Stone Cold

by James Glass

  “Why not? As a detective, isn’t it your job to find out?”

  “This wasn’t a crime scene. It was an automobile accident involving fatalities. Jurisdiction falls to the Florida Highway Patrol.”

  Crane took several steps toward the jury box. “So,” he said, dragging the word out, “instead of doing your job, you decided to drop the ball and let the Highway Patrol take the fall.”

  Veronica leapt from her seat. “Your Honor!”

  Meeks banged his gavel. His face was flush as he pointed the gavel at Crane. “I warned you, Counselor, about mocking the witness. I’m holding you in contempt. We’ll discuss the punishment after the proceedings of this trial.”

  I wondered if Crane was trying to get the jury to think the judge was making him a martyr because of his client. Or maybe he was testing the waters to find out how far he could push the judge.

  Crane tugged at the jacket of his suit. Gold cufflinks shone even with the low light in the courtroom. “Detective, with all of the red-looking stains which resembled blood or strawberry jam,” he paused to see if he went too far. When neither the judge nor Veronica objected, he pointed a finger at me “isn’t it possible the knife could have been contaminated when your partner grabbed the tire iron from the trunk?”

  “Anything is possible.”

  “I’m not asking if anything is possible. I want to know if you believe fresh, wet, dripping blood could have spilled from his hands or shirt and soaked the paper bag in which the knife was placed for evidence.”

  “No.”

  Crane tilted his head. “Hmm. That seems odd to me. I would think wet blood would be able to penetrate a paper bag used hold the evidence.”

  “There wasn’t any blood on the bag.”

  Crane pressed the clicker and flashed through a number of photos, stopping momentarily for the jury to take in each picture.

  “What do you see in this picture, Detective?”

  “Both vehicles being loaded onto a tow truck.”

  “Was the knife left in the trunk of Hayes’s car?”

  “No. The evidence was removed, and I took custody.”

  “That’s very interesting, because when we looked at the photographs from the crime scene back at my client’s house, there were a number of pictures taken of the knife at different angles.” He turned to the jurors. “But there’s not a single photograph of the knife here. At the accident. Is it possible the knife became contaminated?”

  “The evidence didn’t get contaminated.”

  “Are you sure, because if there are no pictures, how are we to know the knife was or was not contaminated?”

  “The knife wasn’t contaminated. Sergeant Hayes’s blood never came into contact with the evidence.”

  “So you say, Detective. So you say.” He turned to the jury. “My daddy used to tell me if you caught a fish, take a picture, because if you tell a story without any proof, no one will believe you.”

  Veronica shook her head. “Objection. Counselor’s statement is argumentative.”

  Meeks rubbed his temples with his fingertips. I hoped the judge would go ahead and toss Crane in a cell and throw away the key.

  “Sustained.”

  Maybe I set my hopes too high.

  Crane nodded and moved on. “Well, if your partner’s blood never came into contact with the knife, how come we don’t see any photographs?” he raised his hands in the air. “After all, since you’re an expert, I would think there would’ve been at least one taken of the bag…to prove it was still in the trunk.”

  “There wasn’t any contamination.”

  “That’s your opinion, Detective, because we don’t have any evidence to suggest otherwise.”

  Veronica stood. “Your Honor, what counsel is suggesting is baseless. He doesn’t have any proof.”

  “Judge, what we don’t have are any photographs proving the knife was still at the scene at the time of the accident.”

  Meeks clenched his teeth. “You made your point, Counselor. Now move on.”

  Crane smiled. “Thank you, Your Judgeship. Could we possibly take a short recess or go to lunch early? I’m about to go in a different direction.”

  I doubted he needed any time. The man seemed prepared. Personally, I think he thought heʼd scored some points with the jury about the lack of pictures of the knife. Maybe he was right. Several of the jurors glared at me. He wanted the judge to let us go to lunch so the jury would have the knife to think about while they ate. It was fine with me, I was anxious to head to the office anyway and find out what Carrubba had discovered.

  I knew Crane’s agenda. Now that he had painted me as some incompetent investigator, he wanted to move from the accident to my childhood. I’m sure my mother gave him plenty to talk about. Nothing that could possibly jeopardize the case. He wanted me to squirm in my seat. Although Veronica and I both discussed our strategy yesterday, my stomach twisted from the thought of reliving that night. Reliving anything the defense would bring to light.

  Meeks slid the robe back on his wrist and tapped his watch with an index finger. “This seems like a good time for our lunch break.”

  Chapter 28

  11:45 a.m.

  Veronica wanted us to eat lunch, but I told her I needed to get back to the office. She seemed a little hurt, but my partners back at the precinct had information that might break The Silencer case wide open.

  Despite lunchtime, the office was rife with activity. Detectives answering phone calls, taking statements from witnesses, some of them eating lunch while working on their computers.

  Carrubba and Francisco were standing outside the lieutenant’s door. Carrubba wasn’t short, probably two inches shy of six feet, but he looked childlike next to my partner.

  I tapped Carrubba on the shoulder. “What’s the update?”

  He swiveled his head to look down at me. “Your partner and I are taking a trip to San Diego.”

  “What…? Why?”

  McVay stood from his desk and handed Francisco a sheet of paper. “You’re all set. Your flight leaves in two hours. With layovers and time changes, you’ll arrive in San Diego at five-forty-five this evening.”

  “Thanks, Lieutenant. I’ll call you when we land.”

  McVay put a hand on Francisco’s shoulder. “Let me know if the witness has anything that will help us find Dexter Allen.”

  “You got it, Boss.”

  “And local PD has been contacted and will make sure he’s at the station when y’all get there.”

  “Witness?” I asked, confused. Apparently more had happened while I was in court. “What witness?”

  “You two need to get packed and head to the airport.”

  It was like I wasn’t even there. So I asked again.

  Carrubba looked into my eyes. “We uncovered a few things since you’ve been at court.”

  You think?

  McVay headed back to his desk.

  Carrubba continued to update me as we made our way to the cubicle I shared with Francisco. “While you were in court I was able to get a copy of the transcripts. The court-martial was decided by the judge.”

  As a master-at-arms, Iʼd had my share of witnessing court-martials first hand. But they all had a jury. With a high-profile crime I wondered why the defendant didn’t opt for a jury. It didn’t make sense to me. Something didn’t feel right, so I voiced my opinion.

  “Why no jury?”

  “My guess is Dexter Allen’s lawyer felt he had a better shot without a jury. Maybe Lee Green knew the judge.” Carrubba pulled out a chair and sat. He opened a laptop and typed in a password. “You’re more than welcome to look over the case.”

  Francisco leaned against the desk. “Let’s not forget about Abu-Ghraib. That trial caused a lot of outrage from the public.”

  I shook my head. “That’s what bothers me about this. If six detainees committed suicide at Gitmo and a chief petty officer was swiftly convicted of the crime, how come we’re just now finding out about it?”
/>   Francisco shrugged. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair. “I’m going to the shop across the street to get some coffee. Either of you want something?”

  We both declined.

  Carrubba wagged his index finger at me. “You think this might have been a cover-up?”

  “I don’t know, but it seems too neat. I mean the entire world knew about Abu-Ghraib.”

  “Yeah, but would we have if the pictures hadn’t been leaked to the press?”

  A dust bunny rolled across the white tiled floor and slammed into the baseboard before disappearing under a desk. “I think the truth would have eventually come out. With so many military stationed in Gitmo you’d think one of them would have leaked it to a friend, the media, someone.”

  Carrubba nodded. “The captain could have secured Internet use or ordered a gag order of some type.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But usually in a case like this, the Navy makes an example. They don’t want this type of crime to repeat itself. Especially with the media coverage about Gitmo and how detainees are being treated.”

  “Since you put it that way, Rebecca, it makes perfect sense. The Navy wanted to keep a lid on it so they wouldn’t have to deal with the shame.”

  He had a point. I decided to let it go for now and moved on. “So who is the witness?”

  “Ned Hogan. He was the executive officer at the time. Retired after his tour in Gitmo and moved back to San Diego.”

  “So you talked to him on the phone?”

  “Briefly. I wanted to keep the conversation to a minimum. I’d rather see him face-to-face when we discuss the case.”

  “How did he sound?”

  “A little frightened. He’s heard the news about Green and the others.”

  “I can see why. Did we find out where Captain Williams is? Did he retire too?”

  “We did. Rear Admiral Williams is stationed in Jacksonville, Florida. He’s in charge of Southcom.”

  “He’s done well for himself. Have you been in contact with him?”

  “No. He’s out of the country on travel. His secretary wouldn’t tell me where but stated he would return late tonight. She put us on his calendar to speak with him first thing Tuesday morning.”

  “So who’s going to speak to him if you and Francisco are in San Diego and I’m in court?”

  “We spoke to her before we found out about Hogan. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a flight back tonight.”

  Francisco returned. He sipped some coffee. “We need to head to the airport.”

  My heart actually ached when the words left his lips. I caught the scent of his cologne, even over the smell of coffee. He winked at me. Heat radiated along my cheeks and I quickly stared at the floor so he wouldn’t see me blush. I felt like a little girl in school. But there was something else going on in my besotted brain. No matter how much my mind protested, it was simple, straight, pure physical attraction to Francisco.

  Carrubba stood. “Rebecca, when I called you earlier, you mentioned Allen’s trigger. What did you mean?”

  I took a deep breath to compose myself and exhaled.

  He put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”

  I’m glad it wasn’t Francisco’s hand on my shoulder. My gaze shifted to Carrubba. “Court drained me and it’s only Monday.” It was a lie, but they didn’t know that. “Anyway, you said Allen’s wife committed suicide three months before his release date. This must have been the trigger that caused his killing spree.”

  Francisco raised a hand, almost spilling his coffee. “Wait, wait. You’re telling me he’s taking revenge because his wife divorced him and later committed suicide. So now he’s going after those who sent him to prison.”

  “Basically he’s focusing his revenge on another outlet.”

  Carrubba closed his laptop. “Maybe Ned Hogan can shed some light on Dexter Allen.”

  As the two moved to the door, he looked over his shoulder. “I’ll email you the court transcripts.”

  Chapter 29

  1:15 p.m.

  As I sat back in the witness stand, once again, I was jealous of Francisco and Carrubba. The case seemed to be picking up steam, like a locomotive, while I was stuck here in court. Part of me hoped they caught Dexter Allen as he moved in to kill his next victim. Mostly though, I wanted to catch him. Not for glory, or honor, or even a thanks of gratitude. Okay, well maybe a little, but the thought of my partner catching a killer without me seemed, well, I don’t know, like he was cheating on me with another investigator.

  The lights in the courtroom dimmed and a picture of a closed door with crime scene tape draped across it flashed on the screen. The colors in the photo were faded…like I was looking at an old crime scene. One that looked oddly familiar.

  “Do you recognize this picture?” Crane asked in a somewhat mocking tone.

  I stared at it for several seconds. There was no doubt he wouldn’t ask something and not know the answer. The problem was I didn’t. The red door. There were several small black horizontal lines on the wall that started about three feet from the floor and rose in small increments for another foot. A memory flashed. My father measuring me to see if I grew another inch.

  This was my house. This was the night my father was brutally murdered. Beyond the door was the bedroom where his life ended and in many ways mine did too. Anger boiled inside me…driving me to leap from my chair and strangle the defense attorney, eyes bulging from their sockets as my fingers squeezed his fat neck until he could no longer breathe.

  Veronica had warned me about Crane and his dirty tactics. The man had no moral integrity. No character. I took a deep breath and stared at the floor. I pushed down the fury before it was too late. I didn’t want the jury to see. The heat of my mood simmered to a slow burn. Remember the power of your will. What you had to endure to survive that night. You must stay calm, Rebecca. Don’t underestimate this piece of human waste again.

  Thoughts turned to that night. Saddened that my real father had been killed, and knowing I would never see him again, emotions flooded my body as if they were in overdrive. Tears flooded my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. Mascara probably streaked down my face, but I didn’t care. Several teardrops splashed onto the back of my hands. My fingers squeezed my legs. I looked up at Crane and immediately recognized the fear in his eyes.

  The man must have known how upset these pictures would have made me. No doubt my deadbeat mother told him this. But instead of hatred spewing from my mouth, it was me, the nine-year-old girl, who emerged.

  I turned to the jury. They seemed confused by my reaction to the picture on the screen. Soon they would understand why.

  My lips trembled. “This is a picture of the house where my biological father was murdered.”

  “May we take a short recess, Your Judgeship?” Crane asked. “The witness is clearly upset by the photograph and I should think she might want to recompose herself.” I think he wanted time to rethink his game plan.

  Veronica stood. “This is what the defense wants you to think, Your Honor. But he’s the one stalling. I think the witness was supposed to show a different emotion then the one she’s displaying at the moment.”

  Meeks turned to me. “Do you need a moment?”

  You made a promise not to underestimate the defense. You know what to do.

  I sipped some water, but refused to wipe away the tears. “No, Your Honor. Let’s continue.”

  Meeks turned to Crane. “No more stalling. Either move on with your cross or cut the witness loose.”

  Crane swallowed hard.

  I had clearly knocked him off his game. Maybe he’d cut me loose. Then I could go home and cry myself to sleep. I miss you, Daddy.

  Crane’s hands fidgeted along the edge of his suit jacket. After what seemed like an eternity, he said, “Yes, Your Judgeship.” He flipped through several pages of his notepad then cleared his throat.

  “Detective, you were nine when your father was murdered, correct?”

  “Yes.”
/>
  “And on this particular night, did your mother protect you from the killer or killers?”

  The thought of more than one killer had never crossed my mind until now. “I don’t know if there was more than one. I was awoken by a loud bang, like the sound of a gun.”

  “But didn’t your mother come to your rescue?”

  “She came into my room and snuggled with me in bed.”

  “Did the killer or killers ever enter your room?”

  “No. Not that I’m aware of.”

  He raised his hands in the air as if mocking me. “You mean you don’t know if the evil person or persons who murdered your father moments earlier didn’t come into your room?”

  He’s trying to bait you…get you to lose your temper. “It’s possible the killer could have come in while I slept. But to be more to the point, no, I don’t ever remember anyone but my mother coming into my room.”

  “Was anyone ever convicted of the crime?”

  “No.”

  “And this still haunts you, doesn’t it?”

  “Objection,” Veronica said. “Calls for speculation.”

  “Sustained.”

  Crane nodded. “Does it bother you no one was ever convicted of your father’s murder?”

  “Still speculation.”

  “Sustained. Now get to the point or move on.”

  “Your mother remarried, didn’t she?”

  Where was he going with this line of questioning? There didn’t seem to be any connection between his defendant, my mother, and the murder of my father. But I needed to keep my guard up. Crane had a plan and even though it was derailed, it didn’t mean he wasn’t concocting another one as he moved on.

  “Yes. She began dating almost immediately after the murder of my father.”

  I figured he would argue because I expanded on the answer. Veronica began to stand as if to object to his objection, but it never came. The man was certainly crafting another strategy.

  Stay focused, Rebecca. Stay on guard.

  “And you didn’t like her new boyfriend, did you?”

  “I don’t know if any nine-year-old girl would have in that situation.”

  “Maybe not, but I would think any young girl your age would have been grateful.”