Until the Final Verdict

by Christine McGuire

  “Are you planning to make a point in the not-too-distant future, Mr. Griffith?” Keefe asked.

  “If the Court will give me some latitude.”

  Keefe sighed. “Answer the question, Ms. Skinner.”

  Skinner had on a suit almost identical to the one she had worn the previous day. She shifted in her chair and absently tugged at her dark blue skirt as she considered her answer. “I suppose I agree with those definitions of ‘friend.’ ”

  “Please share with the jury the argument you had with Kathryn Mackay.”

  “What argument?”

  “The argument that ended your friendship.”

  “We didn’t have an argument.”

  “A serious difference of professional opinion?”

  “We rarely disagreed on professional matters.”

  “Then you still consider Kathryn Mackay a friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “Interesting. Then, you must agree with Oscar Wilde that ‘A true friend stabs you in the front.’ ”

  McCaskill jumped up. Before he could object, Griffith said, “Withdrawn.”

  “Ms. Skinner, you testified that my client once said she feared she’d never be District Attorney because her boss, Harold Benton, was so young.”

  “Yes.”

  “When did she say that?”

  “I don’t recall, exactly.”

  “Approximately’s close enough.”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Where were you when she shared this intimate personal thought with you?”

  “I don’t recall.”

  “Uh-huh. You don’t remember when she said it, or where she said it, you just remember she said it, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Griffith pursed his lips and shook his head sadly, then looked at the jury.

  “Mr. McCaskill did prepare you for yesterday and today’s testimony, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than once?”

  “Yes.”

  “More than five times?”

  “Your Honor!” McCaskill objected.

  “The Court gets the point, Mr. Griffith. Move on.”

  “And it was Mr. McCaskill who suggested to you that Kathryn said she’d never be DA because of Harold Benton’s age, right?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “So it’s possible my client never made that statement at all, but that Mr. McCaskill told you to say she did?”

  “No, I’m sure she said it.” Skinner’s voice rose, as if asking a question rather than making a statement.

  “Since, as you testified, you rarely disagreed with Kathryn on professional matters, it’s accurate to sayyou agreed with her that DA Benton died of a digitalis overdose administered immediately before his apparent heart attack?”

  “Doctor Nelson rendered that opinion, not Kathryn.”

  Griffith held up a piece of paper. “The same Doctor Nelson who appears on Mr. McCaskill’s witness list as an expert on forensic pathology and toxicology?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whose forensic opinion was that ex-DA Benton was administered enough digitalis to—” he picked up another document and read from it, ‘stop his heart almost instantly.’ ”

  “Yes.”

  “The Sheriff’s investigation showed Doctor Simmons was with the District Attorney when he had the apparent heart attack and that, in fact, Kathryn was with Doctor Nelson at the morgue when it occurred, right?”

  “Doctor Nelson’s her best friend.”

  “Didn’t you testify that you’re her best friend?”

  “I said I’m her close friend.”

  “As close as either of you had, right?” He paused. “Are you saying Mr. McCaskill’s expert witness might lie?”

  Skinner tugged absently at the hem of her skirt, then clasped her hands in her lap. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Good. Did you tell Kathryn that in your professional opinion, Doctor Simmons didn’t murder ex-DABenton?”

  “No.”

  “That you thought she should waive the death penalty against Robert Simmons?”

  “No.”

  “That she shouldn’t make a deal with Doctor Berroa, whose crimes were less serious, to allow Berroa to testify before the Grand Jury?”

  “No.”

  Griffith continued. “You were Chief Deputy when Kathryn charged Doctor Berroa with involuntary manslaughter, and you and she discussed the fact that involuntary manslaughter carries only a two- to four-year sentence. Did you tell Kathryn you thought it was a bad idea?”

  “No.”

  “As Chief Deputy District Attorney, is it your professional opinion today, that it was a bad idea?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Did you tell Kathryn you didn’t think she should personally extradite Robert Simmons from Costa Rica?”

  “No, but as I testified, we were investigating a series of infant kidnappings at the time.”

  “In fact, that investigation hadn’t been turned over by the Sheriff to the District Attorney’s office at the time Kathryn traveled to Costa Rica, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s correct.”

  “Who was Chief Deputy before my client elevated you to that position?”

  “Neal McCaskill.”

  Griffith pointed to the prosecution table. “This Neal McCaskill, who is now your boss?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to McCaskill when you replaced him?”

  “Kathryn assigned him to misdemeanors, and later fired him.”

  “For what?”

  “Insubordination.”

  “That’s all?”

  Skinner implored McCaskill with her eyes, but he didn’t look at her.

  “Should I repeat the question?” Griffith insisted.

  “Insubordination and violating office policy against politicking on county time. Did you agree with Kathryn’s decision to fire McCaskill?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  “Was McCaskill aware of that?”

  “Yes.”

  Griffith puckered his lips and whistled softly. “That must’ve pissed—excuse me, that must’ve made him angry at both of you!”

  Before McCaskill could react, he said, “Withdrawn. The Chief Deputy position you hold is at-will, that is, you don’t enjoy civil service protection, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “When Mr. McCaskill was appointed Interim DA pending Kathryn’s exoneration, did you think he might retaliate against you?”

  “I considered the possibility.”

  “But, you’re still Chief Deputy, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Because McCaskill promised you’d remain hisChief Deputy if you testified against my client, and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t, right?”

  “I—”

  McCaskill’s face turned red and he leaped from his chair. “Sidebar, Your Honor!”

  Keefe wiggled his fingers. “Counsel may approach.”

  “Judge,” McCaskill protested, “the defense has no right to delve into irrelevant private conversations I had with one of my employees.”

  “There’s no such thing as employer-employee privilege, and McCaskill wasn’t her lawyer, so there’s no attorney-client privilege,” Griffith said. “If Skinner was coerced, it bears on her credibility as a witness, and I have a right to cross-examine her on it.”

  Keefe thought for a moment. “I’m afraid Mr. Griffith’s right. I’m going to allow him to pursue this line of questioning. Now, step back.”

  After the court reporter read back the question, Skinner said, “He didn’t say it in so many words, but he implied that I might be disciplined.”

  “Disciplined how?”

  “Demoted or fired.”

  “So, to protect your job, you agreed to lie if necessary to convict Kathryn of murder?”

  “I never promised to lie.”

  “To your knowledge, as Kathryn’s close friend, did my client drink to
excess?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Use illegal drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Abuse prescription drugs?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Suffer from depression?”

  McCaskill stood. “The witness isn’t a doctor and can’t opine on the defendant’s emotional condition.”

  Griffith smiled. “I’ll rephrase. Did my client ever tell you she was depressed?”

  “No.”

  “That life wasn’t worth living?”

  “No.”

  “That she didn’t care about watching her daughter, Emma, grow up?”

  “No.”

  “That she might commit suicide?”

  “No.”

  “So, to your knowledge, there’s no rational basis for believing Kathryn intentionally overdosed herself on digitalis?”

  Skinner looked at Kathryn for the first time. “Not unless she wanted to make it look like Doctor Simmons had tried to kill her.”

  Griffith stopped, started to speak, but didn’t. Kathryn clenched her fists and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “No further questions.”

  When Griffith sat down, Kathryn slid her chair close. “Jesus Christ, Roger!” Kathryn’s voice rose. “McCaskill must’ve coached her to not appear reticent, to look like she’s just doing her duty by answering questions and telling the truth. He anticipated that last question, wrote out the answer for her, and ordered her to practice until she recited it in her sleep.”

  “You’re right, that’s what I’d’ve done.”

  “And you walked into it like a goddamn brainless insect flies without looking into a Venus flytrap.”

  “I screwed up asking her that last question.”

  “You sure did, and you might as well have rolled my gurney into the death chamber.”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  49

  “EVERYTHING OKAY, EM ? You haven’t talked since we got here, or eaten a bite.”

  “We used to come here with Mom on Fridays.”

  Dave set the half-eaten burrito on his plate and glanced around Sophia’s Taqueria, which was almost empty. “I know, it was—it’s our favorite place.”

  “I miss her.”

  “Me, too. Is that why you’re so quiet?”

  “I s’pose.”

  “Did something happen at school today?”

  Emma dipped a chip in the fiery hot red salsa, nibbled it, and sipped her Coke. “Yeah.”

  “Wanna talk about it?”

  Emma pulled the crumpled front page of that morning’s newspaper headline from her backpack and handed it to him.

  EX-DA GOES ON TRIAL

  Friday March 15

  This morning, District Attorney Neal McCaskill will call his first witness against ex-DA Kathryn Mackay, who is accused of murdering ex-lover and County Health Officer Robert Simmons. Sources close to the DA say the first prosecution witness will be Mackay’s close friend, Chief Deputy DA Mary Skinner.

  McCaskill says he is confident that the evidence against Mackay will lead to a conviction for murder with special circumstances and execution in San Quentin’s death chamber. . . .

  “Where’d you get this?” Dave asked.

  Tears welled in her brown eyes, ran down her freckled cheeks, and dripped onto her cheese quesadilla. “Someone taped it to my locker during lunch. I hate them!”

  “Hate who?”

  “All the kids at my school.”

  “It was only one kid, Em, you can’t be angry at everyone. Besides, your mom needs our help to get through this, and you can’t help her if you’re angry. Can you put your anger behind you for her sake?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “I know you will.” Dave walked around the table, pulled her close, and stroked her hair. “Did you tell the principal about it?”

  “No.”

  “How come?”

  “ ’Cause she prob’ly thinks Mom killed Doctor Simmons, too. ‘Convicted’ means ‘guilty,’ huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  She freed herself and sat up straight. “If she’s convicted, will they . . .”

  She pointed to the words execution in San Quentin’s death chamber, which someone had underlined in red.

  Dave ripped the paper into tiny pieces and wadded them up. “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s ask Mr. Griffith.”

  “He won’t know, either, Em. If she’s convicted, it’ll be up to the jury.”

  “Mom wouldn’t kill anyone. You have to prove she didn’t do it.” Tears welled in her eyes again and she grabbed his hand.

  He started to shake his head.

  “Mom said you’re the best detective she ever knew.”

  “I’m not sure . . .”

  “You can do it. Please! Me and you’re all Mom’s got!”

  “Emma—all right.”

  “Can we visit her tomorrow?”

  “Sure.”

  “Sunday, too?”

  “Absolutely, Sunday too.”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  50

  AFTER THEY LEFT Sophia’s, Dave drove to Baskin-Robbins, then to Ashley’s to bring her home for a sleepover.

  Dave had moved Emma’s furniture into his spare bedroom, painted it powder blue, and installed a separate telephone line, trying to make her feel at home, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeeded. He had no such doubts about her yellow Lab. Sam had trotted from room to room, sniffing every inch of the house, then plopped down in Emma’s room, staking it out as his territory.

  They were eating ice-cream and watching television when the phone rang. Sam followed Dave into the kitchen, hoping for a taste of the French vanilla.

  “Granz.”

  “Roger Griffith. You heard about Skinner’s testimony today?”

  “Yeah, Kate said it didn’t go too well.”

  “Gross understatement. And I’ve got more bad news.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I lost my motion to keep you off the witness stand.”

  “Shit!” Granz slammed his fist on the countertop.

  Sam cringed, so he set his ice-cream bowl on the floor.

  “What the hell happened to the privilege to not testify against my wife?”

  “Keefe ruled McCaskill could call you as a witness under an exception to the privilege.”

  “What exception?”

  “McCaskill claims Kathryn planned in advance to murder Simmons, and married you so you couldn’t testify against her if it came to trial. Keefe says it fits under Evidence Code section 972-F.”

  “That’s bullshit. I’ve got a privilege to refuse to disclose communications made in confidence between Kate and me while we were husband and wife.”

  “There’s no privilege if the communication was intended to enable someone to commit a crime.”

  “More legal bullshit. I didn’t aid or abet any fucking murder.”

  “The exception’s broader than that.”

  “Appeal Keefe’s ruling.”

  “Wouldn’t do any good. You’re gonna have to testify, just don’t help the son of a bitch.”

  “Count on it.”

  “I need you to do something for us.”

  “Name it.”

  “The attendant on that flight from London no longer works for British Air, and my investigator ran into a dead end. Find her.”

  “What for? She’s not on McCaskill’s witness list.”

  “That’s what bothers me.”

  “What’d she tell his inspectors?”

  “Nobody cut a report on an interview with her. Or if they did, they’re keeping it from me.”

  “Maybe they couldn’t find her, either.”

  “McCaskill wouldn’t let that slide. He talked to her, all right.”

  “Mac’s not stupid enough to break the discovery laws.”

  “Stupid no, but he hates Kathryn enough to do just about anything. If he talked to that stew, I wan
t to know what she told him.”

  Granz thought. “Your investigator didn’t find out where she went from British Air?”

  “They won’t give us that information without a court order, and I can’t get one over the weekend.”

  “I’ll bet she’s still flying—how about the other carriers?”

  “They won’t tell him anything, either, but they’ll cooperate with you, you’re law enforcement. If you don’t locate her, nobody can.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Trying’s not good enough. My gut instinct tells me Kathryn’s case depends on what that stew has to say.”

  “I’ll find her.”

  “You’d better, because Kathryn’s case is headed down the toilet, and right now I can’t save her.”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  51

  GRANZ WAITED until the jurors had filed in and were settling into their chairs before he rushed into the courtroom, leaned over the railing between the spectators and the defense table, and kissed Kathryn.

  “You look pretty.”

  Kathryn was wearing a new light gray Gianni pants suit with a black silk blouse that Dave and Emma had bought for her at Macy’s, and shown her for approval Saturday at the jail. Her hair was brushed straight back, and her makeup was flawless.

  “Thanks.” She held his hand. “I felt so awful after Mary Elizabeth’s testimony last Friday, but seeing you and Em over the weekend helped a lot.”

  He patted her shoulder and slipped a paper to Roger Griffith.

  Griffith read it quickly. “You located the flight attendant?”

  “Yeah, she’s flying for Air Canada out of Vancouver, B.C. I’ll track her down once I’m through testifying.”

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  52

  “PLEASE STATE YOUR FULL NAME, and spell your last name for the court reporter,” McCaskill said.

  “David Granz, G-R-A-N-Z.”

  “What is your occupation?”

  “Santa Rita County Sheriff-Coroner.”