Hardy 11 - Suspect, The (35 page)

And Gina thought she knew why. This wasn't going to be a typical hearsay prelim with police officers reading the statements of witnesses into the record. True to his word, Jackman was giving her a real shot, a real look at the evidence in the case. The prosecution was going to call the actual witnesses to these events, and even more extraordinarily, Abrams had told her that she could call any defense witness that she wanted. This was going to be the real deal, and Toynbee wanted to watch it come down.

Now Gina, sitting down at the judge’s cue, put a hand on Stuart’s arm and gave it a little squeeze, trying to impart to him a confidence she didn't quite feel.

A preliminary hearing was different from a trial in many ways, not simply because of the standard of proof required. From a strategic standpoint, neither side gave an opening statement. The prosecution would simply begin by calling witnesses, whom the defense could cross-examine. Motions were rarely filed in advance. Judges would rule on the fly. Gina had no fewer than half a dozen objections to what she expected the prosecution to present, and a good ruling on any of them could help out considerably, even if it would not likely affect the outcome.

The judge, comfortably seated now, looked again with satisfaction at the gallery for a moment. Casting his eyes down in front of him, he appeared to be scanning over some pages. The hum in the gallery picked up for a minute and then gradually subsided on its own. When it was perfectly quiet, Toynbee raised his eyes and nodded to Ms. Crohn. "Let's call the case, Pat," he said with great amiability.

Amiable or not, though, Toynbee wasn't proving to be much of a friend to Gina and Stuart. In the next ten minutes, she asked formally to allow her client to dress out, at least from now on. She asked to have him unshackled. If he couldn't be unshackled, she asked at least that he shouldn't be chained to his chair. She asked that photographers, and particularly TV cameras, be barred from the courtroom. Since witnesses were not allowed in court except while testifying, but Juhle, as the investigating officer, would be permitted to remain throughout the prelim, she asked that he be required to testify first.

And so it went: "Denied."

"Denied."

"Denied."

By the fourth or fifth denial, Toynbee actually seemed to be straining to put a more-or-less friendly spin on the things: "I'm afraid that's another denial, Ms. Roake. Sorry."

The gallery behind her tittered with either sympathy or humor, or both. Gina leaned over and whispered to Stuart, "For the record, I didn't think we were going to get many of these, but I had to try." Stuart's response, as he stared straight ahead with his hands folded in front of him on the defense table, was a continual, tiny nod, as though he were humming a tune in his head.

At last that part of it was over. Gina closed her eyes and released a silent sigh of relief, trying to remind herself that she really hadn't expected any different result, although she'd harbored small hopes on a couple of the motions. But she consoled herself with the fact that at least Abrams hadn't simply brought his case before the grand jury, when no defense attorneys, and no judges even, were allowed to be present. It was a truism that by using the grand jury, a district attorney could "indict a ham sandwich."

Nor had Abrams simply called Juhle to recite the statements of the witnesses. At least at this preliminary hearing, Stuart wasn't automatically going to a murder trial. Gina would have a chance to cross-examine the prosecution's witnesses, raise doubt, even call witnesses of her own. Beyond that, she'd get a chance to see the kind of case that Abrams was going to present, as well as a preview of the witnesses and evidence he would use at trial, if it came to that.

Not that she had much doubt of the eventual result—given the probable-cause standard, a trial was virtually inevitable. But that was, as David Freeman used to say, one of the many beautiful things about the law: You just never knew exactly what was going to happen. You kept firing your best guns and—who knew?—you might hit something and do some real damage.

But now Gerry Abrams was on his feet, rearranging yet another folder, calling his first witness, Dr. John Strout. As her partner Dismas Hardy had reminded her just the night before, the prosecution only had to prove two things to succeed at this hearing: that a murder had been committed, and that the probable person who had committed that murder, at least enough to bring a "strong suspicion to a reasonable mind," was the accused. So Abrams' decision to call Strout was both expected and expedient. With one witness, the prosecution would get half of its job done—prove that there had been a murder. Except this case wasn't so cut and dried.

The cause of death had always been drowning, and the DA only could get to murder by comparing the wine bottle they'd taken from the garbage can in Stuart's kitchen to the fracture in Caryn's skull. She thought calling Strout was going to give her an early opening.

She came forward in her seat, her nerves and the failure of her motions forgotten.

Strout had been the medical examiner in San Francisco for so long that his very presence on the witness stand—especially for the professionals in the courtroom, the lawyers and the judge—met the gold standard of instant credibility. Tall, ascetic-looking, his white hair thinning but still slightly longer than conventional, Strout was every inch the picture of the country doctor in whom families would unhesitatingly place their trust. (In reality, of course, he was an urbane forensics wizard whose collection of torture instruments argued for a less benign characterization.) Over the course of his forty-year career he'd probably spent a total of a full year actually testifying while sitting on the hard wooden chair in the witness box.

The inherent drama of the situation—pronouncing upon the exact cause of a violent death—had long since clearly lost its power over him to enthrall. Looking at him now as he took the oath, Gina thought that if he were any more relaxed, they'd have to wake him up.

Gerry Abrams wore a pale green suit, yellow shirt, brown tie, dumb clothes if there'd been a jury, Gina knew—way too flamboyant—but probably not an issue here. He came a few steps out in front of his desk to her left, greeted the good doctor, and started right in.

"Doctor Strout, could you please give your name and occupation for the record?"

They were under way.

"John Strout. Chief Medical Examiner for the City and County of San Francisco."

"And how long have you held that position?"

Normally, without great cause Gina would not intrude early and out of turn in any proceeding; it tended to annoy judges. But this time, she felt she could start making some friends in the courtroom. "Your Honor," she said, "defense will stipulate as to Doctor Strout's qualifications."

"Thank you, Ms. Roake. Mr. Abrams?"

Abrams turned to her and nodded his thanks. "Doctor Strout," he said. "You did the autopsy on Caryn Dryden, the victim in this case, did you not?"

"I did." With his accent, the phrase came out, "Ah dee-id."

"Would you please tell us your findings and the clinical observations that support them?"

Among his other attributes, Strout was thorough. He began with the delivery of the body to the morgue, still in the final stages of rigor, still warm due to its immersion in the hot tub. At Abrams' prompting, he talked about the blood tests he ran that indicated a blood alcohol level of point one one and also the presence of the narcotic pain reliever Vicodin. He described the depressed fracture behind Caryn's ear, to which Abrams said they'd return in a minute. Finally, Strout's unequivocal finding was that the cause of death was drowning.

"Now, Doctor," Abrams said, "could you talk for a minute about the time that death occurred?"

"I could," Strout replied, "but I'm not sure I could get it all done in a minute."

Strout was enjoying himself as best he could. Time on the witness stand could get stultifying if you didn't break it up. The gallery behind Gina showed its appreciation with this tiny joke. Toynbee smiled too, still obviously delighted to be where he found himself. Then, back to business, Strout ran down the various permutations surrounding death in a one-hundred-and-five-degree bath, its effect on both the onset and relaxation of rigor mortis, core body temperature, and how these issues affected the calculation of time elapsed since death.

"But you were, in fact, able to calculate the time of death, were you not?"

"Fairly precisely, I would say."

"More precisely than if she hadn't been immersed in hot water?" Clearly, Abrams and Strout had rehearsed this moment.

"Yes, sir. Slightly more so. She died between about eleven forty-five and twelve forty-five the night before."

"Thank you, Doctor." Abrams then went over to what was usually the evidence table in the center of the courtroom, although today there was very little on it. He picked up the wine bottle that Strout had referred to earlier. It was distinctive enough to be recognizable: The label said it had held Edna Valley Chardonnay. Abrams had it entered as People's One, then handed it to Strout on the stand. "Do you recognize this bottle, People's One, Doctor?"

"I do."

"When did you first see it?"

"Inspector Juhle brought it to the morgue."

"At his request, did you compare it to the injury on the victim to determine if it could have caused that injury?" In this most clinical of settings, Caryn was "the victim," and would be until the prosecutor used her name in front of a jury to humanize her at trial.

"I did."

"What did you find?"

"It was a perfect fit."

"Could you explain that further?"

"Sure. Earlier, I had shaved the hair from the scalp to expose the fracture, which was pronounced and clearly defined. I compared it to the shape of the bottle and concluded that the bottle could definitely have caused the fracture."

"But Doctor, couldn't any bottle of this size and shape have caused an identical injury?"

"Of course. Any object could have caused the injury. But it would have had to have been the size and shape of this bottle."

"Doctor, was the blow to the victim's head enough to render her unconscious?"

"Yes. Certainly enough to stun her for some period of time, perhaps enough to knock her out."

"So the blow itself didn't kill her?"

"No. As I said, the cause of death was drowning. There was water in her lungs. She was definitely breathing when she went underwater."

"Thank you." Abrams turned to Gina. "Your witness," he said.

28

Gina took what she hoped was
an invisible deep breath, pushed her chair back, and got to her feet. Her legs, much to her relief, felt strong. (Dismas Hardy had cautioned her to watch out about standing up too fast or moving too far away from her table before she felt her sea legs come in under her.) Wasting no time, she walked to the center of the courtroom. "Good morning, Doctor. Did you say that the blow from the bottle to the victim's head rendered her unconscious?"

"No. Not exactly. I said it could have."

"It could have. But not necessarily did?"

"No, not necessarily."

"Was the blow hard enough to fracture the skull, Doctor?" Yes.

"Doctor, how long before being submerged in the water did Ms. Dryden sustain this injury?"

"I don't know."

"Well, wasn't that fracture associated with the bloody wound on the scalp?"

"Yes, it was."

"And would that injury have bled after she sustained it?" Yes.

"Now, typically, when you have a bloody injury, you can see by the clotting and scabbing how long the victim survived after the injury, isn't that true?"

Strout threw a glance over to Abrams. Neither of them was smiling now. "In some instances."

"Well, what you mean, Doctor, by 'some instances,' is that if there had been significant scabbing, an injury like this could have been sustained hours, or even days, before the drowning, isn't that so?"

"No. I don't think days. If able to do so, the victim would have sought medical attention after receiving this injury."

"But certainly hours? Correct? Because this body was submerged in water, any evidence of clotting or scabbing would have washed away, right?"

"Correct."

"So for all you know, Caryn Dryden could have sustained this injury hours before she was submerged in water. Isn't that the truth?"

"That would be accurate."

"Now also, Doctor, you can't say that she was struck with the bottle, as opposed to striking the bottle with her head. Correct? Let me be clear. You don't know if someone hit her with the bottle or if she stumbled and fell and hit her head on the bottle."

"I'm not sure that's a likely scenario. We're talking about an awful lot of force here."

"Are we, Doctor? This injury was in front of her ear, was it not? Right at one of the thinner parts of the skull?"

"Yes."

"So, Doctor, it is true, is it not, that you cannot rule out the possibility that Ms. Dryden, for example walking on a slippery floor, full of alcohol and Vicodin, stumbled and hit her head on a bottle of wine that she was carrying?"