Death of a Prince

by Susan P. Baker

  “May I help you?” The woman did not open the screen door.

  “I’m looking for Robert Earl Bradshaw, the Galveston police officer.”

  “He doesn’t live here.” The woman stepped back as if to close the door in Erma’s face.

  “But you know him.”

  “Who says I do?”

  “Missus Bradshaw, I don’t mean him any harm, or you either.”

  “You the woman that called this morning? The lawyer?” She said it in a monotone, simply stating a fact.

  “No, ma’am. I’m her mother. She’s representing Phillip Parker’s daughter and needs to talk to him before Monday morning.” Erma smiled. “Just trying to help my daughter out here. You know how it is. My name’s Erma. What’s yours?”

  “Glenda.” She glanced over her shoulder and then said in a lower tone of voice, “He doesn’t know anything. He done told me so himself.”

  It was difficult for Erma to hear over the lawnmower. “Is he here? May I speak with him?” She dropped her voice like a co-conspirator. “I just want to ask him a couple of questions.”

  “I’m his mother, you know,” she said proudly.

  “I figured as much. Missus Bradshaw, no one is pointing the finger at Robert Earl. We just need to know where he was when Mr. Parker was killed. No one thinks Robert Earl did it, or anything like that. We’re just trying to eliminate people. A good cop like him is sure to have known everyone’s whereabouts.” Erma could hear the television in the background. She wondered if Robert Earl stood just on the other side of the door or whether Glenda was worried about someone else overhearing the conversation.

  “He’s taken a leave of absence,” she replied. “Was going on vacation, he said.”

  “When will he return?” The sun overhead burned the back of her neck. She wiped the perspiration away and looked at the woman’s face behind the screen.

  “Glenda,” a deep voice called from the living room, “who is it?”

  Mrs. Bradshaw tossed a glance over her shoulder once more before saying, “I’ve really got to go. Wish I could help you.”

  A burly man, with hair as white as his undershirt, came up behind Mrs. Bradshaw. “You selling something?”

  Erma glanced at Mrs. Bradshaw’s face and noted the grim set of her mouth. “Yes, sir. Hard way for an old lady like me to make a living, but yes, sir, I am.” She leaned harder on her cane and made eye contact with the man. He looked like a mean old bulldog. “Swimming pools. Now that summer is here, my company has placed all our pools and pool supplies on sale. You can have a pool designed for your own backyard at a fraction of the cost it would have been last spring. Your wife here was hesitating—”

  “We don’t abide no door-to-door selling in this neighborhood,” he said as he shut the door in her face. His voice was muffled, but as Erma turned back to her car, she could hear him say to his wife, “How many times have I got to tell you just to tell ’em no as soon as they start up with their spiel?”

  The lawn-mowing neighbor had worked his way to the other side of his yard but kept Erma in his sights. As she pulled away from the curb, she saluted him. He nodded and pushed his mower forward.

  While on the mainland, Erma took a chance that someone would be at the morgue, which was in the middle between Texas City and LaMarque, behind the hospital.

  A small building compared to the hospital, the morgue seemed to suffice for the little county of two hundred fifty thousand people, except that it lacked specimen storage. There had been a big write-up in the local newspaper a few years earlier that had caused the medical examiner some embarrassment. Because of lack of space, he had stored specimens outside under a tarp. Not new ones, yet specimens that he had some reason to keep.

  Erma parked beside the only car in the lot. She hoped whoever was there would know something new about Phillip’s murder. She found the sallyport door unlocked. A private transport ambulance sat in the port area next to the entry door, so someone must be there to take delivery of a body.

  Leaning hard on the metal rail, Erma climbed the stairs and went inside. On the right stood a refrigerator room. Down the hall was the examining room, where the bodies were laid out on stainless steel tables at stations. Each station held a microphone and a table. There were sinks and hoses and a tile floor. Almost everything was stainless. When they were through with the autopsy and stored the body or sent it to the funeral home, they hosed down the whole room. Drains in the floor caught the water and any excess blood or fluid.

  Erma had learned more than she ever wanted to know about the practices of a medical examiner when she was a new criminal defense attorney. She used to frequent the morgue and give the doctors and technicians the third-degree so she’d understand how everything worked. She’d never been the squeamish type, though she’d seen more than a few young district attorneys throw up after looking at a body.

  Through a small square of glass in the door, she saw the assistant to the medical examiner stooped over the body of a gray-haired female. Lawrence, one of Dr. Michaels’ assistants, was a very tall, skinny fellow with a shaved head and wire-rimmed glasses, thirtyish. Erma banged on the door and waited for him to let her in. A toilet flushed down the hall and a young man drying his hands on a paper towel came out and walked in her direction. He reached her as Lawrence opened the door.

  After giving her the once over and apparently deciding she was of no interest to him, he said, “See you, Larry,” waved, and went toward the sallyport door.

  “Erma,” Larry said. “What in the world are you doing here? I thought you retired.” He started to reach for her hand. She could see he thought better of it when he glanced at his rubber-gloved ones.

  “I don’t know where in the hell you got that idea, but it’s not true,” Erma said.

  “You want to come in? I’m getting a patient ready for Dr. Michaels.” He held the door open and she edged her way past him.

  “I was in Texas City on some business and thought I’d drop by. Save Sandra the trip.” She followed him over to the wide table, where he began to undress the deceased. The dead woman looked eighty, if a day. Erma wondered why there had been an autopsy requested, but that was none of her business.

  Larry laughed. “Yeah, like you’re out shopping in the mall and you decide, ‘Hey, I don’t have anything better to do, so why don’t I go over and see what’s doing at the morgue.’ ” He finished unbuttoning the decedent’s flannel nightgown and pulled it gently over her head, easing the sleeves over her arms and laying them back gingerly on the table as if she could feel his touch. When it was off, he covered her breasts with a hand towel.

  “All right, goddamnit, it wasn’t exactly like that. I didn’t know who I would catch here, so I thought I’d take a chance.”

  “Let me guess, the Phillip Parker case.”

  “I’m that transparent?”

  “Would you mind turning your back for a moment?” Erma faced away from the body until he told her she could turn back. He had removed the dead woman’s panties and covered her pubic area with a dry washcloth.

  “Did you assist Michaels with him?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did. Michaels was as careful as I’ve ever seen him with a patient.” He gazed into her eyes and shrugged. “I wondered whether he knew him or just realized how important the case would be to the D.A. . . .” He hesitated. “Maybe both.”

  “What was your first impression, Lawrence? I mean, as you prepared the body?”

  “Well, since it was a homicide, it was treated differently from what I’ve done here today. You know that.” He glanced at her as he carefully folded up the old lady’s clothes and put them in a plastic bag. “Anyhow, I think whoever did it was awfully pissed at him. Boy, did they do a job on his face.”

  “I heard about that. Did y’all figure out what was used?”

  “A brick. There were tiny pieces of red brick embedded in some of his facial bones.”

  “You mean like an ordinary brick one builds a house w
ith?”

  “Yes. Nothing exotic about it.”

  Erma nodded. There were bricks all over the place at Phillip’s house. The yardman made fancy patterns with them around the flowerbeds and trees. Some were stacked under the house. A convenient weapon. She wondered whether the cops had checked anyone’s hands for abrasions on the day Phillip’s body had been discovered. “Anything else that caught your eye?”

  “His clothing. The pocket of his dressing gown hung almost by a thread. He wasn’t wearing any underwear.”

  That seemed consistent with what Sandra’d said about Kitty’s story that he was making a play for her. “So all he had on was a dressing gown?”

  “A pair of very expensive bedroom slippers with his initials monogrammed across the top.”

  It would be like Phillip to have a monogram even on clothes no one would ever see.

  “He had a suntan line on his left wrist where he would have worn a watch and also one on one of his fingers, but I can’t remember which finger. I guess Sandra or you could ask Dr. Michaels during your cross-examination.”

  “So you know.”

  He laughed again. “Of course we know, Erma. Why else would you be asking me questions? Doesn’t bother me. We’re not doing anything wrong discussing our findings. Dr. Michaels hasn’t ordered me not to talk to anyone about it. As a matter of fact, I remember him saying that he wouldn’t be surprised if Sandra dropped by sometime soon.”

  “Our client didn’t kill him.”

  “I don’t care if she did.”

  She smiled at him. “I’d forgotten where your interests lay. Just fascinated by the bodies—”

  “And the stories they reveal,” he finished.

  “Is there anything else that you can tell me about Phillip’s story?”

  He sighed and looked off into space for a moment. “Some scratches on his arms. Around his wrists. Some wood fragments in his hands. Splinters. A bit of skin under his nails. Matches his daughter’s, I hear. You already know about the fractures, right?”

  “Yep. I’m just looking for something that would give even the least indication as to what sex the killer was.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. An enraged woman could have done the same damage to that face as a man, particularly if she repeatedly smashed it.”

  “Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me, Lawrence.” Erma slowly made her way to the exit. “I’ll see myself out.” He stayed with his patient. “Hey, when Dr. Michaels gets here, tell him hello. Unfortunately, I won’t be in court on Monday. It’ll be Sandra.”

  “Will do. Turn the lock in the outside door handle when you leave, all right?”

  After checking the lock on the door, Erma left and went directly to her car. As she headed back to Galveston, she mulled over the information he’d given her. There just had to be something that would point the finger at someone.

  From the top of the Causeway Bridge, the island appeared to float. The water sparkled as if embossed with sequins. Tall sailboats, their sails billowing in the gulf breeze, cruised on the bay. A tugboat pushed a loaded barge under the bridge. Small motorboats sped through the green water, leaving trails of white froth behind them like bushy tails. It was a day to idle on the beach, fish in the bay, or ski behind a boat, and here she was delving into a murder.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Since Stuart wasn’t interested in spending the day together, Sandra drove down to the office. Saturdays were quiet enough that she could get a lot done. She took down the messages from the answering service. There was nothing that couldn’t wait. Pouring herself a glass of iced tea, she settled behind her desk. First on the list, organizing her examining trial notebook. There was a section for witnesses, one for demonstrative evidence, one for her questions of each witness, an outline of her argument if the judge allowed one, and a section for unusual objections and case law to support them. When through, Sandra felt quite pleased with herself.

  Making a list of probable state’s witnesses, she came up with Bubba, Stuart, Raymond, Dr. Michaels, Lieutenant Truman, and Lizzie. The state couldn’t make Kitty testify against herself. Sandra wasn’t sure yet whether she would put her on the stand. If she did, she waived her Fifth Amendment right. Anything she said could be used against her not only at the examining trial, but also at the grand jury hearing, if there was one, and later at trial. If Kitty screwed up and said the wrong thing on Monday, they’d be stuck with it for life. Kitty wasn’t ready. Sandra wasn’t sure if Kitty ever would be. Sandra didn’t want her breaking down and sobbing out nonsensical things.

  What, if any, demonstrative evidence would Edgar offer? He really didn’t have to offer anything. All the state had to do was raise the question of probable cause. Was there probable cause that Kitty had murdered Phillip? Was there enough for the justice of the peace to send Kitty’s case to the grand jury? Sandra needed to talk to Dr. Michaels, to see if he’d identified the murder weapon.

  She picked up the phone to call Michaels when her cell began ringing. Hanging up, Sandra answered her cell, expecting it to be Stuart, perhaps to apologize.

  “It was a brick.”

  “Erma?” Sandra recognized her mother’s voice. “What was a brick?”

  “The murder weapon. There were tiny little pieces in his skin and bone.”

  “And how would you know that?” Sandra asked, pretty sure that she already knew the answer.

  “Goddamnit, I can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “So you’re home now, not running all over the county doing my job?”

  “Okay. Yes, I went to that cop’s house. Well, his parents’ home, really. His mother was pitiful. His father is a bully. But I didn’t get to see him.”

  “Mother, really.”

  “And while I was over on the mainland, I thought I might as well drop by the morgue.”

  “I’m sure you did.” Sandra smiled in spite of herself. No use getting angry; it was already done.

  “Are we going to have another fight?”

  Sandra said, “No. I already had one today, thank you very much.”

  “Stuart?”

  “Yes. He doesn’t think it’s right that I make implications about him and Raymond in the courtroom, to raise reasonable doubt by pointing the finger at them.”

  “Tough shit,” Erma said. “That’s how the game works.”

  “He thinks I should get off the case.”

  “Oh, sure. Doesn’t he realize any other defense lawyer would do the same?”

  “They’re not me.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t even consider his suggestion.”

  “You’re right. So the M.E. said a brick, huh?”

  “Yep, but it was Lawrence. He said no way they could tell if it was a woman or a man who hit him.”

  “Too bad. Anything else helpful?” Sandra asked.

  “Well, it didn’t sound like they had the actual brick. You think Edgar has the brick?”

  “One brick’s the same as another. I guess he could have a brick and show that the brick used was one of Phillip’s bricks.”

  “Not much help for Edgar,” Erma said. “Do you know whether Dennis Truman or the uniforms looked for abrasions on anyone’s hands?”

  “No. I heard them talking about searching for clothing with blood on it, but no one has mentioned that either.”

  “Shit. They would have told us if they’d found anything,” Erma said.

  “You mean they should have told us. If they’d found something that day, they’d have arrested whose ever property it was on the spot.”

  “Well, if Kitty gets indicted, you can file your Brady motion. I wouldn’t waste my time worrying about it now.”

  “So nothing we can use anywhere?” Sandra asked.

  “Not really. And since they seem to be keeping the cop under wraps, I wasn’t much help to you there either, so it’s good you’re not getting all pissed off about it.”

  Sandra laughed. “You were a help. You saved me
going out this afternoon and doing what you already did this morning.”

  “What have you been doing?” Erma asked.

  “Well, since Stuart went away mad this morning, I came down here and put together my examining trial notebook. It looks good, if I do say so myself.”

  “Fine. Well, I’ll see you later. I’m going to go lie down.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure you are.”

  “Goodbye,” Erma said.

  Sandra hung up the phone and laughed aloud. It probably was best to let the old lady have an active role in the case. She was going to take one whether Sandra liked it or not.

  Okay, so Edgar wouldn’t have the actual brick. Even if he did, she didn’t think that fingerprints could be gotten off a brick. She didn’t really think that someone bashing in someone else’s face would damage the brick enough so that it would be distinguishable from any other brick. It would, however, probably have a lot of blood and other repulsive tissue on it. If the perp were smart, he or she would have disposed of the brick. Thrown it in the bayou.

  What else could he have? The dressing gown and the slippers. Not much that would make a difference.

  Sandra made lists of questions that she would ask each person. Those at the party, she would ask about their whereabouts and the last time they saw Phillip. Would each of them corroborate the other’s story?

  And what could Edgar ask Dennis Truman that would lead to probable cause? She couldn’t think of a thing.

  Edgar wouldn’t ask Lieutenant Truman to poke holes in the other witnesses’ stories. That would be up to her. She would cross-examine each one on the information she and Erma had gotten out of them. Although ordinarily this wasn’t the time to raise reasonable doubt, it seemed the only way to point out to the judge that there was not enough evidence to prove probable cause. She would argue that the D.A. could bring the charges against Kitty just as soon as he did have enough evidence. Therefore, the state lost nothing by the judge not making a finding on Monday. What were the odds of that happening?