Juggling Evidence (A Robin Starling Courtroom Mystery)

by Michael Monhollon

“No.”

  “So you have no independent knowledge of when this last meal occurred.”

  “No.”

  “This apparent precision in time-of-death, eight-fifteen to eight-thirty, is in reality founded entirely on hearsay. Isn’t that right?”

  “Well,” the doctor said, looking for the first time uncomfortable.

  Biggs stood. “Your honor, we will establish the last meal by independent testimony.”

  “I’d like an answer to my last question,” I said.

  “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “Could you repeat it?”

  “The range you gave us for the time of death,” I said, “is based entirely on hearsay. Isn’t that right, doctor?”

  “Well, no. There’s the absence of rigor mortis and postmortem lividity…”

  “No,” I said, interrupting. “Those factors would only tell us that death occurred sometime after six-thirty or seven-thirty. The range you gave us is based entirely on hearsay.”

  “The body temperature…” He trailed off.

  “The range you gave us, eight-fifteen to eight-thirty, is based entirely on hearsay,” I said.

  “All right. Have it your way.”

  “I don’t want it my way,” I said. “I want to know why you’re trying so hard to hide the basis of your so-called expert conclusions.”

  “Your honor,” Biggs said. “That’s uncalled for.”

  Cochran said merely, “It’s not a question, Ms. Starling.”

  “I have no further questions,” I said, but I turned back after taking only a couple of steps from the podium.

  “Doctor,” I said.

  He stopped halfway to his feet, then dropped back into his chair and waited.

  “Did you perform a paraffin test on either hand of Derek Nolan to determine whether the decedent had fired a gun?”

  “No. I didn’t.”

  “Why not? There was a pistol found at the scene, was there not? Right next to the decedent’s right hand.”

  “Given the range of the gunshot wound, there was no chance that it was self-inflicted.”

  “He could have fired a shot at his assailant,” I said.

  Dr. Birdsong didn’t say anything. Of course, I hadn’t given him a question to answer. I let the silence draw out for a few seconds, then said, “That’s all,” and went back to my seat.

  “Any redirect?” Cochran asked Biggs.

  Biggs hesitated, then shook his head. “No, your honor.”

  “Dr. Birdsong, you’re excused.”

  Dr. Birdsong shot me a black look as he went by me. Then he pushed through the rail and stalked down the aisle to the door of the courtroom.

  “Call Sergeant James Jordan,” Biggs said.

  Jordan came forward. He swore to tell the truth, then took his place on the witness stand. Biggs got his name, rank, and years with the Richmond Police Department, then spent the better part of half-an-hour going through his credentials: B.S. in criminal justice from VCU with a minor in chemistry; postgraduate coursework in ballistics, fingerprint analysis, forensics, and so on; lead investigator at more than fifty homicide scenes. The purpose of all of it was to establish Jordan as an expert in various fields so Biggs could present his conclusions as evidence. Finally, Biggs asked him if he had been to the Nolan house on Grace Street the night of October twenty-third, and Jordan said he had.

  “What did you find there?”

  “Two police officers in charge of the crime scene in a basement apartment that had been fitted up as an office. Upstairs in the house were the defendant Lynn Nolan, her son Matt Nolan, and attorney for the defense Robin Starling.”

  Again Biggs turned to look at me, and I began to have the unpleasant feeling that he was gunning for me. As the district attorney for metropolitan Richmond, there was no reason for him to be handling a preliminary hearing in the first place.

  “The defendant Steven Bruno wasn’t there?” Biggs asked, turning back to his witness.

  “No. We found him later that night at the Berkeley Hotel, about a mile from the Grace Street house.”

  “Did anyone else connected with the case stay at the Berkeley that night?”

  Jordan nodded. “Defendant Lynn Nolan and her son Matt. We told them we needed possession of the house for twenty-four hours. They left and went to the hotel.”

  “Did they meet with Steve Bruno?”

  I stood. Jordan hadn’t been at the Berkeley. Anything he knew about what went on there was based on what others had told him.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan said.

  “Thank you,” Biggs said. “I’ll explore that aspect of the case with another witness.” He turned and gave me a fatherly smile that I didn’t like at all, but I sat. “Did you question Lynn Nolan, Detective Jordan?”

  “I did.”

  “What was the first thing she said to you?”

  “She asked me if it wasn’t true that her husband had committed suicide. I told her I didn’t think so, and Robin Starling, Mrs. Nolan’s attorney, asked me why I didn’t think so.”

  “Ah, Ms. Starling asked you that.” This time I merited only a sidelong glance. “Did you ask whether either of them had touched anything after finding the body downstairs?”

  “I did. Lynn Nolan said they hadn’t. Ms. Starling corrected her and said Mrs. Nolan had picked up the paper on the printer and read it.”

  Biggs handed him a plastic bag with a sheet of paper in it. “Is this the paper?”

  Jordan took it and looked at it. “It is.”

  “Could you read it to the court please?” To the judge, Biggs said, “It’s relatively brief, your honor.”

  Cochran gave him a nod, and Jordan held up the paper and read it through the baggie. “‘Matt, Lynn, I’m sorry. I haven’t been much of a husband or a father. I’ve become something I never intended to be. I’m sick of myself and everything around me.’”

  Jordan lowered the baggie and looked up. “There’s no signature,” he said. “Not even a name at the bottom.”

  “Aside from this hard copy, did you find the document on the computer itself?”

  “No. It wasn’t any of the documents in the menu ‘My Recent Documents,’ suggesting it hadn’t been saved recently. One of the techs did a search in my presence and under my direction for a file containing the string, ‘Matt, Lynn, I’m sorry.’”

  “What did he find?”

  “She. Tara Walters. She found nothing.”

  “So evidently somebody typed this out, printed the document, then closed the document without saving it.”

  I objected. “The question calls for a conclusion. Detective Jordan may well be a computer expert, but I don’t think his testimony has established that at this point.”

  Biggs said, “Your honor, the question concerns a matter of common knowledge.”

  “Then you don’t need to ask it,” I said. “Also, the question is leading.”

  “I’ll sustain the objection on both grounds,” Cochran said, and I sat down, hoping my clients appreciated the masterful way I had kept a harmless bit of testimony out of the record.

  “Were there any fingerprints on the paper?” Biggs asked.

  “Yes,” Jordan said. “We had to use ninhydrin to develop them. On the front of the paper was Lynn Nolan’s right thumbprint. On the back were prints of the four fingers on her right hand.”

  “So the fingerprints you found were consistent with the defendant’s statement, after prompting by her attorney, that she had picked up the document and read it?”

  “Objection,” I said. “Leading.”

  Biggs asked, “Did you find anyone else’s fingerprints on the paper?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find fingerprints on the computer itself?”

  “The decedent’s and the defendant’s.”

  “By ‘defendant,’ you are referring only to the defendant Lynn Nolan?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Anyone else’s?”

  “No.”


  “Where were the defendant’s prints?”

  “On the mouse and on the Enter key.”

  “Is there any way to tell when the prints were put there?”

  “No, except that none of the defendant’s prints was overlaid with prints of the decedent. Other prints were smudged and overlapping.”

  “Suggesting that he did not use the computer after she did?”

  “Leading,” I said.

  “Does anything about the positions of the prints of the defendant and the decedent tell you who used the computer last?”

  Jordan glanced at me. “Not definitely.”

  “But it’s consistent with…”

  “Leading,” I said, getting to my feet again.

  “Sustained,” Cochran said.

  Biggs rolled his eyes, and Judge Cochran’s eyebrows went up.

  “Mr. Biggs, the court has ruled,” he said. “And you’ve made your point.”

  “Yes, your honor. I’m sorry. I was just reacting to the pettifogging nature of counsel’s objections.”

  “Let’s save your reactions for the bathroom mirror, shall we?” Cochran said. “Next question, please.”

  Biggs took a few seconds to absorb the rebuke. “Our first witness, Officer Taylor, told us that a gun was found at the scene,” he said to Detective Jordan. “I’ll show you State’s Exhibit One, and ask you if the gun was in the position shown in the photograph when you saw it.”

  “It was.”

  “Did you check it for prints?”

  “Not personally. A lab tech named Danny Golden took prints from the gun in my presence and under my direction.”

  “Did you personally compare those prints with the prints of anyone connected with this case?”

  “Yes. There were prints of the decedent, Derek Nolan, on the barrel and the grip.”

  “Anyone else’s?”

  “Yes, sir. On the grip were the prints of the thumb and first two fingers of Lynn Nolan’s right hand.”

  “Were any of the defendant’s prints on the desk itself?”

  Jordan inclined his head. “On the upper right-hand drawer and on the upper surface of the desk.”

  “Anywhere else on the desk?”

  “No.”

  “Did you make any attempt to trace the ownership of the gun?”

  “We did,” Jordan said.

  “I show you a paper and ask if you can tell me the significance of it.”

  Jordan took it. “It’s a photocopy of Form 4473 recording the sale of a Browning Hi-Power 9mm automatic. The serial numbers match those of the pistol found near the right hand of Derek Nolan.”

  “This pistol was a Browning Hi-Power automatic?”

  “It was.”

  “Who was the purchaser, according to this document?”

  “Derek Nolan.”

  “Who made this photocopy?”

  “I did, from the records in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.”

  “Move for admission as State’s Exhibit 10.”

  “No objection,” I said.

  “Admitted,” said the judge. There was an interruption in the proceedings while Biggs got the document marked.

  “Now, Officer Jordan. You said Lynn Nolan’s fingerprints were on the upper right hand drawer of the desk?”

  “Objection,” I said. “Asked and answered, as well as leading.”

  “Sustained.”

  A smile like a spasm crossed Biggs’s face. “Do you know whether Mr. Nolan kept this pistol in the upper right hand drawer of the desk?” he asked Jordan.

  “I don’t.” Biggs had made his point, though. The evidence was at least consistent with Lynn Nolan having doctored the crime scene in an attempt to make it look like a suicide.

  “What was the condition of the weapon?”

  “It had not been fired since it was last cleaned.”

  “This gun was not the murder weapon then?”

  “It was not.”

  “And it had not been fired in self-defense.”

  “No.”

  Chapter 24

  Biggs shuffled his notes at the podium. “I think we got sidetracked,” he said to Jordan. “Going back to your questioning of the defendant Lynn Nolan. You said that her attorney was present. Where did this questioning take place?”

  “In the house above the apartment where the body of her husband was found.”

  “Did you ask Mrs. Nolan if she had touched anything in the apartment?”

  I stood up. “Your honor, this has been asked and answered.”

  “I’m just providing the context for my next question,” Biggs told the judge. “The witness doesn’t need to answer it.” To Jordan he said, “Did you ask the same question of the defendant’s attorney?”

  “Whether Mrs. Nolan had touched anything?”

  “Yes.”

  “I did.”

  I said, “Your honor, this has also been asked and answered.”

  “Context, your honor.” To Jordan: “Did the defendant say that she and her attorney discovered the body together?”

  Cochran looked at me. “I think that’s a new question,” he said.

  “It’s leading,” I said.

  “It isn’t,” Biggs protested. “The witness can answer ‘She did’ or ‘She did not.’”

  Cochran nodded. “Objection overruled.”

  “Did the defendant say that she and her attorney discovered the body together?” Biggs said again.

  “Yes,” Jordan answered.

  “And they had been together continuously from the time they discovered the body until the police arrived?”

  “Now that is leading,” I objected.

  Biggs, holding up a hand, asked Jordan, “Did the defendant say whether or not the two of them had been together continuously from the time they had discovered the body until the police arrived?” He turned his head to smirk at me. Though the question was asked in the alternative, I still thought it suggested the answer Biggs was looking for. I knew from experience, though, that there was no point in objecting.

  “She said they had,” Jordan said.

  “Who called the police?”

  “Lynn Nolan. She said she called 9-1-1 and hung up. When the dispatcher called back, she didn’t answer. Five or ten minutes after that, the patrol car showed up.” Phrased this way, Jordan’s testimony wasn’t hearsay. It was what the defendant herself had told him.

  “How long after finding her husband’s body did she place this call?”

  “According to her, she placed it before finding her husband’s body.”

  “She called 9-1-1 before finding the body,” Biggs said. “Did she say how she happened to do that?”

  “She said she called because her son’s fiancée had been knocked down on the steps outside the house.”

  “Which steps? The steps leading up to the house or down into the apartment?”

  “Down into the apartment. A man named Charles Rogers who was walking his dog discovered the fiancée lying there unconscious.”

  “Unconscious. Had she been struck in the head?”

  “Possibly. Or she might have been pushed and hit her head on the steps when she fell.”

  “Who pushed her?”

  “According to the defendant, she said a man.”

  “Who said a man?”

  “The fiancée. A Melissa Butler.”

  “The fiancée said that a man pushed her.”

  “Yes, on the steps leading down from the sidewalk to the apartment office.”

  “What did he look like, this man?”

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Ms. Butler didn’t say?”

  “Not according to the defendant. She just said a man.”

  “So we don’t know whether or not this man was short and fat…” Biggs leaned on his elbow and looked at Steve Bruno. “…or tall and thin and had a shaved head.”

  I wanted to object, but couldn’t think of any grounds to.

  “No, we don’t.”

&nb
sp; “Did you ask Ms. Butler to clarify the point? Did she not get a good look at her assailant?”

  “We haven’t been able to find her.”

  “She wasn’t at the crime scene when you got there?”

  “She wasn’t. Evidently, she had just driven off in the car owned by the defendant’s attorney.”

  “Owned by Ms. Starling?” Biggs tone was incredulous.

  “That’s what Ms. Starling told us. We later recovered the car at the bus station.”

  “Did Ms. Butler get on a bus?”

  “I don’t think so. We have a witness who says she was picked up in a car driven by a woman.”

  “What woman?”

  “The witness couldn’t give us much of a description.”

  “From the description the witness did give, could the woman have been Ms. Starling, counsel for the defense?”

  “Objection,” I said, standing. “The question is leading and calls for speculation. Once again, the prosecution is attempting to argue its case under the guise of questioning a witness. Furthermore, everything this bus-station witness may or may not have said is hearsay. I move to strike the answers to the last two questions.”

  Cochran didn’t say anything immediately. He looked at me long and hard, and Biggs didn’t interrupt him. Finally, Cochran seemed to collect himself, taking a breath and shaking his head very slightly. “Sustained,” he said heavily. “We’ll strike the statements about how this Ms. Butler left the bus station.”

  “Have you made any further attempt to locate Ms. Butler?” Biggs asked.

  “We have. As of this morning, she hadn’t returned to her place of employment, a restaurant named O’Riley’s, not even to pick up her last check. We’ve been keeping an eye on her apartment, but haven’t been able to pick her up.”

  “Do you have a description of this Melissa Butler?”

  “Yes. According to the defendant Lynn Nolan, she was about five-five or five-six and weighed perhaps one hundred-twenty pounds. Her most striking feature is her red hair.”

  “You said you’ve had her apartment under surveillance. Has no one come and gone?”

  “Only Ms. Starling and a young woman who accompanied her.”

  “Can you describe this young woman?”

  I stood. “Was Officer Jordan conducting this surveillance personally?”

  The judge looked at Jordan and raised his eyebrows.