"You were."
"Past tense."
"You can be again."
"I know I disappointed you. I'm sorry."
"You didn't disappoint me. You could never do that. I hurt for you because you disappointed yourself."
"You were always the smartest member of the family."
"I know." Her expression turned serious. "She's in Hungary now. Mom."
"Covering the Eastern Bloc."
"Father—"
"I like 'Daddy' better."
"Sounds dumb for a grown woman to call her father 'Daddy'."
"Not to her daddy."
She smiled.
"Daddy—"
Now he smiled.
"—I understood about you and Mom back then. You two just didn't fit together. I always felt sorry for you."
"Why?"
"Because she was getting what she wanted from you, but you weren't getting what you needed from her."
"What's that?"
"Love."
"Did I mention that you were always the smartest member of the family?"
"Yes. Do you think she can give you what you need?"
"Your mother?"
"Billie Jean."
"She's too young for me."
"You're not too old for her. She's interested in you."
"How do you know?"
"I'm a woman."
"You are, aren't you?"
They watched Billie Jean deal cards as if she were manning a table in Vegas.
"I'd better head back to Houston," Becky said.
Frank hugged her and told her he loved her. Dwayne walked up with a handful of sand dollars; they watched Becky up to her car and waved when she drove off.
"Got a text from Herman Jones, the Austin detective on the case," Dwayne said. "Said I should come see him. Soon. He must have something."
"What?"
"Whatever it is, it ain't good for William."
Dwayne returned to the poker game. The alcohol on Dwayne's breath gave Frank pause; he inhaled the lingering scent. He really wanted a drink. But he waved Ted down to his office. They shook hands.
"Ted."
"Frank, sorry to hear about your son. UT's lost two in a row without him."
"So how's your case going?"
"Better."
"What happened?"
"I filed the motion for recusal."
"And?"
"The judge went apeshit. Called counsel into chambers, screamed at me like I was in grade school."
Frank grunted.
"Then he broke down and started crying. Talked about his son. He apologized. Ordered the prosecutor to hand over all evidence. They were hiding a surveillance tape."
"And it proved your client was innocent?"
"No. He was guilty, Frank. Surveillance camera caught the crime. He did it. He killed the agent. They weren't hiding exculpatory evidence—they were hiding incriminating evidence to surprise us at trial. After my client took the stand and cried and claimed innocence, they would show the tape on the big screen and the jury would see him shooting the DEA agent pointblank in the face. They'd give him the death penalty for sure. When I confronted my client with the evidence, he laughed."
"He laughed?"
"Yeah. Because I believed him. He's a seventeen-year-old stone-cold killer, and I bought his bullshit."
They walked in silence through the sand.
"I wanted to believe him, Frank."
Ted paid Frank's $50 fee and left. Frank sat on the porch step and stared at the sea. Two thoughts fought for prominence in his mind: one, could his son possibly be feeding his father a line of bullshit as Ted's client had fed him? And two, was the D.A. playing the same game with Frank as the Feds had played with Ted? Was the D.A. hiding incriminating evidence in plain sight? He finally answered his questions: no and yes.
His son was innocent. The D.A. was guilty. The investigators had downloaded all the content from William's laptop and phone. They had found Dee Dee's phone number on the phone. The D.A. knew it would be a damning rebuttal to William's testimony in court:
"I swear I never met her."
"Then why is her phone number on your phone?"
A jury of middle-aged men and women would not understand the ways of young men and women. That hooking up was considered normal. That girls were happy to be subs, to be texted for sex. That sex was no more an emotional commitment than a peck on the cheek after a date back in their time. The jury would sentence William Tucker to death.
The law requires that the district attorney disclose all exculpatory evidence to the defense; it does not require that the district attorney disclose all incriminating evidence. That's why the D.A. had left William's laptop and phone in his room. The phone contained incriminating evidence: the victim's phone number. The D.A. was required to allow Frank access to the phone, which he did, but not to lead Frank through the hundreds of phone numbers and point out the girl's number. That was Frank's job. The D.A.'s plan was to surprise the defense with her phone number at trial. Most bad prosecutors hide exculpatory evidence; this prosecutor was hiding incriminating evidence that would inflame the jury and assure the death penalty. Hiding evidence in plain sight, right there on the phone. All Frank had to do was find it.
He realized then that there was more to find.
"Chico, what'd you find on the laptop?"
"Nothing much. Video clips from his games, videos of girls stripping—"
"At strip clubs?"
"Dorm rooms, his and theirs. And homemade porn."
"William?"
"Yep."
Salacious but not incriminating or admissible. There was more to be found.
"Check the phone again. We're missing something."
"There's nothing more, Frank."
"There's something more."
"What?"
Frank's mind processed the evidence they had and the evidence the D.A. must have had in order to be so assured of his son's guilt. It finally came to him—it should have come to him when they found the phone, but his mind was too clouded by whiskey.
"How many photos are on his phone?"
"Hundreds, maybe a thousand."
"Her photo is on his phone. That's why the cops left the phone. The D.A. is hiding incriminating evidence in plain sight."
Billie Jean had driven down to Rockport a few days after the arraignment with her draft subpoena. She had done a good job. Frank had approved it, and she had filed it. That day she had driven down early with the results of the subpoena: DNA test results, autopsy report, trace evidence report, and a CD of the football game. The DNA test results showed conclusively that William's blood was on Dee Dee's body. The autopsy report showed that Dee Dee had been forcibly raped, that cause of death was strangulation, and that time of death was between midnight and 2:00 A.M. The trace evidence report showed no other evidence recovered from Dee Dee's body—no semen, no skin tissue, no saliva, no one else's blood.
Frank had looked over the discovery then he and Billie Jean had walked the beach while waiting for the rest of the defense team to arrive. She was easy to talk to. It had been a long time since he had talked with a woman. His only conversations with Liz had been about what he could afford for her to buy and the kids' schedules the next week. Money and parenting, not life and love.
They were now back at the bungalow. Chuck studied the game tape on William's laptop. Chico browsed the hundreds of photos on William's phone. Dwayne reported on their investigation in Lubbock. He held his cop pad in his left hand and a Sharpie in his right.
"Dwayne," Chico said, "why do you always carry that Sharpie?"
"Oh, this was my trademark back in the day, when I was the top homicide cop on the Houston PD."
"Trademark?"
"Yeah, like that TV homicide cop always sucked on a Tootsie Roll Pop."
"Magnum?"
"No. He was a PI. The bald guy."
"Bruce Willis?"
"No, the one—"
They could go on forever, so Frank ste
ered the discussion back to the Lubbock trip.
"So you met this Cissy girl?"
"Oh, yeah. Most of the players and cheerleaders back then, they've already graduated and moved on. We could spend months and more money than we got tracking them down. No need to, they can't take William's blood off the girl's body. But we found Cissy Dupre."
He recounted their conversation with Dee Dee's roommate, all the way through Dee Dee meeting William Tucker at the Dizzy Rooster.
"He said he had never met her," Frank said. "But he did since her number was in his phone."
"And now the D.A.'s got a witness to say they met that night at that bar. And that they groped each other like … what did she say, Chuck?"
"Horny high schoolers. She saw them heading to the back of the bar, they disappeared, then she saw William later, puking. Couldn't put a time on it."
"Where?"
"Right there in the bar."
"He didn't say he was sick."
"You know, Frank, when I was in the Army, the lifers, they always said they puked after their first kill."
"Where was Dee Dee when he was throwing up?"
"Cissy said she never saw her again."
Frank considered the news. So far, all the news had been bad. His son's blood on the victim and the victim's number in his son's phone. But the worst news was that his son might have—
"He lied, Frank," Dwayne said.
"I can't believe that."
"Believe it," Chico said.
He turned William's cell phone so they could see the screen, on which was a color image of Dee Dee Dunston with a "Dizzy Rooster" sign in the background.
Chapter 30
"I didn't lie. I just don't remember her. I don't remember anything from that day. I got the concussion."
While probably medically true, it would be a tough sell to a jury. William felt well enough to go partying that night, but he didn't remember anything? The D.A. would exploit that at trial, ask him a hundred questions that would require an "I don't remember" answer. If, that is, William testified. He could decline to testify, but it's a risky strategy. Juries want to hear the defendant tell his side of the story. And juries don't trust a defendant who can't recall his side of the story.
"I just can't remember."
The next morning, Frank and Billie Jean sat in front of William in the interview room. Frank put the phone with Dee Dee's image on the screen to the Plexiglas.
"You don't remember taking this photo?"
"I didn't take it."
"What'd he say?" Billie Jean said.
She sat next to Frank, but could not hear William.
"Said he didn't take the photo."
"Ask him who did."
Back to William: "Who did?"
"She did."
Frank turned the screen back and studied the girl's image.
"He said she took it herself."
Billie Jean looked closely at the image.
"Could be a selfie."
"A selfie?"
"Self-photo. Kids take their own photos, post them on Facebook and Twitter."
"Why?
"I don't know."
Back to William: "Why would she do that?"
"So I'd remember her. So I'd text her."
Frank felt a sense of sadness. College thirty-five years ago was simpler; boys dreaming of sex but not getting much sex. College years filled with random sex with complete strangers did not seem all that wonderful. William shook his head.
"Her phone number, her photo, my blood …"
Frank hadn't had alcohol in thirteen days. His hands trembled. His son's hands trembled too, but not from alcohol withdrawal. From fear.
"Do the police know about her photo?"
"I think they do."
William looked noticeably thinner. Almost gaunt, if a man his size could look gaunt. His blue eyes floated in dark circles.
"Are you sleeping?"
"Not much."
"Eating?"
"Not much."
"Exercising?"
"Why? My season's over—did you see the game yesterday? Two losses in a row. No Heisman, no championship. My career's over. My life's over."
Frank regarded his son. Trial was four weeks away. Would he make it four more weeks in jail?
"Dwayne went to Lubbock, talked to the girl's roommate named Cissy. She was at the bar that night, too. She said you and Dee Dee disappeared, she figured you two had hooked up."
"We did?"
"You don't remember that either?"
"No."
Frank again put his palm to the glass, but his son put his face in his hands.
"I'm gonna die in prison."
A few blocks away at the Austin Police Department headquarters, Dwayne Gentry sat next to Detective Herman Jones's desk. Herman seemed pained.
"You need to know about your boy," he said.
"What?"
"He killed the girl."
"He said he never met her."
"But he did. Her phone number's on his phone."
"And her photo."
Herman smiled. "You found it? I told the D.A. you would. But he figures he's the smartest guy in the room. Likes to play games."
"But that's explainable. That's how kids roll these days, texting and sexting. Wish to hell I was a kid today."
"Amen, brother."
The two men smiled at the thought. As they say, youth is wasted on the young.
"And he got back to his dorm before the time of death," Dwayne said.
Herman's smiled turned into a frown.
"That's why I said you should come see me," he said. "The boy lied."
Herman inserted a CD into his laptop and tapped the keyboard. He turned the screen so Dwayne could see. A video clip played. It showed William Tucker and Ty Walker, aka Cowboy, entering the Jester dormitory's front door.
"Check the time stamp," Herman said.
"One-thirty-eight A.M. Eleven-thirteen-eleven. November thirteenth, two thousand eleven." Dwayne blew out a breath. "Well, shit."
"The law says I have to disclose exculpatory evidence. It doesn't say that I have to disclose incriminating evidence or that I have to lead you through the evidence and point out the good stuff. You've got to do some of the work yourself, Frank."
"You want the death penalty that badly, hiding the victim's photo and phone number in plain sight. You're an asshole, Dick."
Dick Dorkin shrugged. "I can live with that. But can your son live with a death sentence?" He exhaled. "You know, Frank, I liked you better drunk. You're so intense sober."
He grinned. Frank did not.
"Well," Dick said, "so now you know and you know it's bad."
"Did you subpoena his phone records from back then?"
"Yep."
"Any texts or calls from him to her?"
"Nope."
"What's that tell you?"
"Nothing. She died that same night. He wouldn't call a dead girl."
"Doesn't mean he killed her."
"Means he met her that same night in that same bar. Frank, the evidence proves they were together inside the bar the same night she died outside the bar. According to the eyewitness, Cissy Dupre, they kissed and groped. She saw them heading to the back of the bar where there's a door leading to the alley outside, the same alley where she was found—with his blood on her body. The witness saw William again that night, but not Dee Dee. All that adds up to murder, conviction, and a death sentence."
"Circumstantial evidence."
"Most evidence is, you know that. One question you've got to answer, Frank: how did his blood get on her body? Explain that. You can't. Because there's only one explanation: his blood got on her when he raped and strangled her."
"He wasn't even there when she was killed. Autopsy report says time of death was midnight to two A.M. He said he was back in his dorm before the time of death."
"He lied."
"How do you know?"
"Right now, Detective Herman Jones is givi
ng your man a CD of the dorm surveillance tape from that night which shows your son entering the dorm at one-thirty-eight A.M. He was out when she was killed. Frank, your son's another Bradley Todd."
Frank Tucker looked as if Dick had just kicked him in the balls. It was fun holding all the aces in the deck. It rarely happens in a criminal case; the defense usually holds an ace, sometimes two. Or three. That's when prosecutors often venture into that murky realm known as "prosecutorial misconduct." When they inadvertently misplace a piece of exculpatory evidence or forget to file a contradictory witness account or, if necessary for a conviction, simply destroy a document that might make the jury question the defendant's guilt. Many prosecutors figure it's best not to confuse the jurors with the facts. Frank was still squirming in his chair, so Dick turned to the PD named Billie Jean. She was a sexy broad. Word of her past had spread through the Travis County criminal justice system faster than two cops through a box of donuts.
"You're the stripper?"
"I was the stripper."
Dick grunted. "One of my assistant D.A.'s, he's getting married, the boys are holding a bachelor's party for him, if you want to make some extra cash."
The stripper smiled and held up a middle finger.
"That's a no?"
Dick chuckled and turned back to Frank.
"Hey, did you catch the ESPN segment on the case?" He picked up a remote and pointed it at the screen on the wall. "I TiVo'ed it."
The segment began with the UT-Texas Tech game from two years before. Dee Dee Dunston cheering … William Tucker playing … and Frank Tucker stumbling over equipment on the sideline. Dick chuckled at Frank Tucker's expense.
"There's a memory."
He froze the image on the screen and turned to Frank.
"So the great Frank Tucker's famous trial strategy backfired this time, didn't it? Thought you'd push me to trial, gain the upper hand. I'm ready for trial, Frank—I take it you're not?"
"I'm gonna punch you before this is over, Dick."
"You'll have to get in line," Billie Jean said.
Dick grinned. He was having the best time imaginable.
"Get him to plead, Frank, I'll agree to life without parole. At least your son will still have his life."
"Life in prison isn't much of a life."
"They said all my clients would claim innocence but be guilty," Billie Jean said. "They said we're just a Sixth Amendment right to counsel formality."
The Case Against William Page 21