Hostile Witness (15 page)

I’d die if I couldn’t. . .

Josie sat up straighter and muttered:

“Hannah said she’d die if she couldn’t paint.”

“What?” Faye asked.

“Hannah said she’d die if she couldn’t paint.” The tips of Josie’s fingers lay lightly on Faye’s arm as if that would make her get it.  “Faye, look at these people. They’re like sheep. They go down the center aisle, to the side, down the steps to the crypt and back up.  They don’t touch anything.  They don’t even talk out loud.  They’re respectful.   No, it’s more than that. They would die before they did harm to this cathedral.”

“And your point is?”

“That’s exactly what Hannah does,” Josie whispered excitedly, finally facing Faye.  “She walks around her house on a specific course because that’s the only thing she has faith in, the only place she reveres.  Hannah said she checked on her paintings every night. She has shown me that route. The paintings are the last thing she checks. Why? Because the entire house is as precious to her as this church is to these people – her studio is the sacristy.”

I tried to save them. . .

“Faye, I thought it was a figure of speech when she said she tried to save them. You know, like people swearing they’ll die if they don’t get to the gym.”

“But Hannah really meant it, is that what you’re saying?”

“Exactly. She would have to feel almost spiritual about her paintings if she was willing to put her hand into a fire. And, if she feels that way, then I bet she couldn’t have set that fire because there’s a divine significance to the material. There is meaning attached to those paintings that is greater than the self.  That’s how Hannah felt about her studio and that is the way these people feel about the house of God.”

“That is nice, but what’s it suppose to mean to a jury?”

“If Hannah’s purpose in life was to paint, if the one place she felt safe and comfortable was her studio, then she couldn’t destroy the purpose or the place without destroying her own life.” Josie snapped her fingers. “I want Angie to get me as much information as she can on obsessive/compulsives: specifically the extremes of their behaviors regarding their environments. I want to know what kind of reaction they would have if that environment was disturbed, or destroyed.”

Faye shook her head. “Forget it. The paintings and studio are gone and Hannah’s still kicking. She didn’t die because those things were destroyed.”

“But,” Josie said pointedly, “she didn’t destroy them. They were destroyed. That’s a whole different thing. She tried to put that fire out because she couldn’t be responsible. It’s a mental thing, not a physical thing. We call the physical evidence into question – no problem – and with the next punch we establish that Hannah is incapable of destructive behavior regarding her environment.”

“That is a stretch, Josie.” Faye was guarded but Josie was energized.

“No, it isn’t. I can make that jury believe it and understand it. I’ve done it before. Say it with enough conviction, enough passion, get an expert to back you up, and it becomes real. I need to know how adaptable someone with Hannah’s condition really is. That’s the key to this whole thing.”

Josie checked her watch.

“I’ve got to run. It’s late. Have Angie start checking the literature and the experts the minute you get back. Rudy Klein may not have to prove Hannah had a motive for setting the fire, but I’m going to give them a hell of a reason why she never could have done it.”

Josie sidestepped across Faye and was headed out of the Cathedral when she remembered something important. Rushing back to Faye, she leaned down:

“Thank you for coming. You may make me a believer yet.”

Faye sat in silence looking at the curious, the sightseers, the true believers, and the bored school children as the sound of Josie’s footsteps faded away. It was late. Time to go if she didn’t want to hit traffic.  Before she did, though, Faye Baxter got on her knees once more. She crossed herself twice. Faye had a terrible, terrible feeling that things weren’t going to be as simple as Josie thought.

 
16

“I don’t know. I figure she did it but she’ll probably get off. I mean she’s rich, right? If you’re rich you get off in Los Angeles.” - Steven, 21, man on the street interview regarding Hannah Sheraton

In the four days that followed, the lab technician testified that the charred matches found in the debris of the Rayburn fire were damn near one of a kind or, at least, very unusual. Each matchstick was carved into a tiny octagon, the Chinese symbol for good luck was almost microscopically stamped on each shaft and the sulfur on the head was a neon rainbow of colors. The company that manufactured those matches was in Taiwan. They had a decent foothold on the East Coast but only a handful of customers on the west. The Coffee Haus in the Palisades Village was one of them. Hannah Sheraton was a regular at the Coffee Haus.

Josie asked the lab tech if the charred matches found on the first floor of the Rayburn house came from the box found in Hannah Sheraton’s room. He could only be certain that the matches at the scene were an exact match to those in the box found in Hannah’s room. Josie asked if anyone could be sure they came from a particular box.

No, probably not, but . . .

 Josie cut him off but a quick look at the jury told her she’d gained no ground. They liked the connections Rudy had already made with this witness. Rudy called the detective who searched the Rayburn home when it was determined it was a crime scene.

How many boxes of matches from the Coffee Haus had he found in the Rayburn home?

“Two,” said the witness. “The Coffee Haus matches logged with my mark and entered as exhibit eleven were found in a foyer table that was situated between the front door and Ms. Sheraton’s bedroom. The Coffee Haus matches logged with my mark and entered as exhibit twelve were found in Hannah Sheraton’s bedroom, hidden beneath her mattress along with marijuana and a small stash of pills. There were no other matches of that particular brand found in the rest of the house.”

“Did you conduct a thorough search of the Rayburn home including the wing that was damaged in the fire?”

“Yes, the house was thoroughly searched and no, I did not find a Coffee Haus box in the wing where the fire occurred.”

“So you only found two boxes of those particular matches. One in a hall table near the defendant’s room, the other hidden in Hannah Sheraton’s room,” Rudy asked.

“Yes,” came the answer.

Rudy wanted to know about the other things the detective found hidden in Hannah’s room.   Josie objected. The question was overly broad. Rudy got more specific.

“What kind of pills did you find hidden in the defendant’s room?”

“Vicodin. Prescription pain relievers.”

“Were the pills in a prescription bottle?”

“No,” came the detective’s reply

“Did you find a prescription for Vicodin in Hannah Sheraton’s name anywhere in the house?”

“No.”

“Did you determine what bottle the pills in Hannah Sheraton’s room came from?”

“Objection, Your Honor. Speculation. There is no way to know if those pills were taken from a specific bottle,” Josie insisted.

“Sustained.

“Didn’t you find a prescription bottle on the premises?” Rudy would connect the dots another way. “There was a bottle of the same medication in Justice Rayburn’s bathroom.”

“Was the bottle damaged?”

“The bottle was dirtied with soot and slightly melted, but the label was intact.”

“And what did you conclude?”

“I found that a prescription for Vicodin had been filled for Fritz Rayburn the day before the fire. There were seven pills missing from the Justice Rayburn’s bottle; six pills were found in Hannah Sheraton’s room. The autopsy showed that Justice Rayburn had ingested one pill approximately five hours before he died.”

“Did you find any fingerprints other than those of Justice Rayburn on the pill bottle?”

“We found a partial that matched Hannah Sheraton’s right thumb.”

“What did you conclude from this?” Rudy asked.

“That Ms. Sheraton had taken pills from that bottle sometime before the fire started.”

“Why are you sure she touched that bottle before the fire started?”

“The defendant’s right hand was burned in the fire. We could not get a clear thumb print during our booking procedure because of her burn but she had been fingerprinted after an arrest earlier this year.”

“I see.” Rudy nodded sagely. “It is sad when someone will go to such lengths for drugs.”

“Move to strike,” Josie called.

“So stricken. Watch it, Mr. Klein.”

Rudy barely acknowledged the judge as he went on.

“You also found marijuana cigarettes during your search.”

“I did. One was partially smoked.”

“Where did you find the marijuana, the Vicodin, and the matches?”

“I found all of these things in a small box. The partially smoked marijuana cigarette was in the matchbox. All these things were hidden in the defendant’s bedroom.”

“And did the matchbox carry any identification?”

“Yes, it came from the Coffee Haus in the Palisades village.”

“The same coffee shop that was referred to by the lab technician?”

“Yes.”

“Asked and answered,” Josie objected.

“Could you tell if a match from that box had been struck recently?” Rudy moved on.

“Yes. There were marks and sulfur residue on the scratch strip of the box.”

“Can you tell when the match or matches had been struck?” Rudy asked.

“Not precisely but the sulfur residue was fresh.”

“Was there sulfur residue on the second box?”

“No.”

“Were there fingerprints on the first match box found in Ms. Sheraton’s room?”

“Yes. They were Hannah Sheraton’s fingerprints.”

“And on the matchbox found in the hall?”

“There were partials we couldn’t match.”

Rudy turned to Josie.

“Your witness.”

17

“What pills?” -  Note from Josie to Hannah

“Fritz gave them to me. For when I hurt.” -  Note from Hannah to Josie

Josie took her place in front of the witness. Hannah’s explanation sucked so she would have to run around the ‘why’ of the pills.

“Detective, after you found the box of matches in Hannah Sheraton’s bedroom where did you put it?”

“I put the matches in my right pocket,” he answered, shifting in the chair. He was an old hand and he did that to be comfortable, not because he was concerned about Josie.

“You put them in your pocket after you tagged them, is that correct, sir?”

The detective blushed. He knew what was coming.

“No, I didn’t initially tag the matches.”

“Then what did you do with them?” Josie asked, her brow beetling with curiosity.

“I put the box from the bedroom in my right coat pocket. The box from the hall table I carried to the car where I tagged them both.”

“Have they changed police procedure, detective?” Josie asked.

“No, ma’am.”

“Then correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you supposed to tag and bag evidence where you find it to protect the integrity of evidence?”

“I ran out of evidence bags.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Josie said thoughtfully. “Instead of leaving the matches at the scene, going to your car to get the evidence bags and returning, you took this critical evidence with you?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you do that?” Josie asked.

“So that the chain of evidence wouldn’t be broken. I didn’t want anyone else picking up that evidence.”

“So you took a chance on contaminating the evidence rather than breaking the chain.” Josie nodded as if she understood completely. She asked, “When you reached your car did you immediately mark the box in your hand?”

The detective shook his head. He shifted back to the other side of the chair.

“Not exactly. I put the box from the defendant’s room in my right pocket while I unlocked the door to get more evidence bags.”

Josie held up two boxes of matches before putting one in each pocket of her jacket. She moved toward the jury, speaking casually as she went.

“Then we can be sure that the box of matches from Hannah Sheraton’s room came out of your pocket and was marked and set aside.”

“That is correct,” the detective replied.

“Just like that?” Josie held up a box of matches. “From your right pocket?”

“Yes,” the detective replied.

“Let the record show that the matches I showed the detective were taken out of my left pocket.” Josie faced the jury as she held up a small box of matches. “Perhaps the detective had the same problem with left and right on the day he collected and tagged these exhibits.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Rudy called, “this is not a made for television movie.”

“One more question,” Josie asked this as the judge overruled the prosecutor’s objection. “Detective, how do you account for the marijuana cigarette being inside the matchbox and hidden in Ms. Sheraton’s room?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, in your expert opinion, do you think it reasonable that this sixteen year old girl could set a deadly fire in two places, return to her room, have the presence of mind to put her half smoked joint in the same box of matches she used to commit arson and take the time to hide the whole thing neatly under her mattress before running back and sticking her hand in the fire? Do you really think Hannah Sheraton could, or would, do that?”

“Sure, why not?” The detective answered with a shrug.

“Do you know that it takes a minimum of six and a half minutes to run from her room, through the house and to the west wing of the house?”

“I haven’t timed it,” the detective answered.

“Did you know it took the fire department three and a half minutes to respond to the alarm?” Josie pointed out.

“I read that in their report.”

“And did you read that the fire was fully engaged when they arrived?”

“I did.”

“And you still believe it is possible that Hannah Sheraton burned her hand, returned to the house, hid the matches without anyone seeing her, and returned to the scene so she could sit behind a fountain and wait for the fire department?”

“Maybe she runs really fast.”

“Maybe you need to do the math,” Josie snapped.

“Objection.” This from Rudy.

“Withdrawn,” Josie said with obvious disgust.

Josie took her seat, satisfied she’d given the jury something to think about. She only hoped that Rudy didn’t point out there were at least three ways to get from Hannah’s room to the scene of the fire and two of them took slightly under three minutes at a full run. 

Rudy stood up and buttoned his coat.

“How many matches were there in the box found in Ms. Sheraton’s room?”

“Twenty.  The other box had twenty-five matches. The boxes are packed with twenty-five matches at the factory.  I contacted the manufacturer and confirmed this. I also made notations regarding the count before I left Ms. Sheraton’s room. Before I left the hall area I also made a notation of the number of matches in exhibit eleven.”

“And would you examine exhibit twelve please?”

Rudy handed the man a clear plastic bag which he opened. He took out the box and opened that, too.

“There are twenty matches plus a partially smoked marijuana cigarette,” the detective answered.

“Then I suppose it didn’t matter what pocket you put the two pieces of evidence in, did it, detective. It is not as if the content of these two boxes was identical.”

Rudy was done.

Josie made a note. She would collect as many Coffee Haus matchboxes as possible and count out every single one.  She wanted the detective’s history regarding evidence tampering and collection. She wanted it all before the defense had to present its case.

On the third day, court resumed at one thirty. Mr. Hilbrun, proprietor of the Coffee Haus, took the stand.  He was short, tanned, uncomfortable in his tie, and unhappy. The Coffee Haus didn’t run itself. He should be working.

Of course he knew Hannah Sheraton. She came to the Coffee Haus all the time. Sometimes she was alone; sometimes with a boy with crazy hair.  Sometimes she sat in a corner and drew pictures.  Mostly she just drank coffee by herself and looked out the window. She fiddled with things. Fiddled and fiddled. Drove him crazy.

Rudy asked. “Is there another reason Hannah Sheraton stuck out in your memory?”

“She ordered a small coffee and took stuff every time she came in.”

“What kind of things did she take?” Rudy asked.

“That girl took napkins and those little wooden stir things. She took sugar packets and made piles of them on her table.”  Mr. Hilburn’s face was flushing with the thrill of having a public forum to air his complaints about Hannah.

“What else did she take?” Rudy asked.

“She took matches all the time.” Mr. Hilbrun waved his hand and scrunched his nose in disgust at her habit.

“Why do you remember matches in particular?”

“She orders a coffee for a buck fifty and then takes twenty boxes of my matches. Even if I stand there and watch her, she counts out twenty and doesn’t get the hint.  Kids don’t know how much money it costs to run a business. Anyway, she doesn’t even smoke.”

Rudy crossed his arms.

“What did she do with all those matches?”

“Sometimes she lit them, blew them out, and left them on the table in rows. Like twenty little burned people,” He pulled his hands out in front of him like he was pulling taffy.

“Your Honor,” Josie groaned.

“Sir, if you would answer the questions simply.” Judge Norris waved them on.

“The detective just testified that he only found two boxes of your matches in the Sheraton House. If Ms. Sheraton took twenty each time she came in then why do you think he only found two boxes.”

“She didn’t take all of them home with her. Sometimes she left them outside. Stacked them up like a little kid.”

“Did she leave all of them?”

“Sometimes, and sometimes she took some with her. Kids, they don’t know that everything costs. Napkins, matchboxes, lids, toilet paper, wooden stirrers. . .” He ticked the items off his fingers.

“Thank you, Mr. Hilbrun,” Rudy interrupted but the witness wanted to say what he had to say.

“ . . . sugar packets, straws. . .” He shook his finger at Hannah. “If you take all of them, there’s nothing left for anyone else. I have a business to run. That’s not good. I told you.  You should listen, little girl. You should listen.”

Hannah stayed attentive to Mr. Hilbrun. She looked as close to beatific as Josie had seen anyone look, but under the table her hands were clasped together in a fist that gently touched the underside of the wood. It took Judge Norris three tries to get the witness quieted down. When he finally managed, Josie was given the nod. She stood up and cross-examined from behind her table.

“How many boxes of matches did people take from your shop last week, Mr. Hilburn?”

“I don’t know. Maybe fifty. Maybe a hundred.”

“So you had a hundred customers in your shop who smoked?”

“I don’t know if they smoked. I just see the matches are gone, so I put more in the basket.”

“So you couldn’t tell me how many you give out in month or a year?” Josie raised an eyebrow.

“Not this minute,” he sniped. “I probably would know if I looked it up and figured out when I order more.”

“But it’s a lot, isn’t it? You reorder quite often.”

“Yeah, a lot,” he grumbled.

“Do you remember everyone who comes into your coffee place, Mr. Hilbrun?”

“I remember her,” he said and pointed at Hannah.  He was working himself up again, his cheeks were scarlet and his eyes sparkled as he warmed to his subject. “I remember who comes and goes in my place and who doesn’t treat it right.”

“Do you know if this lady has come in for coffee?” Josie indicated Linda sitting front row center.  He shook his head.

“No, I don’t know her.” Mr. Hilbrun crossed his arms.

“How about the lady sitting next to her? Do you recognize that lady?”

“No, I don’t know her neither.”  He barely looked but that was okay with Josie. She addressed the court.

“The defense would like to identify Mrs. Peterson, the Rayburn’s housekeeper.” Josie walked close to Mr. Hilbrun. “Would it surprise you to know that Mrs. Peterson stops at the Coffee Haus at least three times a week?”

“That’s good,” the witness huffed.

Another giggle from the jury.  Josie smiled as if to say this all wasn’t so bad, just a misunderstanding. She took her hands out of her pockets and pointed to the housekeeper.