“Objection,” Kreitinger said again. “Same thing, Kennicott’s personal opinion.”
“No.” DiPaulo raised his powerful voice and it reverberated off the courtroom’s wood-panelled walls.
Every lawyer had a different tool they used in court, and Amankwah had seen most of them. Some had charm. Others humour, their good looks, or their down-home demeanour. With DiPaulo it was all about his voice.
“Just a few minutes ago, Ms. Kreitinger spent a considerable amount of time with this witness establishing that, in her words, my client deceived him.”
This was the Ted DiPaulo Amankwah was used to seeing. He was in full command of the courtroom.
“It was the cornerstone of her examination-in-chief. She is the one who opened this door. I’m entitled to walk right in and see what’s inside.”
Amankwah kept his eyes on Norville as she started to nod.
“Your Honour, the Crown is leaving you with the impression that Detective Greene’s actions were deceptive for all the wrong reasons,” DiPaulo said. “Surely I should have the chance to see if there’s another explanation.”
Norville stopped nodding. “Objection overruled,” she said. “Keep going, Mr. DiPaulo.”
He turned back to Kennicott. “Let’s cut to the chase,” he said. “Imagine that, in the early hours of this investigation, Detective Greene had told you that when he arrived at room 8 at the Maple Leaf Motel he found Jennifer Raglan strangled to death. If he’d told you that then, he would have been a key witness for the prosecution, correct?”
“Witness or suspect,” Kennicott said.
“And if he was a witness,” DiPaulo said, ignoring Kennicott’s jab at Greene, “he couldn’t take part in the investigative team, could he?”
Kennicott’s expression brightened, and he sneaked a look at Greene. Clearly this had never occurred to him, Amankwah thought.
“That’s right,” Kennicott said. “If he was a witness to the crime, he couldn’t investigate it.”
“Imagine that he is an innocent man who wants, more than anything, to find the killer. Knowing Detective Greene as well as you do, can you see how he’d be prepared to do something so extreme as deceiving you because he was desperate to work on the case?”
“Objection again.” Kreitinger was back on her feet. “Really, Your Honour, this is a bail hearing, not a jury address.”
“She’s got a point,” Judge Norwell said. “Move on.”
“Thank you, Your Honour,” DiPaulo said, with a short bow. All politeness and contrition.
He looked back at the witness stand. “This is my last set of questions, Detective Kennicott. Take us back to the time you spoke to Detective Greene, minutes after you arrived on the scene. When you called him on his cell, he said he was about to call you, didn’t he?”
“He did, but –”
“Yes or no, sir. Is that what Detective Greene said to you? ‘I was about to call you’? Yes or no?”
“Yes. That’s what he said.”
“In fact he answered the phone on the first ring, didn’t he?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“And he told you that he was going to come right over to join you, didn’t he?”
“He said he was close by.”
“Answer the question.” DiPaulo’s voice was cranked another notch louder. He was looking straight at Norville. “Homicide detective Ari Greene offered to come over to the scene of the crime, didn’t he?”
Kennicott’s lips were tight. “Yes, he did.”
Amankwah could feel the mood in the courtroom shift again, like a big ship listing from one side to the other. The portrait of Greene as a lying, deceptive murderer was being displaced by one of a man willing to risk all to find the true killer.
“Officer Kennicott, according to your notes, this call was made at 11:12 A.M. Please tell the court why Detective Greene didn’t come right over to the crime scene, as he’d told you he wanted to.”
Kennicott nodded.
“Do you want to see your notes?” DiPaulo asked. His voice was mellow now.
“No. I remember it very well. He didn’t come over because of me. I told him to stay away. This was my first murder investigation, and I didn’t want it to look like I needed my mentor to be there, to hold my hand.”
That was the “aha” moment, Amankwah thought. DiPaulo had set this up right from the beginning of his cross-examination when he had congratulated Kennicott for his recent promotion to Homicide. He’d goaded the young officer into being defensive about the fact that this was his first murder investigation. And he’d used it to explain what minutes ago seemed unexplainable – why an experienced police officer such as Ari Greene had not rushed back to the scene of the crime.
“Thank you, Detective,” DiPaulo said. “Those are my questions. Your Honour, I believe it is time for lunch.”
“Good idea,” Norville said, getting up from her chair.
The registrar jumped to his feet. “All rise,” he shouted,
Everyone stood. As soon as Norville was out of the courtroom, a guard came forward and handcuffed Greene. Instead of looking upset, Greene turned to DiPaulo and smiled.
DiPaulo smiled back. Amankwah knew they had both felt it. The sweetness of the first step toward freedom.
46
ANGELA KREITINGER’S BACK WAS KILLING HER. HALFWAY THROUGH THE MORNING SESSION, the pain had started in the right base of her spine then radiated down her leg. She didn’t want anyone to know about it, and she sure didn’t need the distraction with the defence now calling evidence and Detective Greene’s father about to take the stand.
She opened her binder and turned to a fresh page. On the top she wrote, Yitzhak Greene, Father, and underneath: Key questions: 1. Have you ever been charged with a criminal offence? 2. What did your son tell you about his relationship with Jennifer Raglan and her murder?
Ted DiPaulo stood.
Until today, she’d never seen him work as a defence lawyer. He’d done a good job this morning in his cross-examination of Kennicott, using the young cop to create some doubt about Greene’s guilt. He’d also fixed in Judge Norville’s mind the notion that, whether or not Ari Greene was guilty, there was little question that he’d obey any bail conditions. Kreitinger could see now that Greene was going to be released. And she didn’t really care. Her focus was on the trial.
She knew DiPaulo had no choice but to put Greene’s father on the stand. It was impossible for his client to get bail unless the judge heard from his surety. And this was going to give Kreitinger a golden opportunity to get key evidence down under oath.
“For its first and only witness, the defence calls Mr. Yitzhak Greene,” DiPaulo said in that powerful voice of his.
Before coming into court after the lunch break, Kreitinger had caught a glimpse of Mr. Greene in the hallway. He was shorter than she’d pictured, but also stronger-looking. As a witness set to testify, he’d been excluded from court this morning. She had his police file on her desk, hidden under a pile of papers. She was ready.
He walked up to the witness box with surprising speed for someone in his eighties. He wore a well-tailored blue suit and a muted red tie. His shoes gleamed as if they’d been shined by a professional, which made sense since he’d run his own shoe repair shop for decades.
Judge Norville gave him a kindly smile. “Sir,” she said, “I imagine you have never been in court before.”
“I was once, in 1962. Two kids tried to steal from my shop and I stabbed one in the hand with my chisel.”
Damn it, Kreitinger thought. She’d hoped he would try to bury this, because she’d planned to embarrass him with it on cross-examination. Forget that. She crossed out number one on her sheet of paper.
Norville looked taken aback by his frankness. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir . . . ”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I stabbed the one who had the knife.” He held up his own hand and pointed to the back of it with his finger. “Right here, when his hand was on the cou
nter. He lied about it on the witness stand. Said he was unarmed. But then his partner told the truth, so they threw the case out. I wouldn’t have stabbed him if he didn’t have a knife.”
“I’m sure not, sir.”
“I would have punched him.”
Kreitinger heard laughter behind her and couldn’t resist smiling herself.
He’s charming the skirt off Norville, she thought, and he hasn’t even started to testify.
“I’m going to let the lawyers ask the rest of the questions,” Norville said. “Would you like some water?”
“Water? Why not?” he said.
Kreitinger kept her eyes on him as DiPaulo led him through his evidence: Yitzhak Greene was born in a small town in Poland two hundred kilometres south of Warsaw. Four thousand residents. There were two thousand Jews and two thousand Catholics who’d lived there in peace for hundreds of years. On September 24, 1942, the Nazis came at night and rounded up all the Jews. He and his brother and one other man were the only ones who survived. After the war, he made his way to Canada with his new wife, whom he’d met in a displaced persons camp in southern Germany.
“I saw her at the meal station. She was beautiful. Neither of us had family left, and we got married three days later,” he said.
A few people behind Kreitinger sighed.
“In 1948, finally, we came to Canada,” he went on. “It was hard for my wife to get pregnant. Ari is our only child.”
Norville looked transfixed by him. This little man with his polished shoes had the judge, and everyone else in the courtroom, eating out of his hand. Probably best not to even bother cross-examining him, Kreitinger thought.
Next, DiPaulo had him talk about opening his shoe repair shop downtown, working six days a week with his wife, Ari growing up above the store until they moved north to the little bungalow where he still lived. How his son had gone to the nearby high school, then the University of Toronto, then was a law student, but dropped out to become a cop, and now was in Homicide.
“The chief, Hap Charlton, he guided Ari through everything. They called him Ari’s rabbi,” he said. “We used to laugh at that. Then my wife got sick.”
“Sick?” DiPaulo asked, as if he’d never heard a word of this before. He was the master at this – only asking questions to which he knew the answers, and playing them for all they were worth.
“Alzheimer’s. She died two years ago.”
Kreitinger hadn’t made one note. Why bother? The man was going to be the best surety imaginable. Norville was going to let Ari Greene go live with his father. She circled her note number two. All she could do now was to try to tie him to a strict house arrest on his bail.
“If Her Honour chooses to release your son on bail, can he live with you?” DiPaulo asked.
“Of course. His mother wouldn’t let me touch his room when he moved out.”
This set off another chorus of laughter.
Norville smiled.
“Thank you, sir,” DiPaulo said. “Those are my questions.”
Kreitinger was surprised. DiPaulo was such a careful lawyer, why hadn’t he covered off any conversations between father and son concerning Raglan’s murder? He must be hiding something. Good.
Mr. Greene shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and moved to step down.
“Oh, sorry, wait a moment,” DiPaulo said. “The other lawyer here, Ms. Kreitinger, the Crown attorney, might have a few questions for you.”
Kreitinger’s back didn’t hurt at all anymore. Yes, I’ve got a few questions, she thought. Being a smart Crown was like being a shark, probing for that soft underbelly. It was time to strike.
47
WATCHING HIS FATHER TESTIFY COULD HAVE BEEN ONE OF THE WORST EXPERIENCES IN Greene’s life. But it wasn’t. His father was being remarkably calm and self-assured. He had Judge Norville eating out of his hand. That was half the battle.
When DiPaulo finished his questions, Greene shifted his gaze to Angela Kreitinger. He’d been sneaking glimpses at her all through his father’s testimony. The woman was tightly wound, and he could see her mounting frustration because his father was doing well on the stand.
“Do you think Kreitinger is going to cross-examine my dad?” Greene had asked DiPaulo down in the cells during the lunch break.
DiPaulo had smiled. “Angie? She can’t help herself. Just watch.”
Greene watched Kreitinger walk to the lectern. She seemed to be limping a bit. Her lips were tight with determination as she opened her binder.
“Mr. Greene, you told Mr. DiPaulo that if your son is released you’ll make sure he follows each and every condition of his bail.”
“Of course.”
“Because you understand it is important to follow the law.”
“Without law we have chaos.”
Greene smiled. His father knew this better than anyone else in this courtroom.
“And when you took the stand, you took an oath to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
“I did. Why wouldn’t I tell the truth?”
“The whole truth, that means everything.”
“I understand.”
“And you will do that today.”
Kreitinger had done a good job of boxing in Greene’s father, leaving him no wiggle room.
Smart lawyering, Greene thought. He glanced at DiPaulo, who winked back at him. Smiling.
“Ask me any question,” Greene’s father said. “I’ll tell you everything.”
Kreitinger flipped to a new page in her binder.
“Did your son tell you he was having an affair with the victim, Jennifer Raglan?” She put her chin out at Greene’s father, as if to say, There, bet you didn’t expect this question.
“Yes,” he said. Calm.
“He did?” she asked. Surprised.
“The day of the murder, my son came to see me.”
“And he told you about their affair?”
“Yes. Not the details. But he told me that he loved her.”
A murmur went through the courtroom. Greene kept looking at his father.
“Did he say where he was the morning of the murder?”
“Yes. At the motel.”
Someone in the audience gasped.
“He told you he was at the motel?” Kreitinger asked.
“And that she was dead when he got there. He took off chasing after someone who was outside but couldn’t find the person. Then in the afternoon he met with Officer Kennicott, but didn’t tell him he’d been in the motel.”
Kreitinger pulled out a pen from her vest. “Let me be sure I understand this.” She started to write in her binder.
It was an old Crown trick Greene had seen prosecutors use time and time again. Re-ask a question when you got a good answer, and make a show of writing it down, that way you underlined the importance of the evidence.
“He said he found Ms. Raglan dead. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“But then he didn’t tell the homicide officer on the case. Why did he say he did that?”
DiPaulo was right about Kreitinger, Greene thought. She couldn’t help herself. Even if it meant breaking rule number one on cross-examination: Never ask a question to which you don’t know the answer. Her open-ended question gave his father carte blanche to say whatever he liked.
“Ari said at first he rushed around the neighbourhood trying to find the husband. He was sure the man had killed his wife and was afraid he was suicidal. Then he was about to go back to the motel, but Kennicott called and told him not to come and that they should speak later in the afternoon. He felt terrible not telling Kennicott right away. But when he thought about it, something about how the ambulance and police arrived so quickly didn’t make sense. I taught him my whole life to be careful. There’s danger out there. Plus, he knew if he told Kennicott he’d been in the motel, then he’d be a witness at the trial and couldn’t work on the –”
“Thank you, Mr. Greene,” Kreitinger said. It was clear from her f
ace that she knew her question had been a mistake.
“Your Honour,” DiPaulo said, instantly on his feet. “My friend asked an important question. Why is she cutting off the witness? Let’s hear the whole answer.”
“But, Your Honour,” Kreitinger protested.
Norville held up her hand. “Mr. DiPaulo is right.” She turned to the witness stand. Greene could see she was curious and wanted to hear more. “What else did your son say?”
“He said that, if he couldn’t work on the case, how was he going to find the killer. Especially when they’d realized earlier in the day that the husband was probably innocent.”
Kreitinger looked deflated. She started flipping the pages of her binder, as if desperate to find a better question. Greene almost felt sorry for her. If he’d been the officer in charge of this case, he would have sent her a note that said: Sit down, do no more damage, we’ll live to fight another day.
DiPaulo’s strategy had been brilliant, Greene thought. Sucker the Crown into cross-examining his father, and have him prepared to put in the whole of his defence.
He glanced at Kennicott. He looked stunned.
Kreitinger kept flipping pages. No one spoke.
“My son is not a murderer,” his father said at last, without being asked.
“Oh,” Kreitinger said. Her eyes flashed back up to the witness stand. Her nostrils flared in anger. “Let me understand this, Mr. Greene. Are you telling this court that you can tell whether someone is a killer?”
Very, very big mistake, Greene thought.
His father fixed her with a stare that Ari had seen only a few times in his life, on the rare occasions he spoke about the war.
“It was two in the morning the night the Nazis came to our village. They made every Jew go into the main square. One of the soldiers pulled my daughter, Hannah, away. She was four years old. My wife, Sarah, reached for her hand. The Nazi shot my wife in the face. My two daughters were exterminated at Treblinka and I spent eighteen months there before my escape. I’ve seen the eyes of killers and I know what they look like. My son is not a murderer.”
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