by Ed Gaffney
“What?”
“I swear to God. This little cop is like the head conductor on the Bullshit Express.” Terry popped up off the couch and started to walk around again. “Under oath, right there in the courtroom, with a straight face, he claims that he broke through the door because he heard a gun fired in the apartment.”
“Even though there was nothing about that in the report?”
Terry nodded. “Lovell looked like he was about to stick his head in the garbage pail and hurl.”
No kidding. One of the worst things a lawyer can go through is questioning a witness whose testimony turns out to be a complete surprise. “So what did he do?”
“This was what was so great. After the cop testifies that there was a gunshot in the defendant’s place, Lovell asks Judge Park if he can treat the cop as a hostile witness. Can you believe that? Talk about balls.”
Talk about balls indeed.
Normally, an attorney who was questioning his own witness had to refrain from asking leading questions—questions that suggested the answer. So, even if you knew that the answer was going to be “yes,” you weren’t allowed to ask your own witness: “Isn’t true that you were wearing a red shirt that day?” Instead, you had to ask: “What color shirt were you wearing that day?”
But sometimes witnesses turned against the attorneys who called them to the stand and started to testify in a manner which was adverse to the interests that the attorney was representing. And at that point, if the judge allowed it, the attorneys could treat them as hostile witnesses and ask them leading questions.
It usually happened to district attorneys when they called a witness who was a friend or a relative of the defendant, and who started feeding the court a line of garbage in order to protect the defendant. But Lovell had asked to treat the cop as a hostile witness even though the cop was actually testifying in a way that would help get a conviction. If the judge bought the cop’s story, then the evidence would be admissible against the defendant.
What was so ballsy was that Lovell treated his own witness as hostile because he knew that the cop was lying. Lovell was taking the position that the Commonwealth’s interests did not include getting a conviction if lies had to be told to get one. Instead, he was taking the position that the Commonwealth’s interests included truthful testimony, regardless of the outcome of the case.
It was pretty damn impressive.
“So now, Lovell starts to ask this cop questions like ‘Wouldn’t it have been normal police procedure to include in your report that the reason you broke into an apartment was because you heard a weapon fired inside the apartment?’ and ‘After you went into the apartment, did you begin an investigation into the gunshot?’ Damn. But the cop just kept flinging bullshit around like it was confetti. ‘I followed what I thought were normal procedures.’ ‘Although I failed to include it in the original report, I did ask the suspect about the gunshot.’”
Finally, Zack opened the envelope and withdrew the letter. It was funny—in all his years practicing, he couldn’t remember getting a letter from the police force.
“Hey. Do you have any idea why a detective named Vera Demopolous is writing to us about Babe Gardiner?”
Terry closed his eyes and sank back into the couch. “I’m sorry. There are too many punch lines to choose from.”
Zack looked at the beginning of the letter and then glanced up. “How about this one: To let us know that Babe’s getting indicted for first-degree murder.”
EIGHT
ASSISTANT DISTRICT ATTORNEY LOVELL: What did you do after the car was towed to the police compound?
SERGEANT FRED RAMIREZ: After the vehicle was retrieved, we attempted to identify the owner of the vehicle.
Q: And were you able to identify the owner?
A: No, we weren’t. The license plate on the car was stolen, and the vehicle identification number had been removed.
Q: What did you do next?
A: At that point, we proceeded to search the vehicle.
Q: And what did you find?
A: Well, we first looked though the passenger compartment of the vehicle. It appeared as if the vehicle had been recently vacuumed—
ATTORNEY WILSON: Objection, Your Honor. Move to strike.
THE COURT: Sustained. The jury will disregard the statement about vacuuming. Just tell us what you found when you searched the car, Sergeant, not what it appeared had been done to the car.
SERGEANT RAMIREZ: Oh. Sorry.
ASSISTANT DISTRICT ATTORNEY LOVELL: No problem. Let me ask the question a different way. When you searched the passenger compartment of the vehicle, did you find anything in that part of the car that was particularly unusual?
SERGEANT RAMIREZ: Uh, no. I didn’t find anything unusual.
Q: Okay. What did you do after you searched the passenger compartment of the car?
A: We popped the trunk.
Q: And what did you find there?
A: We found the body of the victim, Steven Hirsch, wrapped in plastic garbage bags and duct tape.
(Commonwealth v. Gardiner, Trial Volume IV, Pages 201–204)
INVESTIGATOR NANCY SOLOMON: Tell us what happened when you got arrested.
MR. ANDROCHOK: Okay. I wasn’t doing nothing wrong, which is why I couldn’t understand what was up. I mean, I was just sitting there—
Q: Where were you when this happened?
A: Down at my friend’s garage.
Q: Who’s your friend?
A: Gary Vincent. He owns a place down on Third Street, behind the hospital, where he works on cars.
Q: Do you work there?
A: Sometimes. I mean if Gary gets backed up and needs a hand, I help him out sometimes. But my regular job, I drive a cab.
Q: So you weren’t working when this incident occurred?
A: No. Like I said. I was just sitting there, eating lunch, reading the paper, when all of a sudden this car rolls up, this big guy gets out, walks right over to me, and shoves my face into the table.
Q: And you had no idea who this was?
A: I never saw the guy before in my life.
Q: And you had no idea that an arrest warrant had been issued out of the West Springfield district court?
A: That bullshit charge my ex-girlfriend was trying to use against me?
Q: I have no idea what the underlying charges were, Mr. Androchok. I was just asking if you were aware that at the time you were arrested, there was an outstanding warrant for your arrest?
A: No. Like I said, that was a game my ex and her lawyer were running up there.
Q: Okay. Let’s get back to the arrest itself. Can you describe the car that Detective Morrison was driving that day?
A: I don’t know. It was a big, unmarked cop car.
Q: Okay. And what did Detective Morrison say to you during the arrest?
A: You mean after he smashed my head down onto the table?
Q: I mean why don’t you tell us exactly what Detective Morrison said to you that day. Whenever he said it.
A: Um, I’m not sure what he said.
Q: Well, what was the first thing Detective Morrison said to you?
A: I don’t remember. I can’t remember every single thing the guy said.
Q: All right. How about this? What is the first thing that you remember Detective Morrison saying to you that day?
A: Let’s see. I think he said, “Okay, punk. Let’s go.”
Q: And when was that?
A: That was after he cuffed me. My face was smashed down on the table, and he grabbed me by my hair, and pulled my head up, and then he yanked me up off my chair, and he said, “Okay, punk. Let’s go.”
Q: And those are the first words you remember Detective Morrison saying to you?
A: Yeah. Like I said, I don’t remember every single word.
Q: He didn’t identify himself to you as a police detective?
A: Not that I remember. I mean everything happened so fast…
Q: So you’re saying that Detec
tive Morrison simply walked up to you and, without saying anything, pushed your face down on the table, handcuffed you, and then pulled you up by the hair, saying only, “Okay, punk. Let’s go.” Nothing else?
A: I don’t know. He might have said something else.
Q: Before or after he arrested you?
A: I don’t remember. Maybe before, maybe after.
Q: Is it possible that as he approached you, he identified himself as a police detective?
A: Anything’s possible, I guess.
(Transcript of Police Investigatory Board Interview of Ulf Androchok, June 11, 2004)
Hostage
SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE TO FIGURE OUT A WAY to move. She couldn’t just sit here forever.
She needed the Swiss Army knife that was sitting on the far side of the table to cut herself free. Her arms and hands were going to be completely useless until she managed to get hold of it.
Each of her legs was taped separately to the chair, just above the ankle, but her feet were resting flat on the floor. That meant that if she could rise up on her toes, she might have a chance of being able to somehow get herself across the room.
The chair she was taped to was sitting about five feet from the folding card table. She was going to have to find a way to make it over there, and then work her way around to the far side of the table, where the knife was resting.
She listened to the noises from the television in the outer room. Every so often, the sound changed abruptly, as if the kidnapper was channel surfing, or occasionally changing the volume. But it was still too muffled for her to make out anything useful.
Gingerly, she began to push herself up onto her toes, and a pain immediately shot through her temples. God, everything she did made her head pound like a slow, violent jackhammer. But she couldn’t let that matter. She had to get this to work. She took a deep breath, then slowly raised herself up.
And sure enough, as she transferred her weight from her rear end to her toes, the legs of the chair rose slowly. But they were only an inch off the ground before she realized that the transfer of weight included tipping herself forward so the legs of the chair could get farther off the floor—
Whoa. She was on the verge of falling forward, right onto her face. She dropped back down to where she had started, and the very slight impact of the chair legs returning to the floor created an intense shock wave of pain that reverberated through her entire skull.
She sat there for a minute with her eyes closed, dizzy, her head throbbing, fighting the terrible feeling that in a matter of seconds, her stomach was going to begin to spasm. She really wished that she didn’t have to worry about vomiting from this awful headache.
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and tried to will the dizziness to pass. Her goal here was simple. She had to make her way over to the table, get hold of the knife, and then get herself back to where she started. She didn’t want the ski mask man to know that she had figured out how to move around, and she had no idea when he was going to come back—
He wasn’t going to kill her.
The thought was so certain, it was a little unnerving. It wasn’t a guess, or a desire. It was a conclusion.
How could she possibly know that? Of course, that’s what she was hoping, but to believe something just because she wanted it to be true made no sense. He had kidnapped her, and he had her completely vulnerable. It would take next to nothing to murder her—a gun, a fist, a rope—she couldn’t defend herself at all.
Still, she just knew he wasn’t going to kill her. How could she possibly be so sure?
And then the answer delivered itself to her as if it were the simplest thing in the world: The reason he wasn’t going to kill her was because he was still wearing his mask.
That was it! That was why she’d had that weird feeling of security earlier about the mask. It was completely irrational to hide his face from her if he was just going to kill her anyway. The only way there was a risk that she’d identify him was if she was going to live through this.
So that made her feel a little better. But just a little. If that was a ray of sunshine, it was still a pretty darn cloudy day. Rational thought processes did not always apply to people who kidnapped other people. And she was still bound and gagged with a paralyzing headache and no obvious means of escape.
It was time to get that knife.
Slowly and very carefully, she tipped forward, trying to keep her head absolutely still as she shifted her weight forward onto her toes and as the legs of the chair again rose up from the floor. She was still fighting the dizziness and nausea that always seemed to be ready to pounce at the least little movement. Then she took a tiny step with her left foot. And then another with her right.
You may take six umbrella steps, one giant step, and three baby steps.
Mother, may I?
Yes, you may.
So at one time, she had been a child, and had played Mother May I. One of these days, she was going to figure out why the only memories bright enough to shine through the fog in her mind were so absolutely useless. If her brain was so committed to letting her know how she passed the time in her childhood, would it be too much to ask it to supply her with something that might actually help her out? Like the name of the person who had done this to her? Or, speaking of names, how about her own?
But concentrating on her lack of memory did nothing more than make the headache worse. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to relax, took a breath, and kept going.
She lifted her left foot and took her third step forward. And then her fourth. She began to sweat. Moving like this was really hard. The muscles in her legs and back were straining. Was she going to be able to keep it up?
She dared to tip her head back the slightest bit to check her progress. It was undeniable. The table was closer. She had probably closed the gap to about three feet. She could do this. She lowered her gaze again and struggled forward another step. And then another.
She was moving painfully slowly, but after about another minute, she finally reached the table. Now it was just a matter of making her way around to the other side, where the knife was—
And then the sound of a click came from the outer room.
The television had been turned off.
He was on his way into the room.
July 14, 2004
Eight weeks before the Babe Gardiner trial
WHEN DETECTIVE JOHN MORRISON ENTERED the room and smiled at her, Vera wished she’d worn something different for the meeting. Dark gray pants and a plain white shirt just seemed so boring.
It wasn’t like Morrison was wearing anything special—his normal jacket and tie—but his presence, especially when he was smiling, seemed to make the sparsely furnished interview room just a little bit, well, nicer.
It was silly to think that way. It’s not like they were on a date. They were meeting as part of Vera’s very unpleasant role as the Springfield Police Department’s representative on the citizen review board set up to monitor police misconduct. A complaint had been lodged against Detective Morrison for misconduct in the arrest of someone named Ulf Androchok, a wife-beating thug who’d failed to appear for a court date.
It was only the worst luck in the world for Androchok that he’d gotten nabbed in the first place. After all, it wasn’t like Morrison was out trolling the streets of Springfield, looking for fugitives from the district court.
But now that Androchok was complaining about how Morrison arrested him, they had to go through this formal interview. It was pretty stupid to believe that somebody as smart as Morrison was going to jeopardize his career over a punk like Androchok, but rules were rules.
“Hey, Vera,” Morrison said as he sat down across from her. Somehow, the smile got a little bigger. It felt like the room actually got warmer. “Listen. I know that we haven’t had a chance to get to know each other, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that this isn’t exactly the most comfortable situation you’ve ever been in. I know it isn’t for me
, anyway.”
Talk about understatements. Thank God Morrison had spoken first. Vera had no idea how she was going to do this. A part of her knew that it was actually kind of easy—all she had to do was ask some questions, write down the answers, and that was that. But the other part of her felt like she was in that dream that she’d had when she was in third grade, where she’d scolded her parents for not eating their dinner. She’d awakened with a stomachache that had stayed with her for most of the day. What in the world was she doing, questioning the best detective in the department like he was some suspect, about the arrest of a loser like Ulf Androchok? It was outrageous. “Um,” she stammered, stupidly. “Yeah. ‘Uncomfortable’ about covers it.”
“And my union delegate and the lawyer are going nuts that I’m doing this interview without them, but you know what? This whole thing is going to be over in about fifteen seconds, so I told them to relax. I’m happy to answer anything anybody wants to ask, because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Vera took a deep breath. In a normal interrogation situation, that’s exactly what you wanted to hear if you were a cop. Somehow, it didn’t make her feel any better. “You know before we start I’ve got to give you your rights.” This felt absolutely awful. It wasn’t exactly like she was on the rat squad—internal affairs—but it felt close enough.
Morrison nodded, the smile still intact, but now it softened a bit. “Okay. Maybe this will make it easier.” He stood up and cleared his throat, as if pretending he was about to make a speech, but the smile never left his face. He had nice eyes. And he was really trying to make her comfortable. Talk about mission impossible. “I know that I have the right to be silent, and that anything I say could be used against me. And I also know that I can have an attorney here, and that if I can’t afford one, I’ll get one appointed to represent me.” He spread his hands, as if a crowd were applauding him. “How’d I do?”