'I see. You saw no blood on Shafer. And when Detective Cross arrived, did you see any blood on him?'
'Yes, I saw dark stains or streaks' of blood on his shirt and suit coat. Also on his hands.'
Jules Halpern paused to let everything sink in with the jury. Then he asked a final question. 'Did Colonel Shafer look as if he had just murdered someone?'
'No, certainly not.'
'I have nothing further,' said the defense attorney.
Daniel Weston did the cross-exam for the prosecution. He was twenty-nine years old, bright, quick-witted, a rising star, and known to be a ruthless hatchet man in the prosecutor's office.
Dan Weston was also good-looking, blond, and rugged. He got physically close to Boo Cassady. They made a fetching couple, which was the visual idea he wanted to communicate.
'Ms. Cassady, you weren't Mr. Shafer's psychiatrist, were you?'
She frowned slightly, but then managed a weak smile. 'No, a psychiatrist has to be a medical doctor. You know that, I'm sure.'
'And you are not a medical doctor?'
She shook her head. 'I am not. I have a doctorate in sociology. You know that, too.'
'Are you a psychologist?' Weston asked.
'A psychologist usually has a graduate degree in psychology, sometimes a Ph.D.'
'Do you have a graduate degree in psychology?'
'No. I'm a psychotherapist.'
'I see. Where was your training to be a psychotherapist?'
'American University. I graduated with a Ph.D. in social work.'
Daniel Weston kept coming at Cassady. There was hardly a beat between question and answer. 'This “psycho-therapy office” of yours at the Farragut. What sort of furnishings does it have?'
'A couch, desk, lamp. It's basically very spare. Lots of plants, though. My patients find the atmosphere functional but also relaxing.'
'No box of tissues by the couch? I thought that was a must.' Weston said with a thin smile.
The witness was clearly annoyed now, and maybe even shaken. 'I take my work very seriously, Mr. Weston. So do my patients.'
'Was Geoffrey Shafer referred to you by someone?'
'Actually, we met in the National Gallery... at the Picasso Erotic Drawing Exhibit. That's been covered in depth by the press.'
Weston nodded, and a thin smile crossed his lips. 'Ah, I see. Are your sessions with Geoffrey Shafer erotic? Do you ever discuss sex?'
Jules Halpern rose quickly; a regular Jules-in-the-box. 'Objection! Doctor/patient privilege. It's confidential.'
The young prosecutor shrugged, flipped back his blond curls with his hand. 'I'll withdraw the question. No problem. Are you a sexual surrogate?'
'No, I am not. As I stated earlier, I am a psychotherapist.'
'On the evening of the murder of Detective Hampton, did you and Geoffrey Shafer discuss--'
Jules Halpern quickly rose again. 'Objection. If the prosecution is inquiring into the patient's privileged disclosures--'
Weston raised both arms in frustration. He smiled at the jury, hoping they felt the same way. 'All right, all right. Let me see. I'll take this out of the so-called doctor/patient realm and ask you, quite simply, if you, Ms. Cassady, a woman, have had sexual relations with Geoffrey Shafer, a man?'
Elizabeth 'Boo' Cassady hung her head and stared down at her lap.
Daniel Weston smiled, even as Jules Halpern objected to the question and was upheld by Judge Fescoe. Weston felt that he had made his point.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Ninety-Six
'Call Detective Alex Cross.'
I took a deep breath, composed my mind, body, soul, then walked up the wide center aisle of the courtroom to testify. Everyone in the room was watching me, but the only person I really saw was Geoffrey Shafer. The Weasel. He was still playing the part of the wronged innocent man and I wanted to bring him down. I wanted to cross-examine him myself, to ask the real questions that needed to be asked, to tell the jury about all the suppressed evidence, to bring justice crashing down on him with all its force.
It was a hard thing to have worked honestly for so many years - and now be accused of being a rogue cop, someone who had tampered with evidence, and maybe worse. It was ironic, but now maybe I had the opportunity to set the record straight; to clear my name.
Jules Halpern smiled cordially at me as I sat down in the witness stand. He established eye contact, quickly looked over at the jury, then back at me. His dark eyes radiated intelligence and it seemed an incredible waste that he was working for Shafer.
'I want to start by saying that it is an honor to meet you, Detective Cross. For years I, like most of the jurors I'm sure, have read in the Washington papers about the murder cases you have helped solve. We admire your past record.'
I nodded and even managed a grudging smile of my own. 'Thank you. I hope you'll admire my present and future record as well,' I said.
'Let's hope so, Detective.' Halpern said. He moved on. We parried for half an hour or so, before he asked, 'You suffered a terrible personal tragedy a short time before the arrest of Colonel Shafer. Could you tell us about it?'
I fought the urge to reach out and grab the polite-sounding, insidious little man by the neck. I leaned closer to the mike, struggled for control.
'Someone dear to me was kidnapped while we were in Bermuda on vacation. She's still missing. I haven't given up hope that she'll be found. I pray every day that she's still alive.'
Halpern clucked sympathetically. He was good, much like his client. 'I really am sorry. Did the department give you adequate time off?'
'They were understanding and helpful,' I said, feeling my jaw stiffen with resentment. I hated that Halpern was using what happened to Christine to unsettle me.
'Detective, were you officially back on active duty at the time of Detective Hampton's murder?'
'Yes, I went back on full-time duty about a week before the murder.'
'Was it requested that you stay off active duty for a while longer?'
'It was left up to me. The chief of detectives did question my ability to resume my duties. But he made it my choice.'
Halpern nodded thoughtfully. 'He felt your head might be elsewhere? Who could blame you if it was?'
'I was upset, I still am, but I've been able to work. It's been good for me. The right thing to do.'
There were several questions about my state of mind, then Halpern asked, 'When you found out that Detective Hampton had been murdered, how upset were you?'
'I did my job. It was a bad homicide scene.' Your client is a butcher. Do you really want to get him off? Do you realize what you're doing?
'Your fingerprints were on Detective Hampton's belt and on the dashboard of her car. Her blood was on your clothes.'
I paused for several seconds before I spoke again. Then I tried to explain. 'There was a huge jagged tear in Detective Hampton's jugular vein. Blood was everywhere in the car, and even on the cement floor of the garage. I tried to help Detective Hampton - until I was certain she was dead. That's why there were fingerprints in the car and Detective Hampton's blood on my clothes.'
'You tracked blood upstairs?'
'No, I did not. I checked my shoes carefully before I left the garage. I checked twice. I checked because I didn't want to track any blood up into the building.'
'But you were upset, you admit that much. A police officer had been murdered. You forgot to put on gloves when you first searched the scene. There was blood on your clothes. How can you possibly be so sure?'
I stared directly into his eyes and tried to be as calm as he was. 'I know exactly what happened that night. I know who killed Patsy Hampton in cold blood.'
He raised his voice suddenly, 'No, you do not, sir. That's the point. You do not. In frisking Colonel Geoffrey Shafer, isn't it fair to say that you were in physical contact with him?'
'Yes.'
'And isn't it possible that blood from your clothes got onto his? Isn't it even likely?'
&nb
sp; I wouldn't give him an inch. I couldn't. 'No, it isn't possible. There was blood on Geoffrey Shafer's trousers before I arrived.'
Halpern moved away from me. He wanted me to sweat. He walked over to the jury box, occasionally looking back at me. He asked several more questions about the crime scene, and then--
'But Dr. Cassady didn't see any blood. The two other officers didn't see any blood - not until after you came into contact with Colonel Shafer. Colonel Shafer was on the phone until three to five minutes before he met his therapist. He came straight there from his children's birthday party. You have no evidence, Detective Cross! Except what you brought into Dr. Cassady's apartment yourself. You have absolutely no evidence, Detective! You arrested the wrong man! You framed an innocent man!'
Jules Halpern threw up his hands in disgust. 'I have no further questions.'
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Ninety-Seven
I took a back way out of the courthouse. I usually did, but on this day it was essential. I had to avoid the crowds and the press, and I needed to have a private moment to recover from my time on the witness stand.
I'd just had my ass pretty well kicked by an expert asskicker. Tomorrow, Cathy Fitzgibbon would try to undo some of the damage in cross-exam.
I was in no hurry as I walked down a back stairway that was used by maintenance and cleaning people in the building, and was also a fire escape.
It was becoming clear to me that there was a chance that Geoffrey Shafer would be acquitted. His lawyers were the best. We'd lost important evidence at the suppression hearing.
And, I had made a mistake at the homicide scene in my rush to help Patsy Hampton without putting on gloves.
It was an honest mistake, but it probably created doubt in the minds of the jurors. I'd had more blood on me than Shafer. That was true. Shafer might actually get away with murder, and I couldn't stand the thought. I felt like yelling as I descended the twisting flight of stairs.
And that's what I did, finally. I yelled at the top of my voice and it felt so damn good to get it out. Relief flowed through my body, however temporary it might be.
At the bottom of the concrete stairs was the basement of the courthouse. I headed down a long darkened hallway toward the rear lot where the Porsche was parked. I was still lost in my thoughts, but calmer after hollering my fool head off in the stairwell.
There was a sharp bend in the hallway near the exit to the parking lot. I came around the turn and saw him. I couldn't believe it. The Weasel was right there.
He was first to speak. 'What a surprise, Dr. Cross. Sneaking away from the madding, or is it maddening crowd? Tail between your legs today? Don't fret, you did all right upstairs. Was that you yelling in the halls? Primal screams are the best, aren't they?'
'What the hell do you want, Shafer?' I asked him. 'We're not supposed to meet or talk like this.'
He shrugged his broad shoulders, wiped his blond hair away from his eyes. 'You think I care about rules? I don't give a shit about rules. What do I want? My good name restored. I want my family not to have to go through any more of this. I want it all.'
'Then you shouldn't have killed all those people. Especially Patsy Hampton.'
Shafer finally smiled. 'You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? You don't back down. I admire that, to a degree. I played the game of being a hero once myself. In the army. It's interesting for a while.'
'But it's much more interesting to be a raving lunatic murderer,' I said.
'See? You just don't back down from your pig-headed opinions. I love it. You're wonderful.'
'It's not opinion, Shafer. You know it, and so do I.'
'Then prove it, Cross. Win your pitiful sodding case, will you? Beat me fair and square in a court of law. I even gave you home advantage.'
I started to walk toward him; I couldn't help myself. He stood his ground.
'This is all an insane game to you. I've met assholes like you before, Shafer. I've beaten better. I'll beat you.'
He laughed in my face. 'I sincerely doubt it.'
I walked right past him in the narrow tunnel.
He pushed me - hard, from behind. He was a big man, but even stronger than he looked.
I stumbled, almost went over onto the stone floor. I wasn't expecting the outburst of anger from him. He held it in so well in court, but it was close to the surface. The madness that was Geoffrey Shafer. The violence.
'Then go ahead, beat me. See if you can,' he yelled at the top of his voice. 'Beat me right here, right now. I don't think you can, Cross. I know you can't.'
Shafer took a quick step toward me. He was agile and athletic, not just strong. We were almost the same size, six foot two or three, two hundred pounds. I remembered that he'd been an army officer, then MI6. He still looked in excellent shape.
Shafer pushed me again with both hands. He made a loud grunting noise. 'If you've beaten better, then I should be a pushover. Isn't that so? I'm just a pushover.'
I almost threw a punch; I wanted to. I ached to take him down, to wipe the smug, superior look off his face.
Instead, I grabbed him hard. I slammed Shafer up against the stone tunnel wall and held him there.
'Not now. Not here,' I said, in a hoarse, raw whisper. I'm not going to hit you, Shafer. What? Have you run to the newspapers and TV. But I am going to bring you down. Soon.'
He came out with a crazy laugh. 'You are fucking hilarious, do you know that? You're a scream. I love it.'
I walked away from Shafer in the dark tunnel. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I wanted to beat the answers out of him, get a confession. I wanted to know about Christine. I had so many questions, but I knew he wouldn't answer them. He was here to bait me, to play.
'You're losing... everything,' he said to my back.
I think I could have killed Geoffrey Shafer on the spot.
I almost turned, but I didn't. I opened the creaking door and went outside instead. Sunlight streamed into my eyes, half-blinding me for a dizzying moment. Shading my face with an arm, I climbed stone stairs to the parking area, where I got another unwanted surprise.
A dozen grim-faced members of the press, including some important reporters, were gathered in the back parking lot. Someone had alerted them; someone had tipped them off that I was coming out this way.
I looked back at the gray metal door, but Geoffrey Shafer didn't come out behind me. He had retreated and disappeared back into the basement.
'Detective Cross.' I heard a reporter call my name. 'You're losing this case. You know that, don't you?'
Yes, I knew. I was losing everything. I just didn't know what I could do to stop it.
Alex Cross 5 - Pop Goes the Weasel
CHAPTER Ninety-Eight
The following day was taken up with my cross-examination by Catherine Fitzgibbon. Catherine did a good job of redressing some of the harm done by Jules Halpern, but not all of it. Halpern consistently broke up her rhythm with his objections. Like so many recent high-profile trials, this one was maddening. It should have been easy to convict and put away Geoffrey Shafer, but that wasn't the case.
Two days later, we got our best chance to win, and Shafer himself gave it to us, almost as if he was daring us. Now we realized that he was even crazier than we'd thought. The game was his life; nothing else seemed to matter.
Shafer agreed to take the stand. I think that I was the only one in the courtroom who wasn't completely surprised that he was testifying, that he was playing the game right in front of us.
Catherine Fitzgibbon was almost certain that Jules Halpern had lectured, pleaded and advised him against it; but there Shafer was anyway, striding toward the witness stand, looking as if he had been called up there to be ceremoniously knighted by the Queen.
He couldn't resist the stage, could he? He looked every bit as confident and in control as he had the night I arrested him for Patsy Hampton's murder. He was dressed in a navy-blue double-breasted suit, white shirt, and gold t
ie. Not a single blond hair was out of place, nor was there any hint of the anger boiling just under the surface of his meticulously groomed exterior.
Jules Halpern addressed him in conversational tones, but I was certain that he was uneasy about this unnecessary gamble.
'Colonel Shafer, first I want to thank you for coming to the witness stand. This is completely voluntary on your part. From the beginning, you've stated that you wanted to come here to clear your name.'
Shafer smiled politely, and then cut off his lawyer with a raised hand. The lawyers on both sides of the bar exchanged looks. What was happening? What was he going to do?
I leaned way forward in my seat. It struck me that Jules Halpern might actually know that his client was guilty. If he did, he wouldn't have been able to cross-examine him. Legally, he couldn't ask questions that disguised the real facts as he knew them.
This was the only way that Shafer could have his moment in the sun: a soliloquy. Once called to the stand, Shafer could give a speech. It was unusual, but absolutely legal - and, if Halpern knew his client was guilty, it was the only way that Shafer could take the stand and not be incriminated by his own attorney.
Shafer had the floor. 'If you will please excuse me, Mr. Halpern, I believe I can talk to these good people myself. I really can manage. You see, I don't need a lot of expert help telling the simple truth.'
Jules Halpern stepped back, nodded sagely, and tried to keep his poise. What else could he do under the circumstances? If he hadn't known his client was an egomaniac or insane, he surely knew it now.
Shafer looked toward the jury. 'It has been stated here in court that I am with British Intelligence, that I was MI6, a spy. I'm afraid that I am actually a rather unglamorous agent, Double-O-Nothing if you will.'
The light, well-aimed jab at himself drew laughter in the courtroom.
'I am a simple bureaucrat, like so many others who toil away their days and nights in Washington. I follow well-established procedures at the embassy. I get approvals for virtually everything I do. My home life is simple and orderly as well. My wife and I have been married nearly sixteen years. We love each other dearly. We're devoted to our three children.'
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