by Leanna Floyd
Jacob thought about the pros and cons of each potential scenario, and he decided that it would be easiest for him to go to her work. He really didn’t want to bring Charlie into the situation and cause any kind of disruption in the boy’s life; God only knew what kind of home life the real Alicia provided for her son. No, confronting Alicia at work would be perfect. He had the location of the Tropical Treasures business, which owned the IP address that Alicia had been using most of the time when she emailed him. She had always been vague about her work but indicated it involved real estate. When Jacob spotted an office called Sunshine Real Estate across the street from Tropical Treasures, he knew he’d found it.
It was here that she would be forced to talk with Jacob for fear of the scene he would cause in front of her co-workers. Jacob knew her job was important to her, that she was applying for promotion and would not want to jeopardize her chances. He walked in through the glass double doors leading into the lobby. Inside, there was a long dark wood desk covered with different metal wire baskets filled with files and loose papers. On the walls were framed pictures of iconic scenes around Miami−an outdoor café in South Beach, an airboat in the Everglades, a cheering crowd at a Miami Dolphins game, boutiques at Bal Harbour, a gallery in the Design District near downtown, and kids at the Seaquarium.
There was a cozy seating area with large white leather sofas and various magazines spread across the top. He went to the front desk in the lobby and saw a middle-aged attractive pale-skinned woman wearing thick black-framed glasses. As Jacob approached the desk, his heart was pounding against his chest, and he started to perspire. He thought about turning around, but it was too late, the woman had already seen him.
He needed answers and there was no going back. “Hello, I’m looking for Alicia. Is she available?”
“Would that be Alicia Gonzalez or Alicia Woods?” the woman said, returning his smile.
“Gonzalez, please,” he said.
“Oh, I’m sorry. She’s working from home today. Would you like her number? Or may I give her a message for you? Are you here about the group from Samsung?”
Jacob said, “No, I’m just an old friend. In town for a couple days and wanted to surprise her. Just wanted to catch up with her, see how things were going. I heard her little boy was really sick. I’ll shoot her a text or email her later.”
“I sure hope Charlie isn’t sick,” the woman said. “He was as rowdy as ever when he came in with Alicia earlier this week.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Jacob said and meant it.
“Well, I’m sure she will be sorry she missed you,” the receptionist said and smiled back at him again.
“Oh, I’ll catch up to her one way or another. Thanks for your help. Have a good day!” he said and turned to leave.
Yes, one way or another, he would track her down.
Chapter 35
“Raise your right hand, ma’am. Do you swear to tell the truth, and only the truth, to the best of your ability in this court of law, aware that not telling the truth is a criminal offense?”
“I do,” said Brooke. She wondered whatever happened to telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God, and suppressed a smile. Probably something to do with swearing an oath to God mingling church and state. Butterflies fluttered along the edges of her insides, and she wished Jacob were there. His text about visiting his grandmother in Pensacola had surprised her, but maybe getting away from everything would help him clear his head and move on from this terrible business with Alicia. And maybe it was better this way; there was no danger she would feel like a traitor to Jacob’s defense team.
While Caleb Carver rose from the prosecutor’s table, Brooke took a deep breath, smoothed the ruffle down the front of her ivory silk blouse, and wondered if she had made the right decision in leaving her jacket buttoned. She hoped it made her look more professional, which was the point of wearing a suit in the first place, one she had bought just for the occasion, a grey two-piece with a subtle chalk stripe. Along with simple diamond stud earrings her parents had given her one Christmas and the simple strand of pearls she’d inherited from her grandmother, she had dressed for battle. Authoritative. No nonsense. Confident. Which wasn’t necessarily how she felt, but all the more reason for her suit of armor.
Brooke took another deep breath. The air felt thick and heavy, and even though her palms felt cool and dry, a bead of nervous perspiration trickled down her back. To her right, the jurors seemed restless, some watching her closely while others stared off in other directions, apparently miles away. Clearly, they were ready for the Thanksgiving break.
“Ms. Douger,” Caleb Carver walked toward her, smiling. She nodded and gave a half-smile in return. After a conference call with the two of them and Dr. Gregory last week, Brooke had met with Carver that morning. He recommended addressing her lack of experience right out of the gate, deflating any opportunity for Lisa DeMato to pounce on Brooke’s rookie status. Their strategy was to make it seem as though Dr. Gregory had selected her because of her lack of courtroom experience, thus ensuring her total objectivity toward the evidence. Good in theory, but they were about to see how it worked in action.
“Ms. Douger, please describe your background in criminal psychology,” said the D.A.
“I’m in the final year of the Ph.D. program in clinical psychology at the University of South Florida. My thesis is focused on criminal psychopathology and the elements, both within their personality and in their environment, that lead to the likelihood of someone taking human lives repeatedly. Dr. Paul Gregory, a world-renowned expert in criminal profiling, is directing my thesis and asked me to testify on his behalf here today.” She couldn’t believe how dry her mouth was but hated to take a drink of her water after only getting started. “I chose this graduate program based on the work of Dr. Gregory and was fortunate enough that he elected to work with me.”
Carver nodded and said, “Yes, the District Attorney’s office for the state of Florida is well acquainted with Dr. Gregory’s work and has called on him many times for his expert testimony in this court. Why did Dr. Gregory specifically ask you to be his proxy today?”
“Dr. Gregory is consulting on an urgent matter elsewhere for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. After reviewing the evidence and prior testimony in this trial, he asked me to consult with him on his findings and to testify on his behalf because of my concentrated research on how the mind of a murderer works. He also cited my lack of involvement in previous criminal trials as an attribute underscoring my objectivity. He considers me free of the professional bias that often results with psychologists like Dr. Cosgrove, who tend to testify at least a dozen times a year in criminal cases.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” said Lisa DeMato. “Speculative! Witness has no basis for disparaging the defense counsel’s psychological expert. Please have her assessment stricken from her testimony.”
Before Judge Ranier could respond, Carver said, “With all due respect, Your Honor, when Dr. Cosgrove was on the stand, I did ask her how many times she had testified in criminal trials this year and her response was ten, if I recall correctly.”
Ranier looked down her glasses and shifted her gaze from DeMato to Carver and back again. “Overruled,” she finally said, but added, “Ms. Douger please refrain from any additional comments about Dr. Cosgrove’s qualifications as an expert in her field.”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Brooke said as she nodded soberly. So far, Carver was a hundred percent accurate in predicting how it would go. He called it sleight of hand—directing the jury’s attention to Dr. Cosgrove’s frequent testimonies instead of Brooke’s lack of experience.
“Nonetheless, Ms. Douger, Dr. Gregory’s selection of you to represent him and his testimony based on your own expertise and objectivity is duly noted,” said Carver. “And I’ll cut to the chase. What were his findings after examining the evidence and court record of this trial?”
“Dr. Gregory considers Zach Barton
, the plaintiff, as having narcissistic and psychopathic tendencies based on his wealth, status, and social entitlement. Barton has repeatedly displayed a tendency to resolve unexpected social conflict with an eruption of physical violence. Based on Barton’s own admissions of hostility toward Abby Winters, the deceased victim, in addition to other evidence—including his past criminal records—Barton possesses the mental and emotional capacity for taking the life of someone causing him mild distress.”
Although her responses were scripted and memorized, she had worked hard at delivering them in a natural, conversational way. While she wanted to sound like she knew what she was talking about, she still didn’t want to sound canned. She could wait no longer and reached for the bottled water on the tray next to her.
“And do you agree with Dr. Gregory’s findings?” asked Carver.
“Unequivocally,” said Brooke, pleased that she didn’t trip over the word she had practiced saying so many times. “Barton has all the psychological ingredients required in the recipe for a killer—narcissism, history of antisocial behavior, poor impulse control, and difficulty with empathy.”
“How can you and Dr. Gregory make such an assessment without having spoken with the plaintiff directly?” Carver asked, once again following the conversational route they had scripted.
“Based on the prior incidents, which you introduced to the court on November 14th, it’s clear that Mr. Barton struggles to control his behavior when other people do not conform with his wishes. The bar fights, altercations with management, and physical assaults on others in public demonstrate an irrefutable pattern of behavior.” They had Jack Reynolds to thank for that, of course, and while Brooke would have liked to be the one to introduce all the dirt Reynolds found on Barton, she understood why she couldn’t. In order to maximize those findings, Carver had to introduce it much earlier in his case, which he had.
“And how do you and Dr. Gregory respond to the defense counsel’s expert testimony that Mr. Barton displays no signs of antisocial tendencies, that his outbursts were simply exaggerated descriptions by jealous onlookers?”
Although Brooke had avoided any eye contact with Zach Barton, she couldn’t help but notice the way he sat smirking through her testimony. Relishing the response that she was about to give, she looked directly at him. “Psychopaths are naturally good at masking their emotions. But this causes those emotions to get bottled inside until they explode. After the explosion, psychopathic individuals use their extreme intelligence to justify or cover up their outburst. Also, based on the fact that Dr. Cosgrove’s diagnostic test was conducted in a controlled setting, Mr. Barton would have no trouble responding with the answers best exhibiting a healthy profile. And the test itself, well, according to Dr. Cosgrove, it’s still in development. The diagnostic tool may be unreliable at this time.”
Carver nodded, waiting to see if DeMato would object again. There was really nothing she could say to refute what Cosgrove herself had said on the witness stand—that is that the test was in its beginning stages of development, therefore making its reliability uncertain.
Instead of jumping up and attacking, DeMato kept her head buried in her notes, clearly ignoring the proceedings.
“Thank you, Ms. Douger. Nothing further, Your Honor,” said Carver.
Brooke took another sip of water and braced herself for the bullying assault she expected DeMato to deliver.
“Counsel, do you wish to cross-examine this witness?” asked Judge Ranier. DeMato stood and smiled smugly. “We have no reason whatsoever to cross-examine this witness, Your Honor.”
So, Brooke thought, I’m not even worth your time to try and attack. That’s fine by me. She smiled back at Ms. DeMato as Judge Ranier announced, “Thank you, Ms. Douger. You may leave the stand. Mr. Carver, do we have time for your next witness prior to our recess for the Thanksgiving holiday?”
While Brooke stepped down and returned to her seat, Carver went through the motions of checking his shiny gold Rolex watch before saying, “I would prefer that my next witness’ testimony not be interrupted by our recess, Your Honor.”
“Ms. DeMato, any objections?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“May I remind the jurors that they remain under oath to refrain any and all communications about this trial. If I receive any indication that outside conversations about this trial are taking place over the holiday weekend, I will reconvene this court immediately and sequester the jury indefinitely. Understood? I would like a verbal ‘yes’ from each juror.”
As if on cue, the bailiff walked over and stood in front of the jury box, pointing from juror to juror as each mouthed the requisite response.
“This court is hereby adjourned until 10:00 A.M. Monday morning.”
As Brooke left the courthouse, the late afternoon sun felt warm on her face. The air smelled fresh and crisp with just a hint of the sea, reviving her spirits. She had only been in the building a few hours, but it might as well have been a few days based on how exhausted she felt. She just hoped it was worth it, most of all not wanting to let Dr. Gregory down. Carver had assured her that she had done an excellent job and promised that he would be calling her again for future cases, which was reassuring. Nonetheless, as she made her way down the massive steps and toward the parking lot, she found herself replaying her testimony, second-guessing her responses.
“Hey, Brooke—wait up!”
She turned at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Well, hello, stranger!” she said upon seeing the bearded face of Kevin Majors grinning back at her. She waited until he caught up to her. “Back from your secret mission, I see.”
“I couldn’t miss your first time in court as an expert witness, now could I?”
“I didn’t see you in there,” she said. “Of course, I was trying to stay focused and not let my nerves get the best of me.”
“You did a great job,” he said, running his hand through his messy brown hair. “Seriously, I don’t think you could have done better. Brilliant strategy to address your lack of experience and turn it into an asset.”
“Thanks,” she said. They resumed walking slowly in the direction of Brooke’s car. Without even asking, Kevin shifted his backpack and reached for her briefcase in an attempt to lighten her load. She let him. “Big plans for Turkey Day?” she asked.
“Not really. My mother and step-dad are in Europe, and my sister’s up in Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband and two kids. She invited me to come, of course, but I really can’t afford to get away right now. This big story I’m working on—you know how it is.”
They stopped behind her Prius and set the bags down. “Why don’t you come to Thanksgiving dinner with me? Every year—well, the last few anyway—I go to Dr. Gregory’s. He and his wife usually invite a few grad students, a couple of family members, and make tons of food. It’s very relaxed. All the things you want a holiday to be without the drama of spending it with family.” She leaned against the back of the car and smiled at him.
“That’s really kind of you, Brooke,” he said. “Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn’t want to crash the party or anything.” He leaned beside her, and she liked how natural it was for him to close the distance between them. She was tempted to kiss him.
“Yes, I’m sure. It would be great to spend some time together. Besides, you don’t want to be alone working when you could be gorging yourself on turkey and my homemade pumpkin pie, do you?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it’s hard to resist,” he said.
“We usually eat around two, so we can meet there, or you can come over around noon tomorrow if you want to help me bake pies.”
“I’d love to come over and help,” he said. Several county workers walked by, and Kevin waited until they had passed. “There’s still a chance I may need to work, though. But only if something breaks with my story. It probably won’t—I hope it doesn’t—but thought I better warn you just in case.”
Her shoes, a dressy pair of navy Valent
ino pumps she rarely wore, were killing her so she slipped them off. “Still not going to tell me, are you?”
“It’s the Surfside Killer,” he said, enjoying the surprised look on her face. “I’ve been in Miami for the past week shadowing an old college buddy of mine who works for the FBI now. When he was assigned to the case, I asked if I could tag along. He agreed and got permission as long as I agreed not to print any stories until after the case is closed.”
“I was just teasing you—you really didn’t have to tell me. But you’re right—that is a great exclusive for you.” She dug her keys out of her purse and unlocked the car, signaling it was time to wrap up their conversation. As much as she was glad to see Kevin, she really wanted to go home and change and go for a swim.
“I know,” he said. “I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you before—I guess I’ve just learned to be paranoid about the stories I cover, especially one as juicy as this one. Hey, I should let you go. You’re sure about Thanksgiving?”
“Absolutely, so quit asking, okay?” She tossed her shoes into the back seat followed by her briefcase and purse. “It will be fun—no talk of serial killers or Zach Barton or anything remotely related to work. Just lots of great food.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“I’ll see you then,” he said.
Brooke couldn’t tell if Kevin was more pleased by her invitation or by her goodbye kiss, but either way, he was still standing there smiling as she drove away. She didn’t know what to make of the fact that he, just like Dr. Gregory, was involved in the Surfside Killer case. Probably just a coincidence—or was it?