Dead Center ac-5

by David Rosenfelt

  If left to his own devices, Dr. Peters could say in about thirty seconds that the deaths were due to multiple stab wounds and that the blood on the front passenger seat belonged to both victims. In Lester’s publicity-hungry hands it takes just under an hour; he’s never played to a media-packed house before, and he does not want to step back out of the spotlight.

  Finally, reluctantly, he turns the witness over to me. “Dr. Peters, about how much blood was there in the front of the car?” I ask.

  “In layman’s terms, maybe ten or twelve specks.”

  “But it could be seen with the naked eye?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  “How did it get there?”

  He seems surprised by the question and takes a moment before saying, “I really don’t know.”

  “Do you think it’s likely that the victims were both in that front seat bleeding?”

  He considers this. “Well, it’s a small area… I doubt if both of them were there, but it’s possible.”

  “If they were cramped into the seat like that, bleeding from the stab wounds, would you expect to see more blood?”

  “Absolutely.”

  As prosecution witnesses go, this is an outstanding one for the defense, mainly because he seems to be open and not partial to either side. He doesn’t bring an agenda to this hearing, as Lester and I both do.

  “But if they hadn’t been stabbed yet, and were cramped into that same seat, they wouldn’t each have left blood specks, would they?”

  “Not unless they both had other wounds of some sort.”

  I accept that and move on to a discussion of the bodies, which Dr. Peters had said had at least ten stab wounds each and had bled profusely. “In your considered opinion is it possible that the person who committed these murders was able to avoid getting blood on himself or herself?”

  “I’m not an expert in blood spatter, but I would say no. In the case of Elizabeth Barlow the carotid artery was cut, and that would have created a spurt of blood. And other wounds on both women would have done the same.”

  I let him off the stand; he’s not the guy whose credibility I need to damage. Lester, seemingly pleased with how well this has started, quickly calls Dwayne O’Neal, a patron at the Crows Nest bar on the night of the murder.

  O’Neal, in his mid-twenties himself, seems relaxed and delighted to be here as the center of attention. He testifies that he saw Jeremy and Elizabeth arguing in the parking lot that night and that Jeremy was yelling at her. He was a good fifty feet away but had no trouble hearing them.

  “What could you hear them saying?” Lester asks.

  “He was yelling, ‘How can you say that? How can you say that?’ And she said that she was leaving, and he said, ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ ”

  This is damaging testimony, and Lester takes another half hour to milk it, before turning the witness over to me.

  “Now, Mr. O’Neal,” I say, “you’ve testified that you saw the defendant in the parking lot. Were you arriving at the bar or leaving at the time?”

  “I was leaving. It was past twelve o’clock.”

  “Did you have friends with you that heard the argument as well?”

  He shakes his head. “No, I was there alone.”

  “So your friends were inside?”

  Another shake of the head. “No, I knew a couple of people there, but I was by myself. I like to go there sometimes to relax, you know, unwind.”

  “Does drinking help you unwind?”

  “Sure, a little bit.”

  “How much unwinding did you do that night?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, now a little wary.

  “How much did you drink?”

  “I don’t know… not much. A drink or two.”

  I introduce as evidence a credit card receipt from that night, showing that O’Neal spent fifty-two dollars for eight drinks. I then get him to admit that the receipt is in fact his.

  “So since you didn’t have any friends in the bar, can we assume you weren’t buying rounds of drinks for everyone? Can we assume that you were doing a lot of unwinding that night?”

  O’Neal’s attitude switches to sullen and worried. “I don’t remember… but I wasn’t drunk.”

  I nod as if that makes perfect sense. “Fine. So you spent fifty-two dollars on drinks, after which you and your blood alcohol level head to your car for a pleasant ride home. By the way, do you find that driving drunk helps you unwind as well?”

  Lester objects and the judge sustains, but my point is made: This is not a model citizen. I continue. “So when you got near your car, you heard the defendant and Elizabeth Barlow arguing?”

  “Right.”

  “Was it violent?”

  “No.”

  “Did you intervene?” Dwayne doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking, so I spell it out. “Did you walk over, break up the argument, because you were afraid someone would get hurt?”

  “No, but I thought about it. I guess I should have, seeing as how she died and all.”

  “Did the defendant and Ms. Barlow leave together?” I ask.

  “I don’t know for sure; I left before them.”

  “Even though you were so worried,” I say, concluding the cross-examination. I can’t decide who’s happier that he’s getting off the stand, Lester or Dwayne.

  For myself, I have mixed emotions with the way things are going. The good news is that I’ve made points with this witness, at least partially discredited his testimony, and made him look bad. The bad news is that I’ve done this now, rather than at trial, which is when it will be important.

  Judge Morrison is not going to throw out the case today; he is going to schedule it for trial. Lester will be able to use this experience to better prepare Dwayne for his trial testimony, and in that sense what I accomplished will have been counterproductive. The reason I did it is the media coverage; it is crucial I get the public to understand that this case is not a slam dunk and that there is another side to the story, our side.

  Lester calls Cliff Parsons, the officer who investigated the case, discovered the bodies, and arrested Jeremy. Lester slowly takes him through his life story, literally beginning with his time as an all-state football player at good old Findlay High. By the time he’s halfway through his heroics as an Army Ranger, I can’t take any more.

  “I object, Your Honor. The witness’s life story, while thrilling and the stuff of which TV movies are made, is not relevant here.”

  “Your Honor, Lieutenant Parsons’s exemplary record is important towards supporting his credibility,” Lester says.

  “How about if we wait until cross-examination to see just how credible he is?” I say, throwing down the gauntlet. I want this witness worried about what I’m going to do to him.

  Judge Morrison asks Lester to speed things up, and after a few more questions they move into testimony having to do with the case at hand. Lester takes him through his story step by step, beginning with the missing persons report called in by both Liz’s mother and Sheryl’s father. Parsons took twenty-four hours to determine that they were in fact missing under suspicious circumstances, and then started an investigation to learn their whereabouts.

  Parsons comes off as an experienced witness. He speaks slowly and carefully, answering the questions completely but not volunteering more than is necessary. He and Lester have obviously spent some time together preparing, since the story comes out easily and coherently.

  Once Parsons determined that the young women’s disappearance was indeed suspicious, he learned from Dwayne O’Neal of the argument between Liz and Jeremy outside the bar. He further learned that Liz had recently broken up with Jeremy and that Jeremy was unhappy about it.

  As Parsons relates it, he went out to Jeremy’s the next night to discuss all this with him. Jeremy’s truck was parked in front of the house, and Parsons looked in the window as he walked by. He saw what seemed to be bloodstains on the front seat and called for backup help.
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br />   Before the help arrived, Parsons rang the bell, and there was no answer. Jeremy was in the guesthouse, asleep, but Parsons said he had no way of knowing that. Parsons then pried open the door and commenced a search. Backup arrived, and one of the other officers found the bodies, the fresh dirt and leaves having caused him to notice the shallow grave. Jeremy heard noises, came into the main house, and was read his rights, arrested, and taken into custody.

  Calvin and I have discussed the dilemma of how hard to hit these witnesses in the preliminary hearing, and as I get up to cross-examine Parsons, Calvin whispers to me, “You gonna leave any bullets in the gun?”

  “What do you think?” I ask, although I’ve already made my decision.

  “Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat” is the machine-gun sound he makes, a sentiment I fully agree with.

  I steal a quick glance at Laurie as I walk toward Parsons. He works for her, and she will not be happy if I damage his credibility. But it’s something I have to do; it’s why they’re paying me the little bucks.

  The only issue that holds any real promise for our defense is that Parsons failed to get a search warrant before checking out the truck and house. If it could be determined that he acted improperly, then all evidence discovered in those searches would be thrown out. It won’t happen, but it’s all we have to shoot for.

  Lester has already had Parsons explain why he did not get a search warrant, but I plan to take him through it again. “Lieutenant, you testified that when you arrived at Mr. Davidson’s house, the truck parked in front attracted your attention.”

  “Yes, it was parked at a strange angle, as if it had been left quickly.”

  “I’m not from around here, but is ‘quick parking’ a felony in Wisconsin?”

  Lester objects and Judge Morrison sustains, casting a warning stare in my direction.

  “So you thought this was suspicious enough to look into the truck?”

  He nods. “I did. Two young women were missing.”

  “And had been missing for twenty-four hours.” I point this out in an effort to show that if Jeremy had indeed been worried about how he quickly parked, or about bloodstains on the seat, he would have had plenty of time to remedy the situation. The truth is, I questioned Jeremy on this, and he said he had not used the vehicle in those previous twenty-four hours.

  Parsons has a ready answer. “That doesn’t mean the truck was there that long. For all I knew, it could have just gotten back to the house.”

  “Which window did you look through?” I ask. “The driver’s side or passenger side?”

  “Passenger side.”

  I show him a picture of the car parked in front of the house. The driver’s side is toward the driveway entrance, and the passenger side is facing the house.

  “So you pulled up, saw this suspiciously parked truck, but didn’t look in the window closest to you. Instead you walked around to the other side? Is that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Anything relevant to my investigation,” he says.

  “You mean like a clue or something? Do quickly parked trucks usually contain clues?”

  “I was looking for anything relevant to my investigation,” he repeats.

  “And you saw what looked like blood to you,” I say.

  “It was blood,” he says with the confidence of twenty-twenty hindsight.

  “Dr. Peters characterized the blood on the seat as ‘specks.’ Would you agree with that?”

  He shrugs. “It was enough for me to know what it was.”

  “You know blood when you see it?”

  “I do. I unfortunately see a lot of it in my line of work.”

  I nod and walk over to the defense table. Calvin hands me a sixteen-by-twenty-four-inch manila envelope. I ask if we can approach the bench, and when Lester and I are out of earshot of the witness and everyone else, I take out a small poster board and tell the judge what it represents. I further state that Dr. Peters prepared this for us yesterday and gave us a document swearing that it is as represented.

  Lester objects to my using the exhibit, but the judge correctly overrules him and allows me to show it to the jury and then Parsons. “Lieutenant Parsons, as you can see, there are four red stains, identified as A through D, on this board. I’m sure you’ll agree that they are all larger than specks.”

  Parsons doesn’t say anything, which is fine, since I haven’t asked a question. “As an expert in blood identification, perhaps you can tell us which of these are bloodstains.”

  Lester objects again, but the judge again overrules him. Parsons seems disconcerted by the exercise and looks upward, complaining that “this isn’t the best lighting.”

  I nod. “You mean compared to a dark driveway at ten o’clock at night, looking through a quickly parked car window? Those are better conditions?”

  Finally, reluctantly, he points to C. “That appears to be a bloodstain.”

  I nod and hand a document to Parsons. “You’ve chosen the stain labeled ‘C.’ Please read from Dr. Peters’s sworn statement and tell the jury what C actually is.”

  Parsons looks at the document and says softly, “It’s melted red licorice scraped on the surface.” There are a few snickers in the gallery, and Judge Morrison gavels them away, but they heighten the effect.

  I wasn’t worried that Parsons would correctly identify a bloodstain, because none of them were blood. To Parsons I say, “I take it you’re not also an expert on licorice identification? You haven’t unfortunately seen a lot of licorice in your line of work?”

  Lester objects and Judge Morrison strongly admonishes me. He’s coming to the unhappy realization that Hatchet’s characterization of me as a wiseass was all too accurate.

  I continue. “So you make the decision that because of these specks that looked like blood in the truck, and because the truck was ‘quickly’ parked at an angle, you couldn’t wait for a search warrant. You had to rush in.”

  He nods. “Right. I thought someone inside could be bleeding or otherwise in danger.”

  “Yes. You testified that a dangerous criminal could conceivably have been inside, holding the young women, or even Mr. Davidson, hostage.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Doesn’t proper procedure call for you to wait for backup in such a situation? Unless there is obvious and imminent grave danger to someone?”

  “Yes, but-”

  I interrupt. “But you couldn’t wait. Not with all that blood or licorice in the car.”

  Again Lester objects, and this time Judge Morrison issues what he says will be his final warning. Parsons is handling this ridicule pretty well, remaining calm and relatively impassive.

  “It was a decision I made in the moment,” he says. “Under the same circumstances I would make it again.”

  “And you would be violating the law again, Lieutenant. Because this was clearly a case in which you should have first obtained a search warrant. You knew this, and yet you chose not to do so.”

  Lester stands. “Your Honor, counsel is making an argument under the guise of direct examination.”

  He’s right about that, so I turn instead to the judge and move that all evidence found after the unlawful search of the truck be stricken. The judge says that we should continue this hearing and that a separate hearing will be necessary to decide the search warrant issue, which is an unpleasant surprise for Lester.

  I let Parsons off the stand, having badly embarrassed him, and in the process I’ve made an impact on the media. But little has really been accomplished legally, and the search warrant hearing will go nowhere.

  Lester wraps up his case, and Judge Morrison correctly rules that the prosecution has met its burden and that Jeremy will be held over for trial. A trial in which Lester will hold all the cards.

  • • • • •

  I AM FINDING it simply impossible to avoid bratwurst. It is everywhere, prepared in all different styles. Not only do I not want to eat
it, I don’t want to see it or hear about it. But there it is… everywhere.

  What marketing genius came up with the name “bratwurst”? Did they think they could make a food sound more appealing and appetizing by including “wurst” in the name? I’m sure there must have been a reason they did it; maybe “bratshit” was already taken.

  And what exactly is a brat? Where are they found? All everybody talks about around here is hunting; maybe I could get in good with the local citizens by grabbing a gun and going out and shooting me a bagful of brats.

  Calvin inhales a plate of it at the diner, while I have a tuna salad sandwich. We take the opportunity to discuss the best way to divvy up our responsibilities. Calvin suggests that he continue to interview classmates of Jeremy and Elizabeth at the university, a logical plan considering my performance in the dormitory. He will also do additional research into the Centurion religion, something he and everyone else in Findlay know amazingly little about, considering how close by it is.

  My short-term efforts will be directed toward learning what I can about Elizabeth’s and Sheryl’s lives within Center City and what effect their religion had on events as they unfolded.

  When I get back to the house, I start by placing a call to Elizabeth’s mother, Jane Barlow, and the phone is answered by a female who sounds like a teenager.

  “Jane Barlow, please.”

  “Who’s calling?”

  “My name is Andy Carpenter.”

  I hear some muffled whispering, as if the person has her hand over the receiver while she talks to someone. After a short while she comes back on the line. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m the attorney representing Jeremy Davidson.”

  “Hold on,” she says, after which there is another long pause, with muffled talking.

  Finally, an adult woman’s voice comes on. “This is Jane Barlow.”

  “Mrs. Barlow, my name is Andy Carpenter. I’d like to come out there and speak to you about your daughter, if I may.”