Motion to Dismiss (31 page)

"So far, so good. Is Marc free?"

"He's not in yet."

"Not in?" I felt a rush of anxiety.

"He called though," she added. "Said he'd had a bad night and was going to sleep late. He told me that you already knew."

"Right, just checking." I was relieved to know that he hadn't taken a turn for the worse after I left. "How did he sound?"

"Like somebody just ran over his cat."

Close, I thought.

When I got off the phone, I was surprised to find Byron Spencer standing behind me. He smiled broadly. As usual, his good cheer was as bountiful as a puppy's.

"And so it begins," he said dramatically. "Another revolution for the wheels of justice."

"So it does."

We moved across the hallway.

"I didn't see you in the back of the courtroom this morning," I told him.

"I got here a little late, but I saw most of it." He stuck a hand in his pocket. "Where's your other half?"

"Marc?"

He nodded.

"He's not in court today. Why?"

"Just asking." A pause. "Remember our deal?"

"What deal?"

"You told me when I'd found something to let you know. Barter, remember? Quid pro quo."

Spencer's help in return for an exclusive. I'd assumed it was loose talk on his part, pie-in-the-sky dreaming by a kid who'd read too many detective novels. But I certainly wasn't about to rule out help in whatever form it took.

"Meet me for lunch," he said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial level. "I have something I think you might find interesting."

I slung my purse over my shoulder. "I don't have time for lunch."

"I was talking hot dogs from a street vendor. Something quick and quiet. I think we need to be discreet."

I bit back a smile. Definitely too many crime novels. "Okay. As long as we can be quick."

"Noon recess," he said. "Tenth and Jefferson. I'll bring something for us to eat."

Judge Atwood poured herself a glass of water from the brown plastic pitcher on her right, and reminded the witness that he was still under oath. Then she looked at me. "Counselor?"

Checking the collar of my gray silk blouse, I stood for cross. "Detective Hawkins, you stated that you arrived at the scene within an hour of the first patrol officer, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And what was the first thing you did after you arrived?"

"The first -- "

"In terms of assessing the evidence."

Hawkins's dark eyes narrowed as he tried to decipher the question for hidden tricks. He was wasting his time; I wasn't setting any traps just yet. It was more like I was scrounging for bait.

Finally, he cleared his throat and ventured an answer. "I took a verbal report from the patrol officer."

"And what did you do after that?"

"I talked to the EMT in charge, and then to Ms. Barlow, the deceased's sister."

"You didn't talk to the little girl, Adrianna?"

"Not right then, no. That was several hours later."

I moved closer. "What did you do next?"

"I made an assessment of the crime scene."

"Did you begin your inspection of the scene outside in the yard or inside the house?"

Hawkins folded his hands. "Outside, where Ms. Nichols' body was."

"You stated that the victim was wearing a white gown."

"That's correct."

"Can you describe this gown?"

He mustered a bemused expression. "I'm no fashion expert." This drew titters from the journalists in the room.

"Just describe it as best you can."

"Well, I know it was white, and long. And made of some kind of filmy material."

"The kind of thing someone might wear for entertaining?"

Hawkins shook his head. "More like at home. Loungewear, I think that's what they call it."

I gave him a quick smile. "You know more about fashion than you give yourself credit for, Detective." Another ripple of laughter, cut short by a stern glance from Judge Atwood.

"Wouldn't you say it was an odd thing for Ms. Nichols to be wearing, if, as the prosecution suggests, she was expecting a visit from the man she accused of raping her?"

"Objection." Madelaine rose to address the judge. "The detective's opinions on appropriate attire are not relevant, Your Honor."

Judge Atwood propped her chin on one hand. "There's no jury present, Ms. Rivera. Let's save the objections for things that matter."

In any event, Detective Hawkins sidestepped the issue by having no opinion one way or another.

"You also testified about shoe impressions in the soil at the side of the house." I paused. "I take it there was more than one?"

"Yes. Most were partials and not very clear, but one was fairly decent. It was in a flower bed. The loose, damp soil took the impression easily."

"The other prints were less clear?"

"Right."

"So you can't say with certainty that all the prints were made by the same pair of shoes, can you?"

"Not with one hundred percent certainty, no. But the clear print was a size ten Nike Pegasus, and there was nothing about any of the other prints inconsistent with that shoe."

"You testified that the prints were found on the north side of the house, in this general vicinity, here." I pointed to the drawing of the house that Hawkins had used during his testimony on direct. "Some were leading toward the rear yard, where the body was found, and some leading away."

"Correct."

"And you believe it likely they all came from the same pair of shoes."

"I just said that, yes."

"Just this single set of impressions."

Hawkins rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Yes."

"So the EMTs didn't leave any shoe impressions when they examined the body?"

Hawkins shifted in his seat. "Well, yes, but I assumed you meant in addition to those."

"And were those prints pristine, or less clear?"

"A little of both."

"So, actually, there were quite a number of prints. Some partials, some very clear. One was a size ten Nike Pegasus, many were not. Is that correct?"

"Yes, but -- "

"You've answered the question, Detective. Let's focus on the clear Nike print for a moment. It was found here, is that correct?" I pointed again to the drawing. "Near the street entrance to the side yard, well away from where the body was found?"

"That particular print, yes."

"You testified that it was a left shoe print, with wear patterns similar to the left Nike Pegasus seized from Mr. Barrett's home."

"Correct."

"Can you say with certainty that it's a perfect match?"

At the defense table, Grady stirred. I saw his jaw grow stiff and his hands clench.

Hawkins licked his lips. "Not with absolute certainty, no. The print wasn't clear enough for that degree of accuracy."

I waited a moment, allowing members of the press to absorb his words, then continued. "All right, let's move on to the house now. It's your contention that Ms. Nichols fell from the deck, is that correct?"

Hawkins leaned back in the witness stand. "I'd say pushed rather than fell. But, yes, she appears to have come off the deck after a struggle. As I mentioned earlier, there were markings on the railing of the balcony, and fibers from her gown were caught in the wood there. An aluminum deck chair had been knocked over as well."

"Anything else to indicate a struggle?"

"The coroner found scratches and abrasions on Ms. Nichols' body that weren't consistent with a fall."

I walked back to the defense table. "When you questioned Mr. Barrett in conjunction with your investigation, did you examine him for scratches or other markings that might indicate a struggle?"

"Yes, we did."

"And did you find any?"

Hawkins hesitated. "Mr. Barrett is a large man. He'd easily be able to overpower a woman of Ms. Nichols' build."

"That was not my question, Detective." I turned to the judge. "Your Honor, I request that Detective Hawkins' response be stricken as nonresponsive."

"This is a prelim, for goodness' sake," she said to me. Her tone verged on being sharp. Then she turned to the witness. "Detective Hawkins, you know how we do this. Just answer the question."

Hawkins sighed. "No," he said without elaboration.

"Thank you." I checked my notes. "Now, moving on. Your report indicates that you dusted for prints at the crime scene, both inside and out."

"That's correct."

"Did you find any of Mr. Barrett's prints there?"

Hawkins glanced in Madelaine's direction. "No."

Early on, I'd been ready to explain away Grady's prints by virtue of his presence at Deirdre's house the week earlier. But we'd gotten lucky. Deirdre Nichols had been a meticulous housekeeper. Now I could simply reverse the argument.

"If, as the prosecution suggests, Grady Barrett was in the house the night of the murder, wouldn't you expect to find at least one print you could identify as his?"

"Depends on what he touched and whether he wore gloves."

If we were in front of a jury, I'd have pushed it, painting a ludicrous picture of Grady making a social call in a pair of gloves. Under the circumstances, I was trusting that Judge Atwood could see things clearly on her own.

"Did you inspect the rest of the house?" I asked Hawkins.

"Yes, I went through every room in the house myself."

"Was there any sign of a disturbance other than on the deck?"

"No, not really."

"So it was all very neat and tidy."

He smiled. "Well, the kitchen was kind of messy. But lived-in messy, if you know what I mean."

I feigned ignorance. "Not really."

"There were dirty dishes from dinner next to the sink, and Ms. Nichols had apparently been baking cookies, so there was baking stuff around."

"Baking stuff? Can you be more specific?"

He gave a fractional shrug. "A bowl still partially full of batter, raisins, chocolate syrup, cookie sheets, a measuring cup. There was probably more, but I can't remember offhand."

"But no signs of a struggle in the kitchen?"

"No."

I paused for a sip of water and checked my notes again. "The handkerchief that you found in the hallway. You testified that it was monogrammed with the defendant's initials and that it matched others found during a search of Mr. Barrett's home."

"That's right. The handkerchief is a specialty item, imported from England."

"But you can't say with absolute certainty that it belongs to the defendant, can you?"

He scoffed. "It pushes the limits of plausibility to think that two men with identical initials and handkerchiefs had reason to kill Ms. Nichols."

"Your Honor -- " A quick glance at Judge Atwood's scowling face prompted my retreat. I sighed. "Never mind."

Turning back to Hawkins, I took a different tack. "Assuming for the moment that it was Mr. Barrett's handkerchief, isn't it possible that he dropped it when he was at Ms. Nichols' house a week earlier?"

"Possible, I suppose."

"There are no tests you can run, no way of determining how long the handkerchief had been at the house. Is that correct?"

"Not really, but it's unlikely -- "

"Thank you, Detective. Now, on the morning the body was discovered, did you have any idea as to the killer's identity?"

"No, not then."

"What was it that led you to Mr. Barrett?"

Hawkins shifted in his seat, crossing his legs. "It was a lot of things. The handkerchief, the little girl's statement about seeing a silver convertible and hearing a man's voice, and then the next day we found a record of the call between Ms. Nichols and the defendant. It didn't take much to put two and two together."

Especially if you preferred simple arithmetic to more complex reasoning. "So you determined fairly early on that Grady Barrett was the principal suspect in the case?"

"The evidence was there. We couldn't ignore it."

"In fact, you were fairly certain Grady Barrett was your man when you first questioned him, weren't you?"

"Not at all," Hawkins said, thereby skirting the issue of Miranda warnings. "We were just gathering information at that point."

Sure, and I've got a bridge I could sell you.

"At what point did Mr. Barrett become your prime suspect?"

Hawkins glanced at Madelaine. "That's not an easy question to answer. Sometimes these things just evolve."

"So there was no one, single piece of evidence that convinced you Grady Barrett was your killer?"

Hawkins looked uncomfortable. "No, not one piece alone."

"Aside from the handkerchief and the single shoe print, was there any physical evidence from the crime scene that pointed to Mr. Barrett?"

"From the crime scene itself, no."

"And when you searched Mr. Barrett's house, you found no hair, no fibers, no blood -- no evidence at all that could be traced to Ms. Nichols, is that correct?"

"That's true with regard to the items we seized. But the slacks he was wearing the evening she was killed are missing."

"Given away as part of a scheduled pickup, is that correct?"

"The pickup was scheduled, but I don't know about that particular pair of pants. Seems awfully convenient to my mind."

"Your Honor -- "

She cut me off. "Same as I said before, Ms. O'Brien. I'm capable of separating the wheat from the chaff."

I directed my attention once again to the witness. "Detective Hawkins, did you question anyone else in connection with Ms. Nichols' murder?"

He pulled himself up straight. "We talked to a number of people."

"Did you question anyone else as a potential suspect?"

"Grady Barrett was our best suspect."

"He was your only suspect, wasn't he?"

"The evidence pointed to the defendant."

"Is that because you chose to interpret it that way?"

Madelaine jumped to her feet. "Objection, Your Honor. Asked and answered."

"Sustained. Ms. O'Brien, let's move along. You've made your point."

I took a moment to regroup, then stepped forward to address Hawkins. "Let me make sure I understand what evidence we're talking about, Detective. The handkerchief, which could have been there from an earlier visit. The impression of a shoe, which could have been made by
any
size ten Nike Pegasus and was only one of many prints made by various shoes. And finally, the car Adrianna saw -- a silver convertible."