by KT Roberts
“Detective Gerard, is this a photo of the residence?”
“Yes,” Zach said, pleased with his performance. “As you can see from this photo, it was a mess. Upon entering the residence, there were some very expensive statues that had been broken scattered on the floor in the circular foyer. It looked as though there’d been a scuffle of some sort in the living room. The kitchen counter was a mess, with items such as a box of cereal on its side; the contents strewn all over the counter; half-eaten bowls of cereal sitting in curdled milk, and a half-gallon container of milk that was curdled.”
“To your knowledge, was anything stolen from the residence?”
“Not that we could tell. Upon the completion of our investigation, Mr. Sawyer was allowed to return to the home.”
“Did Mr. Sawyer ever file a complaint regarding the break-in?”
“We have nothing on record stating anything was missing.”
Samantha paced back and forth, the frown lines on her forehead wrinkled in thought. She stopped in front of Zach. “Detective, did you ever find out how the burglars got into the residence?”
“We determined that there was no forced entry anywhere in the residence.”
“So lets see, no forced entry, nothing missing from the residence . . . did that seem odd to you?”
“Yes. After the investigation was completed, it was ultimately decided this was a staged break-in.”
“Did you tell Mr. Sawyer this was your conclusion?” Samantha said, walking in front of the defense table. She gave Sawyer a cold stare. Zach paused and watched the District Attorney. He sensed her strategy was to tempt the defendant’s lack of self-control for the jurors to see. Zach watched Sawyer with interest, waiting to see whether he’d bite. When Patrick’s nostrils flared, Alan scribbled something on a piece of paper and shoved it over to his client. Patrick’s demeanor changed. He squared his shoulders, and shoved back into his chair.
“Detective?” Samantha queried.
“Yes . . . we informed him of our conclusion.”
“What was his reaction?”
“First he laughed, then he became angry and suggested we were looking for a scapegoat.”
Samantha clicked the remote, nothing happened. She clicked it several times in succession, and still nothing happened. Her mouth twisted to the side. “It appears our slide projector has given up on us.” She walked back to the prosecutor’s table and took the stack of photos her assistant held in his outstretched hand, then turned and made her way across the room to stand in front of Zach.
“Detective, will you look at these photos?” She handed them over, and spoke while Zach viewed them. “Is this the Sawyer residence you referred to earlier?”
“Yes.” When he finished viewing them, he handed them back to her. She walked to the jury box, and handed the photos to the foreperson for viewing.
She returned and handed him two more photos. “Detective, tell me what you see in these two photos?”
“The first photo is a spot of blood on the carpet in the master bedroom, and the second photo is a picture of blood on the living room carpet.”
“What did the lab results reveal?”
“Both spots were the victim’s blood.”
“By victim, who do you mean?”
“Mrs. Amanda Sawyer.”
“How about fingerprints inside the residence?”
“The only prints inside the house were those of the Sawyer family.”
“No other prints?”
“None.”
“Is that how you arrived at your conclusion . . . that the break-in had been staged?”
“Yes.”
“Did you try to contact the defendant?”
“Yes, we’d made several attempts to locate Mr. Sawyer. We went to his dealership to find him. His secretary said he and his family were on a cruise, but she didn’t know on which cruise line. After checking the cruise logs of every line, the Sawyer’s name was nowhere to be found. Even his travel agent, to whom he referred us, had no knowledge of any cruise plans.”
“Was there anyone else who thought the Sawyers were on a cruise?”
“Yes. Mrs. Simon, the school secretary at St. Catherine’s Catholic school where the defendant’s daughter attends. The secretary told us Mr. Sawyer contacted her to say the family was going on a month-long cruise, and the daughter would miss the first week of school.”
“So, how did you ultimately contact him?”
“After a canvass of the neighbors in the West 87th neighborhood, where the Sawyers live, we found a witness who had spoken to Mr. Sawyer’s daughter, Gabrielle, on the telephone. She told her friend they were staying with Mr. Sawyer’s cousin, a woman named Maria. Through various methods available to law enforcement, we were able to track him down at the residence of Maria Alexander.”
“Can you tell me about your first meeting with Maria Alexander?”
“When Ms. Alexander opened the door, we asked if Mr. Sawyer was there. She adamantly denied he was, except Gabrielle Sawyer was present and immediately corrected Ms. Alexander by telling us that her father had gone to the grocery store.”
“What was Ms. Alexander’s reaction to the Sawyer child’s correction?”
“She appeared to be embarrassed, and explained she was guarding Mr. Sawyer’s privacy.”
“Then what happened?”
“The child ran down the stairs and asked if we were there because something had happened to her mother.”
“Did she explain why she asked if you had information about her mother?”
“Yes . . . without us asking. She said she hadn’t heard from her mother in a while and was concerned. Shortly after, Mr. Sawyer walked into the house.”
“Detective Gerard, please tell us about your conversation with Mr. Sawyer.”
“We told him the Milligans, Mrs. Sawyers parents, had filed a Missing Persons report after seeing the condition the residence was in.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He was furious and said Mrs. Sawyer wasn’t missing, she was in Ohio with girlfriends having a week of fun and shopping.”
“At any point during this conversation, and future conversations with Mr. Sawyer, had he ever mentioned that his wife ran away?”
“No.”
“One last question, Detective. Has it ever been confirmed that Maria Alexander is Mr. Sawyer’s cousin?”
“No. Ms. Alexander is Mr. Sawyer’s lover.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” Alan’s voice rang out. “That’s speculation on the part of the witness.”
“The objection is overruled. The witness may continue.”
“Detective Gerard, can you tell the court how you know this to be true?”
“The defendant’s daughter corroborated it.”
Alan Gerard leaned over to say something to his client who had now lowered his head in his hands and began rocking back and forth. Alan’s expression tensed.
“One more question, Detective. You told us this earlier, but I’d just like to hear you repeat it again. Can you tell the court what name Ms. Alexander used when she addressed Mr. Sawyer?”
“She called him Sonny.”
“Did you actually hear Ms. Alexander calling him Sonny?”
“No, his daughter, Gabrielle Sawyer, told us this was the name Ms. Alexander called him when we asked if she knew who Sonny Alexander was?”
“Since Mr. Sawyer went under the assumed name of Sonny Alexander, is it fair to say, Ms. Alexander may have been a partner in this chop shop, or that he may have married her illegally? Strike that.”
“Your Honor,” Alan Gerard said, “Ms. Richards is way out of line here. Ms. Alexander is not on trial here.”
“I agree counselor.” Judge Cooper gave Samantha a stern look and turned his attention to the jurors. “Members of the jury, please disregard Mr. Richards’ reference to Ms. Alexander.”
“My apologies to the court, Your Honor.” Samantha turned her attention back to Zach. “Thank you, Detect
ive Gerard. I have no further questions for this witness.” She turned, and walked back to the prosecutions table, her heels clacking against the wooden floor as she made her way around the table to her seat.
33
Zach’s body tensed, as he readied himself to face his father. He inhaled slowly, coaxing the knot in the pit of his stomach to ease up. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his father huddled with the three associates who’d tagged along with him and his client. When the conversation concluded, one of the associates stood and buttoned his suit jacket, walking around the front of the table.
A sense of relief washed over Zach, like air releasing from a balloon knowing someone other than his father was going to question him. It wasn’t as though he was afraid of his father—he wanted to make his father eat the very words that he’d replayed in his mind every time he thought of him.
The associate, a young man probably in his early thirties, paused in front of Alan and leaned toward the senior attorney, who drew him into a discussion. When the discussion appeared to be finished, the young attorney stood erect, his face seared into a disparaging expression, and he turned and went back to his seat. Curious, Zach watched with interest.
“Is there a problem?” Judge Cooper asked.
“Sorry, Your Honor. Just a changing of the guards,” Alan said.
“Well, hurry it along.”
Alan Gerard shoved his chair back and stood, buttoned the top button of his suit jacket and confidently strode across the floor toward Zach.
Zach sucked in his breath and steeled himself for his father’s usual degradation, refusing to allow the man to rattle him. How could he have forgotten Alan’s customary attempt to psyche out the prosecution’s first witness. The muscles in Zach’s back tensed with every step his father took toward the witness stand. Fleeting thoughts of his growing years passed through his mind. As a young boy, always present in his father’s mock courtroom in the basement of their home, he knew all too well the rules of argument Alan Gerard lived by.
In the few seconds it took his father to approach the witness stand, Zach forced himself to focus on the points he’d been practicing for weeks in preparation for this occasion. His mind blanked. Sheer fright swept through him as he struggled to remember. A trickle of perspiration ran down his chest under his dress shirt. His father approached. Zach cleared his throat, and grabbed the glass of water to buy time. Just as he set the glass down, Jessie walked in through the double doors. She smiled at him, and his confidence returned.
“Good morning, Detective Gerard,” his father said.
Zach nodded his acknowledgement, and watched his father’s body language.
Alan crossed his arms and rested them against his chest; his legs spread apart in a power stance. He stared at Zach without blinking. “I have a real problem with your testimony, Detective.” Alan paused, no doubt for effect. “Tell me, Detective. Do you think you’re good at your job?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Have you ever made mistakes on the job . . . you know, with evidence?”
“No, sir, I have not.”
“You mean you’ve never tampered with evidence to sway the jurors’ votes?”
Samantha jumped to her feet. “Your Honor, Mr. Gerard is badgering the witness.”
Judge Cooper held up his hand. “I’ll allow it. The witness will answer the question.”
“No, sir. I have never tampered with evidence. Not now, not ever,” Zach answered with conviction.
“But there have been occasions where it’s been brought to the attention of your superiors that certain officers in your precinct have mishandled evidence. Isn’t that a fact, Detective Gerard?”
“Yes.”
Alan walked back to the defense table and picked up a stack of papers and waved them in the air for the jury to see. “I hold in my hand complaints lodged against Sgt. Thomas “Tip” Jackson, a member of the same precinct in the NYPD, who tampered with evidence for one of his officers caught sleeping with a prostitute while on duty. Do you remember this incident, Detective?”
“Yes, I do.”
Samantha jumped to her feet again. “Your Honor, I fail to see how this questioning is relevant to the matters before the court, not to mention that Sgt. Jackson is not on trial here, Patrick Sawyer is.
“Mr. Gerard,” Judge Cooper said, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, “make your point.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Alan casually slipped his hand into his pocket, and sashayed across the floor to the jury box and stood in front. “So then, Detective Gerard, you’re confirming that evidence has been tampered with within your department?”
“Sir,” Zach said, raising his voice. “That can happen anywhere, but—”
Alan cut him off. “Is that what you did with the front end of Mr. Sawyer’s vehicle, Detective? Didn’t you, on the orders of your superior, and with the help of the State’s witness, Vito Lorenzano, a known felon, conspire to make it appear that my client is the guilty party here?” Alan turned to the jurors, the two females in the front row stared at him wide-eyed.
Zach felt his pulse increase again but resisted the urge to be drawn into his father’s game. He simply stared back at him without answering and glanced over at Patrick Sawyer who was grinning from ear to ear as though Alan’s questioning was a sign of victory. The expression on Alan’s face brought it all back, and the “rules” echoed through his mind.
Rule Number One: Divert the focus away from the defendant.
“The witness will answer the question,” Judge Cooper demanded.
“Absolutely not, Mr. Gerard.”
“You testified earlier that Mr. Sawyer never mentioned his wife had run off, when in fact he wept during the ride to the precinct for questioning and discussed it with you then. Isn’t that true, Detective?”
“Mr. Sawyer never said anything about his wife running off, nor had he cried. Both my partner and I discouraged any communication while in the vehicle with Mr. Sawyer, for his own protection, and we suggested he wait until we were in an interrogation room in order to record his statements for the record.”
“Detective, isn’t it true that your superior, Lieutenant Jack Harwell, directed you and your partner to make it happen . . . do what’s necessary to put him behind bars?”
“Absolutely not. Lieutenant Harwell does his job.”
“Of manipulating his team of detectives to arrest an innocent man, and tamper with the evidence, just to satisfy his own needs. Isn’t that correct, Detective?”
Zach forced himself back into a state of composure, as Alan’s Rule Number Two rushed through his mind.
Get the witness on the defensive and you’ve won your case. Zach opened his mouth to speak, just as Alan took his parting shot.
“I have no further questions for this witness at this time.” Alan marched back to the defense table.
Samantha stood, “Redirect, Your Honor?”
Jessie and Zach walked down the stairs of the courthouse and headed toward the parking lot in silence. The outside temperature had warmed up since the early morning chill. She inhaled the smell of roasted chestnuts from a vendor’s cart close by.
“You did a good job in there, Zach. You held your own, and you’re one up on him after Samantha’s redirect.”
Zach remained silent, deep in thought.
”Your father’s one tough hombre,” she said.
“Mmm.” He continued to stare into space, deep in thought.
“But you did grea—” Jessie stopped talking when her cell phone played a musical ring tone pulling her from the conversation. “Detective Kensington here.” She stopped short. “What?” she said panicked. “What do you mean, he’s gone?” She shot Zach a look. “Did you check the grounds, the basement, the attic?” She held her hand over the receiver. “Vito’s gone.”
“God damn it,” his hand bounced off the fender of a parked vehicle. “One friggin’ step forward, two steps back.”
“Call in a team,�
� she said and snapped her phone shut. “Son of a bitch. Okay, this is for the birds. Harwell needs to step up the investigation on finding out who’s on the take.”
“How did this happen?”
“After breakfast this morning, Vito and Rory played cards for a while, then watched a little television. Rory . . . Dodd . . . I think that’s his name. Anyway, he fell asleep and when he woke, Vito was gone.”
“Where the hell was the second guard?”
“He went to a local store to buy coffee.” She sighed and continued to walk.
“What? The coffee at the house wasn’t good enough?”
She rolled her eyes. “He went to purchase ground coffee, Zach. They were out of it.”
“Oh.”
“Besides the two guards, and Harwell,” she said turning to her partner, “they were the only ones who knew where Vito was being sequestered. Right?”
“Apparently not,” he said with a huff. He grumbled and increased his stride.
“Oh my God.” Jessie gasped. Her hand slapped against her chest. “This guy Dodd . . . he works for Jackson.”
Zach pulled his phone out. “Lieutenant. Vito’s gone.”
Harwell’s rage echoed through the receiver. “Guess who was guarding him?”
“Rory Dodd,” Zach spewed. “Dodd works for Jackson. I think we just found our mole.” Zach licked his lips. “Good. Kensington and I were just saying the same thing. Okay,” his head nodded. “Yep, yep. Yeah, we’re headed back to the precinct.”
“Harwell’s going out to the safe house to confront Dodd. He’s hiring Bradshaw to put a tail on him and Jackson. Let’s see if they’re smart enough to figure this out.” He looked down on the ground as if in thought. “You’re pretty damn smart.”
“Why? Because I remembered Dodd works for Jackson?”
“Well, that, and many other reasons. See . . . that’s why I love you so much.” Her head jerked toward him. “Technically speaking, that is,” he added.
“Oh. Right, right, right. Me too, you . . . technically speaking,” she said, returning the comment. She gave him a once over when he wasn’t watching, and decided he looked pretty damn hot today with those broad shoulders of his tucked inside his perfectly fitted jacket. Goosebumps pebbled her flesh and caused her to shudder.