Raising Cain

by Gallatin Warfield

  “Frank Davis.”

  “Frank Davis!” Gardner repeated. “And can you tell the jury the mental state of Mr. Ruth when he came to your office and asked you to help him stop Officer Davis from harassing him?”

  “Objection!” Lin yelled. “That’s beyond the scope of the questioning parameters you outlined for the witness.”

  “Yes, it is,” Ransome replied. “Sustained.”

  “I’d like to answer,” King spoke suddenly.

  “Do you withdraw the objection?”

  King gave his co-counsel a signal. “Withdraw,” Lin declared.

  “Very well. Answer.”

  King addressed the jury. “Mr. Ruth was in excellent mental condition when I saw him. He was calm, well-oriented, and alert, in a very good frame of mind.”

  Gardner rolled his eyes. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “So the fact that he was being hounded by a police officer had no effect on him. He was in such a good frame of mind that he hired a lawyer—”

  “Object!” King replied.

  “You withdrew the objection,” Ransome pointed out.

  “Object!” Lin echoed.

  “If Mr. Ruth was in such a great frame of mind, he wouldn’t have needed a lawyer!” Gardner exclaimed. “He had a problem, a big problem! And he went for help.”

  “Object!” Lin tried again.

  “What’s the question, Mr. Lawson?” Ransome asked.

  Gardner looked at the jury. They were all wide-eyed, engaged. His point had been made, and then some. “No further questions,” he said, sitting down. King had just dropped his right hand. And Gardner had nailed him good.

  Gardner and Jennifer had agreed to meet after court. They sat by candlelight at the Mountain Lodge Restaurant, trying to converse over dinner.

  “You look good,” Gardner said. They had only been apart a few days, but it seemed longer. Jennifer seemed particularly beautiful, her hair pulled back, her peach lipstick shimmering in the glow of the flame.

  “You look tired,” Jennifer replied. His eyes were baggier than usual, his skin sallow.

  There were so many issues, and so little time. Talk about the dayhad filled the void to this point. The trial had forged ahead after King testified, and he was able to dig himself out of his hole. The points Gardner had scored were overcome by the mass of circumstantial evidence the other witnesses piled up. There was little cause for celebration.

  The two lawyers ate their appetizers in silence, then looked at each other. “I…” they both began.

  “Sorry. “ Gardner laughed self-consciously.

  “I need to say something,” Jennifer announced, “and I would appreciate it if you would remain calm. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Brownie matched a fingerprint to his brother’s while he was at the detention center. He used the computer and accessed the FBI files.”

  “What?” Gardner’s face flushed.

  “Remain calm. Please. I now have proof of Paul Brown’s involvement in the Ruth case, and when you combine the fingerprint with this…”—Jennifer pulled a copy of the internal affairs report on Brownie from her handbag and passed it to Gardner—“it all comes into focus. Brownie has a history of covering up for his brother. He shielded Paul from a burglary and vandalism charge when he was a teenager.”

  Gardner read the paper by the candlelight. “Jesus Christ.” he whispered.

  “You never knew about this?”

  Gardner checked the date on the report. “I didn’t even know Brownie back then. I was in college.”

  Jennifer had guessed right. Brownie had hidden his past from Gardner. “I tried to explain the situation, but you wouldn’t let me.”

  Gardner put down the report. “I told you why: the defenses conflict and we had nothing specific to go on.”

  “We do now.”

  Gardner took a sip of his martini and gave her a frustrated look. “It doesn’t make any difference. We still have Brownie to deal with.”

  “Can’t you go around him?”

  “Not ethically….”

  “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  Gardner finished his drink. “Was the fingerprint image saved in the computer?”

  “No. Brownie erased it, but he forgot about the backup log. It retained an entry confirming that Paul Brown’s print had been matched.”

  “So you couldn’t retrieve the actual print?”

  “No.”

  Gardner put his elbow on the table. “If we got our hands on the print itself, we might be able to do something.”

  “But Brownie has it.”

  “Or had it.” Gardner stared across the table, his dark eyes mirroring the flickering light. “Without Brownie to say where the print came from, there’s nothing to incriminate Paul.”

  “And Brownie won’t talk.”

  Gardner did not reply. That was the crux of it. The only way out would be to turn brother against brother. But Brownie was a man of honor. He’d die in silence before ever doing that.

  By the time Gardner and Jennifer had finished their meal, some of the ice between them had melted. Gardner ordered an after-dinner drink, and Jennifer asked for tea. They had stuck to business all evening. Gardner suddenly grasped Jennifer’s hand and squeezed. “I’ve missed you. Are you coming home tonight?”

  Jennifer avoided his eyes.

  “Jen, please,” Gardner said. “You’ve made your point.”

  Jennifer looked up. “What point have I made?”

  “I need to be more… more understanding.”

  Jennifer gently removed her hand. “That’s not all that this is about.”

  “Please, Jen,” Gardner begged. “The trial, Brownie. I listened to you. I let you have your say…. I’m trying, for God’s sake.”

  Jennifer stood up. “We can talk about it tomorrow. I’ll be at the trial, and maybe we can have dinner again after court.”

  “Whatever you say. I’ll walk you out.”

  Jennifer pecked his cheek and turned to leave. “No need,” she said. “I can make it on my own.”

  * * *

  Gardner drove to Brownie’s house after his dinner with Jennifer, his mind in turmoil. So that was it: Paul Brown was the second suspect. As Jennifer said, it explained everything. No wonder Brownie’s attitude had been so strange. He’d done a brilliant detecting job. He’d uncovered his own brother. And then he’d covered him up again.

  Gardner slowed for the turn onto Brownie’s road. Snowplows had cleared a path through, but wind had blown white drifts across the surface again. It was desolate out here, a lonely stretch of rocks and bare-boned trees, a perfect place for a man to take refuge from his friends.

  Gardner parked and made his way to the house. He knocked, and Brownie opened the door. “Gard. What’s going on?”

  “Sorry to disturb you,” Gardner apologized, “but something’s come up.”

  Brownie let him in, and they moved to the living room. Gardner’s expression made it clear that the “something” was monumental.

  “Spit it out, man,” Brownie said.

  Gardner sat on the couch and motioned Brownie to sit beside him. For the past hour he’d been plotting his move. Brownie’s motivation was noble. He was sacrificing himself for family. Gardner couldn’t attack him for that; he had to take a more subtle approach. “I want you to tell me about Paul,” he began.

  Brownie’s eyes narrowed.

  “You said at the funeral it was a long story about you and him. I want to hear it.”

  “At this hour? In the middle of the trial?”

  “Here,” Gardner said. “Now.”

  Brownie crossed his arms. “We went different directions in our lives. That’s all.”

  “He became a racist, and you didn’t?”

  Brownie stared at the wall. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “What would you say?”

  “Nothing. He had his ideas about the way life should be, and I had my
own. That’s it. End of story.”

  “Was killing one of his ideas?”

  Brownie jerked his head around. “What are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Brownie stared in silence.

  “I know the whole story, Brownie.”

  “You don’t know anything.”

  “Jennifer retrieved the backup log of the fingerprint comparison you ran at the detention center. We know whose print you matched.”

  Brownie remained still. “Where did the fingerprint come from?”

  “From Thomas Ruth’s shoes, where you lifted them.”

  “Is that right? How do you know?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Brownie. Your brother is directly implicated in Thomas Ruth’s death. We both know that.”

  “Knowing and proving are two different things.”

  “You destroyed the print, didn’t you?”

  “You said it. I didn’t.”

  “You knew nothing could be proven without the fingerprint, so you disposed of it.”

  “What print? I told you I got nothing off the shoes.”

  “Then where did you get the print you submitted for comparison? Paul Brown’s?”

  Brownie picked up a glass from the table. “Here, maybe. Or the doorknob, or—”

  “Goddamn it, Brownie!” Gardner gripped his knees. This wasn’t going to work. If Brownie produced the fingerprint, he could clear himself instantly, but he’d already made sure the print never saw the light of day.

  “Take it easy.”

  “No. You cannot do this!”

  “I hear where you’re coming from, Gard.” Brownie touched Gardner’s arm. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I am grateful for it. I value your friendship and your help more than I can ever say. But you got to cut me some slack here. I got my mind set. I’m a grown man. I can make decisions. I have a right to decide how to defend my own case. I know what I want to put in. And I know what I want to keep out.

  “It’s suicide or nothing,” Brownie continued. “We have leads to follow from the Fugitives show, and you’re scoring points with the witnesses. You even got King himself on a pin. Let’s stick with the plan. Okay?”

  Gardner didn’t know what to say. His client was innocent, and his client could prove his innocence. But he was not going to do it.

  “Can we please get back to suicide?” Brownie asked. “Leave that other shit alone?”

  Gardner remained passive. Further discussion was pointless, and argument was out of the question. The brothers’ blood was thick, despite the rift. And Brownie had limited the options to one.

  “Suicide,” Gardner finally conceded.

  “We’ll make it fly,” Brownie said hopefully.

  “Yeah,” Gardner grumbled. But he knew otherwise. Without a miracle, Brownie was as good as dead.

  “The state calls Dr. Raphael Aguilar to the stand,” Kent King announced. It was day two of the trial, and this was the third witness of the morning. Again, the gallery was full, and there was an overflow in the hall. This time Jennifer was up front, behind the defense table.

  So far the witnesses had been mildly damaging. The first established that Ruth was with Brownie on the day he died. “That’s the one,” Eunice Land had said without hesitation, pointing to Brownie. Gardner had left her alone on cross-examination; they were conceding that Brownie stopped Ruth. The next witness, Randy Allison, established that Ruth was lifeless on the grid when they encountered his body. Gardner brought out on cross-examination that the man and his sons had not seen him die, and they had no idea what actually happened. Again, there was no conflict with the defense. Now the autopsy technician was about to testify, and Gardner prayed that his testimony would be as superficial as the others.

  “Identify yourself for the record,” King requested.

  “Raphael Aguilar, M.D.,” the witness said, “certified state pathologist, currently assigned to the medical examiner’s office, University Hospital, Baltimore.” He was a small Filipino man with thick gray hair and glasses.

  “How long have you been a medical examiner?”

  “Twenty-two years.”

  Gardner stood. “We’ll concede qualifications, Your Honor. I acknowledge him as an expert in his field.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lawson,” Judge Ransome said. “The witness is qualified and will be permitted to render an expert opinion. Let’s continue.”

  King retrieved a set of photographs from Lin Song. He ran them by Gardner, had them marked for identification, and showed them to the witness. “Take a look at these pictures, Doctor. Can you identify them?”

  Aguilar adjusted his glasses and sorted through the stack. “Yes, I can.”

  “What do they depict?”

  “The body of Thomas Ruth, a man sent to our facility in September.”

  “Did you perform an autopsy on that man?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And did you prepare a report as a result of that autopsy?” Lin Song handed her co-counsel a stapled set of documents, which he showed to Gardner, had marked, and handed to the witness.

  “Yes. This is my report.”

  “Was the autopsy performed in a routine manner?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And did you reach a conclusion as to the cause of death?”

  The witness checked the report and looked up. “Yes, I did.”

  King turned to the jury. “And what was it? What caused Mr. Thomas Ruth to die?”

  “Heart failure due to electrocution.”

  “And what did you conclude the manner of death to be?”

  Gardner jumped to his feet. “Objection.”

  Judge Ransome looked surprised. “On what grounds, Counsel?”

  “The conclusion is speculative.”

  King moved toward the bench. “He conceded expertise, Judge.”

  “I know, Mr. King,” Ransome said. “What about that, Counselor? You agreed that he is an expert.”

  “That is correct,” Gardner replied, “but I don’t have to accept everything he says as gospel. Attributing manner of death in this case is pure speculation. The evidence is totally circumstantial. It is impossible to pinpoint the exact manner of death.”

  Ransome thought for a moment. “This is really an issue you can explore on cross-examination, isn’t it? The witness is qualified to give his opinion as to how the man died, and you can attack the premise all you want. I’m going to let him respond.”

  King smiled and moved back toward the stand. “What was the manner of death in this case, Doctor?”

  Aguilar faced the jury. “Homicide.”

  “In his opinion,” Gardner interrupted.

  “Your Honor…” King said.

  “You’ll get your chance to establish that, Mr. Lawson,” Ransome declared, “but right now keep the sidebar comments to yourself.”

  Gardner sat down. There was a minor stir in the crowd, and Jennifer whispered, “Hang in there” behind his back.

  “On what do you base your opinion, Doctor?” King asked, glancing at Gardner. “You said homicide. How did you come to that conclusion?”

  “The fact he was in handcuffs and the way in which the body was subjected to the electrical current. That was a forcible act.”

  King looked at the jury. “So you don’t believe that the man might have done it to himself.”

  Aguilar shook his head. “No. I don’t believe so. Someone else did it to him.”

  “Dr. Aguilar,” Gardner began when it was his turn, “you said earlier today that ‘someone else’ killed Mr. Ruth. Do you recall that testimony?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who was it?”

  “Sir?”

  “Who killed Mr. Ruth?”

  Aguilar stirred. “Who? I…”

  “You don’t know who killed the man. You’re only guessing, in fact, that someone did it. Isn’t that right? You don’t have a clue as to what really happened?”

  “O
bjection.” King’s voice rang out. “He’s arguing with the witness.”

  “It’s fair cross,” Ransome ruled. “Answer the question, Doctor.”

  Aguilar looked confused. “What was it?”

  “Rephrase, Mr. Lawson.”

  “You do not have any idea as to who, in fact, killed Ruth. Isn’t that right?”

  “Who did it? No. How—”

  Gardner held up his hand. “We’ll get to how in a minute. We’re on who now. Tell the jury who killed Thomas Ruth.”

  “I don’t know,” the doctor replied.

  “You don’t know?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “So, in point of fact you don’t know if someone else did it, or he did it to himself.”

  Aguilar put his hand on his glasses. “That’s different.”

  “Really?” Gardner had approached the stand and was now in the doctor’s face. “Tell us the difference.”

  “A man wouldn’t cuff himself to commit suicide.”

  “So you’re basing your opinion on the fact he was handcuffed.”

  Aguilar nodded. “Yes, in part.”

  “Not just in part,” Gardner replied. “Your homicide theory is based entirely upon the fact that he was handcuffed. Isn’t that right?”

  “He’s already given the basis of his opinion,” King interjected.

  “He can give it again,” Ransome replied. “Answer the question, Doctor.”

  “People don’t usually handcuff themselves,” the witness ventured.

  “Right,” Gardner said. “So you’ve equated handcuffing with murdering. Haven’t you?”

  Aguilar frowned. “I guess so.”

  “What if he was handcuffed by an innocent party and then released? What if he was upset, distraught, and suicidal, and took it upon himself to go to the grid and end his life? How would that affect your opinion?”

  “That’s not likely.”

  “Not likely, but it could have happened.”

  King stood up. “Anything can happen, Judge. That’s not a proper question.”

  “Overruled,” Ransome said.

  “If Ruth was already handcuffed, he could have gone to the grid and killed himself. Isn’t that right?”

  “Possibly.”

  Gardner turned to the jury. “So your conclusion that someone else killed Ruth is not altogether firm. If he were handcuffed, released, and suicidal, he could have taken his own life.”