Lethal Defense
Page 19
“Detective Pearson, that syringe is empty now, true?”
“It is.”
“It was not when you found it, was it?”
“I don’t recall.”
I handed him a photo which Cyn also put up on the big screen. “Detective Pearson, I’m handing you a photo that’s been marked as State’s Exhibit 49. That’s a picture of this syringe, isn’t it?”
“It appears to be.”
“The syringe collected and kept by your department, true?”
“It appears so.”
“Detective Pearson, I want you to look closely at the photo.”
Pearson glanced at it then looked at me.
“Detective Pearson, that syringe is full, isn’t it?”
“I don't know that I could say.”
“You can't say whether that syringe is full?”
Pearson made a show of studying it. “No, I don't think I could.”
I gestured and Cyn blew up the photo even larger on the screen. I went over to it, talking now to the jury more than Pearson as I said, “Detective Pearson, that syringe has markings that go up to 10 milliliters, right?” I circled the “10 ml” with a laser pointer.
Pearson was looking down at the photo as he said, “I don't know that.”
“Detective Pearson, could you please look at the photo you are holding in your hand and determine if the highest number listed on the syringe is 10 ml’s.”
Pearson stared at it but didn’t say anything.
“It's the number right above 9,” I said.
“Yes,” said Pearson.
“You see the number 10?”
“Yes.”
“Is there a number 11 on there?”
“No.”
“So there is no number higher than 10 on that syringe, is there?”
“No.” Pearson looked up at me, realized the photo was blown up for the jury, and glared. If he was anything other than a quarterback I might've been concerned.
“Detective Pearson, in the photo that your department took, there is still liquid in the syringe, isn't there?”
“There is.”
“The liquid in the vial goes up to 10 mL, doesn't it, Detective Pearson?”
“It does.”
“So the syringe is full, isn't it?”
“It looks like there’s still some air at the top,” said Pearson.
“But there are no more numbers where the air is, are there?”
“No.”
“Detective Pearson, your detectives could be trusted to maintain the chain of custody of the syringe, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“Once you take a piece of evidence from the scene, you maintain it in a pristine condition, don't you?”
“We do.”
“You do not alter any evidence that you take from a crime scene in any way, do you?”
“We do not. And I don't like what you're implying.”
“I'm not implying anything, Detective Pearson. My point is that since this picture was taken at the scene and since the picture shows that the syringe is full, the jury can assume that this syringe was full when your officer found it, correct?”
“That's correct.”
“In other words, the jury can assume that because this syringe was full —”
“It's not full.”
“I stand corrected, Detective Pearson. Let me say it another way. Because this picture shows that there are 10 milliliters of liquid in this 10-milliliter syringe, the jury can assume that the syringe had 10 milliliters of liquid in it when your officer found it, true?”
“True,” said Detective Pearson. “But I don't see why that matters.”
I smiled. “That's okay.” I stepped back a little bit and said, “Detective Pearson, you found heroin in the room that night, didn’t you?”
“We did.”
“And you also mentioned that you interviewed both Blake Purcell and Aaron Whitsel the next day after the incident, didn't you?”
“On the day after the mur—the killing. Yes, I did.”
“Did you charge you to either of those men with drug possession?”
“I did not.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know whose heroin it was.”
“Both Lizzy Saint and Jared Smoke told you that it wasn’t theirs, right?”
Pearson sat straighter and his eyes hooded. “All of the people in the room that night denied that it was theirs.”
“Really? Everyone in the room denied it was theirs?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Pearson, you didn't ask Blake Purcell if the heroin was his, did you?”
A pause. “I don’t’ recall.”
“And you didn't ask Aaron Whitsel if the heroin was his either, did you?”
“I don't recall.”
“Well, if either Blake Purcell or Aaron Whitsel had admitted that the drugs were theirs, you would've written it in your report, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn't, did you?”
“I don't recall.”
“Well, let’s check.” I went to the evidence table and picked up a small stack of stapled papers. “Detective Pearson, I'm handing you what’s been marked as State’s Exhibit 56. That’s a copy of your report of your investigation, isn’t it?”
Pearson scanned the paper. “It is.”
“Detective Pearson, please read to the jury the section of your report where you state that you asked Aaron Whitsel whether the heroin was his.”
Pearson scanned it for a moment but it was just for show. “It's not in there.”
“It's not? Is that because you were sloppy in your reporting or because you didn't ask him?”
Pearson set the report down. “I didn't ask him.”
“I see. Well, as long as we have it out, why don’t you read to the jury the section where you asked Blake Purcell if the drugs were his?”
Pearson glared. “I didn’t ask him.”
“All right. So you didn’t ask them if the heroin belonged to them but what did the fingerprints reveal?”
Pearson blinked. “What?
I picked up the plastic bag with the syringe and held it up for to the jury to see. “The fingerprints on the syringe. You fingerprinted the syringe, didn’t you?”
Pearson’s eyes refocused. With heat. “We did not.”
“Now that's interesting.” I stood in front of the jury, my back half-turned to him and flipped the bag with the syringe around in my hand. “Because I would think that you could get good prints of the forefinger and middle finger on the two tabs here and it sure seems like you could get a perfectly square thumbprint right here on the plunger.” I faced the plunger toward the jury. “I mean that would tell you, wouldn't it? Who was using the syringe?”
Pearson straightened. “That wasn't part of my investigation.”
“It wasn't?”
“It wasn't.”
“Chief Detective Pearson, I understood from your earlier testimony that you’re in charge of investigating all serious crimes in Carrefour, Ohio.”
“I am.”
“In fact, I thought I heard you say to the jury that you personally oversee the investigation of any serious crime in Carrefour.”
“I do.”
“So the possession of heroin isn't a serious crime in Carrefour?”
“Of course it is.”
“And the trafficking of heroin isn't a serious crime in Carrefour?”
“It is.”
“So why didn’t you investigate it?”
Jeff stood and held his hands out to the side. “Your Honor…”
Silence filled the courtroom for three beats. “Yes, Mr. Hanson,” said Judge Gallon.
Silence again.
Judge Gallon peered over her glasses. “Was there an objection in there, Mr. Hanson?”
“Yes,” said Jeff.
“And it is?”
Jeff stared for a moment. “Argumentative.”
“Overruled.”
“Do you remember the question, Detective Pearson?” I said.
“I do.”
“And your answer?”
“The murder investigation was more important.”
“I believe you told Mr. Hanson just a moment ago that your murder investigation took about a minute. Was that a true statement you made to the jury?”
He lifted his chin. “Yes.”
“Great. Detective Pearson, you also testified that paramedics rendered aid to Ms. Saint that night, didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“Was she conscious?”
“She was when I saw her.”
“Was she able to speak to you?”
“She was.”
“She was drunk, wasn’t she?”
“Apparently.”
“She wasn’t high though, was she?”
“I don’t have any idea.”
“She wasn’t nodding, was she?”
“Only when I asked her questions.”
“She wasn’t nodding off into unconsciousness, was she?”
“She was able to talk to me.”
“She was slurring her words a little, right?”
“A little.”
“But she showed no signs of opioid intoxication, did she?”
Jeff stood. “Objection, Your Honor. Officer Pearson is not a doctor.”
“Sustained.”
I nodded. “Officer Pearson, look at your report again.”
“What part?”
“Paragraph two, third line. Cyn, blow it up for the jury, would you please.” Cyn blew it up three feet tall on the screen and highlighted it in yellow. “Do you see that text, Detective Pearson?”
Pearson looked from the paper to the screen. “I do.”
“Read it to the jury, please.”
“Objection, Your Honor,” said Jeff.
“I’m only asking what he wrote in his contemporaneous report, Your Honor. I’m not asking if it’s true.”
“Overruled,” said Judge Gallon. “Please read the line of your report, Detective Pearson.”
The muscles in Pearson’s jaw twitched, then he said, “Although intoxicated, Ms. Saint shows no sign of opioid intoxication.”
“That’s your signature at the bottom of the report, isn’t it Detective Pearson?”
Cyn blew it up three feet tall without my asking.
“It is.”
“And by that signature you are attesting that what you wrote in your report is true, correct?”
“To the best of my knowledge.”
“That’s all anyone can ask, Detective Pearson. For the breadth of your knowledge as the Chief Detective in charge of investigating all Serious Crimes in Carrefour, Ohio. In your role investigating serious crimes, you have seen people who are intoxicated on opioids, Detective Pearson, haven’t you.”
His eyes lit up now. “I sure have. I’ve seen people who have overdosed too.”
I let it go. “They act differently than people who are intoxicated on alcohol, don't they?”
“They do.”
“And Ms. Saint displayed signs of alcohol intoxication, right?”
“She did.”
“But not opioid intoxication.”
He paused. “Not that I saw.”
“Thank you, Detective Pearson. That's all.”
Judge Gallon looked at Jeff. “Redirect, Mr. Hanson?”
“Just a few, Your Honor. Hank Braggi told you that Dillon Chase was injecting Ms. Saint?”
Pearson nodded. “He did.”
“Did any other witness report this to you?”
“No.”
“Not Blake Purcell?”
“No.”
“Not Aaron Whitsel?”
“No.”
“Not Jared Smoke?”
“No.”
“Not Ms. Saint herself?”
“No.”
“So no one but Mr. Braggi reported seeing Dillon Chase trying to inject Ms. Saint?”
“That's correct.”
“That's all I have, Your Honor. Thank you.”
Judge Gallon looked at me. “Mr. Shepherd?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Pearson, Hank Braggi told you that he killed Dillon Chase, didn't he?”
“He did.”
“Blake Purcell didn't see it, did he?”
“Blake Purcell saw a part of the attack.”
“And then he fled right?”
“Right.”
“So he didn't report actually seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
Pearson clenched his jaw. “He did not.”
“And Aaron Whitsel didn't report seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
“Aaron Whitsel’s arm was broken.”
“His arm was broken. He wasn't blind. He did not report seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
“He fled with Mr. Purcell.”
“I understand. So I'll ask you for a third time—Aaron Whitsel did not report seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
“No.”
“Jared Smoke did not report seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
“He saw him slam him to the ground.”
“Detective Pearson, Jared Smoke never told you that he saw Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
“Members of the same organization often don’t want to accuse one another.”
“Three times seems to be a common theme with us, doesn’t it, Detective Pearson. Let me ask it again—Jared Smoke never said he saw Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did he?”
He hesitated and glared at me. It was a look we had shared since high school. “No.”
“Lizzy Saint didn't report seeing Hank Braggi kill Dillon Chase, did she?”
“She did not.”
“So Hank Braggi is also the only one who told you that he’d actually killed Dillon Chase, right?”
“Yes.”
I turned away.
“But you can’t go around killing every person who injects a junkie.”
I froze then forced myself to turn back with a straight face. “You don't think much of junkies, do you, Detective Pearson?”
Jeff was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. That’s beyond the scope of the trial.”
Judge Gallon looked at me. I shrugged. “He opened the door, Your Honor. I was done. I'm just following up now.”
“He did open the door, Mr. Hanson. I will allow a limited examination.” That look over the glasses was now directed at me. “Very limited, Mr. Shepherd.”
“I understand, Your Honor.” I turned to Pearson. “You don't think much of junkies, do you Detective Pearson?”
“If they don't care for themselves, I don't see why I should.”
I nodded. “You think they get what's coming to them, don't you?”
Pearson shrugged, his eyes glittering. “Whatever happens to them, they did to themselves.”
“And because they did it to themselves, there's no reason to investigate further, is there?”
Jeff stood. “Your Honor, it seems that we're getting beyond those limits.”
“Almost,” said Judge Gallon. “Mr. Shepherd?”
“There is no reason to say, take thirty seconds to fingerprint a syringe, right?”
“Fingerprints on a syringe don't solve a murder.”
“No, but it’s evidence of another crime, one you're not interested in investigating. Because it's not serious.”
“Objection. Your Honor.”
“Withdrawn. I have no further questions for the Chief Detective in charge of Serious Crimes for Carrefour, Ohio, Your Honor.”
“Detective Pearson, you may step down.” Mitch Pearson left the witness stand and gave me one last haughty look as he left. He walked out on the far side of the courtroom, though, away from me.
Quarterbacks.
Judge Gallon looked at the clock. “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our testimony for the day. Please be here at
8:30 tomorrow morning. And again, I must admonish you, please do not speak to anyone or to each other about what you've heard today. You must wait until all of the evidence is in to begin your deliberations. Also, again, because of the unusual nature of the case, I ask that you please do not research or go on social media to investigate or read about this case. Now I understand that's like asking you not to think about a polar bear twirling a pink umbrella, but it's necessary.”
The jury chuckled as each one of them thought about a polar bear twirling the pink umbrella.
Judge Gallon smiled. “It's difficult but it's important that you do it. It will only be about a week. You are excused.”
We all stood as the jury filed out.
Lindsey ducked her head near mine. “You okay?”
I stared at her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
She stared back. “No reason. Good.”
“What did you think?”
“He made a lot of headway with the blood. You got a little bit back with the heroin.”
“Enough?”
“Not quite. But a start.”
“I agree.”
“It's going to be worse tomorrow.”
I knew she was right. Tomorrow, Coroner Ray Gerchuk was going to testify.
27
Lindsey and Cyn and Danny and I were all sitting around the conference table back at the third-floor office munching on the Subway we’d picked up on the way home. Court was typically over around five. My practice was to grab something for us on the way back to the office, eat while we talked briefly about what needs to be done for the next day, and then get to work.
There's always something to get ready for and there’s never enough time to do it. Those TV shows that have lawyers running around all over town at night during a trial are good fun, but if a lawyer was out kicking ass at night, he'd be getting his ass kicked in court the next day and I was doing a pretty good job of getting my ass kicked without the running around town part. Just then though, I think I’d have welcomed the chance to go out and get in a real fight. It's cleaner, more satisfying, and more fun.
Jesus. I was spending too much time with Hank.
“So tomorrow we have Ray Gerchuk and Blake Purcell for sure,” I said. “Maybe Aaron Whitsel if we have time.”
Lindsey nodded. “You saw my outline for where I think they're going with Gerchuk?”
“I did. Any other suggestions for cross?”
Lindsey shook her head. “Honestly Nate, you need to get him off the stand as quickly as possible. The more time that jury spends looking at that body, the less likely it is we’re going to win.”