Eddie Flynn 02-The Plea

by Steve Cavanagh

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘Mr Woodrow is not here to testify as to what he saw. There’s just you. And when you bent down to look into the passenger footwell of David’s car, you retrieved the murder weapon from your ankle holster and held it in the air for the traffic camera?’

  ‘No way.’

  ‘There’s only a couple of blocks between Sixty-Third Street and Central Park Eleven. You never expected the dispatcher to notice it, and no one had any reason to doubt your location, or so you thought. You lied about your location because you didn’t want to be connected to the murder scene, so no one would piece it together. Right?’

  ‘So I lied to the dispatcher about where I was. I was taking a break. I had nothing to do with that gun until I took it out of your client’s car. I’m telling the truth.’

  ‘So you just lied under oath a moment ago, perjuring yourself. But now you’re telling the truth, is that it?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So you’re an honest liar?’

  Standing now, he pointed at me and bellowed, ‘You’re full of shit.’

  The judge didn’t admonish, him – he’d heard enough.

  ‘Just one last question,’ I said. ‘Is two hundred grand the going rate for planting a gun?’

  Jones wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He wanted to say more, much more. He was all riled up, but he seemed to be trying to put the brakes on, to stop himself from doing any more damage. All eyes were upon him. He leaned back in his chair, looked at the judge, and said, ‘I refuse to answer on the grounds that I may incriminate myself.’

  I sat down. Without looking at Jones, Zader pointed toward the door. He wanted Jones out of there, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR

  2 hours until the shot

  ‘Eddie, I think the judge is starting to think about this case,’ said David.

  ‘Thinking about it isn’t enough. He has to believe it.’

  ‘The people call Detective Andy Morgan.’

  A blond cop, in a washed-out brown suit, spat his chewing gum into his hand, hung up his cell phone, and put the gum and the phone in the same pocket. Whatever was going on in that phone call caused him some concern. From his flushed aspect, I guessed he was worried about what I was going to ask him. He’d watched two cops get nailed, and now he was next. He took the oath, ran his fingers through his hair, which I noticed had faded to white in a patch at the front, almost as much as his suit had paled. I felt the vibration from my cell, checked the messages; one new message from the Lizard.

  Feds just showed up. You want me to make a play?

  Under the table, I tapped out a reply.

  No. They’re gonna take Christine out of there. Watch. Tell me when she’s clear.

  The DA took Morgan through the story of his involvement: the relay from dispatch that had confirmed that uniformed patrol identified the body in David’s apartment as a probable homicide, his arrival at the building and search of Childs’s apartment, taking notes of the fatal injuries, calling CSI, everything up until the search for evidence from the security camera footage.

  ‘I then visited the building’s security office and spoke to Mr Medrano, their chief of security. He was able to locate the relevant CCTV footage, and I obtained a copy.’

  ‘Is this the disk you’re referring to? Exhibit TM2?’ said Zader.

  ‘Correct,’ said Morgan.

  ‘If it pleases the court, now would be an appropriate time to view the footage.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Rollins.

  Handing the disk to Morgan, he got up and inserted it into the DVD player that sat below a seventy-inch TV screen to the left of the judge.

  Morgan handed the remote control to the DA and resumed his seat.

  Start and stop with the footage, while Zader asked Morgan to identify David and Clara. We played through to them entering the room together, then, some seventeen minutes later, David leaving on his own. Four minutes later the security team, led by Forest, is at Gershbaum’s door.

  ‘What conclusions can be drawn from this footage?’ said Zader.

  ‘There appears to be incontrovertible evidence that the defendant and the deceased entered the apartment together. Only one of them leaves alive. When the apartment is searched, no one else is present. Those are the facts. The defendant is the only person who could’ve shot and killed the victim.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Zader.

  I saw from the digital indicator that popped up on the bottom of the screen that the footage on this DVD, from the hallway camera outside David’s apartment, ran on for another eight hours. Medrano probably just copied the entire twenty-four-hour feed onto a disk. I could use Zader’s own exhibit against him.

  ‘Any cross-examination?’ said Judge Rollins.

  I stood and began a series of banal questions, designed to get Morgan talking, to open him up and ease him in. In preliminary hearings, cops are used to being cross-examined at length without it really going anywhere. Just a fishing exercise.

  I threw out my line.

  ‘Detective, what time did you get the call from dispatch about a possible homicide at Central Park Eleven?’

  He referred to his notes, with permission, before answering. ‘I noted twenty twenty-seven.’

  ‘And what time did you arrive at the crime scene?’

  ‘Twenty thirty-eight,’ he said with a sigh, wondering how long he’d be in the chair, answering inane questions.

  ‘When you arrived at the scene, what was your first action?’

  ‘I secured the scene. Made sure all personnel had vacated the apartment and opened the homicide log.’

  ‘The what?’ asked the judge.

  ‘The log, Your Honor. We log personnel in and out of the scene, significant developments, schedule interviews, record decision making. It’s the backbone of our homicide procedure; it’s the bible that records our investigation, and it’s the starting point for the evidence chain.’

  Rollins made a note.

  I took the TV remote from Zader, forwarded the footage to Morgan’s arrival.

  ‘So at twenty fifty-one, going by the time on the security camera, you and your partner, Detective Algin, were the only personnel in the apartment?’

  He checked the log, looked at the camera still.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘After you entered the apartment, what did you do?’

  ‘I took a look around the apartment, made sure it was clear. After that I examined the body. At first I looked at the wounds, established that there were multiple gunshots to the back of the victim’s head and two shots to the lumbar area.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘I observed a slight bulge in the victim’s hip pocket. Thought it could be a purse or a wallet, so I removed it from the victim’s person and examined it.’

  ‘And what was it?’

  ‘A pink leather wallet. It contained a library card, a driver’s license, an ATM card for a checking account, and around eighty-five dollars in cash.’

  ‘The name on the cards?’

  ‘Clara Reece.’

  ‘What was the date the victim’s driver’s license was issued by the DMV?’

  His head rocked back on his shoulders and his eyes flared open in surprise at the inanity of the question.

  ‘I’ve got the license here, Your Honor. May I refer to it?’

  Zader held his hands out to the judge, pleading, ‘Your Honor, this is now a total fishing exercise. This should be stopped right now.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with the district attorney, Mr Flynn. I’ve given you some latitude, but I fail to see the relevance here,’ said Rollins.

  ‘This is highly relevant, and I only need three questions to establish that relevance. If you don’t see the relevance after three questions, I’ll move on.’

  He considered this, sighed. Letting his hands fall and slap his thighs, Zader did his best to look pissed off.

  ‘
Very well. Three strikes and you’re out, Mr Flynn,’ said Judge Rollins.

  I waited while Morgan fetched the exhibits from another officer and produced the license, sealed in a clear evidence bag. Turning the license around and still keeping it in the bag, he squinted as he examined the plastic.

  ‘Date of issue, is August thirtieth last year.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, catching Rollins make a strike against his page. He was counting down my questions – I had two left.

  ‘What is the date the victim’s checking account was opened?’

  From a bag beside him, he flicked open a notebook and turned through the pages, licking his thumb before flipping each page, killing time, stretching out my cross-examination. After maybe half a minute, he found the page in his notebook.

  ‘August thirtieth?’ he said. This time he wasn’t declaring a date. He was questioning the note.

  ‘And the date the library card was issued?’

  Again, he had to search for the library card and found it in an evidence bag. He read the date, looked at me.

  His eyebrows crunched in the middle of his forehead as he said, ‘August thirtieth, last year.’

  ‘Your Honor, I’d like a little more time,’ I said.

  Judge Rollins was intrigued.

  ‘A little leeway, Mr Flynn, not much,’ he said.

  ‘Detective Morgan, this is not a case of the victim having lost her wallet – or something similar?’

  ‘I can’t say that for certain,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Her bank account, her driver’s license, her library card were all created on the same day last year. It’s not as if these accounts or licenses already existed and these were simply replacement cards, is it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Clara Reece’s ID’s were all created eight months ago, just a few weeks before she met David Child, correct?’

  ‘I believe so,’ he said.

  ‘So, from this evidence, you were able to identify the victim?’

  ‘Not only that. After the ME had examined the victim, she was turned over, and I found a cell phone on her person. The phone had a social media app for Twitter and Reeler, and each was logged on to an account for Clara Reece. Subsequently we found a digital picture on the phone, which had been posted to the accounts. The image was of Clara Reece sporting a new tattoo of a purple daisy on her right wrist. The body found at the scene also bore a fresh tattoo in an identical spot. From this we were pretty solid on her ID, and combined with the driver’s license and ATM card, we had ID’d our victim. Also from the surveillance footage of her entering the building, the security guard identified Clara Reece.’

  He cleared his throat, sat up. He was going on the attack.

  ‘We couldn’t have a formal identification of the body because, thanks to your client, Clara Reece didn’t have a face anymore.’

  I heard a sharp intake of breath from Zader. He’d shrouded his eyes and blown a large ‘O’ through his lips – as if he’d just watched Sugar Ray Leonard sucker-punch a ballet dancer into the hospital.

  Rollins seemed to wince, but at least had the knowledge to say, ‘Detective Morgan, I can see that you are clearly a passionate and dedicated police officer, but kindly leave matters of guilt to one side. You’re a factual witness. You’re not here to make arguments.’

  ‘My apologies, Your Honor.’

  I moved on, let Zader think I’d taken a hit. For the next ten minutes I took Morgan through the arrival of the ME, Noble and his three CSIs, the two paramedics who’d taken the body to the morgue. At the arrival of each person, I had him check the homicide log, to check the times of arrival for each person as we rolled through the camera footage.

  ‘And you completed the log at the scene?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘I believe I stood in the lounge area and completed the log.’

  ‘And according to the homicide log, when did Officer Noble and his team leave the scene?’

  ‘Um, eleven fifteen.’

  I found the relevant footage and played the video of Officer Noble and three other individuals in white coveralls, leaving the apartment, only the footage had it timed at eleven sixteen. However, the time difference between the log and the camera wasn’t the interesting part.

  ‘And the paramedics?’

  He flicked over a page of the log and said, ‘Eleven oh nine.’

  We watched the paramedics leaving with the body, zipped into a black bag and placed on a stretcher at around the same time on the hall camera.

  ‘And the medical examiner?’

  ‘Ten forty-five.’

  Again, I played the footage of the tall ME leaving.

  ‘Apart from you and your partner, were Officer Noble and his team the last to leave at eleven fifteen?’

  He took his time, checking the notes.

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘And what time did you and your partner leave?’

  ‘We left together at eleven twenty-seven. Before we left, I spoke to the building’s chief of security, making sure that he understood the apartment was sealed.’

  We watched Morgan, and his smaller, younger partner in conversation with Medrano. Blue crime scene tape was spread across the door. The camera logged them leaving at eleven twenty-eight.

  ‘So, by eleven thirty, every member of your personnel has left and the apartment is empty?’

  ‘That’s correct,’ said Morgan, stifling a yawn.

  I fast-forwarded to eleven fifty-one. The view from the camera outside the apartment.

  ‘In that case, do you mind telling me who this is exiting the apartment at eleven fifty-one.’

  It was somebody slim, wearing a white hazmat suit and carrying a bag. They exited the apartment, ducking under the crime scene tape. They closed the door behind them and made for the stairs.

  He checked the log.

  ‘I’m not sure. I’d closed the scene for the night. It may be one of the CSIs,’ he said, still disinterested, believing I was going nowhere.

  ‘But we just watched Officer Noble arrive with three other CSIs, and we watched them leave before you and your partner closed the scene. You logged their exit time yourself.’

  He shook his head, stared at the screen.

  ‘Let’s put this another way. When you left the scene at eleven twenty-seven, had you logged everyone else out?’

  Flicking through his notes, he said, ‘I believe I had.’

  ‘Looks like you did log everyone out, from footage we’ve just seen.’

  He nodded.

  ‘Is that a “yes?”’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘None of the CSIs we saw enter the apartment are as short or as slim as the person who leaves in the hazmat suit. Wouldn’t you say?’

  Morgan checked his log, looked back at the screen again, where I’d frozen the image.

  ‘I’m not sure I can identify that officer.’

  ‘You agree we don’t appear to see this officer enter the apartment after the murder?’

  A marble of sweat trickled down Morgan’s cheek.

  ‘They may have been missed in the crowd,’ he said.

  ‘We don’t see this person enter the apartment in the footage we just played, do we?’

  ‘No.’

  Judge Rollins threw down his pen.

  ‘Is this leading anywhere, Mr Flynn? Are you alleging there is some breach of your client’s constitutional rights by this officer not being logged?’

  ‘No, Your Honor.’

  ‘Then what is the point of highlighting this officer’s movements?’

  David sat very still, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes on me, and Cooch gave him a whisper of encouragement.

  ‘Your Honor, the person you can see on the surveillance footage is not a real police officer. They are not a paramedic. They are not a crime scene tech. They are not with the medical examiner’s office. They are not on the CCTV footage entering the apartment after the murd
er.’

  ‘So who is it?’ said Rollins.

  I planted my feet before I spoke, straightened my back, and let the words float softly and confidently up to the judge.

  ‘Your Honor, the defense believes that this person is the real killer. This person murdered Clara Reece.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  I took another DVD from my bag and placed it into the player. I explained that the defense had obtained footage from Central Park Eleven and that, if need be, Chief of Security Medrano would testify as to its authenticity. I forwarded the footage to just after two o’clock on the day before the murder. A shot of the elevator. It was full of people. Clara Reece among them, perfectly calm and definitely not exhibiting any signs of claustrophobia.

  I couldn’t help glancing at David. He saw Clara, calm and collected in the busy elevator. He knew she’d lied to him about being claustrophobic. I watched Clara exit the elevator with her box of possessions, and another female, same hair color, same style and length of hair as Clara, same body type, same skin color, helped her carry a box into David’s apartment.

  ‘This is Clara Reece moving into the defendant’s apartment. Another female is helping her.’

  I paused as the other woman entered the apartment with the last of the boxes. I skipped forward twenty minutes to see only Clara Reece leaving the apartment.

  ‘The other female is still in the apartment?’

  ‘Yes, from this footage, that’s correct,’ said Morgan.

  ‘Have you seen this footage?’

  ‘Not as far back as this, no. We understood that the apartment was empty prior to the defendant and the victim arriving that evening. The building’s security team searched the apartment. NYPD uniformed officers searched the apartment. I searched the apartment myself. It was empty apart from the victim’s body. We didn’t need to look at footage that far back. Minutes before the murder, the victim and the defendant enter the apartment together. The defendant leaves. He was the last person to see her alive. He left her body in his empty apartment – there was no one else there, so we didn’t need to go looking at footage from the previous day.’