Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  Blake just stared at him.

  “I’m only suggesting the possibility, Lieutenant.”

  “In an infinite universe, anything’s possible,” Blake said.

  Eyebrows lifted, even the judge’s. Milton smiled. He went to his desk and picked up some papers. Both Blake and Michele knew what was on them.

  “Let’s consider it, then. Speaking of probability, which you just said has a better chance of certainty than not. We have the analysis of the angle of the two shots, which indicates that the killer shot Mr. Strumfield from the landing above the living room where he was sitting and found dead. There’s a distance of nearly twenty feet. Why would my client attempt to shoot Mr. Strumfield from so far away, when he could walk right up to him and pump two bullets into his head? They were still friends at the time, weren’t they?”

  “I don’t know that they were. Mrs. Strumfield told us her husband had given Lester Heckett an ultimatum. Their friendship had to be strained, to say the least.”

  “So strained that Mr. Strumfield wouldn’t let him into the apartment?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If he had let him into the apartment, he wouldn’t have had to shoot him from a distance, correct?”

  “Probably not.”

  “That old probability again. If the friendship was so strained and my client shot Mr. Strumfield, then he probably broke into the apartment, yet there’s no sign of a break-in, correct?”

  “No, but—”

  “Are you saying Strumfield gave him a key to his apartment so he could come by and shoot him from a distance that would require some expertise with a pistol?” Milton looked at the report in his hands. “Yes, it’s nearly twenty feet. That requires some expertise with such a pistol, doesn’t it?”

  “That distance is an estimate.”

  “An estimate? We know where Strumfield’s body was found. We know how far the chair was from the landing. But okay, even if it was only reasonably accurate, Lester Heckett still would have to perform something like some Buffalo Bill circus sharpshooter, right?” He glanced at the sheet again. “Two wounds less than an inch apart. It would take a marksman to achieve that, correct?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “But probably?” Milton turned to the jury and glanced at Michele. “Which means, according to your own definition of probability, we would pay heed to your conclusion that it’s more likely that someone else besides Lester Heckett committed this murder.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. The witness has not stated that conclusion.”

  “Objection sustained.”

  Milton turned sharply on Blake. He stepped toward him, looking as if he might leap at him. “Did you discover any evidence to indicate that Lester Heckett was familiar with guns, pistols in particular?”

  “No, but he could have practiced secretly, I suppose.”

  “Could have, might have—not very definitive for a detective presenting evidence in a murder trial. Something more customary for a priest, wouldn’t you say?”

  Before Blake could respond, Milton turned to Michele. “Probably your friendly witness,” he said with an ironic smile, and walked back to his table.

  Michele rose slowly. She knew she had to follow this line of questioning now. Blake looked at her apologetically, but he was clearly ready to do whatever he could to help.

  “Since defense counsel has introduced the possibility of a hired assassin, let’s follow that for a moment, Lieutenant Blake. As you have stated, you’ve been involved in murder cases in which someone hired an assassin, have you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you have this suspicion and investigate this probability, what is one thing you might check first?”

  “A withdrawal of funds with which to pay the killer.”

  “Yes, and according to the bank statement I entered into evidence, Lester Heckett withdrew seventy-five thousand dollars just before the murder of Elliot Strumfield. Is that in line with what you’ve seen paid to hit men?”

  “Not that much, necessarily, but it’s very credible. Especially to hire a dependable and experienced killer.”

  “You had a lead in this regard, did you not, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain it to the jury, please?”

  “One of my informants led me to an individual who brokers murderers for hire. He told me this man had told him he had been offered nearly double his usual fee to assign a killer to a case. He specifically said seventy-five thousand dollars.”

  “Which is exactly what Lester Heckett withdrew in cash right before Mr. Strumfield was shot. A man who hires someone to kill for him is still a murderer, is he not?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Thank you.”

  She headed back to her seat, unable to feel confident. She felt more as if she was in retreat.

  “A few more questions,” Milton said. “Did this informant specifically mention Lester Heckett?”

  “No. As I said, there was a middleman. I followed up on it and was able to determine through my informant whom in his stable of killers he might have put on this killing.”

  “Did you arrest the middleman, bring him in for questioning?”

  “I couldn’t. He was found dead from a drug overdose before I could get to him. We know now that he was murdered, deliberately injected with a drug overdose.”

  “How unfortunate. What about the probable assassin? Did you get a lead, follow up on him or her?”

  “He was killed in a mugging.”

  “A trained killer killed in a mugging? Who’s safe on our streets these days?” Milton offered, and smiled at the jury. “Okay, where is this informer, Lieutenant? I don’t see him on the witness list.”

  “You can’t have an informer testify in court. Not only would he no longer be of any value to the police, but he’d probably be killed.”

  “Then I move that Lieutenant Blake’s testimony regarding the payment of seventy-five thousand dollars to employ a hit man be considered hearsay and stricken from the record, Your Honor,” Milton said.

  The judge nodded. “Granted.” She turned to the jury. “You will disregard the testimony concerning the payment of seventy-five thousand dollars for a hit man.”

  Milton smiled at Michele, but it wasn’t a smile of arrogance. It was more like a look of regret, an apology. It made her angrier.

  It was time to call up Cisley Strumfield and establish Lester Heckett’s motive and presence at the murder scene. With the motive, the weapon in his possession, and the eyewitness account, she was still confident of a win.

  But when she looked at Cisley Strumfield, she paused. The woman’s face was trembling. She looked as if she was made of thin china, and that in seconds, she would crumble to the floor.

  Michele then turned to look at Aunt Eve. Her face was more disturbing. She looked as if she had seen one of her ghosts.

  And when Aunt Eve looked back at her, she shook her head the way she did when she predicted something dark and sad for someone.

  17

  Cisley Strumfield walked so slowly to the witness chair that Michele thought she wasn’t going to make it, that she would simply collapse like a dress dropped from a hanger and lay spread out on the floor. She clutched her Judith Leiber purse against her body as if she feared it would be snatched, squeezed it under her arm and against her breast as protectively as a football player heading for the goal line when she was sworn in, and sat with her hands over it as if she was drawing some sort of power and stability from it.

  Michele regretted not being firmer about how she should dress. She certainly didn’t need the gold-over-silver diamond bangles on her left wrist to complement her nearly two-carat diamond wedding ring along with the expensive purse, and she could have worn a black or gray pantsuit and not a pearl-colored Armani tailored Lurex melange jacket and skirt. Michele thought, however, that this was who Cisley Strumfield was. She was uncomfortable in less expensive clothes and probably felt naked without he
r diamonds.

  Michele smiled at her, hoping to keep her calm and secure. “I know how difficult this is for you, Mrs. Strumfield. It hasn’t been that long since this tragedy,” she said, fully aware that to the jury, a woman who took pains with her makeup and wore clothing and jewelry that most of them couldn’t afford didn’t rise to the expectation of difficulty that Michele was implying. Time had passed, and mourning her husband could have diminished in its intensity, but surely the trial was bringing it all back in spades.

  “I can’t get the sight of him out of my mind,” Cisley Strumfield said, following Michele’s lead. Her voice was thin, obviously on the verge of cracking into sobs. She glanced at Lester Heckett and quickly turned back to Michele. “I’ll do my best. I want to see justice for my husband.”

  “Of course. We all do. Thank you. You’ve known the defendant, Lester Heckett, for some time, as did your husband?”

  “Yes, a long time. I’ve known him nearly nine years.”

  “And you knew that your husband knew him years before he became involved with his company?”

  “Both of them often talked about their days at college.”

  “Why did your husband offer Lester Heckett a position in his company?”

  “Lester wasn’t doing that well. He had failed in his entrepreneurial efforts. He was in debt, matter of fact,” she said, as if the word “debt” was a profanity. “He came to Elliot for work, and Elliot hired him.” She turned and looked at Lester Heckett. “He made him a wealthy man, but he was very greedy and jealous of Elliot’s success.”

  “How do you know he was jealous?”

  “I could see it whenever he was with us. Elliot mentioned it to me often. It bothered him, made him sad, disappointed.”

  “Did your husband often bring home his work, tell you about ups and downs in the business?”

  “Never. He knew I didn’t like finance. It was always too boring and complicated for me.”

  “But he did tell you about Mr. Heckett’s embezzlement.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Milton said. “We have not established any illegal activity on Mr. Heckett’s part.”

  “Shifting of funds into his own account,” Michele corrected. She looked back at Milton. He flicked his wrist at his forehead and smiled.

  “Please answer the question, Mrs. Strumfield,” Michele said.

  “My husband was heartbroken about that once he discovered what Lester had done. Not only did he feel betrayed, but he felt he had betrayed his two other partners by bringing Lester into the mix, as he would say.” She opened her purse, took out a tissue, and dabbed her eyes.

  “Were you present when your husband confronted Mr. Heckett about this transfer of company funds to his own private account?”

  “I wasn’t in the room, but I could hear everything. My husband was shouting a lot, and he was always a soft-spoken man, even when he was angry.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “I heard Lester break down, claim he was under great pressure because of his divorce. I heard him promise to restore the funds.”

  “So there is no doubt in your mind that your husband did not give Lester Heckett permission to take this money?”

  “No, no doubt.”

  “What did you hear your husband say after Mr. Heckett promised to return the funds?”

  “Elliot told him how terribly disappointed he was in him, how much the betrayal pained him, and how embarrassed he was to have brought him into the business. He told him he would not press charges against him if he returned the money in two days, but he wanted Lester to resign.”

  “And what was Mr. Heckett’s response?”

  “He was grateful and apologetic, but he pleaded for his job. He begged for another six months at least.”

  “And your husband’s reaction?”

  “He was adamant that Lester resign immediately after restoring the money.”

  “Okay. Let’s fast-forward to that horrible day, Mrs. Strumfield. You had gone out to do some shopping, correct?”

  “Yes, and to meet some friends for lunch.”

  “Was there any way Mr. Heckett would know you weren’t home at the time planned for your husband’s murder?”

  “Lester had called me the day before. He wanted to meet with me to get me to work on my husband and persuade him to give him more time to earn more money. He asked to meet me for lunch, and I told him of my plans already made. I also told him I would not approach Elliot on his behalf anyway, that I was just as disappointed and disillusioned with him. I warned him to get the money returned, and I hung up.”

  “It started raining right after your lunch ended, so you took a taxi home?”

  “Yes, but I normally take a taxi.”

  “Describe what you saw then.”

  “I had gotten out of the taxi and started toward the front entrance when I saw Lester look back at me and then hurry away.”

  “How far was he from the building?”

  “Maybe fifty feet at most.”

  “There is no doubt in your mind that you saw Lester Heckett quickly moving away from your building just before you went up and found your husband had been shot dead?”

  “None whatsoever,” she said firmly.

  “And when he saw you, he didn’t approach you to talk. He continued to flee?”

  “Yes.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Strumfield.”

  She glanced at Milton and then at her aunt, who still didn’t smile, despite the good testimony Michele had drawn from Cisley Strumfield.

  Milton rose so slowly he seemed to be unfolding into his true height, and for a moment, Michele thought he did look a little taller. He kept moving slowly, too, his head down, looking as if he was struggling to come up with a question, and then, just as suddenly as ever, he raised his head and smiled.

  “How long had your husband known of your affair, Mrs. Strumfield?”

  Cisley Strumfield’s whole face trembled. Michele felt a terrible sick sensation come over her. This came completely out of thin air. She looked at Matthew Blake. He shook his head.

  “I have had no affair,” Cisley said, as soon as she regained her breath.

  Milton held his smile. “You swore to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, Mrs. Strumfield.”

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “We’re going to have to subpoena a Mr. Bob Middleton, Mrs. Strumfield, and then the clerk at the Dew Drop Inn in Fort Lee, New Jersey. Clark is his name, I believe. Short, stout, redheaded man of forty or so? He’s seen you and Mr. Middleton at least, what, five times?”

  Cisley Strumfield didn’t reply, but it was obvious that she was shocked by the details Milton was proposing.

  “Mr. Middleton is the husband of one of the women you lunch with on a regular basis, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she said, barely audible.

  “But you don’t feel too guilty about it, right? Your husband had an affair with someone you knew not that long ago, correct?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know of any—”

  “Of course you do. How did you find out about that? A friend saw them, I believe? Actually, to show you proof of your husband’s affair, you were given photographs, were you not?”

  She looked toward Michele, but Michele had no reason to object. It would look bad to do so and be overruled. She would appear to be trying to prevent the truth.

  “We can produce the photographs, enter them in the record, if you like. I have copies. I don’t want to bring you any additional pain, Mrs. Strumfield. I don’t want to ask you to identify your husband with the wife of someone who was supposedly a good friend.”

  Cisley Strumfield’s face began to crumble, to crinkle up as if it were made of cellophane.

  “Shall I produce the photographs?” Milton asked softly.

  “No. Yes, I knew about his affair,” she admitted.

  “The truth feels so much better, doesn’t it?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer. “Did you have your a
ffair as a way to get even? I think a lot of us might sympathize with you if that was your motive.”

  Michele felt she just had to object. It was weak. “This line of questioning has nothing to do with Mrs. Strumfield’s testimony, Your Honor.”

  “Oh, I think it does, Your Honor. I think it speaks to truth and consequences, as well as motive. It certainly speaks to the validity of this witness, especially when establishing that Elliot Strumfield was seeing Lester Heckett’s wife before and after their divorce.”

  There was an audible gasp in the audience and even from some of the jury members.

  “I’ll allow it,” the judge said.

  “This affair?” Milton said. “To get even, then?”

  “No. It was just something that happened. It’s over. It’s been over so long that I don’t think about it anymore.”

  “That’s convenient. Loss of memory when it comes to our indiscretions, our sins. Since we all sin, how lucky are those with Alzheimer’s, after all?” Milton looked at the jury. “Okay, now that we have restored your memory somewhat, can you tell us how your husband reacted when he found out? He knew Middleton, right?”

  “We came to an understanding,” she said. “Neither of us spoke of it after I ended it.”

  “Spoke of it is one thing; shared your bed is another,” Milton said. “In fact, when was the last time you slept together? And don’t tell me the night before he was killed.”

  “I object, Your Honor. The defense counsel is on some kind of wild fishing expedition. There is no possible way he can substantiate the Strumfields’ private relations.”

  “Oh, it’s not so wild, Your Honor,” Milton said. “And I’m afraid our esteemed assistant district attorney is incorrect. I can substantiate it if Mrs. Strumfield treats us to the truth. That’s why I’m asking her.”

  “I want to see pretty quickly where you’re going with this, Mr. Milton.”

  “Understood, Your Honor. Okay. I’m sympathetic to your horrible situation, Mrs. Strumfield. We don’t need to explore your sexual relationship with your husband. However, you’re the one who has had the real money in this marriage, aren’t you, Mrs. Strumfield? You financed your husband’s business, and you’ve always owned seventy-five percent of his share. You had this written into your prenuptial agreement, didn’t you?”