Judgment Calls (21 page)

I looked up from the paper. “Tommy Z’s? Did that come up in the investigation?”

Chuck nodded. “Truck stop slash biker bar in southeast Portland. It was reported during the trial, though, so anyone could know about it. Margaret Landry said Taylor picked up Jamie there. We found witnesses who placed Taylor at the bar around the time Jamie disappeared, and Jamie was known to hang out there sometimes.”

I went back to the article. The author claimed that Jamie danced for a couple of songs and then walked over to him and said she noticed him because he looked dangerous. After some token small talk, he drove her back to his apartment. In the privacy of the apartment, the dance she began at

Tommy Z’s evolved into a strip tease and a lap dance. After the two began to engage in what the article paraphrased as “consensual intercourse,” what might have been merely a desperate exchange of bodily fluids between two pathetic lives took a violent turn. According to the author, a drunk Jamie started laughing during the act itself, mocking her anonymous lover about the size of his manhood. The man hit her repeatedly, telling her to shut up. The author wrote that he initially wrapped his hands around Jamie Zimmerman’s throat to silence her taunts. But when her eyes started to bulge and she began tensing her entire body in an effort to free her throat from his grasp, he realized he wouldn’t stop; that he had never felt such power and gratification as through her suffering.

When I’d finished reading, I looked up at Chuck. He read my thoughts. “You’re going to tell me it could be worse, right?”

I nodded.

“I know this kind of stuff happens in death cases and it’s something I’ve got to deal with, but I’m telling you, Sam, I just don’t have it in me. At Landry’s trial, the entire defense was based on an attack against me as a cop and a person. That guilty verdict, and the verdict against Taylor: I saw those as vindication. I haven’t even been able to deal with my feelings about Taylor’s execution, because I can’t separate my feelings about the execution itself from the stress I was feeling about the publicity that would go along with it. I knew that somehow this would come back around to me.”

I stood up and took him in my arms. He held me tightly, and I could feel his body begin to shake. “Dammit, Sam, I didn’t do anything wrong.” I stroked his hair and ran my hand along his back, whispering shushing sounds in his ear.

Then I led him back to bed to comfort him the only way I could think to.

Chuck was scheduled to testify at the trial that morning, but we went to the courthouse separately to make sure we weren’t seen arriving together. I hoped that concentrating on his testimony would take his mind off the letter.

Chuck was a great witness. The description of the search of the car could have been one of the moments when I lost the jurors, but Chuck’s personable style helped keep their attention. He explained that he had not located any blood or other physical evidence of an assault in the car, but that the car looked like it had new paint, carpet, and upholstery. Transitioning into the work order from the auto detail shop, I asked, “Were you able to determine, Detective Forbes, whether your initial impression was correct?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And how were able to verify that, Detective?” It felt good when we made eye contact, but I looked away so as not to get distracted.

“During the search of the car, I located an invoice from the Collision Clinic, an automobile detailing shop at Southeast Eighty-second and Division.”

I showed him the invoice and he verified that it was the paper he had found during the search. I said to Judge Lesh, “Your honor, the parties have stipulated that the contents of the invoice are in fact accurate.”

Judge Lesh turned to the jury and delivered the standard instruction for stipulations like these. “Members of the jury, the parties have agreed that it’s unnecessary to call someone with firsthand knowledge about the contents of this exhibit to testify. Essentially, they have agreed that the document is exactly what it appears to be and that what’s written on it is true.”

When the judge was finished, I turned back to Chuck. “What does the invoice indicate?”

“It shows that Frank Derringer paid eight hundred dollars for new paint, upholstery, and carpet for the vehicle.”

“And does it indicate when the work was completed?”

“Yes, it does. The work was done the day after Kendra Martin was abducted.”

I paused to make sure that the jury understood the implication. Then, for the truly dense, I followed up. “So, one day after the assault on Kendra Martin, and before you were able to search it, Frank Derringer paid someone to replace the carpet and upholstery on the interior of his car?” Chuck agreed. “And one day after the assault on Kendra Martin, Frank Derringer paid someone to change the appearance of his vehicle by painting its exterior?” Yes, again. “And he paid eight hundred dollars for this work?” Yes.

“Detective, are you familiar with the Blue Book for automobile prices?” Yes. I pulled out the photocopy of the relevant page from the Blue Book and asked Chuck to refer to it. “Based on that, Detective, what is your estimate of the maximum fair market value of Frank Derringer’s vehicle, prior to the work he had completed at the Collision Clinic?”

“Twelve hundred dollars.”

“And what is your estimate of the fair market value after he paid eight hundred dollars for the work at the Collision Clinic?”

“Fourteen hundred dollars.”

Lisa was predictably gentle on cross. Yes, Chuck admitted, some people spend money to improve houses and cars, even if they might not get the money returned. And, yes, he conceded, it may have been worth eight hundred dollars to Mr. Derringer to have a new feel to his car. When Lisa finished her questioning, reserving the right to recall the witness later, I didn’t see any need to redirect. Instead, I caught Chuck’s eye as he left the witness stand. I was right. Testifying in a solid case with an easy cross had taken his mind off the Zimmerman debacle.

The trial was trucking along smoothly. I began to suspect that my paranoia about Lisa’s strategy was exactly that paranoia. Perhaps she had simply concluded there was no reason to knock herself out trying to save Derringer. She didn’t even try to attack the accuracy of the fingerprint evidence when the criminologist, Heidi Chung, called a match based only on six points. Her only questions concerned the timing of the latent print found on Kendra’s purse. Chung conceded the point that must always be given up on fingerprint evidence: Although she could state with confidence that the defendant had left his fingerprint on the victim’s purse, there was no way to determine when the print had been left behind.

On redirect, Chung explained to the jury that it was never possible to determine from physical evidence alone when a fingerprint was left behind. All the physical evidence could do was confirm that the suspect had touched that item at some point prior to the print’s discovery.

Through the end of my case-in-chief, the only witness Lisa cross-examined in any detail was Dave Renshaw, Derringer’s probation officer. She didn’t get far.

The sole purpose of Renshaw’s testimony was to show that when Renshaw saw Derringer’s private parts a few weeks before Kendra was assaulted, they were still covered with hair like most other people’s privates. Lisa tried to rattle Renshaw’s testimony by pointing out that he didn’t actually examine Derringer physically and was not looking specifically at that physical feature. In the end, though, there was no way to get around the obvious: A shorn scrotum stands out.

The only other line of questioning she had for Renshaw concerned Derringer’s probation record. Renshaw admitted on cross that Derringer had kept all their appointments, stayed in regular contact with him, and maintained regular employment. Lopez even went through a list of the various temp jobs Derringer had worked since he got parole: day labor, grill cooking, stockrooms, inventories.

I could’ve objected on the basis that Lisa’s questions called for inadmissible character evidence. She was, after all, trying to establish that Derringer had been keeping his nose clean, which had nothing to do with the issues in the trial. But any objection would invite a bullshit attempt to justify the evidence in front of the jury. Lisa would probably argue something to the effect that the evidence contradicted the State’s theory that Derringer planned the abduction ahead of time or was associating with a possible accomplice. I figured any minimal benefit she got out of the questioning was a reasonable price to pay to avoid giving her an opportunity to make a speech for the jury.

As it turned out, Renshaw was a pro who could diffuse Lisa’s points on cross without my assistance on redirect. After Lisa had established that Derringer had reported all address changes, met all appointments, spoken regularly with Renshaw, and worked full-time on parole, she asked one question too many: “Isn’t it true, Mr. Renshaw, that Mr.

Derringer complied fully with the conditions of his parole?” “Sure, counselor. I guess you could say he was a model parolee except for the fact that he kidnapped, raped,

sodomized, and tried to murder a thirteen-year-old girl.” I think I saw Lesh smile as Lisa leapt to her feet to object.

Her objection was sustained, but the exchange kept Lisa quiet for the rest of my case-in-chief.

Ten.

I had spent the week presenting my case to the jury, witness by witness. Building a prison for Frank Derringer with evidence, each piece stacking upon the last like bricks. Now I was ready to sit back and watch Lisa Lopez struggle to save face. I wanted it. I wanted it bad. I tried not to look smug and amused, which I was, when she stood on Thursday afternoon for her mid-trial opening.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, my point is a simple one.” She put her hands on Derringer’s shoulders. “This man, Frank Derringer, is innocent.” A simple statement, but it caught the jury’s attention.

Lopez walked to the front of the jury box and continued. “Ms. Kincaid has done a fine job of presenting evidence the way she wants you to hear it. But what I want you to hear, and what you will conclude to be true, is that Frank Derringer finds himself on trial for a crime he didn’t commit because a troubled and confused young girl who has led a very sad life mistakenly identified him as she was coming out of a heroin-induced haze.”

Although Lopez conceded that Kendra “may have been subjected to horrendous acts,” she went on to remind the jurors of the presumption of Derringer’s innocence and the oath they had taken to evaluate the evidence dispassionately. But she wasn’t just arguing that there would be a reasonable doubt about Derringer’s guilt. She was using the word innocent repeatedly. The defense’s position wasn’t just that Derringer was not guilty in the legal sense because the State couldn’t make its case, but that he was factually innocent. Jurors feel better about acquitting someone they believe is innocent, but Lisa’s strategy was risky. It’s harder to prove innocence than to establish reasonable doubt.

Lisa’s quiet, contemplative tone became more urgent as she talked to the jurors about Derringer’s alibi. Then she shifted her theme. “By the end of this trial, you will realize that Kendra Martin is a victim, but my client is as well. In fact, I believe that we will prove to you that both Mr. Derringer and Miss Martin are victims of the same wrongdoing.”

I tried to maintain my typical trial composure, looking as bored as possible while the defense presents its case. But for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out where Lisa was going with her statement.

“The wrongdoing that has brought Kendra Martin, Frank Derringer, and all of us together began about four years ago. Four years ago, Portland police officers found the body of another troubled young girl named Jamie Zimmerman in the Columbia Gorge. Jamie wasn’t as lucky as Kendra. She was murdered strangled after being raped and beaten. Like Miss Martin, Jamie was a drug addict who supported her habit through occasional prostitution. Like Ms. Martin, she was raped and sodomized. Police found Jamie’s badly decomposed body less than a mile from where Kendra Martin was located. Ms. Kincaid mentioned that whoever committed this crime took Kendra’s purse. Well, guess what, ladies and gentlemen? Whoever killed Jamie Zimmerman took her purse too, and it was never recovered.

“Those are enough similarities that you’re probably thinking to yourself right now that the two crimes might be connected. You’d certainly think our police would at least look into it, especially when you learn that the same detectives who testified in this case investigated Jamie Zimmerman’s murder.”

I was seething. How the hell did Lopez think she was going to get away with blind siding me this way? I didn’t know every detail of the Jamie Zimmerman investigation, but I knew enough to recognize that Lopez was trying to take advantage of that case’s recent revival in the media to confuse the jury. I also knew that she had never bothered to mention to me that her defense had anything to do with the Zimmerman case.

There was nothing I could do, though, without playing into Lisa’s hand. Any outburst from me would only add dramatic emphasis to her opening statement. So I sat there quietly while Lisa told the jurors about Margaret Landry and Jesse Taylor and their protestations of innocence, the recent letter to the Oregonian confessing to Jamie Zimmerman’s murder, and a supposed conspiracy among Portland police to conceal the truth.

“Because a jury didn’t hear the truth about that case three years ago, innocent people were convicted. I don’t want you to make the same mistake. I don’t want you to convict an innocent person. So I’m going to make sure you get all the evidence. You’re going to hear not only how the police messed up the Zimmerman case, but also how those same detectives have bungled this investigation. They don’t want to admit that they missed a killer four years ago, and they don’t want to admit that they’ve got the wrong person again now.

“Let me make something clear to you. I’m not required to prove who killed Jamie Zimmerman. That’s supposed to be up to the police and the district attorney. But I think it’s important that you at least know about that case, because it sure looks a lot like this one, and it’s sure starting to look like whoever did it is still out there.