The Final Judgment
Page 34
“Yessir.” Mann’s shoulders hunched together, and his forehead creased; with a certain detachment, Caroline watched the young policeman gather himself to give the answer he and Jackson had rehearsed. “I was worried that someone might be hurt somewhere and needing help. I mean, that’s one of the reasons you take this job—to help protect people. You have to consider all sorts of things, like maybe there’s a killer out there who might hurt someone again if we didn’t find him, who even might hurt Ms. Allen. But the first thing was this guy on the driver’s license, and was he hurt and still out there.”
It might even be true, Caroline thought; at least Mann was young enough to believe it. Next to her, Brett stared at the table.
Caroline whispered, “Keep looking at him. No matter what.”
Brett did that. But she could not look at Caroline.
“So at the time,” Jackson was asking, “your concern was public safety?”
“Yessir. And maybe saving a life.”
“And you did not believe that a homicide had been committed, or that Ms. Allen had committed it?”
For the first time, Caroline rose to address Judge Towle. “Objection,” she said in a calm, clear voice. “To both questions, actually. I don’t want to interrupt Mr. Watts’s testimony, but he shouldn’t be telling our nominal witness what his answers should be. After all, these proceedings should have at least some spontaneity.”
Towle’s owlish look at Caroline said that he understood perfectly: that Jackson, unsure of his witness, was steering him through a trap Caroline wished to spring—that he had waited too long to read Brett her rights for a charge of murder. And that Caroline must cut this off.
“Sustained.” Towle turned to Jackson, “Let’s have this in Officer Mann’s own words. And thoughts, if possible.”
Jackson looked unruffled; his question had already provided Mann with the answer, and Caroline’s objection had underscored how central it was. “Did you show the license to Ms. Allen?” he asked.
“Yessir.”
“And what, if anything, did you say to her?”
“What I just said—that I was afraid someone out there might be hurt, might get worse if we couldn’t help him.”
Jackson nodded in approval. “And did she answer you?”
“She did. She told me to look out by Heron Lake.” Turning to Brett, he finished quietly, “When they found him, his throat had been cut with a knife.”
Brett’s face was white. Beneath the table, Caroline touched her knee.
Jackson let a moment pass. “Between the time of Ms. Allen’s statement and the time James Case was found dead, what did you do?”
Slowly, Mann’s gaze returned to Jackson. “I called the state police. At their instructions, I took her to Connaughton County Hospital and then drove back to the station.”
“And when did you next see her?”
“After they’d found the body, and we’d called the Major Crimes Unit of the state police. They called from the hospital and said she wanted to see me.”
“What did you do?”
“Waited for Sergeant Summers from Major Crimes in Concord. When he got there, he had them put her in a room with both of us.”
“And at that time, did you give Ms. Allen her Miranda warnings?”
“Sergeant Summers did. It’s all on tape.”
“And how did she seem to you?”
“Pale and upset. But sober—anxious to talk.”
“Did she seem to understand her rights?”
“Yessir. On the tape, she says that doesn’t matter—that she wants to talk.”
Jackson paused a moment. “How long,” he asked slowly, “had it been since you picked her up?”
“It was nearly six. I’d picked her up at approximately eleven-thirty.”
“Did she seem coherent?”
“Yessir.”
Jackson nodded. “We’ll introduce the tape through Sergeant Summers. But could you describe the essence of her statement as to how James Case had died?”
Mann nodded. “She told us that someone else had killed him. And that she found him like that.”
“And in the course of her statement, did you ask Ms. Allen about her relationship to Mr. Case?”
“Yessir.”
“And what did she say?”
“He was her boyfriend.”
All at once, Caroline could see what was coming. She had an objection—that the tape spoke for itself. But to raise this would only make things worse.
Pausing, Jackson gave Mann a long, considering look. “And did you then ask her if Mr. Case was involved with any other women?”
“Yessir.”
“And what did she answer?”
As he turned to Brett, Caroline saw the girl brace herself. “Ms. Allen said, ‘Of course not.’” Pausing, Mann seemed bemused. “It was the only time she sounded angry.”
Caroline felt the implications in the pit of her stomach: that Brett was sober enough to lie. And that she had needed to lie about Megan Race because she needed to lie about everything.
In an involuntary reflex, Brett looked down.
Turning to Caroline, Jackson said with grave politeness, “Your witness, Counsel.”
Three
Walking toward the witness, Caroline took a moment to gather herself. She saw her family watching her, her father’s grim inspection. Most of all, she felt Brett waiting behind her.
“Let’s take this from the beginning,” she said. “You found Brett Allen in her Jeep, by the side of the road. Naked.”
Mann gave her a wary look. “That’s right.”
“Spattered with blood.”
“Yes.”
“Specked with vomit.”
“Yes.”
“And, it seems fair to say, disoriented.”
Mann shook his head. “I don’t know if I could say that.”
Caroline appraised him. Take it slow, she told herself. Quietly, she asked, “You had no doubt she was intoxicated, right?”
“Not really, no.”
“And what did you base that on?”
“Like I said, I thought I could smell wine and marijuana. Plus she’d thrown up.”
“Is that all?”
Mann leaned back in the witness stand. “I think so, yes.”
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “She was naked, wasn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“How many other naked drivers have you arrested?”
Mann hesitated, and then shrugged. “None.”
“And yet you testified that at the time you picked her up for DWI, she seemed to understand you. Was that based on anything she said?”
“No.”
“Because she didn’t respond at all, did she?”
“Not that I remember.”
Caroline moved closer. In a flat voice, she said, “Indeed, after you told her you were taking her in, the next thing she did—the very next thing—was throw up.”
Pausing, Mann looked troubled. “She did that, yes.”
“And on the way to the station she said nothing, correct?”
“Correct.”
“So your entire basis for believing that this naked, blood-spattered, nauseous, and intoxicated young woman was nonetheless not ‘disoriented’ was that she could tell you her name. Oh, and that her eyes ‘followed’ you when you asked questions.”
Mann glanced toward Jackson. “I guess so,” he said at length.
“But how do you know that she understood you?”
Mann’s brow furrowed. “I can’t know that.”
“Or even that she knew what had happened to her?”
Mann glanced at Brett. “She told us she did later. She gave a whole statement about what happened.”
It was a good answer. Caroline felt it break her rhythm; in that moment, she knew why Jackson had let this go.
She drew a breath. Quietly, she asked, “Have you ever been intoxicated, Officer Mann?”
Jackson was on his feet at once. “Objecti
on, Your Honor. Officer Mann’s personal experience in this regard—if any—is irrelevant to Ms. Allen’s conduct here.”
Caroline faced Judge Towle. “Your Honor, Officer Mann has offered an opinion—at least a surmise—on Ms. Allen’s state of mind from the moment of arrest until she finished her statement. Unless he has a medical background, that opinion is based solely on practical experience. Perhaps including his own.”
Towle propped his chin on one hand, glancing quickly toward Channing Masters. Almost absently, he said, “I’ll allow it.”
“Have you?” Caroline asked Mann.
Mann flushed. “I would say so, yes. A few times—always whiskey.”
“Ever get so drunk that you didn’t know where you were?”
Mann looked down; a painful attempt at honesty seemed to tighten his face. “Once. After a bachelor party.”
“And do you remember everything that happened that night?”
“Most of it…” His voice trailed off, and he looked at Caroline with sudden comprehension.
Quietly, she finished for him. “But not until later.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s right. And not everything.”
That last comment, Caroline realized, was far too close to home.
“At the time you arrested Ms. Allen,” she asked abruptly, “was her hair wet?”
Mann blinked, surprised. “I think so, yes.”
“On what do you base that?”
Mann thought for a time. “Like I said, I gave her my jacket. When I put it over her shoulders, her hair felt wet.” He scrutinized Brett briefly. “Her hair was curlier and tighter than it looks to me now.”
Caroline paused. “So that later, when she gave her statement, there was at least one part you believed. When Brett told you she’d gone swimming.”
“I guess so, yes.”
“That must have been before James Case was killed, correct?”
Mann hesitated, and then spread his hands. “How would I know?”
“Because when you arrested her, Officer Mann, her face and neck and torso and hair all were flecked with blood.”
Mann looked surprised. “That’s true….”
“So that it’s quite possible that—just as she told you—Brett Allen was in the middle of Heron Lake at the time James Case was killed.”
There was a first murmur from the press. Instantly, Jackson rose to object. “Your Honor,” he said. “That may be Counsel’s argument. But how and when Ms. Allen’s hair got wet is well beyond the knowledge of this witness.”
That, Caroline knew, was utterly correct. “Not so,” she answered tartly. “Not when there was blood on Ms. Allen’s skin and in her admittedly wet hair.”
Towle permitted himself a smile. “It’s not the ‘wet’ part Mr. Watts objects to. It’s the ‘lake’ part. Objection sustained.”
Caroline did not argue; she had made her point. Turning back to Mann, she asked, “Would you characterize the blood spatter on Ms. Allen’s skin and hair as heavy?”
Mann seemed to search his memory. “No, I wouldn’t say ‘heavy.’”
“Then how would you describe it?”
Mann folded his hands, glancing again at Jackson. “It was more like spray—dots and a few drops.”
“So the surface of her skin was hardly blood-soaked.”
Mann shook his head. “It was more like a spray on her face, and then spots on her breasts and stomach. Pretty far apart.”
Caroline wondered for an instant how hearing this felt to Brett. And then Jackson was up again. “Your Honor, we have photographs of the spray pattern on Ms. Allen. I suggest that these exhibits are the best evidence of what Ms. Masters is trying to elicit here.”
Caroline still faced Judge Towle. “With a few more questions, Your Honor, I believe that I can demonstrate that Mr. Watts’s pictures are not ‘best evidence’ of anything. May I proceed?”
Towle nodded briskly. “Go ahead, Ms. Masters. But quickly—otherwise, I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Watts.”
Caroline faced Mann again. “You gave Ms. Allen your jacket, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And she zipped it up?”
Mann hesitated. “I did, actually.”
“And she wore it to the jail.”
“Yes.”
“How much of Ms. Allen would you say the jacket covered?”
Mann looked down. “Maybe to midthigh.”
“And did Ms. Allen pull the jacket down around her, trying to cover herself?”
Mann seemed to flush. “I remember that. Yes.”
“So that, inevitably, the jacket touched her skin?”
Mann looked down. In a slow, reluctant voice, he said, “When I got the jacket back, there were spots of blood on it. So I’d have to say yes.”
Caroline felt briefly sorry for him; for perhaps the first time in his life, Mann was learning what the most thoughtful—or thoughtless—act might become in the hands of a defense lawyer. “Did you send your jacket to the cleaners, Officer Mann?”
“Yes.”
“And you never discussed this with the medical examiner or anyone from the state police?”
Mann raised his head. “No, ma’am,” he said formally. “I did not.”
“All right. Then let’s move to your conversation with Ms. Allen after you got to jail. You did not advise Ms. Allen of her rights—such as the right to counsel and against self-incrimination.”
Mann’s face hardened. “That’s right,” he said firmly. “We didn’t even have a body, ma’am. All I was after was protecting public safety and maybe finding someone who’d been hurt.”
Caroline placed both hands on her hips. “And how did you think this unknown person might have gotten hurt?”
Mann gave a fractional shrug. “I didn’t know.”
“Maybe with the knife? After all, it was bloody, and there were no stab wounds you could see on Ms. Allen.” Caroline paused. “And you’d pretty much seen everything.”
Mann flushed again. “I thought it was possible that it was the knife, yes.”
“Possible? Except for the knife and the blood on Ms. Allen, you had no reason to wonder if anyone had been ‘hurt,’ correct?”
“I guess not.”
Caroline mustered an incredulous look. “And how did you think that this person had gotten ‘hurt’? By falling on the knife?”
Jackson stood at once. “Objection, Your Honor. There’s no reason for counsel to badger this witness. If she has a question, let her ask it straight out.”
“I accept that, Your Honor.” Caroline turned to Mann again. “My apologies,” she said quietly. “But in all candor, didn’t you consider the possibility that this unknown person had been ‘hurt’ by Brett Allen?”
Folding his hands again, Mann took a long time to answer. Caroline became aware of the dampness of her palms. Then, in a soft voice, Mann said, “Yes, ma’am, I suppose I did. But all it was was speculation.”
“So when you asked Ms. Allen if someone was hurt out there, you’d considered the possibility that Ms. Allen might have committed an act of violence?”
Mann drew a silent breath. “Yes.”
“And after Ms. Allen told you that you might want to look at Heron Lake, you called the state police.”
“Yes.”
“With whom did you speak?”
“Sergeant Summers. The one who came here after we found the body.”
“And what did you tell him?”
Mann hesitated. “That we might have some sort of actual or attempted homicide. Maybe involving someone named James Case.”
Caroline nodded. “Did you tell Sergeant Summers about Brett, the knife, the wallet, and the blood? To get his advice on what to do?”
“Yes.”
“And when Sergeant Summers told you to take her to Connaughton County Hospital, it was to preserve the evidence on her body, right?”
“Yes.”
“Until you could get a warrant to search her person.”
“Because she was a potential suspect, correct?”
“Objection.” Quickly, Jackson moved forward; for the first time, he looked angry. “What Officer Mann may have said or been told after Ms. Allen’s initial statement is irrelevant to what he thought before. Ms. Masters is trying to turn good police work into something sinister.”
Ignoring him, Caroline faced Judge Towle. “Not at all, Your Honor. Officer Mann is entitled to take reasonable measures to find a theoretically wounded person, including inquiries of Ms. Allen. But without Miranda warnings, Mr. Watts is not entitled to use the statement of an intoxicated, disoriented young woman in police custody as evidence for a charge of murder. Or as a basis for warrants to gather yet more evidence—dubious as the evidence may be.”
Towle held up a hand, gazing from Jackson to Caroline. “That question,” he said to them both, “will be resolved by the Superior Court should this court find probable cause. It’s not the purpose of this proceeding. But while we’re here, I’ll allow Ms. Masters to ask the questions, as they may also relate to probable cause.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Caroline glanced at her father. His gaze was inward, his face quite composed; perhaps Caroline alone could have read the satisfaction in his face. She turned to Mann again.
“The question, Officer Mann, was whether, at the time you sent Ms. Allen to the hospital at Connaughton Falls, she was a potential suspect in some possible crime of violence.”
Mann’s jaw worked. “Yes.”
“Based on her statement regarding where to look for James Case.”
Mann hesitated, formulating his answer. “That,” he said, “and the knife and blood and wallet.”
“But without Ms. Allen’s statement, you wouldn’t have known where to look, would you?”
Mann’s face had closed now. “Not right away.”
Caroline tilted her head. “Prior to Ms. Allen’s initial statement, did you test her for intoxication?”
“No.”
“How did she seem to you?”
Mann glanced at Brett again; his expression softened a bit. “Slow. Kind of stunned.”
“Did she have a hard time speaking?”
“A little.”
“Have you ever arrested someone who was under the influence of marijuana?”