The Mystery Woman
The Multnomah County Courthouse was a blunt, eight-story building of gray concrete that took up an entire block in downtown Portland. On Friday morning the line to go through the metal detector stretched out of the courthouse and along the sidewalk in front of the building. In the line were intense-looking lawyers carrying attaché cases and making important calls on their cell phones, uniformed police officers who were scheduled to testify in cases, and nervous-looking men and women with greasy hair and dangling cigarettes. Madison tried to keep away from the nasty cigarette smoke as the line inched forward. She scanned the street, anxiously looking for Jake, who was late. Five minutes after they’d agreed to meet, a Volvo station wagon stopped in front of the courthouse and Jake hopped out. Madison waved and Jake ran over. He was dressed up for his first visit to court in a blue button-down shirt with thin white stripes and pressed khakis.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jake said. “My mom made me change clothes when I told her where I was going. I feel like a dork in this outfit.”
The exterior of the courthouse was brutish, but the lobby was an elegant mix of marble, dark wood, and polished brass. It would have looked nicer if it wasn’t cluttered with metal detectors and guard stations. Madison had grown up in her father’s law office, so she was used to mingling with suspicious-looking people. Madison watched Jake force himself to keep his eyes forward when two bearded bikers in black leather jackets and stained jeans crowded in behind him, then shift them toward the floor when he found himself looking at a skinny girl with glazed eyes and a nose ring and her muscle-bound, tattooed boyfriend.
After Madison and Jake made it past the airport-like security, they rode the elevator to the fifth floor, where Mark Shelby’s bail hearing had just started. They tiptoed down the aisle and took seats on a hard wooden bench a few rows back from the low fence that separated the spectators from people having business before the court.
The Honorable Vikki Young presided in a grand, high-ceilinged courtroom with ornate molding, marble Corinthian columns, and a dais of polished wood. She was an intimidating, dour woman with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes who glared at the lawyers through glasses with Coke-bottle lenses. Madison really wanted to try cases . . . but she hoped Judge Young was retired by the time she graduated from law school.
“That’s my dad,” Madison whispered, nodding toward Hamilton, who was sitting at the heavy wooden counsel table at the side of the courtroom farthest from the empty jury box. Seated beside Hamilton was Mark Shelby. Madison studied him. He was a tanned, athletic man in his mid-thirties, thick necked and broad shouldered. He looked tall even sitting down. Madison only had to look at him for a few seconds to see that he was very nervous. Shelby was fidgeting in his seat, and his eyes darted around the front of the courtroom as if he expected to be attacked.
“Is that your dad’s client?” Jake asked as they sat down.
Madison nodded.
“I thought a murderer would look creepier,” Jake said.
“Mr. Shelby is an alleged murderer,” Madison corrected Jake. “Remember, accused people are innocent until found guilty.”
“This guy looks too nice to have killed anyone.”
“I know, most murderers look normal. If they all looked weird, it would be easy to catch them. But since they look normal, anyone could be a murderer—your dentist or librarian . . . anyone.”
“Okay, okay, smarty,” Jake whispered, smiling. “Where’s the jury?”
“This is a bail hearing to decide if Mr. Shelby will have to stay in jail until the trial is over or if he can post bail and stay out. A judge decides whether to grant bail. You have juries at the full trial.”
Before Madison could say anything else, a well-dressed African American in his early thirties stood up.
“The State calls Thelma Bauer,” he said.
“Who is that?” Jake asked.
“He’s Dennis Payne, an assistant district attorney. He works for the state, and his job is to convict people who are charged with a crime.”
“Is he any good?”
“Dad thinks he’s one of the best prosecutors in the District Attorney’s office.”
“Shh,” someone behind them said. Madison turned to see an old lady shake her finger at them for talking.
“Sorry!” Madison whispered.
The courtroom door opened and the key witness in the case against Mark Shelby walked to the witness box. Thelma Bauer was dressed in her Sunday best and had applied too much makeup. She was just over five feet tall, but she stretched to her full height as she proudly took the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Madison found herself thinking that Miss Bauer was relishing every second in the spotlight.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened on the morning in question, Miss Bauer?” Dennis Payne asked.
Miss Bauer sat up straight. She looked very serious. “My neighbors fight all the time, but this time their screams woke me up at five o’clock in the morning. My bedroom is on the side of the house across from their kitchen, and there’s only a thin strip of lawn to separate us. I had slept with my window open, which was unlucky for Mr. Shelby.”
“Could you see what was happening?”
“No, I couldn’t see much, but I could definitely hear those two shouting at each other.”
“What were they saying?” the DA asked.
“I’m not sure. Their kitchen window was closed. I heard glass shatter, and I heard Ruth Shelby scream like she was being murdered.”
Madison’s dad leaped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor.”
“Objection sustained,” Judge Young said. “Miss Bauer, it’s my job to decide if there is a good reason to think Mrs. Shelby was murdered. Just tell me what you saw and heard.”
Miss Bauer reddened. She obviously didn’t appreciate not being able to say anything she wanted. Madison smiled, proud of her dad.
“I heard their front door slam,” she continued. “I can’t see the front door from my bedroom, so I ran to the front of my house and looked out. I have a very clear view of their driveway.”
“And what did you see?”
“Mr. Shelby’s station wagon was parked facing out from the garage with the trunk open. That man had his back to me and he was carrying something in his arms. Something big.” She paused for effect. “Something the size of a body. Then he put his poor wife in the trunk.”
Leaning forward on her bench, Madison waited for another objection, but Hamilton’s only reaction was a small smile.
“After that he slammed the trunk shut and sped away. That’s when I called 911.”
“Did you check to see if Mrs. Shelby was home before you called 911?”
“Of course. I was afraid to go over there in case he came back, but I called their house.” Thelma paused dramatically. “I’d heard Ruth scream just minutes before, but she didn’t answer. All I got was the answering machine.”
Madison thought that Miss Bauer looked disappointed when Dennis Payne said that he had no further questions. When the prosecutor sat down, Hamilton Kincaid rose.
“Hello, Miss Bauer,” Hamilton Kincaid said, flashing a friendly smile at the witness.
“Well, hello.” Thelma answered with her own smile.
“We appreciate your taking time to come here and help the judge decide this matter.”
“It’s my civic duty to help the police.”
“I’m sure they appreciate your help,” Hamilton said. “In fact, you try to help the police a lot, don’t you? How many times would you say you’ve called 911 to report a crime in the past year?”
“Oh, my, I can’t remember the exact number.”
Hamilton stood and held out a document for the judge’s clerk. “Perhaps this exhibit will help you. It lists five calls to 911 in the past year. Does that sound right?”
“I guess so.”
“You live in a nice part of town, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
&
nbsp; “Most of the houses sell for three hundred thousand or more?”
“I suppose.”
“Not exactly a crime-ridden slum, is it?”
“Oh, no, I have very nice neighbors. Or I did before Mr. Shelby moved next door.”
“We’ll get to Mr. Shelby in a minute. But first, I’d like you to tell the judge how many of those 911 calls led to an arrest.”
The witness looked uncertain and embarrassed for the first time. “I may have made a mistake or two, but Mr. Shelby was arrested.”
“If we don’t include Mr. Shelby, would it be correct to say that all of your crime reports turned out to be mistakes?”
“I, well, that may be true.”
“Is it fair to say that you frequently imagine a crime is being committed when there is a perfectly innocent explanation for what has happened?”
“I . . . I guess so.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Miss Bauer. Moving on, you testified that you saw Mr. Shelby carrying a body to his car?”
“Yes, he put it in his trunk.”
“Did you see the body?”
“Well, yes. The car was blocking my view a little, but I could see he was carrying a body.”
“Did you see a limb, an arm or a leg?”
“Well, no.”
“A head or a foot?”
“No, but he definitely put poor Mrs. Shelby in the trunk. May she rest in peace.”
Hamilton nodded to the clerk and he rolled out a television set and positioned it so the judge, Miss Bauer, and the spectators could see the screen.
“I would like to show a brief video, Defense Exhibit Two.”
“Objection,” the DA said.
“We’ve been over this in chambers, Mr. Payne,” Judge Young said. “I’m going to allow it.”
Jake and Madison exchanged glances and leaned forward. Madison could feel the anticipation of the other people in the courtroom as well. Hamilton pressed Play on the remote and a picture of the front of a house appeared. A station wagon was parked in the driveway with the front of the car pointing to the street. Its rear gate was down, and there was a short space between the gate and the garage. Hamilton hit Pause.
“Do you recognize this scene, Miss Bauer?” Madison’s father asked.
“It’s Mark Shelby’s house as seen from my front yard.”
“And this is the view you had when you saw Mr. Shelby put his wife’s body in the trunk of his car?”
“Yes.”
Hamilton pushed Play and a man who was roughly the size of the defendant stepped out of the garage with his back to Miss Bauer’s house. He was carrying something large, and he put it into the trunk of Shelby’s car. Hamilton hit Pause again.
“Is this what you saw on the day Mr. Shelby murdered his wife, Miss Bauer?”
“Oh yes, that is exactly what I saw!”
Hamilton then pressed Play. The actor pulled the large object out of the car and showed a set of golf clubs to the camera.
“Wow!” whispered Jake into Madison’s ear. “This is like a Max Stone novel!”
Madison’s head snapped toward Jake. “You like Max Stone?”
“My dad loves those books. I’ve read a couple. They’re pretty good.”
Thelma Bauer’s heavily rouged cheeks turned redder, and she gripped her skirt with her hands.
“That’s . . . It was a body.”
“You may have thought you saw Mr. Shelby put a body in his car, but might it not have been a set of golf clubs? A golf bag is about the size of a body, and you testified that you never saw any part of the body.”
“I saw a body,” the witness insisted stubbornly.
“I wonder when Miss Bauer had her eyes checked last,” Madison whispered to Jake.
“Can you admit that you might have been mistaken?” Hamilton asked. “After all, it was early morning and you were awakened from your sleep.”
Miss Bauer looked at the DA, but Mr. Payne was not allowed to coach his witness. He couldn’t do anything but sit with a stone face.
“I guess it’s possible,” Miss Bauer conceded.
“No further questions, Your Honor.”
“Anything more you’d like to ask, Mr. Payne?”
“I have nothing further of this witness,” the DA said. “May she be excused?”
“Miss Bauer, you may step down,” Judge Young said.
Thelma Bauer had looked confident and excited when she entered the witness box, but her head was down and her shoulders were hunched when she rushed out of the courtroom.
You got her, Dad! Madison thought. She loved watching her father take apart a witness, and she looked forward to the day her dad would get to watch her do the same. That would impress him way more than soccer.
“Your Honor,” the district attorney said. “Before I call the next witness, I have an exhibit I’d like to offer. It’s a stipulation between the parties that, if called, William Hubert, Jesse Marks, and Bruce Thomas would testify that Mr. Shelby spent the day of this incident and the two days following playing golf at a resort in southern Oregon. They would also testify that Mr. Shelby drove himself to the resort and the other members of the foursome did not see him until he arrived.”
“What’s a stipulation?” Jake whispered.
“Dad had these witnesses, and the DA was nice enough to agree that he and Dad would just tell the judge what they would say so they wouldn’t have to take time away from work to testify,” Madison explained. “They’ll testify in person when there’s a jury.”
“It is also stipulated that it takes approximately four and a half to five hours to drive from Portland to the resort,” the DA told the judge. “Attached to the stipulation is a map of Oregon showing the route Mr. Shelby took to get to the resort from his house.”
“Do you agree to the stipulation, Mr. Kincaid?” The judge turned to look at Madison’s father.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Then call your next witness, Mr. Payne.”
“The State calls Officer Barry Jensen, Your Honor,” the DA said.
“Your dad sure made Miss Bauer look ridiculous,” Jake said.
“Dad may have more trouble with this witness,” Madison answered, her voice heavy with concern.
As Officer Jensen walked up to take the stand, the old lady with blue hair shushed them again.
“Who are all these people?” Jake asked, lowering his voice and looking around the packed room.
“Most of them are ‘court watchers,’ retired people who watch court cases for entertainment. See those three women over there?” Madison pointed discreetly behind her to a group of elderly women. “They show up every time Dad has a case. They’re his fan club. And the younger people with notepads are reporters.”
Madison was about to turn back toward the front of the courtroom when she noticed a slender woman with curly blond hair who was sitting in the farthest corner of the spectator benches. Her hair reminded Madison of Ann, but it was the fact that the woman wasn’t taking notes like the reporters and was too young to be retired that kept Madison looking her way.
Officer Jensen began telling the judge what he had found when he arrived at the Shelbys’ house in response to the 911 call. Madison returned her attention to the front of the courtroom.
“Once you found the crime scene . . . ?” the DA started to ask.
“Objection!” Hamilton said, rising to his feet. “The prosecution has yet to establish that a crime has been committed.”
“Your Honor,” the DA said, “there was blood all over the kitchen, including on the blade of a large knife, and Mrs. Shelby is missing.”
“If a crime occurred every time blood was found on a kitchen knife, the police would be at my house every time I tried to cut a bagel.”
A few of the court watchers chuckled. Judge Young was not amused. She slammed down her gavel and glared at the spectators, but she upheld Hamilton’s objection.
“What did you do after you found the knife and blood?” the DA conti
nued.
“I put out an all-points bulletin for Mark Shelby’s car. When he showed up a few days later, I arrested him.”
“What did Mr. Shelby say when you told him his wife was missing?”
“He acted surprised,” replied Officer Jensen.
“Did he have an explanation for why she might be missing?”
“No.”
“Did he have an explanation for the way the kitchen looked?” the DA asked.
“Yes, he admitted that he’d had an argument with his wife because he had planned to play golf with his friends and he’d forgotten their anniversary. He said that Mrs. Shelby threw the coffee pot at him and he left in a huff. He said he put his golf clubs in the car, not a body. He also had no idea how Mrs. Shelby’s blood got on the knife, the refrigerator door, or the floor of the kitchen.”
“Now, Mr. Kincaid and I have stipulated that if they were here in court, the defendant’s friends would testify that they played golf with him at a resort in southern Oregon and that it takes about four and a half to five hours to drive there from the defendant’s house. Did I tell you about that stipulation a few days ago?” the DA asked.
“Yes.”
“Attached to that stipulation is a map showing the route the defendant claims to have taken when he drove to the golf course. Have you seen it?”
“I have,” Officer Jensen said.
“After I told you about the stipulation, did I ask you to do something?”
“Yes.”
“What did I ask you to do?”
“You wanted me to drive from the defendant’s house to the resort and see if there was any place along the way where someone could get rid of a body.”
“Did you drive the route?”
“I did.”
“Tell the judge the places along the way where the defendant could have gotten rid of his wife’s corpse.”
Officer Jensen looked at the DA uncertainly. “That’s going to take a while, Mr. Payne. There were an awful lot of them.”
“Instead of listing each one, why don’t you summarize what you found?”
Officer Jensen turned to the judge. “I drove through mountains with turnoffs for logging roads and campgrounds. There were farmers’ fields and the road goes along the coast, so you could toss a body off a cliff or hide it in a cave.” Jensen shrugged. “If I wanted to ditch a corpse so no one would find it, there were plenty of places along the defendant’s route I could have done it and still made my tee time.”
Vanishing Acts Page 5