to a spot opposite Salas. Brent looked at the jury to make sure they were paying attention. Salas and Banks stood almost head to head.

  “Detective, this was not the person who attacked you, was it?”

  “Objection! Argumentative!”

  “Sustained. The jury will disregard the question. Do you have any further questions for this witness, Mr. Marks?”

  “Not at this time, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Chernow?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Detective, you were traumatized by this attack, weren’t you?”

  “Severely.”

  “Were you in psychological counseling after the attack?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “For how long?”

  “About six weeks.”

  “How long did the attack last, from when he first jumped at you in your bed until you ran out the door?”

  “I would say less than 30 seconds.”

  “And you were asleep when he first attacked, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, you had less than 30 seconds to kick your attacker in the groin, disarm him, and run away. How many seconds of that was spent observing him?”

  “I would say only a few seconds.”

  “Less than three seconds?”

  “Probably.”

  “So, you had less than three seconds to assess the height and weight of your attacker?”

  “Objection! Leading: asked and answered and bordering on argumentative.”

  “Sustained. The jury will disregard the question.”

  “Detective, would you say that you had an adequate opportunity to estimate the height and weight of your attacker?”

  “Certainly less than I usually have.”

  “Thank you. No further questions, Your Honor.”

  “Mr. Marks, re-cross?”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.”

  Brent stood up and approached the well.

  “Detective Salas, part of your training you received in the two police academies you attended involved developing your powers of observation, is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have been on the job for over ten years, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “And during those ten years you have written hundreds of arrest reports, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Over 500?”

  “At least.”

  “Your powers of observation enable you to determine the physical characteristics of a suspect in several seconds, do they not?”

  “Not necessarily. It depends.”

  “Were you trained in the correct use of your firearm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did that include obstacle course training?”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “Do you take periodic refresher firearms training?”

  “Yes.”

  “How often?”

  “Four times a year.”

  “And does that include obstacle course firearms training?”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective, in the obstacle course, are you presented with mannequin targets which pop out, representing criminals with firearms?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are these randomly interspersed with other mannequins who pop out at you during the course, which represent ordinary unarmed citizens?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you required to ascertain the difference in a matter of less than one second to determine if you should shoot at the target or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I approach, Your Honor?”

  “Yes.”

  Brent approached the witness stand and placed an exhibit before Detective Salas.

  “Showing you a document marked for identification as Defense Exhibit C, can you identify this?”

  “It’s the records of my obstacle course performance.”

  “And these records show a 90% accuracy score over the past three years?”

  “They do.”

  “Detective Salas, you were asked on redirect whether you sought psychological therapy after your attack, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it true that this therapy was required as a condition of your coming back to duty after the attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Nothing further, Your Honor.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Jack watched as the light from the lantern inside the tent waned and finally died off. It was difficult to be patient: his lips were parched and his stomach was growling. He had finished the last bit of water he had brought from his car and was getting thirsty. His phone had a good three bars on it and a full battery, so he sent a text to Brent to keep him up to date. Stalking Clairborne in Sage Park. No details to report yet.

  Jack gave it a good two hours before making his move. Using just the light of the half moon, he crept toward the tent and listened for any sounds inside. With one hand on his gun, he used his free hand to peel open the flap of the tent.

  CHAPTER FORTY ONE

  Brent awoke at about 5 a.m. and checked his phone. Nothing from Jack. He texted him. Jack, what’s going on? Are you still in the wilder
ness? Then, he closed his eyes and pondered whether to get up or try to get some more sleep. After thirty minutes of tossing and turning, it seemed that sleep was not going to return, so he got up. He checked the phone again. Still nothing from Jack. Brent had to prepare for court, so he sent Jack a quick message: Jack, please check in; worried about you. Getting ready for court now.

  By the time court had reconvened, Brent received a text back from Jack: Still working on it. Brent responded back with: Starting our defense today. Critical that we get something.

  Brent started his case-in-chief by calling Dr. Jean Beverly, who had put together a psychological profile of the murderer and discussed how Banks differed from that profile.

  “Dr. Beverly, did you examine Joshua Banks?”

  “Yes, on two separate occasions.”

  “In your opinion, what were the similarities and differences between your profile of the killer and Mr. Banks?”

  “Only differences. Banks’ history did not reveal any physical injuries or physical or mental abuse. He reported a normal childhood, with the exception that his family was extremely religious. He had no history of acting out violent fantasies on animals; in fact, he was quite repulsed by the suggestion of it. He also had no history of voyeurism or fetishism and his sexual history was almost devoid of masturbation. He has no history of alcohol or drug abuse. Many of these traits are historically found in serial killers.

  “Mr. Banks exhibited no traits of compulsive control or manipulation. While he has an obsession with religion, he doesn’t appear to have any psychopathological or antisocial personality disorder. In the context of his church meetings and events, he is actually very social. He is humble, rather than egotistical. In short, he exhibits none of the traits of a serial killer, in my opinion.”

  Brent had to reveal that Banks was just a different colored nut in the can; but that didn’t make him a murderer.

  “Dr. Beverly, Mr. Banks is different than most of us, isn’t he, though?”

  “Certainly, he is very eccentric, especially with regard to his religious beliefs; but, although this has distanced him from many people, he doesn’t exhibit the sociopathic or psychopathic behavior you would expect to see from a serial killer. I diagnosed him with obsessive compulsive disorder and referred him to a colleague of mine, Father Brown, who has experience in counseling people with religious obsessions.”