Clay Evans noticed Elena as soon as she walked into the courtroom. She looked exquisite in that blue dress. Maybe I could agree to life imprisonment for a little action. The thought had barely flickered into consciousness before he reminded himself that his career was at stake in this case. Lust would definitely have to take a back seat for the time being. Tracey wasn’t looking too shabby herself, although he sensed the woman had a hard edge to her. Maybe he could impress her with his courtroom skills. God, he was feeling good today.
Once the lawyers were seated, the bailiff let the judge know everything was ready. At the appropriate moment, the judge knocked on the door three times, signaling the bailiff that he was ready. The bailiff then told everyone to rise and the judge entered the courtroom.
Judge Wentwell was a tall man, almost as tall as Clay, and ramrod straight, with a full head of white hair. Elena, who was seated in the spectators’ seats directly behind Tracey, felt for a moment like she was in church and the bishop had just come out to the altar. Rudy was not there. Tracey had told Elena it would be best if he were not in the courtroom. He didn’t need to hear what H.V. was going to say about him and Judge Wentwell didn’t need to see how handsome he was and how bright he appeared to be.
The Cobb County courthouse had only two courtrooms: the small one for county court cases, misdemeanors and arraignments; and the large one, Judge Wentwell’s court, which handled all the major civil trials and felony cases. It was a cavernous old room with rows of oak benches for the spectators, even a balcony. The judge ruled from an elevated mahogany dais. The witness chair was to his right and below him. The jurors’ chairs, which were empty on this day, were to the right of the witness. The lawyers’ tables were front and center where the judge could look down on them without turning a lick.
“Counsel, are we ready to proceed?” Judge Wentwell asked after everybody had been seated. Clay popped up.
“The state is ready, Your Honor,” he said briskly.
Tracey was a little more deliberate. “The defense is ready, Your Honor.”
“Ms. James, since it is your motion, you may proceed.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. The defense calls Detective Wesley Brume to the stand.” The bailiff left to retrieve Wes from the witness room.
Calling Wes was no surprise to Clay. Tracey had to lay the facts of the interview out and Wes was the only person to do it since Rudy would not be testifying. What Clay didn’t know was that Tracey would be playing a little Ping-Pong that morning using Wesley Brume as the ball.
She started politely asking him to tell the judge his name and how long he’d been a police officer and the different positions he had held in the police department. She had no idea the judge already knew Wes quite well. Many years before, Wes had pulled the judge over for speeding, something Judge Wentwell never did.
“Going to a fire or something?” Wes had asked the distinguished jurist as he walked up to the driver’s side window. “Whaddya think, the law doesn’t apply to you? A few days in the slammer will straighten you out. Come on, let’s see your license and registration.” It was the usual banter he delivered to everyone—it made him feel good and made the routine of chasing speeders more enjoyable. The judge handed Wes his license without looking up. People had been coming into his courtroom for years claiming that they hadn’t been speeding and that they had been treated quite rudely by Officer Wesley Brume, exactly what he had just experienced and exactly what Wesley Brume had denied every time. Wes read the name on the license and knew he was in deep shit. He thought about backtracking, pretending he knew it was the judge all along, but the look of guilt on his pudgy face had already betrayed him.
“Hi, Judge, how are you?” was all he could muster.
“Fine, Officer Brume. Finish with your ticket.”
“On second thought, Judge, I think I stopped the wrong car. It was the one in front of you.” There had been no car in front of Judge Wentwell and they both knew it. The old man glared at Wes and drove off.
The next day, the police chief received a hand-delivered letter from the judge detailing the whole incident and demanding that Wesley Brume be stripped of all authority to issue speeding tickets and that all his officers have explained to them the importance of ticketing people who actually were speeding. Needless to say the incident did not go over well with the chief.
The whole affair was also unknown to Clay, who sat supremely confident as he watched Tracey ask Wes one warm and fuzzy question after another. All that was about to change.
“Officer Brume, why did you pick up my client for questioning?”
That was an easy one for Wes. “He was identified by three people as a suspect.”
“Would those three people be Pilar Rodriguez, Ray Castro and José Guerrero?”
“Yes.”
“Is it accurate that you did not interview those three people?”
“Yes, that’s accurate. Officer Barbas interviewed them.” Everything seemed to be moving along quite well to Clay. The pace had a nice rhythm to it. Wes was answering the questions quickly and directly.
“I have Officer Barbas’s interview of the two men in my hands here. It says they described a tall man with black hair, is that accurate?”
“Yes.”
“So they didn’t identify my client?” Tracey said, staring intensely at Wes.
“No, but their identification was consistent with what he looked like and Ms. Rodriguez said the man who puked on her lawn looked like the boy who worked at the convenience store. She even said his name, Rudy.”
“But she didn’t see this person who looked like Rudy come from Lucy Ochoa’s trailer?”
“No.”
“And isn’t it true that she could not identify Rudy in a lineup?”
“That’s correct.” It was Clay who was glaring at Wes now. How could you not tell me something like that, you idiot?
Wes needed to redeem himself. “If I could explain.” Tracey knew what was coming. She had tried to use the fact that ultimately nobody identified Rudy without placing those facts in a time sequence. Wes was about to call her on it. “At the time we picked your client up for questioning, Ms. Rodriguez had said the man who puked on her lawn looked like Rudy and he also fit the description the other two men gave us. I believe that gave us enough reasonable suspicion to question him.”
“Did you read him his rights?”
“Of course. I had him sign a document explaining his rights.”
That was important to the judge. “Did you bring that document with you?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Let’s see it.” Wes showed the original to the judge.
“Is this your client’s signature?” he asked Tracey.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then what are we doing here, Ms. James?”
“I want to show you how it was obtained and why it should be stricken.”
“Then get on with it, Ms. James. Stop wasting our time with these meaningless questions.” It was a definite slap, one Tracey was not used to receiving.
“Before you picked my client up, you talked to his high school principal, Mr. Bill Yates, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And Mr. Yates told you that Rudy had an intellectual deficit, that he couldn’t keep up with the other students academically, correct?”
“Yes.”
“They passed him academically to the tenth grade, although they shouldn’t have, but after that he just received an attendance certificate, correct?”
“Pretty much.” That answer wasn’t good enough for Tracey. Too much wiggle room.
“Pretty much? Is there anything in my question you want to qualify?”
“No, it’s correct.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Yates tell you anything else about Rudy?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“He didn’t tell you
that Rudy was very affable, that he’d agree to everything you’d say; that in all fairness you shouldn’t question him without either his mother or a lawyer present—the principal didn’t say those things to you?” Tracey was starting to squeeze. The Grunt resisted, just as she had hoped.
“No. I don’t remember him saying anything like that.”
“You don’t remember him saying anything like that or he didn’t say anything like that: Which is it, Officer Brume?”
“Detective Brume.”
“Okay. Which is it, Detective Brume?” She was getting under his skin already.
“He didn’t say anything like that,” the Grunt replied defiantly. This bitch wasn’t going to push him around. At counsel table, Clay put his left hand on his forehead. He knew what was coming.
“You picked Rudy up at the convenience store where he worked, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Did you speak to his boss?”
“Yes.”
“Was he reluctant to let Rudy go with you?”
“Somewhat.”
Tracey bit his head off again. “What does ‘Somewhat’ mean, Mr. Brume? Does it mean he was reluctant or he was not reluctant?”
“It means he didn’t want me to take Rudy at first but after we talked and I told him the importance of the investigation, he agreed that Rudy should go with me.”
“You mean he agreed after you threatened him with the health department?”
“That’s not true. I would never do that.” Wes didn’t dare look up at the judge. He had used those exact words before in a speeding hearing.
“Did Mr. Dragone want to call Rudy’s mother to let her know what was happening?”
“I don’t recall that.”
“Did you discourage him from doing that?”
“I don’t recall that.” Wes had hit on a new answer. He remembered a former president had used it very effectively.
Tracey kept the pace moving, mindful that the judge might wonder where all this was going. She picked up the police report from her desk, held it in her hand.
“So you took Rudy to the police department?”
“Yes.”
“And you began questioning him, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And according to your report, you began questioning him at 3:18 p.m., correct?” She showed him the report. Wes glanced at it.
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“And isn’t it true, Officer Brume, that before you started your interrogation of Rudy, his mother arrived at the station and demanded to see her son and that you not question her son without her being present?” The Fourth jumped to his feet. It was his first opportunity to stop Tracey’s rhythm.
“Objection, Your Honor. Compound question.” It was a valid objection but meaningless under the circumstances. There was no jury and Judge Wentwell certainly knew it was a compound question.
“Overruled. Proceed, Ms. James.”
“Do you need me to repeat the question, Officer Brume?” Tracey asked.
“Detective Brume. No, I recall the question. To my knowledge the mother didn’t arrive at the station until I was almost finished with the interview.”
“When she did arrive, did she request that you stop the interview?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He’d agreed to talk to me. He’s an adult and she’s not a lawyer.”
“Did you tell him his mother was outside and she wanted to see him before he answered any more questions?”
“No.”
“Is that because you knew that he wouldn’t talk to you anymore if he knew his mother was outside?”
“No. I was almost finished anyway. At that point it wouldn’t have made a difference.”
“You hadn’t taken his blood yet, had you?”
“No.”
Tracey changed subjects again. “Where did this interrogation take place?”
“In the interrogation room at the police department.”
“I’ve heard about that room. It’s equipped with a television camera, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you have audio recording equipment in there as well, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t use either?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Was there a reason why you didn’t, Officer Brume?” The Fourth was on his feet again.
“Objection, Your Honor. She’s harassing the witness. He’s already told her several times that he’s a detective.” Unfortunately for Clay, Judge Wentwell was enjoying the harassment.
“He may be a detective, Mr. Clay, but he’s also a sworn police officer. I don’t see how addressing a police officer as ‘Officer’ can constitute harassment. Objection overruled. You may proceed, Ms. James.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Do you need me to repeat the question, Officer Brume?” Tracey asked politely as she turned her focus back to the fat little cop.
“No. There was no reason in particular. We rarely use the video camera. And I didn’t have a tape available.”
“What would you have had to do to use the camera, just get a videotape?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is that a ‘yes,’ Officer Brume?”
“Yes.”
“Where was the videotape?”
“In the equipment room.” He was being evasive but Tracey didn’t mind. His evasiveness would have been obvious to a two-year-old.
“And where is the equipment room?”
“Down the hall.”
“And the recording equipment, would you have found a tape for that in the equipment room as well?”
“Yes.”
“Can you be more specific, Officer Brume? How long would it have taken you to walk down the hall, fetch the video or recording equipment, or both, and install them before beginning your interview?”
“Three to five minutes,” the Grunt replied nonchalantly. It was that cavalier attitude that made Clay Evans want to strangle him. Does this idiot have any idea where she’s taking him?
“Is it accurate that this recording equipment was in the interrogation room to be used for interrogations?”
“Of course.” What a stupid question, Wes thought.
“Is it accurate that when you brought my client in for questioning he was already a suspect in this murder?”
“Yes.”
“And he was your only suspect at the time?”
“Yes.”
“And is it accurate, Detective Brume, that in your twenty-plus years as a police officer in this department this is the most heinous crime you have ever investigated?” She had deliberately called him Detective. She was starting to give him the respect he deserved, or so it seemed.
“No question about that,” he responded. Tracey had him cornered. It was time to drop the bomb.
“So you bought this hi-tech equipment for the specific purpose of interrogation, you’re investigating the most heinous crime ever, and you make a conscious decision not to video or even audio record it, correct?”
“No, that’s not correct,” Wes replied, realizing too late the crater that he was sitting in. Tracey was not about to let him squirm his way out by asking him to explain his answer. She switched gears.
“Did you have Rudy make a written statement?”
“No, but I had him read my notes and sign them.”
“Did you tell him to sign them?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Was he allowed to make changes?”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s very simple, Officer Brume, did you let him edit your notes?”
“Of course not.”
“You just had him sign them.”
“Yes.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” The abrupt termination of the examination surprised the Fourth. He had expected Tracey to grill the Grunt on the questions and ans
wers he’d written down, but Tracey was only interested in the procedure, not the substance.
Now it was Clay’s turn. His immediate task was to cauterize Wes’s wounds to prevent further bleeding. Wes hadn’t really suffered a direct hit but he was bleeding profusely from several minor wounds. The Fourth could choose either to cut his losses and get the poor man off the stand, something that required great restraint, or to ask more questions and open the Grunt up for even heavier artillery. He chose the latter course, rising slowly and calculating his questions as he walked to the podium. He had to rehabilitate the fat little toad.
“Detective Brume, in your twenty-plus years with the police department has your credibility ever been questioned?” Tracey was on her feet in a heartbeat.
“Objection, Your Honor. The character of Officer Brume is not an issue in this case, although his credibility in this particular case is.” It was classic litigator-speak, something the public probably wouldn’t understand. But Tracey didn’t care about the small group of regular folks observing the proceedings from the gallery. The only person in the room who mattered to her at that moment was Judge Wentwell, and he was sure to get it.
“This court is in recess for the next twenty minutes. I want to see the lawyers in my chambers with the court reporter.” The judge stood and left the courtroom. Clay and Tracey followed him to his chambers. When everyone was seated and the court reporter was set up, the judge began.
“I did not believe it was necessary to disclose this information at the beginning of this hearing, but the testimony has brought me to a place where I must disclose some pertinent information to you that I’m certain you’re not aware of.” Tracey and Clay looked at each other quizzically then turned back to the judge, who proceeded to tell them about the little “speeding” incident he’d had with Wes.
“I agree with Ms. James,” the judge went on, “that Officer Brume’s credibility is at issue here, not his character. However, Mr. Evans, since I will be deciding what evidence the jury hears, it is my duty to disclose to you that my opinion is somewhat tainted regarding Officer Brume’s credibility and character. I do not believe that will affect my decision on the legal issues in this hearing or at trial. However, if you wish, I will step down from this case.”
The Mayor of Lexington Avenue Page 12