Victoria Cross: United Federation Attorney (Nick Walker, U.F. Marshal Book 9)

by John Bowers

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Had he received any threats that you’re aware of?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Maybe from someone he had arrested?”

  “Asked and answered, your Honor.”

  “Sustained. Change direction, Mr. Crawford.”

  Crawford was good. He covered his frustration with a smile and bowed slightly to the witness.

  “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Randal. Again, I am sooo sorry for your loss.”

  He returned to the defense table and sat down.

  “Miss Cross? Redirect?”

  Victoria stood and approached the witness box again.

  “Mrs. Randal, did your husband own a gun?”

  “Of course. He was a lawman.”

  “Did he carry it on his person?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he keep it loaded?”

  “Yes, always. He used to say that the only thing more worthless than an empty gun was an empty dic—”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Randal. I think I get the picture. Was he carrying his weapon when he was killed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was the gun still there when you found his body?”

  “Yes.”

  “Had he drawn his weapon? Perhaps to defend himself?”

  “No. He carried it in a holster attached to his belt. The gun was still there and the strap was still intact.”

  “The strap. You’re referring to the holster strap that keeps the gun from falling out?”

  “Yes.”

  “So if your husband hadn’t drawn his weapon, is it reasonable to assume that he was killed from ambush, without warning, without a chance to defend himself?”

  “I would think so, yes.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Randal. Nothing further.”

  “Mr. Crawford?”

  “No questions, your Honor.”

  “Very well. The witness is excused, with the Court’s condolences. Call your next witness, Miss Cross.”

  “The Federation calls Sergeant Fred Wellborn.”

  Fred Wellborn was forty-five, the stereotype of a street cop. He wasn’t fat, but he only stood five feet nine and middle-age spread made him appear heavier than he actually was. His arms were thick and hairy, his face red and weathered. His blond hair was cropped short in a military-style cut.

  He settled into the witness chair and gazed at Victoria through eyes that appeared to be half closed. He gave the appearance of a man who is habitually laid back and difficult to excite. He wasn’t in uniform.

  Victoria approached him with a pleasant expression that fell just short of a smile.

  “Sergeant Wellborn, what line of work are you in?”

  “I’m a street cop for the Lucaston Police Department.”

  “And you hold the rank of sergeant?”

  “That’s right.”

  “How long have you been a police officer?”

  “Nineteen years.”

  “I imagine that, over nineteen years of service, you’ve seen your share of crime scenes?”

  “I certainly have.”

  “Did you visit a crime scene on January 25 of this year?”

  “I did.”

  “Tell us about that.”

  Wellborn shifted in his chair.

  “We got a frantic five-five-five call about a possible homicide. Two of my beat officers responded in under three minutes, then called me to the scene.”

  “Is that normal procedure? To call for a sergeant?”

  “If a serious crime has been committed, yes. Homicides qualify as serious.”

  “Where was the crime scene located, if you recall?”

  Wellborn consulted a note in his hand.

  “It was at 2439 Topper Road, in Lucaston.”

  “And you responded to the scene?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you find when you arrived?”

  “It was a nice neighborhood in a section of town with a normally low crime rate. There were four officers on the scene, the original responders and a backup car. I saw two private cars in the driveway, one a surface car and the other a hover vehicle. I also saw a body.”

  “Tell the Court about the body.”

  “The victim was a male in his late forties. He was wearing a sport suit and tie, and he was lying face down in the driveway. We found four bullet holes in his back, all of them grouped around the heart and lungs.”

  “Did you recognize the victim?”

  “Not immediately. When we checked his ID we discovered that he was an ACBI agent.”

  “Lloyd Randal?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Were you acquainted with the victim?”

  “Not really. I had run into him a few times over the years. In the law enforcement community, you see the same faces a lot. But I didn’t really know him.”

  “I see. What did you do after you arrived?”

  “Well, I checked the victim for a pulse and didn’t find one. His skin was cold, which suggested he was deceased and had been for several hours. I called for a coroner and a forensics team.”

  “You secured the crime scene?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. Once we’re convinced the victim is dead, we stop everything until forensics get there.”

  “So you never called for an ambulance, or any emergency medical services?”

  “No, Ma’am. Again, the body was cold, so it didn’t seem indicated.”

  “What did you do while waiting for the lab people?”

  “I spent most of the time trying to console Mrs. Randal. She found the body, and she was a complete wreck.”

  “Did you contact ACBI to tell them one of their agents had been killed?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. As soon as I did, they insisted on sending their own forensics people, so I cancelled mine.”

  “ACBI handled the crime scene forensics?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Did ACBI determine the cause of death?”

  “Objection. Sergeant Wellborn doesn’t work for ACBI. Anything he might report would be hearsay.”

  “Your Honor, I’m only asking what he knows, not what he thinks or what he heard.”

  “Then rephrase, Miss Cross. Objection sustained.”

  Victoria cleared her throat.

  “Sergeant, what did you personally observe at the crime scene? Did you see the murder weapon?”

  “No. But we did find four shell casings in the driveway.”

  “Shell casings. Bullet casings?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anyone touch them? Pick them up?”

  “No! That’s a strict no-no. They could have had fingerprints on them, or DNA. They have to be picked up with forceps and placed in a sterile container.”

  “A sterile container? An evidence bag?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “And that’s what you did?”’

  “Not me. The ACBI guys.”

  Victoria walked him through the rest of his testimony. His version agreed with Danielle Randal’s in that the victim’s gun was still secured snugly in its holster. Randal had been killed without any chance at self-defense.

  “Thank you, Sergeant. Nothing further at this time.”

  “Mr. Crawford?”

  Hayes Crawford approached the witness with his standard pleasant smile. He asked a couple of preliminary questions, then made the point he wanted to make.

  “Sergeant Wellborn, do you know who murdered Lloyd Randal?”

  Wellborn’s eyes swung toward the defendant, but he didn’t mention his name.

  “Not personally, no. I have some suspicions, but—”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. I assume you and your people interviewed witnesses?”

  “We tried to. Nobody on the street remembered hearing any shots, and nobody had seen anything.”

  “So, suspicions aside, you cannot definitively name the killer at this time?”

  “No, I can’t.”

  “Thank you
. That’s all I have.”

  “Miss Cross?”

  “No questions, your Honor.”

  “Very well. The witness is excused. Call your next witness.”

  “The Federation calls Dr. Sarah Zimmer.”

  Chapter 27

  Sarah Zimmer was a good looking woman of thirty-eight. Blond, blue-eyed, and well built, she possessed an innate beauty that wasn’t readily apparent. She wore no makeup and her clothing was more functional than decorative. A wedding ring gleamed from her left ring finger, but otherwise she wore no jewelry. Victoria had met her before, and thought of her as a sort of absent-minded scientist, the kind who is totally absorbed in her work and less concerned with social matters.

  She took the oath and then the stand. She sat looking impatient, as if she had work waiting. Victoria approached her with a brief smile.

  “Thank you for coming in. Please state your full name and title for the record.”

  “Sarah Zimmer, M.D. That’s Sarah with an ‘h’.”

  “Thank you. You’re a medical doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what is your specialty?”

  “I’m a forensic pathologist.”

  “Do you have another title?”

  “Yes. I’m the official medical examiner for Alpha Centauri County.”

  “Is that the county where the city of Lucaston is located?”

  “Yes. Lucaston is the county seat.”

  Victoria smiled. “I’m not from here, and I’ve always been curious…why is the county named after the planet instead of the city?”

  “My understanding is that it was the first county the early settlers established, so they named it after the planet.”

  “Got it. Thank you. Dr. Zimmer, you handle autopsies, death certificates, et cetera. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you perform an autopsy on Agent Lloyd Randal of ACBI?”

  “Yes I did.”

  “Were you able to arrive at a cause of death?”

  “Yes. Agent Randal died as a result of four gunshot wounds in the back. Three slugs penetrated his lungs and the fourth punctured his heart.”

  “So death would have been…?”

  “Instantaneous, or as nearly instantaneous as possible.”

  “I see. Were you able to arrive at a time of death?”

  “Yes. Based on skin temperature, liver temperature, and the prevailing weather conditions, I estimated the time of death as between ten pm and two am.”

  “Between ten o’clock on the evening of January 24, and two o’clock on the morning of January 25?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the body was found at what time?”

  “The police report indicated it was around six o’clock in the morning of the 25th, give or take a few minutes.”

  “So at the very least, Agent Randal was dead for four hours before being discovered?”

  “Yes, as far as I can determine.”

  “And at most, he was dead for eight hours?”

  “Approximately.”

  “Thank you. Did you recover anything from the body?”

  “Yes. I found four slugs embedded in the tissue. They were fired from a 9mm handgun.”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  Victoria grimaced.

  “Dr. Zimmer, are you a ballistics expert?”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Do you have a working knowledge of firearms?”

  “Yes. I carry a gun at all times, and I deal with GSW on a regular basis.”

  “GSW?”

  “Gunshot wounds.”

  “Are you qualified to determine the calibre of a bullet?”

  “Not officially, but I have a pretty good eye. I can certainly tell the difference between a .22 and a .44.”

  “But these slugs were neither .22s nor .44s, is that right?”

  “Correct.”

  “How do you know they were 9mm slugs?”

  “Two of the bullets were badly deformed, and another was slightly deformed, but the fourth was in very good condition.”

  “How did that help you determine the calibre?”

  Sarah Zimmer smiled.

  “The slug had a number imprinted in the lead. Nine MM.”

  “Which told you it was a 9mm?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Withdraw the objection,” Crawford said.

  “Very well,” van Wert replied.

  Victoria walked to the prosecution table and picked up a small plastic case. She walked back toward the witness box.

  “Approach the witness, your Honor?”

  “Yes.”

  Victoria handed the case to the witness.

  “Dr. Zimmer, do you recognize this case?”

  “Not the case, no, but the contents look familiar.”

  “Please tell the jury what you’re looking at.”

  “The case contains four lead slugs on what looks like a linen pad.”

  “Do you recognize the slugs?”

  “Yes. They appear to be the slugs I took from Agent Randal’s body.”

  “Three slugs are deformed, but the fourth is pristine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you still read the numbers in the lead?”

  The witness held the box up to get a better angle on it. She peered at it for a moment, then nodded.

  “Yes. Nine MM. It appears to be the same slug.”

  “Thank you. Can you tell, or do you know, if this slug was fired from a handgun or a rifle?”

  “I’m not that expert.” The witness smiled.

  “Thank you. Your Honor, permission to bring out the holo-viewer?”

  “Granted.”

  Victoria walked to a corner of the courtroom and rolled a portable utility table with a holo-viewer on it toward the witness. She stopped a few feet in front of the witness stand and toggled the switch. Instantly, a hologram sprang to life above the utility table.

  “Can we dim the lights, please?”

  A bailiff flipped a wall switch and the courtroom descended into near darkness, the only light a dim glow from the exits.

  “Dr. Zimmer, does the image in front of you look familiar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you explain what we’re looking at, and how it is significant? You can step down if you need to.”

  Sarah Zimmer stepped down from her seat and stood in front of the hologram. The picture was a three-dimensional representation of the human body, with red spots marked on the back around the lung area.

  “This diagram is one that I made to depict the victim’s wounds.”

  Victoria glanced toward the jury box, then adjusted the table.

  “Let’s make sure the jury can get a good look at this. There. Okay, please continue.”

  Zimmer used a laser pointer to indicate each area as she discussed it.

  “All four of the rounds were potentially fatal. As you can see—” She moved her pointer. “—three of the slugs entered the lungs and one pierced the heart. It’s impossible for me to tell the sequence of the shots, which ones struck first or where, but clearly if the victim had been shot with only one bullet, he still would have died without prompt—and I mean immediate—medical attention.”

  “Is it possible to determine how far away the killer stood when he fired the fatal shots?”

  “Not exactly, but I can give you a possible range. The shots were fired from at least six feet away and probably less than fifty feet.”

  “How can you determine that?”

  “If the killer had been closer than six feet, I would have found stippling around the wounds, or on the clothing. There was none.”

  “And what is stippling?”

  “Tiny burns caused by hot gunpowder. When a weapon is fired, the slug is propelled by hot gases generated by exploding gunpowder, and some of the powder residue escapes out the barrel. The residue never travels very far, but if the gun is fired close enough to the target, it leaves stippling.�
��

  “And how can you determine the fifty feet?”

  “That’s less scientific. I base it on the fact that the average shooter is not an expert shot. Handguns are notoriously inaccurate in the hands of a novice, so anyone standing more than fifty feet away would be lucky to group four shots as closely as these were grouped.”

  “Thank you. You may resume the witness box.”

  Zimmer sat down again and Victoria rolled the utility table back to its spot by the wall. She called for lights and the room was suddenly illuminated again.

  “Dr. Zimmer, did Agent Randal suffer much before he died?”

  “I doubt it. If not for the heart shot, he might have lingered for some minutes, but the bullet through the heart would have shut down the life function pretty fast. He probably felt the shock of impact when the shots hit him, but he was likely unconscious even before he hit the ground.”

  “Thank you. Nothing further at this time.”

  Victoria sat down.

  Hayes Crawford stood up.

  “Dr. Zimmer, you have no way of knowing who fired the fatal shots, do you?”

  “No, I do not.”

  “You testified that a novice gunman would be lucky to group four shots so precisely together if he was more than fifty feet away.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible for an expert gunman to group those shots from that distance?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you have no way of knowing whether the actual shooter in this case was a novice or an expert, is that true?”

  “Yes, that’s true. I have no way of knowing that.”

  “Do you know if my client, the defendant, is an expert gunman?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Assuming my client is not an expert, then would you say it is likely or unlikely that he was the shooter?”

  “Based on that assumption, it seems unlikely, unless he was closer than fifty feet.”

  “Of course. But is it more likely that the shooter was an expert?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like a police officer?”

  “Objection!” Victoria was on her feet. “That’s really low, your Honor!”

  “Sustained. Knock it off, Mr. Crawford.”

  Crawford smiled and backed away from the witness.

  “No more questions.”

  “Miss Cross?”

  “Just one or two questions, your Honor.”

  Victoria approached the witness again.

  “Dr. Zimmer, the fifty feet are hypothetical, aren’t they? I mean, you aren’t saying the shooter was fifty feet away, are you?”