Jessie Black Box Set 2

by Larry A Winters

  Runyan opened her eyes. “We had an affair. It wasn’t anything but sex. Kent was attractive. Confident and manly. I don’t know.… I guess I needed that in my life. Or I thought I did.” She looked at her sleeping child. “So stupid, right? I put everything I care about at risk.”

  “So you regret the affair?” Jessie said.

  “Of course I regret it. I love my husband. I love my family.” She sighed and looked at Novak. “Why are we going over this again? I already told you everything.”

  “Did you?” Novak said. “Or is there more to the story?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Novak leaned closer to her on the bench. Jessie hoped the woman couldn’t smell the bourbon on the detective’s breath. That might not go over so well. But Runyan did not appear to be observing Novak very carefully. She seemed focused on her own thoughts.

  “I think you do know,” Novak said. “You were at Kent Edley’s house the night he was killed.”

  Runyan’s skin went pale. “That’s not true. I don’t know why you think that.”

  “You walked past a video camera, Becky.” There was a note of regret in his voice, as if he genuinely felt bad for the woman. Jessie believed that he probably did.

  “A camera?”

  Novak nodded. “A very high quality camera. There is no question it was you.”

  “Oh my God.”

  The child in the stroller started to stir. He let out a whimper, as if sensing his mother’s distress. Runyan rocked the stroller gently and the child quieted.

  “You saw Hazenberg do it, didn’t you?” Novak said. “You saw the murder.”

  Runyan did not respond, but her ghost-white face and trapped expression told Jessie everything she needed to know.

  “You’re going to need to tell your story in court,” Jessie said. “The jury needs to hear that Oscar Hazenberg tortured and killed Kent Edley.”

  “I can’t,” Runyan said. “My marriage. My family. I just … I know it’s selfish but….”

  There was no “but” and they all knew it. No excuse. “Did Kent really mean nothing to you?” Jessie said. “Are you really going to stand by and stay silent? You’re the only person who can prevent his killer from walking free. Don’t you owe Kent that much at least?”

  Tears ran steadily from the woman’s eyes now. Her child stirred in the stroller again. “You can’t force me to testify.”

  “Actually, I can.” But she could not force her to say what she needed her to say. Could not force her to identify Hazenberg as Edley’s killer. And Runyan seemed to know that.

  With the video footage, Edley’s phone records, and a DNA match on her hair, Jessie had maybe enough evidence to convince the jury of two things—that Becky Runyan had been having an affair with Kent Edley, and that she was with him around the time of the murder. But those things alone would not convict Hazenberg. She needed the woman to testify as a witness.

  “I’m afraid I’ll lose the man I really love over one stupid mistake. You probably can’t understand that.”

  “I understand mistakes,” Novak said. “I made a big mistake on this case. I found a bloody glove that would have proven that Hazenberg killed Edley. But I didn’t follow protocol. I got distracted. Excited by another lead. Or maybe I’m just getting old.” He let out a long breath. “Maybe I really shouldn’t be in the field anymore. Whatever, the end result is that this monster is going to get away with murder because of a stupid mistake that I made. And I’m going to have to live with that for the rest of my life. So I understand stupid mistakes. But I also know one thing that’s true. And that is when you make a mistake, you can’t just wish it away. You have to fix it. And you do that by doing the right thing.”

  Becky Runyan sat in silence for a moment. “Even if the right thing might destroy my life?”

  “Yes,” Novak said. “But you’re young. You’ve got a lot of years left to fix that life. Me? I’ve only got right now. That’s why I’m here, asking you to help us.”

  “The defense attorney is going to rip me apart. Paint me as some kind of slut.”

  “Probably,” Novak said. “I’ve been through that kind of cross-examination. It’s awful, I’m not going to lie. But it ends and you move on.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  “There isn’t,” Novak said. “And I am truly sorry for that.”

  Runyan’s breath hitched and a sob escaped from her mouth. “You didn’t see him. He was like … like something out of a horror movie. I was so scared. He was cutting Kent … torturing him … and I just ran.”

  “Did he chase you?” Jessie said.

  Runyan shook her head. The tears flowed faster now, racing down her face in twin streaks that gleamed in the sunlight. “No. And I haven’t … I haven’t stopped thinking about that. He must have realized I was married. He just … assumed I wasn’t a threat to him. That I would keep his secret to protect myself. That I would be a coward.”

  “Let’s show him how wrong he was,” Novak said.

  33

  “Thanks for letting Toby go with you to see Runyan,” Graham said. And she meant it. Since he’d come back, Graham had noticed a change in her partner. He had not fully recovered his confidence, but he was more like his old self.

  Jessie shrugged. “I’m the one who should be thanking him. He convinced Runyan to help us. Without Toby, I don’t think I could have done it.”

  Graham wasn’t sure she agreed—Jessie could be very persuasive—but she didn’t argue.

  “Here we are,” Jessie said.

  The seamstress had a storefront on Chestnut Street. Graham had never noticed the place before. Actually, she was pretty sure she’d never been to a seamstress before.

  Jessie held the door open, and Graham, carrying a heavy garment bag, headed inside first.

  “So what did you find?” Jessie said.

  “Find?”

  “About Becky Runyan?”

  “Are you sure you want to talk about this now? Here?”

  Mannequins in formal dresses ringed an elegant-looking space that instantly made Graham feel out of place. She hoped her discomfort wasn’t too obvious.

  “Why not?”

  “Okay. Well, we looked into her background as thoroughly as we could given the tight time constraints.” Graham’s voice trailed off as a woman approached them from behind a sales counter. Based on the word seamstress, Graham had expected a kindly-looking elderly woman with pins in her hair, and maybe an old-world Italian accent. But the seamstress walking briskly toward them did not fit the stereotype. She was young—early twenties, Graham would guess—and she wore a neat pants suit. There were no pins in her hair, which was blonde and cut in a short, pageboy style.

  She smiled as she approached them. “You must be Jessie.”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Jessie said.

  “And are you a sister? A friend?” the woman said to Graham.

  “Friend.”

  “Not just a friend,” Jessie said. “Emily is my maid of honor.”

  “That’s me.” Graham felt a blush she knew would be glaringly red on her pale skin.

  “Well, congratulations!” the seamstress said. “My name is Annabella. Is this the dress?”

  Annabella reached for the garment bag. Graham transferred the heavy bag to the woman and was surprised by the ease with which the seamstress took the weight.

  “Jessie, why don’t you come with me to a dressing room?”

  Graham followed the women to the back of the store, where a series of doors presumably led to dressing rooms. Jessie and Annabella entered one, and Graham waited at the door. Through the wood, she could hear the seamstress guiding Jessie through the various clasps and other fastenings of the dress.

  Her mother’s dress.

  Graham knew how emotionally charged such an object must be to Jessie, who’d lost her mother to cancer at such a young age. Maybe that was why Jessie had seemed so eager to focus on Graham’s backgroun
d check of Becky Runyan.

  “Emily? You out there?” Jessie said through the door.

  “I’m here.”

  “Keep talking.”

  And, apparently, she still wanted to focus on Runyan.

  Graham hesitated. She could only imagine what the seamstress would think of the two of them if they talked shop in front of her. Thankfully, she hadn’t found anything too shocking about Runyan. In fact, she hadn’t found much of note at all.

  “No criminal record. No history of psychiatric issues or anything of that nature. We didn’t find anything in her past that would obviously undermine her testimony—aside from cheating on her husband, of course.”

  Graham cringed as she spoke the words. That was a problem, she knew. The very flaw that had made Runyan a witness in the first place would also be used by the defense as evidence that she had a deceptive nature and should not be trusted by the jurors. And, on top of that, adultery tended to be a sensitive subject for many people—men and women—and could turn jurors against a witness. Graham had seen it happen.

  Graham heard Jessie say, “Ouch,” and imagined the seamstress pulling some string or cord tight. She flinched at the thought. If she ever got married, she was going to have a destination wedding on a tropical island so she could wear a comfortable sundress.

  “That’s good news overall, I guess,” Jessie said.

  “You think the jurors will accept her?” Graham said.

  “I don’t know. I’ll do my best to prepare her, but it’s hard to overcome a person’s strongly held belief.”

  “Okay!” Annabella said brightly. “Let’s get in front of the mirror and show Emily.”

  The changing room door opened and Jessie and Annabella emerged.

  “I’ll run through her testimony with her,” Jessie was saying, “and practice some of the questions we can expect Nolan to ask on cross-examination to attack her character and credibility—” Jessie must have seen the look on Graham’s face, because her voice cut off. “What?”

  Graham realized her mouth was open. She closed it quickly. “You look … amazing.”

  Jessie turned to look at herself in the full-length mirror. There was a raised dais in front of the mirror, and she climbed the two steps to the dais and stared at herself. Her eyes started to shine.

  Annabella paced behind her, examining the dress. “It’s a near-perfect fit, Jessie. The dress will only need slight alteration. And Emily is right. You look amazing. Beautiful. Your husband-to-be is a very lucky man.”

  34

  In the courtroom, Judge Carabotta said, “Is the Commonwealth ready to rest its case?”

  Jessie stood from her chair at the prosecution table. “Your Honor, the Commonwealth has one more witness. We would like to call Rebecca Runyan to the stand.”

  Hal Nolan stood up. “The defense objects, Your Honor.”

  Judge Carabotta raised a hand, palm out. “Hold on. Let’s dismiss the jury before we discuss this.”

  She turned to the deputy sheriffs, who quickly moved into action. Jessie watched one of the deputies escort the jurors out of their jury box and through the door at the back of the courtroom.

  “Now,” the judge said, “I am aware of the situation, but I’d like to hear from both sides.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Hal Nolan straightened his tie. Jessie knew what he must be thinking—that Becky Runyan could sink his whole case.

  She noticed that the other two people at the defense table did not look as rattled. Kristina sat calmly, her gaze skimming a document in her hands. Oscar Hazenberg only looked annoyed.

  “Well?” the judge prompted.

  “Your Honor, the defense only learned about this witness this morning,” Hal said. “We’ve had zero time to prepare. This is obviously a calculated—and desperate—stunt by the Commonwealth. They know they can’t win this trial, so now they’re trying to sandbag us.”

  The judge stared at him with a withering expression. “Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Nolan, I’m listening for legal arguments. Not whining.”

  “I’m not—” Hal sputtered. “Ms. Black is trying to…. Your Honor—”

  Kristina Nolan rose smoothly from her chair. She gave her husband a look, and Hal sat down.

  “Your Honor,” Kristina said, “under Pennsylvania Rule of Evidence 573(B)(1)(d), the Commonwealth must disclose to the defendant’s attorney, among other critical items, the circumstances and results of any identification of the defendant by voice, photograph, or in person identification.”

  “Your Honor,” Jessie said quickly. “We are well aware of that obligation. We provided notice of our new witness to the defense and this Court this morning, promptly after we confirmed it ourselves, which is all that’s required under Rule 573(D).”

  “An accused person is entitled to every chance to examine the evidence,” Kristina said. “The purpose is to avoid surprises like this one. I can cite precedent—”

  The judge interrupted her. “Why don’t you just tell me what remedy you request, Ms. Nolan?”

  “We request the suppression of this witness, Your Honor.”

  Jessie forced herself to respond in an even tone. “Your Honor, that’s an excessive remedy. The Commonwealth has followed all of the rules of procedure.”

  Judge Carabotta nodded. “I think enough evidence has been suppressed in this trial already. I am going to allow the Commonwealth to proceed with this witness.”

  Kristina Nolan bared her teeth for an instant before her calm returned. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “But,” the judge said, “I will grant the defense a brief continuance so that you may prepare for the witness’s testimony. How long do you feel you need?”

  “Two weeks,” Kristina said.

  “Your Honor,” Jessie said, “respectfully, I don’t think that’s a good idea. This witness is already skittish. She is prepared to testify today, but only by overcoming a great amount of fear and trepidation. The only purpose of a two-week delay by the defense team will be to intimidate her.”

  Kristina glared at Jessie. “That’s offensive. I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

  “I agree, Ms. Black,” the judge said. “I have seen nothing other than professional behavior from Mr. and Ms. Nolan at this trial. If your witness is so scared, that is something that the District Attorney’s Office will need to deal with. However, two weeks is too long. I have a crowded docket. So let me look at my calendar.”

  The judge paused to look at a calendar on her podium. The moment her eyes went down, Jessie felt Kristina’s glare. She looked at the woman and glared back.

  “Today is Wednesday,” the judge said, looking up again. “We’ll recess for the rest of the week to give the defense time to prepare for this witness. Ms. Black may call her witness on Monday.”

  Kristina opened her mouth to object, but Judge Carabotta clapped her gavel, and the matter was settled.

  35

  Oscar Hazenberg had already changed from his conservative courtroom attire into his jail jumpsuit when Hal and Kristina Nolan were admitted to the visitation room. Their client greeted them with his usual smirk.

  “Exciting day in court, wasn’t it?”

  Hal felt a surge of anger. He advanced on the man, ignoring Kristina’s warning touch on his elbow as he stepped forward. “What the hell is going on? Who is Rebecca Runyan? Is it true that she was there?”

  “How would I know?” Hazenberg’s smile was wolfish. “I’m not the killer, remember? I don’t know who was there.”

  “Everything you tell us is privileged attorney-client communication, so knock off the bullshit. This is serious. Your life is at stake.”

  “Not to mention your law practice.”

  Hal felt his hands clench into fists. “Why would you hide this from us? Did you think the police wouldn’t find her? That it wouldn’t come out? We could have prepared. Now we have what? A few days?” Unable to restrain himself, Hal got up in the man’s face, close enough that he could sm
ell Hazenberg’s breath. “I thought you were smart, but you’re an idiot.”

  Hazenberg’s easy smile vanished. His hand snapped up and took hold of Hal’s neck. Squeezed. Hal felt his airway constrict. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to knock away the man’s arm, but his flailing accomplished nothing. Hazenberg’s stare was cold, without a trace of emotion.

  “Let go of him!” It was Kristina’s voice, somewhere behind him. He heard the sound of her banging on the visitation room door. Heard her calling for the guards. But the noises seemed distant. Fading. Drowned out by a thumping sound inside his head.

  Hal’s vision swam.

  He saw a shape move to his right and Kristina slammed into Hazenberg’s side. The grip on his throat loosened slightly, just enough for Hal to suck in a desperate breath before it tightened again. Hazenberg flicked Kristina away as if she weighed nothing. Hal’s oxygen cut off again. He felt lightheaded.

  “Think about what you’re doing!” Kristina said. “Think about where you are! If you kill him in here, no one will be able to save you from the lethal injection.”

  Hazenberg’s stare turned from Hal to Kristina. Just like that, the vice-grip on his throat was gone. Hal dropped to his knees, clutching at his neck, gasping and wheezing.

  “I wasn’t going to kill him,” Hazenberg said. “I was just reminding both of you who’s in charge here.”

  Pain radiated through Hal’s body and pounded in his head. Kristina squatted beside him and threw her arms around him. She helped him to his feet.

  Hazenberg watched them. “The bitch was there, in Edley’s house, but I didn’t know until it was too late. She must have snuck in some time before I got there. I guess when I knocked on his door, she hid. I had no idea we weren’t alone when I started to … do my thing … and I was deep into it before I heard something and looked up to find her standing there with her hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. She ran. I grabbed for her, obviously, but she got past me. She got outside.”

  “You didn’t chase her?” Hal’s throat felt raw. It hurt to speak. But if he was going to prepare, he needed to understand what happened.