Now, she tried to forget about the night as she got out of the Jeep in the parking lot of the Long Beach courthouse. It was tough to do since someone had taken a key to the side of her car and leisurely carved figure eight into the ebony paint. She cursed herself for being too tired to garage it the night before. The defacement could have been a random act of vandalism, but the thought that it was a juvenile message sent by Kevin O'Connel gave her the creeps. Giving the car a quick pat, she walked across the parking lot, went through the metal detectors and found department 9.
Clutching her briefcase in her left hand, Josie pulled on the door with her right. As expected they were all there: Grace sitting straight-backed at the defense table, Matthew behind her, Tim beside him. P.J. Vega looked busy at the prosecutor's table. The clerk was at her desk. The bailiff hovered by the bench. What Josie didn't expect was the sharp pain deep in her chest, an overwhelming sense of failure gripping her.
Stepping back, she let the door close and pushed up against the wall taking a minute to subdue the panic that came with clarity. Her guilt lay not in what happened at the penthouse, or in seeking out Archer for comfort. Josie's shame was deeper than that. She was not the lawyer Grace deserved. In all these weeks – since the minute Grace had uttered Matthew's name - it had been Matthew Josie was concerned with; Matthew she was trying to impress. That was wrong even if the intent had been subliminal. Today that would change.
Standing tall, Josie opened the door again and this time walked down the center aisle like a lawyer ready to advocate for her client. She nodded to Matthew and Tim Douglas and noted five other witnesses on P.J. Vega's list.
Josie took her seat beside Grace who looked stunningly rich. Her taupe suit was piped in black. The high collar of her jacket skimmed her square jaw making her look like royalty. Her skirt was short, her legs good and her shoes were high heeled, square toed and expensive. Diamond studs the size of peas sparkled on her earlobes. The emerald ring was on her finger, quiet for once. Where, Josie wondered, would they find a jury of Grace McCreary's peers if worse came to worse?
The court was doing its housekeeping. Josie did hers. People moved in and out and finally settled. Babcock sat behind the prosecution. There was a sketch artist and a couple of reporters. The preliminary hearing was of interest but if this went to trial they would all have to fight their way past a crowd of reporters. It was Josie's job to make sure that didn't happen.
The clerk called the court to order. Judge Michael Belote took the bench with the look of a man who commanded everything he surveyed. He moved with precision, spoke with authority and had left a lucrative private practice to serve the people. Seven years on the bench were long enough for him to be close to omnipotent. He liked to run a tight court. P.J. Vega respected that and called Horace Babcock as her first witness.
It took twenty minutes for P.J. to establish the scene, determine that he had taken the proper precautions to preserve evidence and had appropriately tracked down a witness who had seen Grace on the balcony with Michelle McCreary. This was only a preliminary hearing so P.J. needed to do little more than that. When she sat down, Josie stood up.
''Detective,'' she said, ''two weeks after the incident involving Mrs. McCreary, you were still investigating the matter, is that correct?''
''Yes, it is.''
''On the night of the incident did you discover any evidence that would lead you to believe that Mrs. McCreary had been murdered?''
''I was suspicious for a number of reasons. There was no suicide note. Mrs. McCreary appeared to have been interrupted while she was dressing to go out. I had questions about how she could fall over the wall given her height.''
''I am referring to your initial assessment of the scene, Detective. Did it appear that there had been an altercation?''
''No.''
''Had anyone in the building heard screams for help?''
''No.''
''Did anyone report hearing a suspicious pounding on the floor?''
''No. The building is soundproof.''
''Move to strike. Assumes facts not in evidence.''
Judge Belote waved away half of Babcock's testimony with the same interest he would dismiss a Sommelier who brought a poor wine to the table.
''Did anyone observe my client coming into the building?'' Josie asked.
''Yes, we have the defendant on a surveillance tape in the garage. Once at 8:47 as she entered the building and again at 9:12 when she got in her car and left.''
''And can you tell me how she appeared at 8:47?''
''She appeared calm,'' the detective answered.
''What did you observe when she left?''
''She was hurried. There were tire marks on the floor of the parking garage. She was driving erratically.''
''Did she appear disheveled?''
''No.''
''Would you find that unusual behavior considering she had just seen her sister in law jump off a balcony?''
''I would consider it unusual behavior for her to leave the scene.''
''Is that a crime? To leave the scene of a suicide?''
''Not to my knowledge.''
''Mine either,'' Josie said and took her seat.
CHAPTER 25
Mrs. M. Stephen Wilford was a widow. She had lived alone in her eleventh floor apartment on Ocean Boulevard in the twelve years since her husband died. Her children insisted she get rid of the family home in Brentwood because it was too big to care for and too far for them to help her out.
She missed her home and garden and her children didn't see her as often as they had promised, so Mrs. Wilford was not the happy camper she should have been. Josie imagined she had always been a practical woman, spending little of the money her husband made. Now that he was gone, she spent even less. Her clothes were unimaginative, her hair cut was sensible, her make-up was out of date. There was little joy in Mrs. Wilford's life and less sorrow. She saw the world in black and white and didn't want the good or the bad to cross her threshold. Now that it had, she was reluctantly appearing in front of the court.
If Mrs. Wilford had any butterflies they were DOA. She testified that on more than one occasion she had seen the McCreary women having heated disagreements. She was thinking of not voting for Matthew McCreary should he win the primary because she was concerned that his family life was not stable enough to. . .
Judge Belote cut off the editorial with the comment that he wanted to save something interesting for the trial judge. P.J. brought her witness back in line. In the two weeks before the death of Michelle McCreary, Mrs. Wilford had not seen Grace McCreary at all and had, indeed, been more than curious when she arrived on the night in question.
Did Mrs. Wilford know Grace was Michelle McCreary's sister-in-law?
''No,'' she answered.
So Mrs. Wilford could not speculate why Grace McCreary might have a motive to kill the other woman.
''No.''
Mrs. Wilford turned those beady, bitter eyes on the defense when P.J. bowed out. Josie approached the witness knowing she was credible. Her job would be to show that the woman was simply mistaken. Josie greeted Mrs. Wilford with a smile and then rested against the defense table so the witness would be forced to look at Grace as she condemned her.
''What were you doing the night Mrs. McCreary jumped off. . .''
''Objection, your honor,'' P.J. Vega was on her feet faster than a ball bounces.
''Rephrase, Ms. Bates,'' the judge directed.
P.J. looked Josie's way, her face pursed into an expression of displeasure. Her bracelets jangled as she sat herself down.
''What were you doing the evening Mrs. McCreary died?'' Josie asked.
''I was working on a puzzle.''
''Was it almost completed or had you just started?''
''I had just started but I had the hind of a horse finished.''
Josie heard someone laugh. The judge looked up sharply. It was enough to quiet the courtroom.
''So you were looking down and concentr
ating,'' Josie suggested.
''Yes and no. My puzzle table is next to the sliding glass doors. My chair faces the window. I watch the buildings and I do puzzles. I concentrated on the puzzle when I did that, and I concentrated on looking out the window when I did that.''
''So you're a voyeur, Mrs. Wilford?'' Josie smiled.
''No, I'm just a widow,'' she answered dryly.
''Do you see many interesting things on the balconies across the way?''
''Not many,'' she answered.
''But Mrs. McCreary's balcony was interesting,'' Josie said.
''That night it was. I thought she was naked. That was curious.''
''So you only saw her shoulders?'' Josie pressed.
''I saw her shoulders and her upper body. From my balcony she appeared naked. I found out later what she was wearing. That's why she seemed naked.''
''Was that the only reason you found her interesting?''
''No. I thought she was in some sort of distress. Her arms were flailing. She was leaning forward then turning around like she was talking to someone then turning around again and not looking at them but still talking.''
''So she was just talking to someone?''
''She was upset,'' the witness answered firmly. ''I had children. I know what upset is.''
''And you saw all this from a distance of fifty yards, balcony to balcony as you were inside your apartment?''
''My apartment was dark. I only had a small desk lamp by which to see my puzzle. The McCreary apartment was lit enough so that it was like watching a stage. I could see inside their place.''
Josie moved, circling around her prey like a curious shark in a calm ocean.
''What could you see inside?''
''I could see another person standing just inside the French doors.''
''And could you identify that person, Mrs. Wilford?''
''It was her. The defendant.''
''How can you be so sure?'' Josie was on the move, closing in. Mrs. Wilford looked her up and down, impressed for a minute by her height but disdainful of her nonetheless.
''She has a very distinctive haircut. It was her.''
Josie nodded and let Mrs. Wilford's testimony stand. As the witness was talking, Josie had circled back to the table and slipped a gel on the light box of the overhead projector. She switched it on and directed Mrs. Wilford to the image on the screen that had been set up to the side of the empty jury box.
''Mrs. Wilford, this is a schematic drawn to scale of the McCreary's living room. I wonder what else did you see inside that room?''
''I don't understand the question,'' the woman grumbled.
''I mean, could you describe what you could see through the French doors – or were those doors closed?''
''They were. . .'' Mrs. Wilford hesitated. She looked at the judge who sat comfortably in his high backed chair, hands folded across his midsection. There would be no help from him. ''I don't remember if she closed them behind her. Everything went very quickly.''
''Not a problem, Mrs. Wilford,'' Josie said. ''Just tell us what else you saw inside the house.''
''I saw a desk. There was a computer on it.'' Josie stylus followed Mrs. Wilford's testimony. ''To the far left I could see part of the long bookcases. They were filled with books. There were some spaces left the way you would leave spaces for keepsakes.'' Josie indicated the bookcases. ''I couldn't see all the small things in detail, of course, but everyone has pictures and keepsakes on the bookshelves.''
Josie barely glanced at P.J. but she saw her blanch. The prosecutor knew exactly where Josie was going.''
''I suppose you might assume that, but in the McCreary household there were no pictures on the shelves,'' she said. ''Is there anything else?'
''Yes.'' Mrs. Wilford drew the word out cautiously. ''There was a large dark shape way in the back. I think it's a piano but I wouldn't want to say for sure. And there was a couch. I could see the couch.''
''What color is the couch?''
''Blue. There is a pattern in it.''
''What kind of couch is it?'' Josie asked.
''What kind?'' The witness repeated.
''Yes, what style? Rolled arms, does it have a skirt? Is it a camel back sofa? Straight backed? Tailored?''
''I couldn't tell you for sure,'' Mrs. Wilford interrupted. ''I mean, it looks long. I don't see it from the front but from the side. It appears very long.''
''And what is behind the sofa?'' Josie pressed. Now she had a pen that hovered, ready to draw in whatever the witness told her.
''I don't know. I can't see behind the sofa. In fact, I only really see the front of it. The bottom cushions.''
''And why is that, Mrs. Wilford?''
''Because of the drapes, of course,'' Mrs. Wilford sputtered, not liking to be made out the fool.
''Since you have looked in that room so often, is it fair to say that you may only think you know that room? That you have, perhaps, memorized the furnishings and haven't noticed any changes?''
''Judge,'' P.J. called, ''the prosecution requests that Ms. Bates stipulate to Mrs. Wilford's knowledge of the room. We have been assured that nothing has been changed in that room for the last three years. Mr. McCreary will testify to that.''
''Your honor,'' Josie countered. ''This goes directly to the clarity of the events of the night in question. If this witness is so used to looking at the McCreary home and the balcony in particular, she may have a preconceived notion of what she should see.''
''I think you're reaching, Ms. Bates, but go ahead. Quickly.''
''Yes, judge,'' Josie agreed, not wishing to strain Judge Belote's patience. ''Mrs. Wilford, would it have been possible for someone else to be in that living room or on the balcony without you seeing them?''
''It's possible,'' she agreed peevishly.
''Fine, and how many times did you see Mrs. McCreary come onto the balcony?''
''Twice. About ten minutes after she left the balcony the first time she ran back out again,'' the woman testified.
''What part of Mrs. McCreary did you see?''
''I saw her turning all around while she ran like she was looking for a way to go. Then she got to the balcony and turned with this arm,'' Mrs. Wilford indicated her left arm, ''and put it on the wall. I saw her hip. Then the other woman came out and ran right at her. Ran right at her! I stood up and went onto my own balcony because I could see what was going to happen.
''Then I saw Mrs. McCreary's back, she was pretty much sitting on the little wall and the other woman pushed her. Mrs. McCreary's arms were flapping like she was trying to find something to hold onto. One went out this way.'' Again her arms moved. And again. ''And the other arm went kind of straight ahead when that woman pushed her.''
''And when you saw the defendant on the balcony did you see her push like this?'' Josie held her hands out flat and punched at the air.
Mrs. Wilford's eyes snapped toward Grace and then back to Josie. She fidgeted a minute and resettled herself on the small chair in the witness box.
''I saw that woman's arms outstretched and her hands on Mrs. McCreary. I don't know how they were on Mrs. McCreary.''
''Perhaps the defendant's hands were on Mrs. McCreary's shoulders like this?'' Once more Josie demonstrated.
''Yes, I think maybe that was the way. She might have had a hold of them that way.''
''That is your answer?'' Josie prodded.
''Yes. Perhaps that was it. The second one.''
Josie nodded as if to acknowledge an excellent answer.
''Could you hear what the two women were saying?'' Josie asked.
''Don't be ridiculous,'' the witness laughed. ''I was all the way across the street. I couldn't possibly have heard.''
''But you could have heard a scream or someone hollering?''
''I'm not sure. I thought I heard something. Maybe it was a scream.''
''Maybe it was someone yelling ‘no' or ‘stop'.''
''It was a scream,'' Mrs. Wilford pouted.
'
'Could you tell which woman screamed?''
Mrs. Wilford shook her head as if she was sad that she couldn't absolutely identify Michelle McCreary as the screamer. Josie snapped the light of the overhead off and crossed her arms.
''You testified the defendant was angry. You could see her face clearly?''
''No, not very clearly but I could see she was angry.''
''Really? So if you were looking at Grace McCreary you must not have been paying much attention to Mrs. McCreary. I think if I had seen a woman scrambling over the edge of a balcony, I would have been looking at her.''
''I was looking at everything,'' Mrs. Wilford insisted testily.
''When Mrs. McCreary fell who did you look at? The woman falling or the woman on the balcony?'' Josie raised a brow, unruffled by Mrs. Wilford's peevishness.
Mrs. Wilford seemed to compress. Her eyes were mere slits in her face, her mouth nothing more than a seam across her jaw. She didn't like Josie Bates making her sound like a doddering, puzzle-doing idiot when she had done her civic duty. She had called for help and talked to that detective. She had come to court when she didn't want to. Mrs. Wilford had not bargained for this kind of treatment.
''I saw what I saw. That woman pushed the other woman.''
''When did you call nine-one-one?''
''The minute it happened, of course.'' She laughed in a way that said she was appalled that Josie would think she would wait.
''Did you look for the phone the instant you thought my client was going to push the deceased or the moment she touched her or after it was all over?''
''I saw Mrs. McCreary fall. I saw that lady push her. What difference would a few seconds make if I looked down to dial the phone?'' she snapped.
''I don't know, but I would hate to have my client stand trial for murder just because a few seconds did make a difference.'' Josie said kindly before crossing her arms and beetling her brow. ''Mrs. Wilford, is it possible someone else was in that house or on that balcony?''
''Maybe,'' Mrs. Wilford answered, annoyed by the question. ''But I doubt it.''
''Asked and answered. We're here to determine probable cause not grandstand for a jury.'' P.J. raised her hands. Those bracelets fell down her arm like Klik-Klak Blox
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