“Yes.”
“How long would you say you had a good view of the killer’s face?”
“A few seconds.”
“Five to ten?”
“A little more than that.”
David picked up the transcript of the bail hearing, consulted an index card, and flipped to a page.
“At a prior hearing in this case, did you not testify as follows:
“’Q: So you saw him for a few seconds?
“’A: Yes.
“’Q: Less than a minute?
“‘A: Maybe five, ten seconds. But I saw him.’”
“I think that’s right.”
“So the only time you saw the killer’s face was for five or ten seconds after you had been struck on the head and before you lost consciousness?”
“Yes, but I saw him clearly. It was Stafford,” Ortiz blurted out. Monica expected David to object to the unresponsive answer, but David merely smiled.
“You are certain of that?” David asked. Monica was puzzled. Why was David giving Ortiz a chance to repeat so damaging a statement?
“Positive.”
“Yes. I believe, at the prior hearing, I asked you, ‘You are certain?’ and you replied, ‘I will never forget that face.’”
“Yes, I said that,” Ortiz answered nervously. He had forgotten that he had given that answer at the bail hearing.
“But the impossible happened, did it not?”
“What do you mean?”
David strolled over to the far end of the counsel table and picked up a stack of papers.
“Were you hospitalized after the blow to your head?”
“Yes.”
“Was Dr. Arthur Stewart your treating physician?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you in the hospital, Officer Ortiz?”
“About a week.”
“How long did you continue to see Dr. Stewart for problems relating to the blow to your head?”
Ortiz could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Why didn’t the bastard ask the question Ortiz knew he would ask?
“I stopped two weeks ago.”
“Mid-October? Is that when he released you?”
“Yes.”
“You had a concussion, did you not?”
“Yes.”
David paused and the smile disappeared. “And you could remember nothing about what happened inside that motel room from June sixteenth until September? Isn’t that true?”
“I remembered parts of what happened. It was-”
“Mr. Ortiz…Pardon me. Officer Ortiz,” David said, his voice cutting like a knife, “I have here copies of your medical records from Good Samaritan Hospital. On September third, did you visit Dr. Stewart?”
“Uh, I…It could have been that date. I had an appointment in early September.”
“You don’t remember?” David asked with a smirk.
Ortiz felt his body tighten. He wanted to strike out at David. He felt like a butterfly pinioned on a board, waiting for dissection.
“Objection,” Monica said, standing. “Mr. Nash is arguing with the witness.”
She could see the danger signs and had to give Ortiz a chance to collect his thoughts.
“Yes, Mr. Nash,” the judge said, “just ask your questions.”
“Very well, Your Honor. Officer Ortiz, did you not tell Dr. Stewart during your September visit, a few short days before you arrested Larry Stafford, that you could not remember what happened inside the motel room and that you could not remember what the killer looked like?”
Ortiz did not answer immediately. He stared at David and at Stafford. Stafford stared back.
“Well, Officer?” David asked sharply.
“Yes.”
“You had amnesia, did you not?”
“Yes, if that’s what you call it.”
“What do you call it?”
“I mean…”
Ortiz stopped. David waited a moment, watching the jury.
“Officer, if I understand your testimony, you first saw the Mercedes from a distance of one city block?”
“Yes,” Ortiz answered quickly, grateful that the subject had been changed.
“Then you followed it from a distance of approximately two city blocks?”
“Yes.”
“And, finally, you saw it briefly as you drove by the motel lot?”
“Yes.”
“Those were the only times you saw the car that evening?”
“Yes.”
“And you did not know what model and year the car was until you checked with the Motor Vehicle Division?”
“I…It’s the car I saw,” Ortiz answered weakly.
David picked up three color photographs from his table and walked over to the witness stand. Monica drummed the tip of her pen on her desk. Ortiz was in trouble, and she did not know how much longer he would be able to stand up under David’s questioning. She had Dr. Stewart on call to testify that Ortiz, and others with amnesia caused by a concussion, could recall with complete accuracy events they had forgotten. But for the jury to believe in Ortiz’s recall, they had to believe in Ortiz.
“Will you study these three photographs, please?” David asked Ortiz. The policeman shuffled the photos until he had viewed all three.
“Would you tell the jury what they are?”
“They appear to be a beige Mercedes-Benz.”
“Same type that Mr. Stafford drives?”
“Yes.”
David smiled at Ortiz and took back the pictures.
“I have no further questions.”
Monica could not believe it. She had seen David tear witnesses apart and she knew his technique. He always softened them up, as he had Ortiz, with questions that would shake their confidence. Then he progressed from point to point, ending with a series of questions that involved a major point in their testimony. The questions about Ortiz’s amnesia had been expected, but she also expected more. Ortiz had been touched by David, but not badly shaken. She wanted him off the stand quickly, while he was still basically intact.
“No further questions,” Monica said.
“Call your next witness.”
“Dr. Arthur Stewart, Your Honor.”
Ortiz wanted to discuss the case as soon as she left the courtroom, but she told him to wait until they got to her office. Dr. Stewart had been excellent and David had not scored many points. She had rested the State’s case at the end of his testimony without calling Cyrus Johnson.
“But why?” Ortiz demanded when he and Monica and Crosby were alone.
“Because it wasn’t necessary and I did not want to risk it.”
“You haven’t shown any motive. Johnson can establish that this guy is an S-M freak.”
“Or make it look like we’re trying to railroad him with perjured testimony. Look, Bert, we already have a motive. He is a member of a big law firm, but not a partner. He is married to a wealthy woman. If he is arrested for prostitution, his career and marriage could be over. What more do we need? Besides, you were terrific.”
Ortiz shook his head. “I don’t know. That business with the amnesia. Don’t you think…?”
“I was in the courtroom, Bert,” Crosby said. “You came off just great, and that doctor cleared that whole business up. I was surprised how easy Nash went on you.”
“Yeah. That has me worried, too. Why do you think he let up?”
“I don’t know,” Monica said, “but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“If it was a gift,” Ortiz said. “That son of a bitch has something he’s not telling you about. I can feel it.”
Monica shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about it now.”
“And you can still use T.V. in rebuttal, right?” Ortiz asked.
“Bert, I don’t trust him. He’ll do anything to get out of this dope charge.”
“I don’t think so,” Ortiz said, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”
“Well, if
the case goes as well as it has so far, it will all be academic.”
“Mr. Stafford calls Patrick Walsh, Your Honor,” David said, and the clerk left the courtroom to summon the witness. David took the opportunity to collect the exhibits he would use and to review his notes on Walsh’s testimony.
The defense was going well. David had started by calling several of Larry’s friends and business associates, who testified to his good character. They had painted a picture of a newly wed, young professional who possessed a sense of humor and a dedication to his work. Monica, through cross-examination, brought out the fact that Larry had been passed over for partner by his firm, but Charlie Holt, the witness, had handled that line of questioning well. David thought this revelation had provoked sympathy from the jurors.
David used Barry Dietrich, the partner with whom Larry had met on the evening of the murder, to bridge the gap between the character witnesses and those witnesses who would establish Stafford’s defense. Dietrich was not enthusiastic about testifying. With the exception of Charlie Holt, the partners at Price, Winward had been reluctant to get involved in the case. However, once on the stand, Dietrich had done well.
The courtroom door opened, and a tall, angular redheaded man with a slight limp walked to the stand. David looked back toward him and noticed Jenny seated on the aisle at the rear of the courtroom. They had been together often during the last month, treating each moment alone as if it might be their last. David loved Jenny. He knew that now. Often, when they were lying together, David wondered what would happen to them when the trial ended. If Larry was free, would Jenny go back to him? David was weak and vulnerable at such moments. He would hold Jenny, afraid of what might happen if he let her go.
“Mr. Walsh, how are you employed?” David asked once the witness had been sworn.
“I’m a zone distribution manager for Mercedes-Benz of North America.”
“What does a zone distribution manager do?”
“For sales purposes Mercedes has divided the United States into zones and subzones, and I’m in charge of sales in the San Francisco zone, which covers the Pacific Northwest and Northern California. I order all the cars for the zone and distribute them to the dealers in the subzones.”
David picked up the photograph of Larry’s Mercedes and handed it to the witness.
“How long have you been with Mercedes-Benz, Mr. Walsh?”
“It will be twenty-two years this April.”
“I’ve just handed you a photograph which has been marked as State’s exhibit five, and I ask you if you can identify that car for the jury.”
“Certainly. This is our model 300SEL, 1991. It is beige in color.”
“What does 300SEL mean?”
“The 300SEL is a four-door sedan with a gas engine. Three hundred is the engine size. S means the car is one of our super-class models, the largest sedan we sell. E means the car has fuel injection. L stands for a long wheel base.”
“Do you also sell a 300SE model?”
“Yes, we do. That model looks identical, but it’s four inches shorter.”
“Thank you. Now I am handing you three other photographs,” David said, handing Walsh the pictures he had shown to Ortiz on the preceding day. “Can you identify the cars in those pictures?”
Walsh studied the photographs, then stacked them and turned toward the jury as David had instructed him to do at their pretrial meeting. He held up the top photograph.
“This photograph, which is marked defendant’s exhibit seven, is a beige Mercedes-Benz.”
“Is it a 1991, 300SEL?”
“It is not. It is a 1981, 300SD.”
Several of the jurors leaned forward, and Monica cocked her head to one side, focusing her attention on the witness.
“And exhibit eight?”
Walsh held up a picture of another beige Mercedes.
“This is a 1985, 300SE model.”
There was a stir in the courtroom.
“And the final car?”
“Exhibit nine is a 1987, 420SEL.”
“If I told you that a person who had viewed those photographs had described all three cars as being the same type as the defendant’s 1991, 300SEL, would you be surprised?”
“Not in the least. From 1981 to 1991 Mercedes-Benz made several models in that basic body style that were, with minor differences, very similar. From 1981 to 1983 there was a model 300SEL, a four-door long-wheel-base sedan. From 1981 to 1985 there was the model 300SD. In 1984 and 1985 there was a 500SEL and the 380SE. From 1986 through 1991 we had a model 560SEL, which was similar in appearance
to the 300SEL and the 420SEL. And we had a diesel engine car in 1986 and 1987 with the same body. In 1990 and 1991 we had diesel models 350SD and 350SDL.”
“With all these cars looking so similar, how were you able to tell that the three cars in exhibits seven, eight, and nine were not the 300SEL?”
“Exhibit seven shows a 1981, 300SD. The most obvious difference is that the 300SD is four inches shorter. If you look at the front and back doors and windows, you can see that they are roughly the same size in the 300SD, but the back door and window of the 1991, 300SEL are longer than its front door and window because of the longer wheel base. This difference is obvious to me but would not be noticeable to someone who is not familiar with Mercedes-Benz body types.
“The 1985, 380SE in exhibit eight is also shorter, and the wheel design is different. The 1991 car has a solid disk where a hubcap would normally be, but the 1985 car has a concave disk with a center hub about the size of the fueltank cap.”
“Mr. Walsh, what discernible difference is there between the 1991, 300SEL and the 1987, 420SEL, the car in exhibit nine?”
“Mr. Nash, there is no difference at all. Not even an expert can tell the difference between those two cars. I knew they were different only because I supplied you with the photograph.”
“Was there any difference in the number of cars sold for the four models in the four photographs?”
“No. They all sold roughly the same in all four years.”
“And what color was the most popular color for the four models we have been discussing?”
“Beige.”
David turned and smiled at Monica. To the witness he said, “Thank you, Mr. Walsh. I have no further questions.”
“And how are you employed, Mr. Waldheim?” David asked the distinguished-looking businessman who had just taken the witness stand. Across from David, Monica listened with one ear as she carried on a hurried conversation with Detective Crosby. Walsh’s testimony had hurt, and she wanted Crosby to start looking for ways to rebut it. She was painfully ignorant about cars and had asked no questions of Walsh. That meant that, as of the moment, Ortiz’s testimony about the Mercedes was virtually worthless.
“I am the vice president in charge of menswear for Sherwood Forest Sportswear.”
“Where are your headquarters located?”
“Bloomington, Illinois.”
“And that is where your office is?”
“That is correct.”
From a pile of exhibits David selected the shirt that had been seized from Stafford’s house and brought it to Waldheim.
“I hand you what has been marked as State’s exhibit twenty-three and ask you if you recognize this shirt.”
Waldheim took the shirt and examined it. “Yes. This is part of last year’s summer line.”
“Would you tell the jury how many of these shirts your firm distributed nationally.”
Waldheim turned slightly and addressed the jury.
“Last year was a very good year for menswear. This particular shirt was one of our most popular items. I checked our records before flying here, and I would say that we sold some five thousand dozen of this shirt nationally.”
“How many shirts are five thousand dozen, Mr. Waldheim?”
“Well, one thousand dozen equals twelve thousand shirts, so…let me see…sixty thousand shirts.”
“And that is a round figure?”
“That is correct. The actual number was in excess of five thousand dozen.”
“Mr. Waldheim, are you aware of the shirt patterns used by your competitors?”
“Certainly. We have to keep tabs on the competition.”
“To your knowledge does Sherwood Forest, or any other shirt manufacturer, make a shirt with a pattern similar to this shirt?”
“Yes. That forest pattern was so successful, especially in this area of the country, that we put out another similar line, and so did two of our competitors.”
“Thank you, Mr. Waldheim. Nothing further.”
Monica had been doing some calculations while David questioned Waldheim. There is a rule of cross-examination which holds that an attorney should never ask a witness a question unless she knows the answer. Monica had a question she wanted to ask, and Waldheim’s testimony was so damaging that she decided to break the rule.
“Mr. Waldheim, your company distributes shirts nationally, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“How many of the shirts you were just shown were distributed in this state?”
“Uhmm, something in excess of one hundred dozen, I believe. The shirt did very well here.”
“And of those one hundred dozen, how many were distributed in Portland?”
“I’m not certain, but I would guess more than half.”
“So we are talking about approximately six hundred shirts in the metropolitan area?”
“A little more than six hundred. Yes.”
“Nothing further.”
Monica was troubled. She had softened the impact of Waldheim’s testimony a little, but six hundred shirts was still a lot of shirts, and there were all those knockoffs from other companies. David was starting to cut away the basis for Ortiz’s identification, and if he did that successfully…
There was a stir in the courtroom and Monica looked around. While she had been lost in thought, David had called his next witness-Jennifer Stafford.
Jennifer walked to the stand without looking at David, but she did pause momentarily by Larry’s side. The look she gave him was one the jury could not see and David could not read.
Jennifer took the oath, then seated herself in the witness box. She sat erect, her hands folded primly in her lap. There was a trace of tension at the corners of her lips, and a tightness about her that betrayed her uneasiness. When David addressed her, she jerked slightly, as if she had experienced a minor electric shock.
The Last Innocent Man Page 16