“Objection overruled. State of mind and evidence of motive is admissible.” Judge Shapiro readjusted his weight on the bench.
Reggie concluded his testimony for the prosecution by stating that Dana showed him two tiny scars on her abdomen.
“Your witness,” Marshall said. As he turned his body toward Kendra, the corners of his mouth lifted in another faint smile.
Kendra did not cross-examine. “I’d like to reserve the right to call Mr. Sterling to the stand at a later time.”
Judge Shapiro granted her request and due to the lateness of the hour, dismissed the court for the day, instructing the jury not to talk about the trial, not watch TV, and not read the newspapers.
Bryce was led downstairs to the holding room, Kendra at his heels.
When the door closed, she turned to him, her face contorted and red. “Why in the hell didn’t you tell me about that? We had an agreement, Bryce, that you’d tell me everything, that there wouldn’t be any surprises in court. The truth is this little bombshell could kill our case.”
He slammed his fist on the table. “It was a surprise to me, too.” The shock of Reggie’s false testimony under oath had torn the entire framework of Bryce’s belief system away. He collapsed in a heap on the chair. “I…I…never laid a hand on Dana. I swear it. He’s lying.” With those words, Bryce dropped his head into his hands. “Jesus Christ, Kendra,” he muttered. “I don’t know how to fight this thing anymore. Maybe I should just give up and let them do whatever they want to me. Sometimes I think I’d rather be dead anyway. But I can tell you one thing about the truth…” He lifted his head. “It isn’t being told here.”
“So, what is the truth? It’s about time you told me all of it.”
“You’ve got to believe me.” Bryce’s mind was racing. “I’ve turned myself inside out to tell you the truth. I feel as if I’m going crazy. Dana told me the exact same story about Reggie. She pointed to those little scars and said, ‘Reggie Sterling put them there with an ice pick.’ She claimed it was why she really left him. I swear to God, Kendra, that’s what she told me, but I can’t imagine anyone, even you, believing that. Not now.”
Kendra stepped behind Bryce and dropped both hands on his shoulders.
He turned to face her.
“Look, I’m sorry I flew into you like that. I do believe you, and this is no time for you to give up. I need you to be madder than hell about this. Either Dana or Reggie is lying and that pisses me off, Bryce, and it sure as hell should piss you off, too. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Bryce said. “I understand. But my being pissed off isn’t going to change what that jury heard. No matter what happens, they’ll believe I stabbed Dana with an ice pick. You saw the shock on their faces. And it won’t be too far of a stretch for them to think I murdered a baby, too. Not to mention taking a bite out of his penis.”
“If we can prove she or Reggie is lying on the stand, the jury’s faces will change in a hurry. As far as the bite is concerned, we’ll clear that up on cross-examination of Scott. Think about those scars on Dana’s abdomen and see if you can come up with an explanation, anything.”
“But I already told you she said Reggie put them there.”
“I suspect she’s lying to both of you. I’ll be by later tonight after I have dinner with my father.” Kendra patted Bryce’s shoulder. “Before I go, is there anything else you haven’t told me?”
He lowered his head. “I didn’t tell you the ice pick story because I didn’t do it. Why should I think it had anything to do with the case?”
“It does now,” she said, then shook her head, turned and left the room.
When the guard handcuffed and escorted Bryce out of a side door into the parking lot where a police car waited to take him back to the county jail, he stared into space. A dust devil picked up a piece of scrap paper and it danced madly in circles all by itself on the asphalt.
Ignoring the taunting insults of the small crowd that gathered, Bryce watched the swirling scrap of paper. The old Bryce would have yearned to disappear, to drag his suit coat over his head and hide. But the new Bryce breathed in the clean scent in the air and decided, once and for all, his life was worth the fight. People were lying about him. And that made him mad as hell.
Even Reggie Sterling had better sense than to testify under oath to something that didn’t happen. Dana must have shown Reggie the scars after she started living with Bryce. He didn’t dare pursue the other implications of that, but it probably meant she didn’t have those scars when she was married to Reggie.
Alone in his cell, Bryce jotted down the information available to him, writing out dates and possible scenarios. By the time Kendra arrived back, the seed of an idea popped its tiny head through the darkness.
“You may think this is farfetched, Kendra, but you should check the hospital records. If someone really stabbed her, she would have sought medical care. Believe me, Dana runs to the doctor every time she sneezes.”
Bryce handed Kendra his notepad, with the time frame between when Dana left Reggie and when she and the boys moved in with him. “I’d start with Providence Hospital. It’s where she delivered Skyler, and her gynecologist is there, in those offices right next to the hospital. Oh my God—”
“What is it, Bryce?”
“I just remembered something. Before all this happened, I suggested we have a baby together and Dana claimed she couldn’t. I didn’t think much about it then, thought she meant psychologically she couldn’t handle another one. But maybe, just maybe…”
“Great idea, Bryce. Brilliant. You sure you didn’t go to law school?”
“It’s all those Matlock and Law and Order reruns I watched after my Achilles surgery.” He attempted a laugh.
“Do you know the name of her gynecologist?”
He thought for a moment. “Dr. Herrington.”
“Sometimes it’s hard to get a warrant for medical records, but we can try. Can you draw me a diagram of those scars, size, shape and location?”
“I’m no artist, but I’ll do the best I can.” Bryce sketched a rough outline of a woman’s body, then made two small circles with his pencil, one just below the waist and another just above the pubic hairline.
“Don’t worry,” Kendra said, as she packed her notes and the sketch into her briefcase. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I promise.”
* * *
Kendra returned to her office. Both her father and Detective Radhauser sat at the table inside the small interior conference room the public defenders called ‘the war zone’. She left them reviewing her plan for cross-examining Reggie and Scott Sterling. The conference table was cluttered with files, legal pads, medical examiner and police reports. And the trash can was overflowing with the remains of the dinner Radhauser ordered from Greenleaf on the plaza.
Kendra had no more than sat down at the table when the telephone rang. She picked it up.
“Bryce didn’t kill that baby,” a man’s voice said.
“Who is this?”
Both her father and Radhauser stopped working and looked up at her.
The caller continued. “It doesn’t matter what my name is, because I won’t implicate someone I love. But I don’t want to see an innocent man punished either.”
“Tell me who this is,” Kendra demanded.
“All I’m willing to tell you is that Bryce is innocent.” The man hung up.
Kendra did the same.
The curious expression on her father’s face ratcheted up a notch. “What was that all about?”
She relayed what transpired on the call.
“I’ll see if I can trace it,” Radhauser said. “It won’t help our case if he isn’t willing to come forward. Sounds like someone the caller is close to is the actual killer, if it isn’t a prank. Do you think it could be Reggie’s father?”
“Not a bad thought,” Kendra said. “Any possibility you could check him out for me before Monday?”
Radhauser agreed.
> “From what I gleaned so far,” her father said, already refocused on the case. “If you go by the old adage of motive, means and opportunity, the prosecution doesn’t have much.”
Kendra hoped she hadn’t made a mistake in giving her father access to the case. She wanted to handle her first case—wanted to prove she was a competent attorney in her own right. She’d spent a lifetime riding on her famous father’s shoulders. It was time to stand on her own.
But she didn’t want to risk Bryce’s freedom because of her pride. Maybe the mark of a competent attorney was the acceptance of help when needed. “The prints on the Haloperidol bottle were not in the system. And Bryce wasn’t a match.”
“Great,” her father said. “Did the jury hear that?”
“They did.” She told him the prosecution would claim his motive was revenge against Dana and the fact that the drug bottle was found in his house provided the means.
“I tried to get a warrant for pharmacies and psychiatrists to see if anyone who’d been prescribed the drug had a connection to Skyler Sterling, but the judge wouldn’t grant me one,” Radhauser said. “He claimed too many innocent people with psychiatric issues would have their rights violated. I do know that Reggie Sterling took the drug when he was in a treatment center for alcoholism last summer.”
“Could you get a warrant for Dana’s medical records from Dr. Herrington? He’s a gynecologist in the medical building next to Providence Hospital,” Kendra asked.
“I can handle that,” her father said. “And make sure the jury hears that Reggie Sterling took Haloperidol in the treatment center. It might be enough for reasonable doubt.”
“I’m going to talk to Henry Evans again. I want to ask him about the rubber band,” Radhauser said. “It’s troubled me since I learned it wasn’t a medical alert bracelet—the one little detail of who put it on Skyler’s wrist and why. And when I interviewed Henry, I noticed that when he was nervous, he snapped the elastic on the sleeve of his hoodie.”
“Did you ask Scott about the rubber band?”
“The kid claimed he didn’t see it. And Bryce said it wasn’t there when he gave the boys their baths and put them to bed.”
“That leaves Reggie Sterling and Henry Evans,” her father said. “My bet is on the Evans boy.”
“Why?” Kendra asked.
“Call it a hunch. It sounds more like something a kid would do. I’d check it out. Who knows, it may have relevance to the case.”
That was her dad. He never made assumptions. Never let anything slip by uninvestigated.
Radhauser stood. “Oh, by the way, Kendra. I’ve got some irony for you.” He handed her an envelope.
Both Kendra and her father studied its contents.
“I recommend you reveal this fact in Reggie’s cross-examination,” her father said. “He may break down on the stand and admit he poisoned Skyler. I’ve seen it happen before. We need to take the shot while we have it.”
Kendra swallowed her reaction to his use of the pronoun we. Once again, she reminded herself Bryce’s life was at stake and her vain need to prove herself shouldn’t play a part in this battle.
“One thing is certain,” her father continued. “We need to win. Because if the jury convicts in a death-penalty case, the odds of ever overturning that verdict are minuscule.”
Radhauser shook her father’s hand. “Thanks for your advice on the case.” He put on his Stetson. “I’ll talk to Reginald Sterling, senior, then see what I can find out from Henry Evans. Hopefully without his father around.”
* * *
Radhauser walked the short distance from Kendra’s office to where he left his car parked outside the police station. When he saw the envelope beneath his windshield wiper, he was certain it was a ticket. And he laughed. Some gutsy meter maid giving a cop a ticket.
He opened the envelope.
I WANT TO SEE YOU IN MY OFFICE NOW. It was Murphy’s handwriting, his printing in reality, and he wrote his command in red ink with all capital letters.
The boss no doubt got a call from Andrew Marshall about Radhauser’s testimony. Oh well, he thought. It’s time to pay the fiddler.
The lights were on in the police station and the door unlocked. Determined to tackle Murphy’s anger head-on, Radhauser strode directly to his office. He tapped on the glass.
“Get the hell in here, Radhauser.” It was Murphy’s most pissed-off voice.
Radhauser took off his cowboy hat and entered.
Murphy sat behind his desk, his face red and sweaty like it always got when he was furious. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” His unblinking eyes never wavered off Radhauser.
“Andrew Marshall—you know, the ADA you’re supposed to be helping convict our murder suspect—called me right after court adjourned for the day. Five hours ago, by the way. Where the hell have you been?”
“You know I took time off. My wife is recovering from cancer surgery.”
“I know all about Gracie’s surgery, damn you. But I called and your very nice mother-in-law informed me you weren’t home. She thought you were out working on a case. What case? A suspect has been arrested and is on trial. Our police work is done on the Skyler Sterling murder, Radhauser. Unless you’ve already undone it with your testimony.”
The air in Murphy’s office was electric and the hairs on the back of Radhauser’s neck lifted as if an invisible finger had zipped up his spine.
“What the fuck are you trying to do by telling the jury you don’t believe Bryce is guilty? Your job is to back Marshall up, help him prove guilt.”
“Are you finished?” Radhauser asked.
“No. I want some answers.”
“I’ve always been a good detective, right?”
“I thought you were one of my best.” Murphy spat out the words as if it hurt him to say them.
“I’ve never done anything like this before, right?”
“You wouldn’t be here if you had.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Murphy, but I don’t believe Bryce killed that baby. And I tried to tell you that before we arrested him. I have a reputation, too. I won’t risk my integrity and go against my own belief system.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. You have a job to do.”
“If it gets to the point where my job is to send someone to his death for a crime he didn’t commit...” Radhauser paused, shook his head. “Then I no longer want this job.” He turned on his heels and left the police station.
Murphy chased after him. “You’re suspended,” he yelled. “Until further notice.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Bryce watched the jury as they filed into their places. Some of them looked tired and he wondered if the trial was getting to them, the way it was getting to him—a roller coaster ride that never ended. Down one day. Up the next. Kendra told him about the anonymous caller who claimed to know Bryce was innocent. A little good news. But that caller wouldn’t leave his name so he couldn’t be called to the stand to testify. More bad news. It seemed every day the idea he might be convicted and put to death hovered over the courtroom like a giant hammer, ready to drop on his head.
Andrew Marshall called Dana’s friend, Angela, to the stand. She testified to Bryce’s anger, the way he screamed “selfish bitch” at Dana and threw a rock at her car on the day Skyler died.
The prosecutor was setting the stage for the 9-1-1 tape. But when Marshall actually played it, Bryce sat, horrified, by the amplified sound of his own voice.
The tape was disjointed, slurred, and difficult to understand, with periods of silence and dull thudding sounds in the background, mumbling and occasional profanities. The words he spoke and his pauses, indicated by three consecutive dots, flashed on a large, white screen for the jury to read.
Bryce referred to Skyler as “she” on numerous occasions.
The 9-1-1 operator interrupted him repeatedly with words of assurance. “Calm down, Mr. Bryce,” she said. “I’ve called for help. It won’t be long. Ju
st hold on, help is coming.”
And then, at the very end of the tape, Bryce shouted, “…die dammit…she’s gonna die.” Those final words echoed through the silent courtroom.
For Bryce, the indisputable word don’t lay hidden inside those three dots in front of the word die, but he didn’t have any idea how Kendra could convince the jury to hear or see that word.
While workmen carted the screen and sound equipment from the room, Kendra approached the judge. “May it please Your Honor, I move for permission to call Mrs. Valerie Thompson, Bryce’s ex-wife, as a witness for the defendant at this time. I know it’s an unusual request, but her testimony will shed important light on the exhibit just presented to the court. And she is flying to Europe tonight.”
After conferring with Marshall, the judge granted his permission and Valerie stepped up to the witness stand.
It had been more than twelve years since Bryce saw his former wife. She was thinner than he remembered and appeared mature, grown up, no longer the young girl he married. Dressed in a long-sleeved flowered dress, her hair was darker and cut shorter than she wore it when they were together—just brushing her dress collar. Her face was serious and composed while the court clerk swore her in and Kendra asked the usual opening questions.
Valerie stated her full name, the fact that she lived in Mesa, Arizona, with her husband, Charles Thompson, and their two sons.
Somehow, Valerie had managed to move on from Courtney’s death and carve out a new life for herself. A swell of happiness washed over him.
“Do you know the defendant, Caleb Bryce?” Kendra nodded toward the defense table.
“Yes,” she replied in a strong, clear voice Bryce could hear easily. “We were once married.”
Kendra led Valerie expertly through the birth, the ventricular septal defect, the short life, and finally the death of their daughter, Courtney Morgan Bryce. She told the jury how deeply Bryce had loved Courtney and how hard he took her death. “It was a nightmare from which Bryce couldn’t seem to awaken. Without the daughter who’d brought us together in the first place, our marriage didn’t survive and we divorced.”
A River of Silence Page 27