by Owen Parr
“Is Ruth questioning both?”
“She’ll be doing the detective, and I, Ms. Francis. Then, Ruth will do the closing arguments. You said you know who did it, are you going to tell us?”
“No, I don’t want to prejudice your questioning. I still think we need to leave the jurors with doubt unless we can point out the killer, and I can’t do that yet.”
“Ready for another tini?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied, motioning to the bartender to do another round.
“Did you box when you were younger?”
“Why do you ask?”
“You have that face, square jaw, rugged, and a broken nose that never got fixed. My dad has a poster of Rocky Marciano, when he fought, you look very much like him.”
“As a matter of fact, I did box when I was younger, just for a while.”
“What happened?”
“Two things happened; I couldn’t fight with so many rules, I’m more suited for cage fighting. And second, because of the rules, I picked up a nickname I didn’t like,” I said, taking a sip of my drink and hoping to avoid revealing the name.
“Let’s have it. Come on, share the nickname. I swear I’ll keep it a secret.”
“Attorney-client privilege?”
“It’s going to cost you. Let’s have it,” she said, laughing.
“Canvasback.”
“Why canvasback?”
Looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to us, I replied in a low whisper close to her ear, “Because I spent most of my time on my ass, or my back, on the canvas.”
“Oh, I’ll have to remember that,” she said, trying to swallow a sip of her wine between laughter.
“You better not. Only you and Marcy know about that, plus Father Dom, of course.”
“How come you’re not visiting Marcy?”
“I spoke to her before coming over, she’s in pain and tired from her physical therapy. I’ll be over tomorrow after the trial.”
Inez, holding her Chardonnay with her right hand, took her left hand, and as I was raising my right arm to down the last sip of my first martini, she grabbed my wrist, “How about dinner? I know a little place around the corner.”
Merda, I thought to myself. This attractive young lady is persistent. I continued the motion of raising my right arm to take my drink, forcing her left hand to slide off, “Inez, I hope I have not manifested any wrong signals towards you, thus given you any indication of, —”
She interrupted, “Joey, you’ve been a perfect gentleman. But, I’ve sat next to you all day in court, and you must have felt it. I mean the heat transfer between the two of us. It was like having a space heater inches from my body, all day. You didn’t feel it?”
I had felt an intense warmth sitting next to her, especially on my left side. The side next to her. Something I had never experienced before. So, I decided to ignore the question. “I just wanted to make sure I had not in anyway, —”
The attorney interrupted again, “I’m the one being forward here. You’ve got to have dinner anyway, no?”
“Sometimes I skip dinner,” I replied, stupidly.
“Oh, that’s even better,” she said, smiling, as our second round of drinks arrived.
“That’s not what I meant,” I paused, “Look, I find you very attractive, and it’s very tempting to prolong this evening, but, —”
Interrupting my awkwardness, she asked, “Do you always drink martinis?”
I thought for a minute trying to use my deductive powers, but I was disarmed momentarily. “No, I’m a single-malt Scotch drinker,” I replied, knowing this young legal mind was going to jujitsu me into something.
“Yet, you ordered a martini tonight. So, you like a change of pace, at least occasionally,” she said, with those bright green eyes lasered in on mine. “Well, I find you very attractive also, and I’m offering a one night change of pace, strictly in a carnal sort of way. No guilt, no commitments. Just hot, sensuous, bodily contact.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Wednesday, January 5th
“Please stand. The court is in session. The Honorable Judge Wesley presiding,” said the clerk, as the Judge entered the courtroom.
“Mrs. Goldstein, is the defense ready to continue?”
“We are, Your Honor.”
“Very well, call your next witness.”
“We call to the stand, Detective Angelo Levy.”
Levy sat down, and Judge Wesley reminded him that he was still under oath.
“Detective Levy,” Ruth began, “I was not present for your testimony before, but I have read the transcripts. I’d like to ask some questions that were not asked before. Did you, or the crime scene investigators, inspect the rest of the home, besides the master bedroom suite?”
“Of course, we looked all around.”
“Mr. Longworth stated that he had heard a noise emanating from downstairs when he was in the bedroom, did he not?”
“Yes, he did, but, —”
Ruth rushed in with another question, “Did you check for prints in the living room, kitchen, and other rooms?”
“Objection, Your Honor. Can defense counsel allow the witness to properly answer the question?” Morris asked.
Wesley said, “Sustained. Mrs. Goldstein, please allow the witness to answer.”
“Sorry, You Honor. Noise from the downstairs was the question,” Ruth stated.
Levy moved forward closer to the microphone, “I was going to say, we found nothing disturbed downstairs.”
Ruth nodded, “Did you check for prints in the living room, kitchen, and other rooms?”
“It was evident the murder scene was the bedroom.”
“So, what you’re saying is that no prints were retrieved from the rest of the home. Is that correct?”
“We didn’t think it was necessary. We had the gun, the, —”
“Yes, we know all that. Did you, your partner, or the other investigators examine the trash compactor in the kitchen?”
“The trash compactor?” he asked, a bit incredulous.
Ruth didn’t say anything.
Levy then said, sheepishly, “No, we didn’t.”
“So, Detective Levy, no one noticed that two white wine glasses were missing from the kitchen cupboards?”
“Objection, Your Honor!” cried Morris. “There is nothing in evidence about white wine glasses.”
“Sustained. Mrs. Goldstein?”
“Your Honor, we can have Luisa Sanchez, the maid for the Longworths, take the stand and testify that the day before the murder, there were twelve white wine glasses in the kitchen. When she was allowed back, with no one except the investigators having been in the home, there were only ten glasses in the cupboards.”
Wesley asked, “Mr. Morris, any objections?”
“No, Your Honor. Just more theatrics.”
“Go ahead, Mrs. Goldstein, but, keep it on point.”
“Yes, Your Honor. Detective Levy, you testified that Mr. Longworth insisted he had heard noises in the downstairs of the home. Yet, no one bothered to check for prints downstairs. Is it possible that the sounds he heard were two wine glasses and a bottle of white wine being crushed in the trash compactor, before the murderer fled the scene through the kitchen door?”
“That’s absurd,” Levy replied.
“Detective, is it not feasible that the murderer wanted to remove evidence, and did so, by feeding these items into the compactor? And your investigation ignored the possible DNA evidence, and prints, you could have retrieved from these articles? Yes, or no?” Ruth asked, raising her voice.
“We didn’t see any evidence in the trash compactor,” Levy replied, shifting in his chair.
“Did you even look, sir?”
“I don’t believe we did, no.”
“You don’t believe? Did you, or not?”
“No.”
“Thank you,” Ruth retorted, glancing at the jury. “Let’s move on. The coroner’s report, I assume you read it?” she pau
sed for an answer.
“Yes, I read it.”
“Good. It says the angle of entry, for both rounds, was an upward angle of 20 degrees. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Your Honor, if you allow us to show the coroner’s drawing, which we have blown up for the juror’s benefit?” asked Ruth, looking at the judge.
As Judge Wesley nodded, Inez Hartman set up a tripod with the drawing in front of the jury box, and in view of Levy. The drawing was that of a person with two small holes in the left side of the chest, and two lines drawn from the holes, outward at twenty-degree angles.
“Detective Levy, Mrs. Longworth was five feet, seven inches tall, right?”
“If that’s what it says.”
“Yes, well, that is what she is listed at. What does the angle of entry tell us?”
“That the angle of entry for the rounds is pointing upward.”
Ruth looked towards the judge, “Your Honor, I have a toy plastic revolver that I would like to use in this demonstration, may I?”
Wesley glanced at Morris, who although frowning, nodded in acceptance. “Go ahead,” the judge said.
“Based on the crime investigators report, and the blood spatter on the carpet, walls, et cetera, they estimated that the shooter was how far from Mrs. Longworth?”
“I believe it was three feet.”
“That’s precisely right. Ms. Hartman, would you stand in front of me?”
Inez Hartman came around the table and stood next to the tripod.
Mrs. Goldstein grabbed the toy revolver from her table. “Detective Levy, Ms. Hartman is five feet, five inches, and I am five feet, four inches. If I was going to shoot Ms. Hartman in the heart, standing three feet from her,” said Ruth, as she positioned herself in front of Inez and exactly three feet away. “I would have to aim slightly upward like this, correct?” Goldstein asked, pointing the gun at Inez.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Detective, do you know how tall Mr. Longworth is?”
“No, I don’t,” he replied, disgusted.
Ruth turned to the defense table, “Mr. Longworth, would you please stand?”
Longworth stood, as Goldstein took some papers from the lectern. She handed one to the judge and a second one to the prosecutor.
Thank you, Mr. Longworth, you can sit now. That’s a copy of Mr. Longworth’s New York State driver’s license.” Ruth handed her copy to Levy. “Detective can you read from that, and tell us how tall Mr. Longworth is?” she asked, turning to face the jurors.
“He is six feet, four inches.”
“Six feet, four inches,” Ruth repeated.
Levy broke in, “Yes, but, he could have been kneeling.”
Ruth smiled, “Yes, I thought you might say that. Could you explain to the jurors, in simple terms, what backward spatter and void is, please.”
“Backward spatter,” Levy began turning to the jury box, “is the blood spatter that comes from the victim, back to the shooter, as a result of the initial entry of the bullet. The void is the clear space behind the killer, where no blood is found from the spatter, due to the shooter’s body blocking its flow.”
“Thank you, that’s well done. So, this backward spatter is deposited on the killer’s clothes, face, hairs, preventing it from projecting further back, behind the shooter.”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Two questions about the backward spatter found, and not found. If Mr. Longworth were kneeling, as you suggested, there would possibly have been back spattering found on the carpet behind the shooter. Yet, there was none, correct?
“Yes, that’s possibly correct.”
“Possibly correct? Was there blood spatter on the carpet behind the shooter?”
“No.”
Ruth walked over in front of the jury box, turned to face Levy and asked, “In your examination of Mr. Longworth, were there any, any specks of blood or this backward spatter found on his face, clothes, hairs on his head, or any place on his body?”
“Well, —” Levy began.
“It’s a yes or no question, Detective.” Goldstein asserted.
“No.”
“Mr. Levy, you’ve been a homicide detective for how many years?”
Levy moved uncomfortably in the chair, “Five years.”
“Five years investigating crime scenes. And yet, the lack of blood spatter on Mr. Longworth’s body, hair, face, didn’t give you pause to consider that someone else may have been the shooter?”
Levy smiled, “Everything points to him being the shooter. His prints on the gun, the gun residue on his hands and arms. Her blood all over his suit,” he said, smartly turning to the jury.
Ruth raised her hand to stop him, and he did. “Yes, we know that, but, the lack of blood spatter on him, the void caused by the body of the shooter, the angle of the entry wounds. All of that was ignored.”
Morris objected, “Your Honor, is there a question here?”
Wesley responded, “Mrs. Goldstein, unless you have a question, save that for closing arguments.”
“Yes, Your Honor. I have no more questions, Your Honor,” Ruth said, walking back to the defense table.
Judge Wesley turned to the prosecutor’s table, “Mr. Morris, any redirect?”
“Yes, Your Honor, thank you,” replied Morris. “Detective Levy, just to go over your prior testimony. You testified that you arrived at the scene just minutes after the patrolmen had secured it, correct?”
“Yes,” replied Levy.
“Was there any sign of forced entry?”
“No, there was none.”
“Was there anything disturbed in the home?”
“Nothing, other than where the murder took place.”
“And Mr. Longworth was covered in his wife’s blood?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Further, his prints were all over Mrs. Longworth’s revolver, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Two more questions, Detective. The only bloody shoe prints found on the stairs, going down, and then, coming up, were of Mr. Longworth’s shoes, is that right?”
“That’s right, yes.”
“So then, Detective Levy, assuming there is a third person, as the defense would like us to believe, with all the blood on the master bedroom floor, how did this mystery person leave without any trace?”
Levy sat back and smiled, then quipped, “They must have flown away.”
The gallery broke out in loud laughter, the jurors sat silent for a few seconds, then followed suit.
“Order in the courtroom,” Wesley demanded, banging the gavel down twice. “Any other questions, Mr. Morris?”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I have no more questions for this witness.”
Judge Wesley said, “We’ll break for lunch, and reconvene at two in the afternoon.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
This was like watching a very tight basketball game, with us leading throughout the entire match, only to have Morris, the prosecutor, throw up a long three-pointer with one second left on the clock, and hit nothing but net. Shit, that comment at the end, from Levy, deflated my excitement.
I stood next to Inez, who had not even glanced at me once, during the morning session. Turning her back to me, she said something to Goldstein and they walked out of the courtroom together.
Detective Levy approached me, as I stepped out of the courtroom. “You’re an asshole Mancuso. I tried to help you when I didn’t have to, and you have this lady attack me on the stand. We’re done, buddy.”
“Angelo, hang on a second,” I replied, as Levy walked away. Picking up my pace, I reached him. “Angelo, I’m only doing my job, brother.”
“Your job is to destroy my credibility? I don’t think so, man. And, don’t call me brother, unless your name is Cain.”
“Listen to me,” I said, glancing around the hallway, “come here a second,” I added, motioning with my hand, and walking away from the people milling about. Levy stopped a
nd came towards me, and I said, “I don’t know if the jury is going to find this guy guilty, or not. Regardless of the finding, Longworth did not do it.”
“Right, and this mystery killer that you’ve concocted is going to show up and confess.”
“Not exactly. But I’m going to hand the guilty person to you. So, you can bring the guilty party to justice, yourself.”
“I’ve already done that. And, it's Longworth, Mancuso. Look, everyone can see what you people are up to. This jury is going to see right through that and convict this man. Period. You and I are done. Have a good life,” Levy said, as he turned and walked away.
I stood there, understanding how Levy felt. I had used him, but his investigative methods, and that of his partner Alvarez, together with the crime scene crew, blew it on this one. I suppose everything pointed to Longworth, the obvious at least, did. Me, I like to look beyond the obvious. The killer had done a good job of masking their identity, but I had them.
Father Dominic, who had sat in the back of the courtroom throughout the proceedings approached me, “Joey, that was good, until it wasn’t.”
“I know, he beat us at the buzzer.”
“We have one more witness, right?” Dom asked.
“Ms. Geraldine Francis, the Executive Director of the Longworth Foundation. Then, I guess, the closing arguments tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help you more in this case. I’ve been busy at the Church with the New Year’s and all,” Dom said, apologetically.
“You’re good, bro. We do what we can, when we can. I’ve got this one.”
“You have this all figured out, don’t you?” Dominic asked. “Are you going to let me in, and share your conclusion?”
“At this point, I want you to enjoy the surprise ending, like everyone else. Why spoil it?” I replied, smiling.
“How is Marcy?’ he asked. “I called this morning, but was unable to reach her.”
“Shit, I have to call her. I didn’t see her yesterday.”
“How come? What did you do after the trial? I thought you were headed to the hospital,” he said, a bit dumbfounded.
“Yes, I was. But, she claimed to be tired and in pain. I’m a little concerned with her demeanor. She sounds depressed, and her stepdad says the doctor told him she was suffering from mild depression.”