“Tell me, when did you notice that the relationship with Mr. Abbott and Blaire was less than professional?”
“I didn’t. I mean, they were friendly. No more than anyone else.” He shot a look of apology toward where Caide was sitting. “Our workplace is complicated. Our bosses, they’re great, they run the show. Blaire and Mr. Abbott were behind the curtain. They were a great team and they kept the place going. They had to work together, a lot more than the rest of us. Dinners, early mornings, late nights. Of course we all had suspicions, but they were never founded. They were very professional.”
“Can you tell us about the night Blaire was murdered?”
“Well, earlier that day, Blaire had put in her notice. She told me right after she did it. She asked me if I have any friends who were qualified to take her place. She really didn’t say why she was leaving, just that there were things she wanted to do that she couldn’t do here, which I understood. We all stayed late that night. Mr. Abbott had missed work the past two weeks so he was catching up, Blaire was looking at resumes, and I was running a few last-minute errands. We’re all pretty guilty of late nights.”
“Who was the first to go home?”
“I was. I left at 7:30. Mr. Abbott and Blaire were still working.”
“What made you leave when you did?”
“Mr. Abbott told me I could go home and finish tomorrow. My wife is pregnant, so he encouraged me to go home to her.”
“That was sweet of him. Did he frequently send you home before your work was finished?”
“He’s a great boss. He’s never made a big deal out of my schedule as long as I get everything done on time.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“He was just trying to be nice.”
“Yes or no.”
He hung his head down. “No.”
“So he wanted you to leave that evening?”
“Objection, your honor. She’s leading. The witness isn’t a mind reader.”
“Sustained. Watch it, Avery.”
“In your opinion, did he seem to want you to leave?”
“No. He was just—”
“I’d like to remind you that you are under oath.”
“He seemed stressed. He was behind in his work, he hadn’t left his office all day. In my personal opinion, he was being nice because he knew that I had already stayed over for more than two hours.”
“Were there any cars in the parking lot when you left?”
“Mr. Abbott’s. Blaire’s was in the shop that day.”
“To your knowledge, was there anyone in the building besides the two of them?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Could someone have been there? Hiding?”
“Our office is pretty open. The private offices stay locked, so I don’t think anyone could’ve hidden in there without a key and there was no one in the lobby.”
“There was nowhere else to hide? Nowhere at all?”
“Not unless they hid upstairs, I guess.”
“What’s upstairs?”
“It used to be used for more office space, when a real estate company owned our building. When we bought it out we knocked down the walls and made it into a space for meetings and office parties. We rarely use it.”
“Who knows about the upstairs portion of the office?”
“Only employees.”
“And all of the employees were out of the office or downstairs, right?”
“As far as I know. I mean, I didn’t check.”
“So, as far as you know the only people who know about upstairs and could’ve been hiding there were employees?”
“Yes.”
“Except you just said you used the upstairs for meetings and office parties?”
“Yes. Okay, so I guess a few of our major clients may have known, anyone who’s catered our parties.”
“What about family members who attended office parties?”
“Well, yes.”
“Brian, had Mrs. Abbott ever attended an office party upstairs?”
“Every year.”
“So Rachael Abbott could have, in fact, been hiding up in the upstairs of your office without anyone knowing?”
“Objection.” Hampton was up out of his seat. “Leading. Your honor, c’mon.”
“Withdrawn.” Avery smiled. “No further questions.”
Hampton watched the witness visibly relax as Avery took her seat.
“Brian, had you met Mrs. Abbott before today?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think of her? What’s she like?”
“Objection. My witness is not here to character witness for the defendant.”
“Overruled. Answer the question, Mr. Sparks.”
“Rachael’s great. She’s always been very kind to everyone at the office.”
“Do you know if the Abbotts live near your office?”
“Everything in La Rue is pretty close. I believe they live about a half hour from the office if traffic isn’t too bad.”
“How long of a walk would that be?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If you had to guess.”
“I don’t know. Maybe two hours?”
“So, since you didn’t see Mrs. Abbott’s car in the parking lot or surrounding areas, we’re going to assume that, if we believe as the prosecutor would like us to, Mrs. Abbott walked to and from the office without anyone noticing she was missing?”
“I guess so.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
***
Rachael
Dr. Alex Page was a Medical Examiner for the county. He spoke with a passion for his work that reminded Rachael of women in yogurt commercials. His thick brown hair and perfect smile helped the room to hang on his every word.
“So you examined our victim, is that correct, Dr. Page?”
“It is. The body was brought to me on the evening of November 12. I found the victim to be perfectly healthy before the murder, she had four severe blows to her skull. Two in the parietal, one in the occipital, and one to the left temporal lobe. The fatal hit was determined to be to the parietal lobe, though any of the blows would’ve proven fatal by morning.”
“And what did you determine about how she died from the autopsy?”
“Well, from the pattern of her injuries, it appears she was struck from behind first. She was turning back to face her attacker as the injuries continued. The placement of the injuries also tell us the attacker was shorter than the victim. The victim was five foot six and she had been wearing heels, so add an inch or two. The attacker, by my calculations, must have been five foot four or five foot five at the very most. The force of the blows were extreme, more force than necessary was used to knock out or even kill our victim if that was the goal.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“When our bodies are scared or angry, our adrenal glands produce adrenaline. Adrenaline allows us to be quicker or stronger than we usually are. The fact that that much force was exerted on the victim tells us one of three things: the attacker was a male, the attacker was scared and acting in self-defense, or,” he paused before continuing, “the attacker was angry.”
“And were you able to determine which one fits our attacker?”
“Well, obviously there is no way to know for sure, but I was able to narrow it down. First, I ruled out the idea that our attacker could be a male because, as I stated, the attacker was shorter than our victim. I don’t know many men who are five foot four, though I wouldn’t say it was impossible. There was also no evidence of rape, which is inconsistent with most male-on-female cases. I was also able to rule out self-defense. I don’t believe our attacker was scared. For one thing, the attack started from behind, our victim facing away from the attacker, most likely caught off guard. Also, the attacker did not stop after the fatal blow occurred. From the angle of the last few injuries, it appears our victim had already fallen but was still being attacked. In most self-def
ense cases, the attacker would have hit until the assailant was down and then ran away, whereas a vengeful attacker would have hit until their anger subsided, which seems to be the case here.”
“So you’re saying?”
“In my professional opinion, with what evidence I have now, I believe our attacker was angry.”
“Doctor, is there any way to know whether or not our victim knew her murderer?”
“Short of actually being there, there’s no way to know for sure. However, we didn’t find any defensive wounds on our victim. No scratches, no bruising, no hair between her fingers, or skin under her nails. It doesn’t appear that there was a struggle, which does make us able to believe that our victim did in fact know her attacker and therefore was not expecting the attack.”
“Dr. Page, you said you found no hair or skin cells on our victim, yet you did find DNA not belonging to our victim at the crime scene, isn’t that right?”
“It is. Upon investigation of the crime scene, we found blood on the murder weapon that was not a match to our victim. It appeared as though the murderer may have cut his or her hand on the weapon during the attack.”
“And were you able to find a match for that DNA?”
“The blood came back as a positive match for the defendant, Mrs. Abbott.”
“Thank you, doctor. No further questions.”
Hampton looked over at Rachael, who was visibly shaken. Her pale white skin made her look as if she may get sick any second. Hampton pulled the waste bin from beside him, placing it beside Rachael’s feet. He patted her hand, standing up and facing the witness stand.
“Dr. Page, can you explain the pattern of the blows to the victims head again?”
“Objection. Your honor, this question has already been answered. If Mr. Hampton is not paying attention that is not my witness’ problem.”
“I have a point, your honor.”
“Answer the question, doctor.”
“As I said, the first blow occurred at the occipital lobe.”
“Can you show us where that is?”
The doctor sighed, turning in his seat to point to a spot on his skull just above his neck.
“The first blow was here. They moved in a clockwise position around her skull hitting here, here, and here.” He pointed around his head, stopping finally just above his left ear.
“And you said that pattern indicated what?”
“It indicates that the victim was attacked from behind. She was turning back to face the murderer as she was attacked.”
Hampton paused, pretending to think. “That’s what I thought you said. However, my question then becomes, if the victim was attacked from behind, why did the prosecution just use your testimony that the victim must have known the attacker because there were no defensive wounds? If the victim was, in fact, attacked from behind as you have now stated twice on record, would there be defensive wounds?”
“Not necessarily. The victim did turn around, though.”
“Yes, as she was being beaten to death.” He placed a hand on his hip in shock. “Are you saying she wouldn’t have put her hands up, or tried to defend herself if it had been someone she knew attacking her? That she would’ve only protected herself from a stranger?”
“No. Obviously not.”
“Then you’re evidence is inconclusive and not truly evidence at all, isn’t that right?”
“I was only giving my opinion.”
“Also, you stated that my client’s DNA was found on the murder weapon. I’m assuming you found her fingerprints as well?” Hampton asked.
“No. We did not find any fingerprints that could be positively matched to Mrs. Abbott.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“Most likely she was wearing gloves.”
“So it is your opinion that my client wore gloves to attack Miss Underwood from behind, but the metal soap dispenser she used during the attack was able to cut through her gloves and into her hand, causing her to bleed enough that it would be found by your team. You didn’t, however, find any fingerprints or skin cells from my client, presumably because she wore gloves, correct?”
“Yes.”
“How many prints did you find on the murder weapon?”
“We found twelve distinct pairs, several more smudged.”
“How were you able to determine that there was more than one person’s blood at the crime scene?”
“The crime lab found two separate types of blood. Our victim was O negative. The murderer was A positive. We ran the results against both Mr. and Mrs. Abbott as well as several different control subjects, Mrs. Abbott matches eleven out of thirteen of the markers for the DNA.”
“Eleven out of thirteen, that doesn’t seem very certain.”
“Quite the opposite, those are very good odds. Cases have been proven for nine out of thirteen, some even less. It means there are only about one thousand other people in the entire world who could’ve committed this crime.”
“And yet those people aren’t on trial.”
“There is an eighty-five percent chance that Mrs. Abbott is our murderer, based solely on the DNA evidence alone. Those are great numbers.”
“So you say. What I’m hearing is that there is a fifteen percent chance we could send an innocent woman to prison. Babies are born every day simply because condoms have a fifteen percent failure rate.”
“It is impossible to have a one hundred percent match. We had a very small sample to work with, my team and I are very happy with the results we received.”
“You’re perfectly happy with eighty-five percent? Let’s say, for a second, I bake a batch of cookies. I give you a cookie and I tell you that if you eat it there is an eighty-five percent chance you won’t be poisoned, would you eat it?”
The doctor scoffed, “No. Of course not. That’s different. You’re taking what I’m saying out of context.”
“I’m simply putting things into perspective. There’s an eighty-five percent chance, doctor, that you’ll eat this cookie and go on the rest of your day, perfectly healthy and with your sweet tooth satisfied. Are you going to eat the cookie or aren’t you?”
“No. I wouldn’t risk my life over eighty-five percent, no.”
Hampton grimaced, walking back toward his desk. “No, just my client’s life. No further questions, your honor.”
Chapter Nineteen
Caide
Just as Hampton took his seat, Rachael grabbed the waste bin below her feet and began emptying her stomach into it. The courtroom erupted with people jumping up, shouting, and gagging. Caide leaped to her side, reaching for her hair. A bailiff rushed forward, restraining him.
“I just want to hold her hair back. She’s my wife.” He struggled to tell them.
Hampton stepped in front of Caide, grabbing Rachael’s hair as she sat up. He handed her a tissue and a glass of water, continuing to hold her hair.
“Can we get a recess, your honor?”
“Very well. We’ll reconvene in thirty minutes. Everyone clear out and get some air. Bailiffs, take the jury back to the deliberation room and escort Mrs. Abbott back to her holding cell.”
The bailiffs finally let go of Caide, reaching instead for Rachael. Hampton threw Caide an angry look. “Calm down,” he mouthed.
Caide couldn’t help but notice Hampton still clutching Rachael’s hair until the bailiffs took her. He felt as though he were going to be sick himself.
***
Rachael
The bailiffs led Rachael into a cell larger than her usual one. She felt lightheaded and her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. She felt hands on her back, leading her, but she was unsure of who it was. She heard someone talking, a voice, mumbling under their breath. Everything sounded so distant. She sat in a corner, pressing herself into the solid wall, listening to the shallowness of her own breathing. Her hands were cold, she tucked them under her legs, trying to warm them. She watched the shape of a person walk her way but she couldn’t make her eyes focus on who it
was. She saw two gray pant legs in front of her. The legs were talking. Why couldn’t she understand them? She only saw fuzziness, only gray. She held her stomach, terrified she was going to be sick again.
***
Hampton
Hampton walked down the dimly lit hallway to where Rachael was being held. At the end of the hall were two guards. They stepped aside, allowing Hampton to pass through. He looked around the cell, expecting Rachael to be sitting at the small table in the center of the room. Instead, it took him a few moments to locate her sitting in the far corner, knees to chest, staring blankly into space.
“Rachael,” he called softly, trying not to spook her. She didn’t look his way, didn’t acknowledge his presence at all as he walked toward her. She didn’t seem to notice she was crying, tears cascading down her cheeks. He inched toward her, afraid to move too quickly.
“Rachael,” he said again once he was standing in front of her. He bent down, wiping her tear-stained cheeks with his sleeve. She didn’t look up at him. He’d planned to come talk to her, make her see reason. He’d hoped that seeing all the evidence the prosecution had would make her understand that he was only trying to help her. He had planned to try once again to convince her that a deal was the only thing going to save her. Seeing her silent tears fall, however, made him think twice about saying anything. Instead, he slid down the wall beside her, watching her hands shake as she cried. She leaned her head onto his shoulder, acknowledging his presence for the first time. He slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into him. He knew legal advice was not what she needed right now. This, this moment right here, was all she had needed since he’d met her, and he was finally ready to let her have it. He let her cry and cry some more, sobbing openly for everything she’d already lost.
***
Rachael
The legs had moved. They were standing in front of her, but now she felt them beside her. He wasn’t talking. Or maybe he was. She couldn’t be sure. Rachael had never felt so lost and alone as she did in that moment. Her stomach was churning again, ready to blow at any moment, and her hands would not stop shaking. She leaned her head over onto something soft and warm. The smell of freshly mowed grass and a soft smelling cologne eased her stomach. His whiskery cheek scratched her forehead but she didn’t mind. For the first time in weeks, Rachael felt safe. She watched him shift his hands, her eyes starting to find their focus once more, onto hers. Her fingers found the warmth they’d been craving. She cried, her tears coming from a place she could not explain, emptying her soul of an endless pain.
If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) Page 9