Final Exam: A Legal Thriller (41 page)

As another dreary Chicago winter gave way to a dreary Chicago spring which quickly transformed into an early Chicago summer shortly after Memorial Day, Ben and the rest of the defense team worked hard on the collection and analysis of the evidence needed to make their case.
 
Although the burden of proof beyond a reasonable doubt lay with the prosecution, the defense team realized that they nevertheless needed to propose an alternate theory of the evidence which would satisfy a jury and cause them to conclude that, at the very least, reasonable doubt existed.
 

Bridget Fahey didn’t go out of her way to comply with the disclosure of discovery required by the Illinois Code of Criminal Procedure.
 
Consequently, Ben used the media and his Court appearances before Judge Wilson to prod her into turning the evidence in her possession over in a more timely fashion.
 
Fortunately, much of the evidence against Megan was also subject to differing and in some cases innocent explanations.
 

For example, since Meg conceded to Ben that she had in fact been inside Greenfield’s office, something she had unfortunately denied in her interviews with the police, it came as no surprise that a blond hairs similar to her own could be found in the office.
 
She further acknowledged that she had picked up the Sammy Sosa autographed baseball bat and briefly admired it while Greenfield was on the telephone.
 
Thus, the presence of her fingerprints on the bat near the label would not be surprising.
 

It took
Meg
quite a while before she could explain how Greenfield’s blood came to be found on a wool scarf taken from the brownstone.
 
At first, Ben thought the blood on the scarf could have pointed to Joseph
Cavallaro
since Meg and her husband owned his and her scarves that were virtually identical.
 
Further testing on the scarf, however, established that the scarf stained with blood also contained trace amounts of
make up
and perfume, which appeared to rule out Joseph
Cavallaro
.
 
Then, one Monday evening in early May, during a telephone conversation with Meg, Ben told her about a rare nose bleed that he had suffered the previous weekend.

“That’s it,” Meg said excitedly.
 
“That’s it,” she repeated.
 

“What?”

“The nose bleed, that’s it.”

Ben was confused.
 
“I don’t get it.”

“That’s how the blood got on my scarf,” she said.
 
“I just remembered.
 
He had a nose bleed.
 
Not a real bad one, but I remember handing him the Kleenex.
 
I was standing by the desk when his nose started to bleed a little.
 
The Kleenex box was right there on the desk in front of me, so I handed him a couple.
 
It didn’t stop right away, so I handed him a couple more.
 
That must have been when the blood got on the scarf.
 
You see, I was wearing my coat the whole time and never took it off.
 
I’m sure I didn’t take my scarf off either.
 
He used to get nose bleeds all the time.
 
That’s probably why I didn’t think it was anything significant enough to remember.”

Ben thought this explanation seemed a little bit too convenient until he called down to Florida and Nora Scott confirmed the story.
 
“Oh yeah, he used to get a lot of them, especially in the winter,” Nora said.

“Did you ever suspect it had anything to do with drug use?” Ben asked.
 
“You know, damage due to cocaine use?”

“No,” she said.
 
“He didn’t have that many of them.
 
My husband gets nose bleeds in the winter too and I can tell you for sure that he doesn’t have a drug problem.”
 
Nora told Ben that she would be willing to testify about the nose bleeds at trial if he really needed her, although she strongly preferred to avoid getting involved at all.
 

Despite their best hopes, the files from the law school didn’t yield much useful information.
 
After extensive analysis, the grade reports only pointed to a handful of suspects, none of whom seemed to have any recent contact with Greenfield or any other connection that could be found linking them to the crime.
 
Initial review of the final exams for Greenfield’s last two classes brought similar results.
 
A few possibilities, but not much else.
 
The hot-tempered Jason Hahn hadn’t been completely ruled out, for he had no real alibi for much of December 28th, the likely date of the murder.
 

The telephone records also proved to be a disappointment.
 
They confirmed that several telephone calls had been placed from the law school to Megan’s house and her office at the Appellate Court, but none of the other telephone records proved particularly interesting.
 
They found a few telephone calls to several of the members of the Reunion Committee, but little else.
 

A review of the materials found in Greenfield’s apartment and office only caused them to conclude that the Professor hadn’t worked very hard.
 
Other than a few old calendars which no one could explain, the only items of significance found in Greenfield’s briefcase and office were some hand-written notes and a small amount of research, apparently for an article on the uses of DNA evidence in criminal prosecutions that
Dorlund
said Greenfield had been working on in the weeks prior to his death.
 
From what they could tell, Greenfield hadn’t begun writing the article since they could find no evidence in his office or on any of his computers that he had ever written a single word on the subject.
 
Ben wondered if some of the missing work product might have been taken by the killer, but couldn’t figure out why.
 

The only item of significance found among Greenfield’s papers was a piece of note paper torn from a memo pad which had Megan’s home and office phone numbers scrawled on it, apparently in Greenfield’s handwriting.
 
This only served to confirm that Greenfield was likely the person who made the telephone calls.
  
Ben pressed
Disko
and
Portalski
to keep looking, keep digging for something, anything that might suggest that someone else may have been involved in the crime.
   

As part of their effort to attack the evidence, Ben retained several expert witnesses to poke holes in the State’s case.
 
Although very costly, none of the work done to date by the blood, fingerprint, hair and fiber experts hired by the defense had borne much fruit.
 
Since much work remained to be done, Ben still held out hope that one or more of these experts could provide him with something he could use at trial.
 

Megan seemed to be handling the situation about as well as could be expected.
 
She had fallen into something of a routine, particularly with Anthony, such that the home confinement did not appear as onerous as everyone first feared.
 
Nevertheless, as summer and nicer weather approached, Ben could see that Meg’s inability to get outside and really enjoy the outdoors was beginning to weigh on her.
 
Other than that, Meg seemed outwardly confident that her innocence would be established and appeared pleased with the efforts that Ben and the rest of the team had taken in establishing her defense.

On a personal level, as the pressure surrounding Megan’s defense grew, so did Ben’s single mindedness of purpose.
 
He now appeared to be focusing on little else.
 
He came in early, stayed late and frequently missed meals.
 
The guys in the office found him much more short-tempered and less willing to engage in the typical office banter.
 
Even the staff, who had always found Ben to be fairly easy-going, now grumbled behind his back.
 
He also found himself bringing his problems home and was occasionally guilty of taking his pressures out on his family.
 
From time to time, he noticed that Libby and the kids were trying to avoid him after a particularly bad day.
 
He fought the old urges and made a conscious effort to stay away from “there”.
 
He didn’t always succeed.
 

One Friday in late June, Ben was still at the office at six when the phone rang.
 

“Enjoying the first day of summer?” Fran’s voice said on the other end of the line.
 

“No, not really.
  
I hadn’t even noticed, to tell you the truth.”

“I hope you remember that tomorrow is our ten-year reunion,” Fran said.

“Shit,” Ben said.
 
“I’d forgotten all about it.
 
Maybe I’ll blow it off.”

“No, don’t do that. You’ve got to go.
 
You’ve already paid for the tickets, if nothing else.
 
Besides, you’re now the most prominent lawyer in our graduating class.
 
I can’t wait to see the reaction.”

“You know how much I care about that?” Ben asked.
 

“I know, I know, but a lot of those people will be pea green with envy.
 
You’ve got to go.”

“I suppose.
 
I could use the night out, I guess.”

“Good, we’re getting there at seven.
 
Don’t be late.”

36

The Roadhouse Tap was a yuppie microbrewery hangout just west of Harry
Caray’s
restaurant on the near north side.
 
Ben parked the SUV in an open air lot a block or two away and he and Libby walked over under bright blue skies and brilliant early evening sunshine.
 
They walked inside and discovered a long line forming in front of the hostess.
 
This would be a busy Saturday night.
 
Their party was on the second floor and they were directed to a stairway around the corner next to a window displaying a series of gleaming silver vats, ostensibly used in the brewing of the establishment’s prize product.
 
Ben wondered as they passed the windows and headed upstairs whether the vats merely provided decoration and perceived authenticity or whether they had actually seen their share of hops or barley or whatever it was they used when making beer.
 

The upstairs party room was big and open, with a bar on one end and restrooms in the rear.
 
The room was just beginning to fill and Ben could see Fran and her husband sharing a beer with Sally
Brzycki
and a tall man whom Ben assumed to be Sally’s husband.
 
Bowden was emerging from the restrooms off to the right and saw them come in.
 
He walked up and gave Libby a hug saying, “Hey, you’re early.
 
We didn’t expect you for an hour or so.”

“Funny,” Ben said.
 

“It’s good to see you again,” Libby said.
 

Ben leaned in and murmured into Bowden’s ear.
 
“I see Fran over there with Sally
Brzycki
.
 
I hope we don’t have to spend the entire evening with her.”

Bowden laughed.
 
“I doubt it,” he said.
 
“You’ll probably be spending the entire evening fending off questions about Meg and her case.”

“True enough,” Ben said with a frown.
 
“In that case, I better get a beer.
 
Libby, you want one?”

“Sure, I guess I have to.
 
You’re pretty much obligated to have a beer here, I would think.
 
Get me something on the light side.”

“Sure,” Ben said.
 
“Bowden, you want anything?”
 

“I’ve already got one,” Bowden said.
 

Ben grabbed two Pilsners at the bar and caught up with Libby and Bowden over by Fran and the rest of the crew.
 
Sally
Brzycki’s
husband was a tall man, about six-feet-four, with curly sandy brown hair, thinning in the front and kept relatively short, with a matching goatee.
 
He wore a navy blue sport coat over a plaid shirt and dark brown pants.
 
Ben noticed an empty earring hole in his left earlobe.
 
He sort of reminded Ben of Art
Garfunkle
.
 
He eyed Ben as he approached and both men appeared to look for a lull in the conversation to make their formal introductions.
 

Finally, the taller man stuck out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m Peter
Renfroe
, Sally’s husband.
 
You must be Benjamin
Lohmeier
.
 
I’ve seen you on the television.
 
Very impressive.”

“Thanks.
 
Nice to meet you,” Ben said.
 
“This is my wife, Libby.”

“We’ve just met,”
Renfroe
said.
 
“Sally and I have been following Megan’s case very closely.
 
Of course, Sally has quite an interest in the result given her close friendship with Megan.”