The Disappearance (52 page)

“Yes. She hated his kid. She only kept doing it because …”

Luke doesn’t press her. He stands calmly at the lectern, waiting for her to finish.

After several moments of no answer forthcoming, Judge Ewing leans down towards her. “Because what?” he gently prompts her.

She scrunches her face up in a torturous mask. “Because they were … getting it on.” At least she’d remembered to say that, instead of “screwing” or “fucking.”

“It wasn’t Mr. Allison.” He points to Joe. “She never said it was Mr. Allison.”

She shakes her head. “It was the man who she baby-sat for.” Looking over at Allison, she says, “He doesn’t have any kids. She wasn’t talking about him.”

Luke wants to bring in one more witness before the close of day, one who will add yet another element of doubt as to who out there might have wanted Emma Lancaster dead, and had the motive, means, and opportunity to kill her.

David Essham owns Tri-County Gun and Supply, in Paso Robles. “Yes, I sold a rifle to a Nicole Rogers,” he says in response to Luke’s question. “A Browning 270.” He has the sales slip in his hand, refers to it.

Luke, the gun-shop owner, Ray Logan, and Judge Ewing are meeting in the judge’s chambers to decide if Essham is going to be allowed to take the stand. Logan is vehemently opposed, thus this conference.

“That’s an accurate, high-powered rifle, isn’t it?” Luke asks. “It could stop a man at two or three hundred yards?”

“Easy. Piece of cake for a good marksman.”

“Do you know if she is a good marksman?” he asks.

Essham grins. “A regular Calamity Jane. I went out to the range with her—she wanted to test it, to make sure it was what she wanted. That woman could shoot a petal off a rose at a hundred yards.”

Logan is shaking his head, but Ewing’s paying attention. “When did you sell the Browning to Nicole Rogers?” he asks.

Essham recites the date, reading from his sales book. “That’s interesting,” Luke says, from the corner of his eye watching the D.A. steaming. “One week later, somebody tried to kill me using a rifle of that exact caliber,” he reminds Judge Ewing. “And that rifle has never been recovered.”

Logan’s had it. “Your Honor,” he protests strenuously, “this is clearly inadmissible. Defense counsel is trying to throw up as many smokescreens as he can to obfuscate the facts in this case. Nicole Rogers is not a defendant in this case, or an accessory. You have to put an end to these extraneous fishing expeditions.”

Ewing doesn’t immediately respond to Logan’s plea. “Please step out of the room,” he says to Essham.

When the gun dealer is gone, Ewing turns to Luke. “The D.A.’s right. This trial is about the guilt or innocence of your client, Joe Allison, not whether anyone in the county could have done it instead. I’ve given you plenty of leeway in your pursuit of Doug Lancaster’s possible involvement, and I’ll continue to”—he looks over at Logan to make sure Logan hears this—“but not others. The appropriate place for this information is with the sheriff’s office, which could, and should, pursue this lead as regards your own shooting.”

Essham won’t be allowed to testify. It was a long shot, trying to get him in, but it was worth the try. At least both the judge and the district attorney know about it, and the information has to cause them both doubt, more doubt than they already have. But he wishes the jury could have it too.

The sheriff will have to deal with this information; he can’t avoid it. What worries Luke, particularly in the short term, is that Nicole Rogers really could be the sniper, and what does that mean for his future safety? Nicole wouldn’t try to take him out merely because she’s angry at Joe; that’s overkill. Either she thinks (or knows) Joe is guilty and doesn’t want to see him walk, or she herself, as he postulated, is deeply involved. Maybe fatally, all the way to the bone.

Even without the gun-store owner’s testimony, it’s another solid day for the defense. The newspapers and television broadcasts say so. Earlier, in his cross-examination of Hillary Lange, Logan barely tried to discredit or break her down; there was no point. That Emma had slept with someone else didn’t mean she didn’t sleep with Joe Allison as well. In a sense, it buttresses his case, or so he claims when he addresses the press at the end of the day, in what is by now a daily ritual. She was sexually precocious, and Joe Allison had taken advantage of that.

That’s the spin Logan tries to put on it. It works, but not really, because it wrecks the image of Emma Lancaster being some innocent young virgin who was seduced by a predatory adult. Young, yes, but not the rest.

The lack of innocence is important, and that’s why Luke has decided, after agonizing over the decision, to put Fourchet, the health-food store owner, on the stand. The man’s testimony is going to be grueling, painful. Emma’s character and behavior will be scrutinized and picked over, not only more than it already has been, but more distastefully. This is the worst part of a job like this—dissecting a dead person’s character in the open without her being able to defend herself. But he has to do it. He has to show that Emma was not a victim in her sexual experiences but a willing participant.

Fourchet, of course, was not about to come forward voluntarily. Luke had to issue a subpoena for him to appear, like most of his witnesses. The man called Luke at his office, tearful, hysterical. “Please don’t make me do this,” he begged. “Don’t put me on the stand. My life is already in shambles. This will destroy me.”

Luke couldn’t care less. “No one made you sleep with this young girl,” he reminded Fourchet. “You could have said no. That’s what a man of character would have done. It’s too bad that I’m going to have to put you and your family through this, but you made the choice. Now you’re going to have to live with the consequences of it.”

“Call Adrian Fourchet.”

Luke stands at the podium waiting for the appearance of his reluctant witness. It’s nine in the morning; Judge Ewing has just gaveled his court into session. Everyone is in the usual places. Doug Lancaster again is not present but Glenna Lancaster is, sitting in her back-row seat, still dressed somberly. Riva isn’t here either. She begged off; she had interviewed Fourchet, and seeing him up on the stand would be too uncomfortable. Also, she has errands to run. She’ll stop by at lunchtime.

The doors to the corridor through which Fourchet should be entering don’t move. Ewing peers over the top of his desk at Luke. “Where’s your witness, Counselor?”

Luke is at a loss. “I don’t know, Your Honor. He knew when he was supposed to be here.” He glances at his watch. “Maybe he went to the wrong courtroom.”

There are six courtrooms in the building, all of them in session. It’s a big building, people frequently lose their way. But he’s pissed at himself for not making sure the man was here on time, even if it meant picking him up at his house and escorting him here personally.

Ewing turns to the chief deputy in charge of courtroom security. “Go find him. We’ve got to get going.”

The deputy nods and exits into the long hallway. Luke takes the opportunity to walk over to the defense table and look at some notes that he hadn’t brought up to the lectern with him. He glances at the clock on the wall: eight-fifteen. Fourchet should surely have been here by now.

Another few minutes tick by. Finally Ray Logan gets to his feet. “Your Honor, we can’t wait all day for this witness. I move that he be struck from the roster.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Luke says heatedly, looking up from the defense table. “This happens. This isn’t—” His head turns to the side doorway, where the deputy is making a hurried entrance.

The deputy hustles to the bench. Ewing leans over, so that they can have a private conversation.

Shock and surprise are clear on the judge’s face, which is reddening rapidly. “I’ll have lawyers in my chambers. Now.” He bangs his gavel, harder than he normally does. “We’re standing in recess until further notice.”

The woman, Luella Fourchet, a full-on earth-mother-commune type down to her Birkenstock sandals, stands in Ewing’s small office. Wordlessly she hands the judge a legal-size envelope. He opens it, takes out a single folded page, and reads the letter, his expression turning to dismay as the contents sink in.

He looks up. “You have no witness,” he tells Luke in an uncharacteristically shaky voice. “He’s defied the court’s subpoena.” He turns to Fourchet’s wife. “Do you know where your husband is?”

She shakes her head. “No. I found this on the kitchen table this morning. He didn’t tell me anything.” Head thrust up, she adds, “And even if he had, I wouldn’t tell you. I’m not going to be a party to his ruination, even if what he did was wrong. I know what he did …”

She breaks down. She’s sobbing, no sound coming, shoulders heaving, her hands covering her face.

They watch her. Nobody makes a move to touch her.

The soundless sobbing lessens, subsides. Looking up, eyes red and tear-filled, she says, “We were working through this, he and I. And now this—he couldn’t take it.
I
can’t take it.” She looks at each man in turn, her eyes fierce in accusation, ending on Luke, staring through him. “He had nothing to do with that slutty girl’s disappearance, and you know it, Mr. Garrison, but you want to ruin him anyway. You want to ruin me, us, our family.” She swipes at her cheeks and nose with a tissue. “He isn’t going to come here, no matter what. You can find him, because sooner or later he’ll have to come back, but he isn’t going to testify. You can put him in jail, or whatever you do. But he’s never going to talk about this. Not here, not with anyone. Never.”

She turns away, wanting to leave, wanting to get out of here, but Luke won’t let her go.

“I’m sorry that you’re going through grief,” he says, his anger at the flash point, “but that’s not
my
fault, and I’m not about to let you make me the fall guy.” He’s in her face, inches away.

“Luke.” Ray Logan, alarmed at his behavior, moves towards them.

Luke waves him away. “Let me finish.”

He stares into the woman’s eyes. “Your husband did a vile thing. He had sexual intercourse with an underage girl. I don’t care how old she looked, or how much he lied to you about how she vamped him, or anything. That was a crime, and he could go to jail for it—if Emma Lancaster were still alive to press charges.”

Now it’s Ewing who’s distraught. “Stop that, Luke!” He’s out from behind his desk, moving towards them.

Luke won’t stop. “Your husband might not have
physically
killed Emma Lancaster, but he killed her soul. Him and everyone else who took advantage of her. She was too young to get it, don’t
you
get it? She wasn’t accountable!”

The lawyers and Ewing sit in the judge’s chambers. It’s a few minutes later. Luke has calmed down some, but he’s still agitated. More important, he has to put somebody on the stand, now that his witness has flown the coop. “What’s your ruling going to be on my bringing Sheriff Williams back on and bringing up the synergy between this case and the attempt on my life?” he asks the judge, looking over at Logan. “Are you going to oppose that? You’ve admitted to me there’s a good possibility the two are joined.”

“I don’t think they’re joined for the purposes of this case,” Logan answers in rebuttal. “I would oppose that vigorously. You can’t connect these two crimes, Your Honor,” he argues to Ewing, “no matter how subjective or personal they might be.”

Ewing ponders this. “I’m inclined to agree with the district attorney,” he says to Luke. “Do you have any case law that can bolster this connection?”

“I’m researching it even as we speak,” Luke scrambles immediately. “Can you give me until after lunch?”

Another look from judge to prosecutor. “I don’t know, Your Honor,” Logan says. “With all due respect, Luke, if you knew you were going to bring that up, you should have had your material in order already.”

That’s true. He can’t argue it logically. “I don’t have the staff I used to,” he says pointedly. “I don’t have twenty paralegals running down every case on their computers. Give me a break, Judge,” he implores Ewing. “Just until this afternoon. If I can’t please you by then, I’ll pass it by.”

“That’s acceptable to me,” the judge says. “Let’s go back out there. We’ll recess until after lunch. But then we’re moving forward,” he warns Luke, “one way or the other.”

Back at his office at the law school. He has three of the best students helping him research his point. Two hours after they started, they haven’t come up with anything strong enough for Luke to convince the judge to let the sheriff testify about his shooting being connected to Emma’s murder.

He doesn’t want to end his defense here. Not on a missing witness. It’s a huge letdown. You want to end on a high note, something that the jury will remember vividly when they go into that stuffy little room to begin their deliberations.

He looks at his watch. A quarter to twelve. Court will reconvene at one-thirty. He has less than two hours. Not enough time.

His cell phone rings. Snatching it up: “Yes?” It’s Riva; he figured it was her; only a few people in Santa Barbara have this number. He listens, then his face brightens in an ear-to-ear grin. “Are you serious? Where did you find her?” Then: “Yes! Get her up here, right away!”

The woman swears to tell the truth, so help her God.

A middle-aged woman. Plain-looking. The kind of working-class woman whose face tells you she’s spent too much time on her feet, so that the soreness never leaves them. She’s a waitress at a Carrow’s family restaurant in Camarillo, off Highway 101, midway between Santa Barbara and Los Angeles.

As with Essham, the gun-store owner, Ray Logan has tried mightily to keep this witness off the stand. This time Judge Ewing is on the defense side. He’s already opened the door to Doug Lancaster’s actions and whereabouts being examined in open court; this witness’s testimony clearly falls under those set of circumstances. Doug Lancaster is not present. Luke excluded him from attending today.

He establishes the date that Emma was found missing. “Were you working the morning shift that day, Mrs. De Wilde?” he asks her.

“Yes.”

“From when to when?”