Diagnosis Murder 3 - The Shooting Script

by Lee Goldberg

  "Because the shooting occurred a few doors down from my house," Steve said. "And I heard that it was my father who called it in."

  "Since your father was involved, shouldn't you have recused yourself from the investigation?"

  "I didn't think so," Steve said. "I still don't."

  Tyrell looked perplexed. "Wasn't it an obvious conflict of interest?"

  "My father didn't commit the murder," Steve said. "He only reported that he heard gunshots. Besides, my father and I have frequently worked together investigating homicides before."

  "Is your father a police officer or a licensed private investigator?" Tyrell asked.

  "He's a police consultant."

  "Really?" Tyrell said. "Does he receive a salary?"

  "No," Steve said.

  "Does he consult with any other detectives besides you?"

  "He was recently appointed to the chief's Blue Ribbon Task Force on Unsolved Homicides," Steve said, dodging the question. "I think that says something about the respect the law enforcement community has for him."

  "Wasn't another member of that same task force unmasked as a serial killer?"

  "By my father," Steve replied.

  "Makes you wonder what the qualifications were to be appointed to the task force, doesn't it?"

  "Objection," Karen said, standing up. "That's not a question, it's an opinion. And I fail to see the relevance that a disbanded task force has to this case."

  "Neither do I," Judge Rojas said. "Your objection is sustained. Move on, Mr. Tyrell."

  But Tyrell had delivered his blow with deadly precision. He'd been ready for Steve's defensive reply to his question and had a rehearsed line ready to counter it. With one clever retort, Tyrell managed to wound not only Steve's credibility, but Mark's as well.

  Mark watched Steve's testimony unfold with increasing discomfort and fury. He wanted to protect his son, to stand up and challenge Tyrell to come after him instead. But he knew it wouldn't change anything. Tyrell would be coming after him anyway—right after he thoroughly shredded Steve's credibility.

  All Mark could do was sit there, watching his son take the beating. But he didn't blame Tyrell for what was happening. The attorney was just doing his job, and doing it to the best of his abilities, as he would for any defendant.

  Mark blamed himself.

  "Lt. Sloan," Tyrell continued. "When you arrived at the scene, your father was in handcuffs, under arrest, but you let him go. Why?"

  "Because I determined that his actions were misinterpreted by the officers and that he'd made an important contribution to the investigation."

  "By altering the condition of the bodies before the police, crime scene investigators, or the medical examiner arrived," Tyrell said.

  "I wouldn't put it that way," Steve said.

  "Would you encourage other citizens to cut up homicide victims before authorities arrived?"

  "No," Steve said.

  "Would you encourage them to disturb the crime scene in any manner?"

  "No."

  "So it's against the law for everybody else but okay for Mark Sloan because he's your father?"

  "I didn't say that," Steve said.

  "You didn't?"

  "Objection!" Karen Cross said.

  "Sustained," the judge said, almost before the word was out of her mouth. "Move on, Counselor. You've made your point."

  Indeed he had, Mark thought. The judge may have sustained the prosecutor's objection, but in doing so, he conceded that Tyrell had gotten through to him. This couldn't bode well for their case. Then again, nothing was boding well today.

  "In previous testimony, Officer Blake, Dr. Bentley, and even you concede that the investigation began with Dr. Sloan's four thirty p.m. phone call reporting the shootings. There were no other calls, were there?"

  "No," Steve said.

  "So you only have Dr. Sloan's word that shots were fired at four thirty p.m., correct?"

  "Yes."

  "But if you exclude his report of the shootings, it calls into doubt the time of death and renders irrelevant his conclusions about the body temperature of the victims and the clotting of their blood, correct?"

  "Yes," Steve reluctantly replied.

  "Is it customary for you to be accompanied by a civilian when you conduct your investigation?"

  "No."

  "And yet you brought your father with you when you questioned Ms. McClure, Mr. Carville, and Elsie Feikema, Amy Butler's roommate, isn't that true?"

  "Yes."

  Tyrell gave Steve a quizzical look. "Why did you bring him with you?"

  "Given the contributions he'd already made to the investigation, I thought he could provide insight that might help me solve the case," Steve said.

  "By 'contribution,' you mean the tampering of evidence at the crime scene?"

  "I mean discovering there was something that didn't fit about these murders," Steve said.

  "You're a homicide detective with the LAPD, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And you're paid to investigate and solve murders?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you incapable of doing the job on your own?"

  "So why does your father help you?"

  "This was a unique situation," Steve said.

  "Didn't you just testify that your father has assisted you on numerous homicide investigations?" Tyrell countered.

  "They were also unique cases," Steve said.

  "Considering the number of cases your father has helped you with, a unique case would actually be one you solved on your own, wouldn't it?" Tyrell said.

  "Objection." Karen nearly jumped out of her seat. "The counselor is badgering the witness."

  "Sustained," the judge said. "If you have questions relevant to this case, I suggest you begin asking them."

  "Of course, Your Honor." Tyrell said. "Lt. Sloan, while you were questioning Ms. Feikema at her residence, what was your father doing?"

  Steve shifted in his seat. He knew what Tyrell was getting at and how it was going to look, but there was no way to avoid it without lying. And even if he did, Steve knew Tyrell wouldn't raise the issue if he didn't already know the answer and have a deposition from Elsie to back it up.

  "He was wandering around the apartment," Steve said.

  "Out of your sight and Ms. Feikema's," Tyrell said.

  "Yes."

  "Was he gathering evidence?"

  "No," Steve replied.

  "Didn't he, in fact, take some magazines from the victim's night stand?"

  "That wasn't evidence," Steve said.

  "Then why did he take them?" Tyrell asked. "What was he doing taking anything?"

  "The magazines had articles about Lacey McClure," Steve said. "He asked Ms. Feikema's permission to borrow them."

  "And that makes it all right?"

  Karen Cross objected, and Tyrell quickly withdrew the question. But once again, it was too late. He'd already succeeded in creating doubt by implying that evidence might have been planted, tainted, or destroyed by Mark Sloan. But Tyrell wasn't going to let it go at that—not without hammering it home even harder.

  "The truth is, Lt. Sloan, you have no idea what Dr. Sloan was doing in Amy Butler's room, do you?"

  "Just what he told me," Steve said.

  "Just what he told you," Tyrell repeated, his words laced with disdain. "When you questioned Titus Carville, Ms. McClure's assistant, was Dr. Sloan allowed to wander through his home as well?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he alone in Titus Carville's office?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you know what he was doing in there?" "He was looking around," Steve said.

  "And you know this because that's what your father told you?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he in there long enough to burn a CD?"

  "Objection," Karen said, unable to hide the desperation from her voice this time. Tyrell's accusation was striking at the very heart of their case and couldn't be allowed to stand unchallenged. "Lt. Sloan is
n't an expert in computer technology. He doesn't know how long it takes to bum a CD. Mr. Tyrell might as well ask him if Dr. Sloan was in there long enough to bake a cake, build a rocket, or write a poem. It's irrelevant."

  "Overruled," Judge Rojas said. "The witness will answer the question."

  "He might have been," Steve said. "But that doesn't mean he did."

  "It doesn't mean he didn't, does it?"

  "In fact, your father later claimed to find a CD of recorded gunshots in Cleve Kershaw's stereo system, didn't he?"

  "Yes."

  "A disc you later traced back to the CD burner in Titus Carville's home computer?"

  "Yes."

  "The same disc introduced today as evidence to support the People's claim that my client fabricated an alibi for the time of the murder?"

  "Yes."

  "How was this disc recovered, Lt. Sloan?"

  "My father found it in Cleve Kershaw's home," Steve said.

  "When?"

  "Several days after the murder," Steve said.

  "And you know this because Dr. Sloan told you?"

  "Yes."

  "Like he told you he didn't do anything in Titus Carville's office?"

  "Yes," Steve said weakly, feeling as if he'd taken a punch in the stomach.

  Tyrell started back towards the defense table, as if he might actually be ready to let Steve go, when he stopped, let his gaze sweep over the gallery until it settled on Mark Sloan.

  "One more thing, Lieutenant," Titus said, turning back to Steve. "How did your father find the disc?"

  "He returned to the crime scene," Steve said, trying, and failing, not to sound as defeated as he felt.

  "Alone?"

  "Yes."

  "So you don't actually know if the CD was ever in Kershaw's house, do you?"

  "And without the CD, what evidence do you have that the murder didn't occur at four thirty, the time your father called 911 to report the gunshots?"

  "The clotted blood and the body temperature of the victims," Steve said.

  "Details which also came from your father?"

  "Yes."

  Tyrell studied Steve for a long moment. "Isn't it possible your father fabricated all the evidence he provided?"

  "No," Steve said.

  "No, it's not possible, or no, you don't want to admit that it's possible?"

  "My father wouldn't do that," Steve said, his face flushing with anger.

  "Not even if it gave you the chance to solve a high- profile murder case that would get you international attention?"

  "I don't benefit in any way from this," Steve said with contempt.

  "You don't call the offer of a million-dollar book contract a benefit?"

  Steve stared at Tyrell, his jaw quivering with rage. The offer last night was a setup—a quick and dirty way to create evidence to support their otherwise empty accusation that Mark had a motive to fabricate evidence. Without the check, it was just a vague theory. There was nothing vague about a million dollars.

  "I turned it down," Steve said.

  "Were you ever offered a million dollars before you charged Lacey McClure with murder?"

  "No."

  "Thank you, Lt. Sloan," Tyrell smiled. "No further questions."

  No more were necessary. From Mark's vantage point, he could see Lacey McClure give Moira Cole's hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. They had a lot to be happy about.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The last person on Karen Cross' list of witnesses was Dr. Mark Sloan. But after Tyrell's cross-examination of Steve Sloan, she couldn't see what possible good could come from putting his father on the stand. It would be inviting a massacre. So she took the only option she felt was left.

  She stood up and addressed the court. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

  Mark was frustrated at being denied the opportunity to defend himself and his son but, at the same time, he understood Karen's reasoning. As much as he wanted his chance to refute each and every one of Tyrell's charges, the risks the prosecution faced in cross-examination were simply too great.

  "Do the People have a closing statement?" the judge asked.

  "Yes, Your Honor," Karen said, fully realizing this was her last chance to salvage her case. "Lacey McClure conspired with Moira Cole, her body double, in the premeditated murder of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler. We have established not one but three motives for Lacey McClure to have committed these murders. We have the surveillance video shot by private detective Nick. Stryker of her staged rendezvous with Titus Carville. We have the footage from her movies and her statements in magazine interviews, which prove conclusively that it is not her, but Moira Cole, in the surveillance video, thus nullifying Ms. McClure's alibi. We have the gunshot residue on her hands, recovered immediately after the murders. Lacey McClure is a calculating killer who murdered two people while they slept, and Moira Cole helped her do it. The People have proven there is sufficient cause to believe these defendants are guilty of the crimes for which they have been charged."

  Karen sat down. The judge turned to Tyrell.

  "Does the defense have any affirmative defenses?" the judge said, referring to pleas the defense might offer, such as insanity.

  "No, Your Honor. I move for the immediate dismissal of all the charges against my clients," Tyrell said. "The integrity of the physical evidence presented by the People to support their charges is hopelessly tainted by the involvement of a civilian at every stage of the investigation. What evidence remains is circumstantial at best, and open to broad interpretation. By any legal measure, the People have not met the burden of proof necessary to create a reasonable basis for their charges. Therefore, I ask the court to dismiss the charges against my clients on the grounds of insufficient evidence."

  Judge Rojas made a notation on some documents in front of him. "The defendants will rise."

  Lacey McClure and Moira Cole stood up alongside their attorney.

  "It appears to me from the evidence presented that there is insufficient cause to support the charges against Lacey McClure and Moira Cole," the judge said, leveling a cold gaze at Karen Cross. "The defense motion is granted. All charges are hereby dismissed. Ms. McClure, Ms. Cole, you are both free to go."

  The slam of his gavel ricocheted through the courtroom like a gunshot. Lacey and Moira hugged each other. Tyrell beamed, looking directly into the camera and into a future that undoubtedly included a lavish home theater, a book deal, a guest shot on Letterman, and probably a television movie.

  Mark, Steve, and Karen were looking at no future at all, at least not in their present professions. Lacey glanced over her shoulder and gave Mark a smile that said she knew all that and more. She'd beaten Mark at a game in which he was a master, and she was reveling in it.

  "I don't believe it," Steve said to his father. "She's getting away with a double homicide."

  "I won't let that happen," Mark said.

  "It just has."

  "This is only a preliminary hearing," Mark said. "Double jeopardy doesn't apply. She can be tried again."

  "Not with any of this evidence," Steve said. "None of the evidence we've presented here will ever be accepted by a judge or jury. It's contaminated with reasonable doubt now."

  "Then I'll find something else."

  "There is nothing else. We've been beaten," Steve said. "And we're in for a lot more beatings before this is behind us."

  "As long as she is free and unpunished for her crimes," Mark said, "this will never be behind us."

  BBQ Bob's was closed for business that night. It was the only place the media wasn't staking out yet. Mark and Steve sat at the counter in the empty restaurant, with Jesse and Susan, watching the early-evening news on the wall- mounted television.

  Chief Masters and District Attorney Burnside held a press conference, jointly condemning the actions of Lt. Steve Sloan, a "rogue officer" who violated department policy in his investigation of the murders of Cleve Kershaw and Amy Butler. They criticized him for allowing
his father, a civilian, to handle evidence and participate in the questioning of suspects. Lt. Sloan's conduct, they said, "imperiled" justice and did not reflect "the high investigative standards" of the LAPD.

  The chief apologized to Lacey McClure and Moira Cole, and promised the public, and the families of the victims, that justice would be done. He revealed that the department was already vigorously pursuing "compelling evidence" that "key figures in organized crime" were actually responsible for the killings.

  Jesse aimed his remote at the TV and muted the sound. "What does this mean for you, Steve?"

  Steve shrugged. "Suspension, an internal-affairs investigation, and then my firing, assuming I don't quit first."

  "Will you?" Susan asked.

  "I didn't do anything wrong," Steve said.

  "They are going to push you out anyway," Jesse said. "Why put yourself through the ordeal of a drawn-out investigation when you know how it's going to end? If you quit, you save yourself a lot of misery and the media will stop dogging you."

  "You're right, but I can't help feeling that by quitting, I'm tacitly admitting guilt." Steve glanced at his father. "For both of us."

  "I am guilty, Steve," Mark said. "Not of planting evidence, but of sloppiness. We've never been involved in such a high-profile case. I should have paid a lot more attention to how my actions could be twisted and used against us in court. If I'd been more careful, Lacey McClure and Moira Cole would still be in jail."

  "You weren't alone, Dad," Steve said. "I made the same mistakes, too. I was the homicide detective on the case. I'm solely responsible for blowing it."

  "Give yourselves a break," Susan said. "You aren't psychics—you had no way of knowing exactly how this would play out. You did the best job you could, the only way you knew how."

  "And let a killer walk free," Mark said.

  "Think of all the other killers you've put away," Susan said. "I know it's a cliché, but you can't win them all. And until today, you've been on a thirty-year winning streak."

  "But no one is going to remember that now," Steve said.

  "The families of all the murder victims you found justice for will remember," Susan said. "And so will all the murderers spending their lives in prison because you two caught them when no one else could."

  "You could write a book," Jesse said. "I'm sure the million-dollar offer is still on the table. It might even be higher now."