The Insanity Plea (18 page)

On Monday, Wayne called Klein’s
secretary, determined the police file was available and arranged to inspect it.
Two days later, they went to Klein’s office to see where Nancy had put the file
for their inspection, traded pleasantries with Nancy and were directed to a
conference room two doors down the hall. She gave them a key and told them to
lock the room when they left and drop the key on her desk.

Wayne unlocked the conference room
door and allowed Rita and Duke to go ahead of him. They saw a large banker’s
box, marked
State v. Little,
in the
center of the table. The surprise was at the end of the table, where Kate sat,
hands folded with her usual blank look.

“Kate, what are you doing here?”
Wayne asked.

“Supervising your inspection. I can’t
run the risk of some evidence walking away.”

“The fuck you can’t,” Duke exploded. “We’re
officers of this court the same as you. You know god damn well that we’re not
going to stick something in our pocket. Besides, the first thing we’ll find in
that box will be an inventory of every fucking piece of evidence in there.”

“Okay, Duke. Calm down,” Wayne said. “Kate,
who do you want me to call, Harry or Judge Fernandez? Your choice, but we will
have privacy while we discuss what you’ve got on my brother.”

Knowing she was fighting a losing
battle, Kate started toward the door. “I’ll check with Mr. Klein. If I’m not
back here in five minutes, you can start the inspection.”

As Kate closed the door, Duke flipped
the lock. “Screw that five minutes. Let’s go to work. Rita, plug in your laptop.
That bitch won’t let us have copies of anything; so, we’ll have to do our own
transcription of statements, reports, etc.”

He opened the box and, as expected,
found an inventory on top. Below it on one side of the box were statements,
reports, photos and several videos. The rest of the box contained evidence,
neatly bagged and labeled.

Duke started with the photos of the
crime scene and Debbie Robinson’s body. After studying them, he passed the
photos to Wayne. Wayne flipped through them and set them aside.

“Hey,” Rita said, “I want to see
those, too.”

“You sure, Rita?” Wayne replied. “They’re
gory.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’m the
investigator, remember?” She picked up the photos and carefully analyzed them. “You
know, there’s something wrong here. This woman is five feet, seven, obviously
in good physical shape. She’s not going to let this happen without a fight and
Dan didn’t have a mark on him the next day.”

Duke had already started going
through the officer’s reports and witness statements and nodded as he would
look at one and hand it off to Wayne.

Duke found Detective Jefferies’s
final report and read through it carefully. Nothing new. He set the report
aside and started pulling the evidence bags out of the box and arranged them on
the table. The bracelet was there. Rita commented that it had to be worth
twenty grand.

Wayne pulled a pair of old Nike
sneakers from a bag and studied them. The left one had significant traces of
blood on the front of the sole. He found the lab reports that matched the shoe.
The blood was the victim’s.

Rita picked up the right shoe. “There’s
a tiny spot of blood on the heel of this one. You got a lab report on it?”

Wayne flipped through the reports. “Nope.
Not one on the right shoe. Not even a request from the Galveston Police
Department to check that one. Must have figured it was the same blood as on the
left shoe.”

“Here’s a big bag with some old
clothes,” Rita said. “Label says they’re Dan’s. Any reason to check them?”

“Yeah,” Duke replied. “See if you can
find any blood on any of Dan’s clothes.”

Rita opened the bag and backed away
from the table as the stench filled the room.

“God, how could anyone wear those
things?”

“Let me do that,” Wayne said as he
turned the bag upside down and dumped the clothes on the table. “I’m sorry to
say that’s how Dan always smelled.”

Wayne took the clothes over to the
window and studied them with care. “Well, there are lots of stains and spots. Nothing,
though, to this untrained eye that looks like blood. And I didn’t see anything
about blood on the clothes in the police reports. You know, we’re coming up
with bits and pieces of evidence and arguments that are a little help, just not
enough to put a reasonable doubt in a jury’s mind.”

“Yeah, bro. We’ve seen enough. Didn’t
you say your mama was fixing us lunch?”

“Your stomach has a good memory. She
also wants to meet Rita.”

“Tell you what, guys,” Rita said, “I
know Sarah only lives two blocks from here. I want to pay a call on Dan. We’re
emailing every day, but I’ve never met him. I’ll be there in about a half
hour.”

“I’ll come along, Rita,” Wayne
responded.

“No. You go have some of your
mother’s sweet tea. I just want to introduce myself.”

Reluctantly, Wayne agreed and told
Rita that Duke’s Navigator would be parked two blocks down Ball Street in front
of his mother’s house.

Rita took her time on her short walk from
the jail down Ball Street. She enjoyed the sunshine and, particularly, the
multi-colored Victorian houses. She pictured herself as a little girl, walking
on a street lined with playhouses. Lost in thought she was startled by a male
voice.

“Boy, now there’s one fine looking
woman, don’t you think, partner?”

“Yeah, she’s a mighty fine looking
little heifer,” Wayne replied in his best imitation of a West Texas rancher.

     
Rita smiled as she turned up the walk to the house where Duke and Wayne
sat, coats and ties off and sleeves rolled up, sipping iced tea. Before Rita
could get to the top of the stairs Sarah was opening the screen door, tea in
hand.

“Well, I know you’re Rita,” Sarah
said. “Any other woman probably would have slapped the tar out of these two
wise asses. Here, dear, I hope you like sweet tea.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Little. Sweet tea is
fine. As to the guys occupying your porch, I practically live with them. I can
give as well as I can take. Do you mind if I kick off these heels?”

“Heavens, no, only you call me Sarah.
I’ve been hearing about you ever since you moved into that condo. I never get
to Houston. Too much traffic. Don’t know why Wayne hasn’t brought you down here
before now.” She gave Wayne a stern look. Wayne changed the subject as Duke got
up to give Rita his rocker.

“How’s Dan doing today? They let you
see him, didn’t they?”

Rita thanked Duke who sat on the veranda
railing. “He’s doing as well as can be expected, definitely taking his meds. I
could hardly tell he was sick. Naturally, he’s worried about the trial, but he’s
as up to speed on his case as anyone on this porch. He says that Parke
conveniently omitted videoing about thirty minutes of his interview.”

“Yeah, we heard about that from
Brickman. We need to find six hours to watch that video.”

“Okay,” Sarah interrupted. “Let’s go
inside for lunch. I baked a ham and made macaroni salad. You boys take your
shoes off. I don’t want you scuffing up my freshly polished floor.”

Sarah turned and entered the house. Wayne
and Duke looked at each other, grinned and did as they were told.

Rita had always been a morning
jogger. Wayne tried to talk her into joining him in the evening. She refused. She
liked starting her day with a run. On this day, she had to catch a mid-morning
flight to Chicago for a presentation to a client and executives from her
company, so she decided to do five miles before leaving for Bush Intercontinental
Airport. To do so, she found herself leaving while it was still dark. Thoughts
of Dan’s case and of the other victims of the serial killer halted her at the
front door. Fifteen female runners, fifteen dead runners. She considered waking
Wayne to go with her before saying to herself,
Come on, Rita. Yeah, there are some dead women, but right this very
moment there are other runners all over the country leaving their houses and
they’re not going to be assaulted. Neither are you. Get out the door and get going.

As the complex gate clanged behind
her she found herself enveloped in fog.
Well,
isn’t this great. I’m out long before daylight, and now I’m having to run
through foggy, wet streets. At least last night’s drizzle has stopped. Hopefully,
the visibility in Hermann Park will be better.

When she got to the street beside the
complex, she turned right, pleased to find that the street lights on each
corner were glowing through the fog. Still, the middle of each block was dark and
she quickened her pace to get from street light to street light. A few cars
passed. Their lights barely cut through the fog, forcing them to slow to a
crawl.

When she heard voices behind her, she
bolted across the street. Then she realized they came from two Hispanic workers,
walking from a bus stop two blocks away to one of the many open air flower
shops that filled several blocks on either side of the street, flower shops
that catered to the families of thousands of patients that daily filled the
operating rooms and beds of The Texas Medical Center less than a mile away.

Come on, Rita. You’re not some little girl lost in the forest. This is
your neighborhood. Besides, the streets are beginning to come alive. Soon,
there will be people all around along with more cars, buses and even the Metro.
The lyrics of “I Am Woman” suddenly
popped into her head and she began singing to herself
. Now, that’s better. I really am invincible.

Those thoughts lasted until she
arrived at the park and found the previously thick fog even more dense. Rita’s
female intuition told her to turn around. Then she saw another jogger come from
the direction of Rice University, cross the street and disappear into the fog
. Okay. I’m not alone out here. Quit being a
baby. Do the three mile loop in a hurry and then get back home. Look, there’s
the train at the Metro stop. See, people are getting on it.

Rita waited for the train to pass,
crossed the street and started down the trail that meandered through Hermann
Park, home of the Houston Zoo, the Museum of Natural Science and a golf course.
Soon she was running through woods, taking care not to trip over roots as she
picked her way along the path. Up ahead, she heard voices and a couple appeared
out of the gloom, a man and a woman.

“Morning,” the man said as they
passed. “Take it easy. In another hundred yards you won’t be able to see five
feet.”

“Thanks,” Rita replied.
Great! It gets worse before it gets
better…if it gets better.
Then, her thoughts turned to Chicago and the
presentation she would be making that afternoon. When she crossed the bridge
over a small creek, she thought she heard footsteps behind her
. No, silly. Those are your own footsteps
echoing off the bridge.
As she stepped from the bridge back on the path she
had gone about ten yards and she heard them again.

Now she was certain. She picked up
her pace. The footsteps did the same. She lengthened her stride as she hit an
area of the trail that zigzagged through some dense oaks, pines and underbrush.
The footsteps faded slightly.
Shit! Now
what do I do? It’s probably just another jogger. No. I can’t be sure. Maybe I
really am the next victim…or possible victim.
Then, she had an idea. Take
advantage of the poor visibility. As the path took a ninety degree turn, she
ducked off the trail into some bushes and held her breath
. Come on now. No breathing. Hold it. Hold it. Hold it.
The
footsteps became louder, passed her and began to fade. Clearly a man’s stride. When
she could barely hear them in the distance, she gulped a breath and stepped out
onto the trail, reversing her direction and heading back toward the bridge and
home.
Relax. He was just another jogger
and he’s gone now. I am woman.

Then she heard them again. The same
footsteps or someone else? She couldn’t be sure. Again, she picked up her pace
and flew over the bridge. This time she was barely off the bridge when she
heard the jogger behind her step on the bridge.
Oh my God! He really is chasing me. Now what do I do? Hopefully,
there’s another runner out here somewhere. Please somebody, come out of the fog
in front of me.

Rita’s prayers were ignored. She
tried to run faster
. To hell with the
fog. I just hope I can stay on the path until I’m out of these woods.
She
knew she was only five minutes from the train station and its lights. Then she
would be safe. The footsteps didn’t seem to be gaining on her until she tripped
over a root and sprawled to the ground, scraping her knee and twisting her
ankle in the process.
Shit!

She scrambled to her knees. There was
a crash behind her as the other runner tripped over the same root. She was
almost to her feet when she felt a hand around her ankle. Panicked, she kicked
back blindly with her other foot and connected with someone’s face. The man
grunted and released his grasp. Ignoring the pain in her ankle, she forced
herself to her feet and raced through the woods. Soon she could see the lights
of the station in the distance
. Come on. You
can make it. Faster! Faster! Almost there!

Then it happened. Like a halfback
just short of the end zone she was tackled from behind and thrown to the
ground.

“Well, my lovely Latina lady, you
almost made it, but not quite.”

He seized her hair and pulled her
head back. She felt the cold steel of a blade on her neck. As she was losing consciousness
she heard voices.

“Hey, man! What the fuck are you
doing?” Two male joggers with
Rice
Football
on their T-shirts were there. Rita’s attacker leaped to his feet
and sprinted away. One of the joggers started after him but was stopped by his
friend.

“Let him go, Bill! She’s bleeding
badly. Call 911 and get out to the street to wait for the ambulance.” He
stripped off his shirt, rolled Rita onto her back and pressed the shirt to the
left side of Rita’s neck where blood was spurting from one carotid artery.

Bill pulled a cell phone from his
waist and punched 911. “Ma’am, we’re in Hermann Park, just across from the
Metro Station. There’s a woman jogger with her throat cut and blood spurting
out of her neck. We need an ambulance.”

Bill confirmed the location one more time
and ran to the street. Josh, his friend, remembered a little first aid from his
days in Boy Scouts and pressed as hard as he could. Still, the shirt was soon
soaked with blood. The blood began oozing from under the tee shirt, trickled
down the side of Rita’s neck and pooled on the ground.

 
“Hang on, lady. We’re only a couple of minutes
from the medical center. An ambulance will be here. Don’t you leave me! You
hear, don’t leave me!”

Rita moaned. Her breathing was
becoming shallow when a siren pierced the early morning and flashing lights
raced down Fannin. Bill stood at the curb and waved his arms until the
ambulance slowed beside him.

“She’s over there, about a hundred
yards from the street just on the edge of the woods. My buddy is with her.”

The ambulance driver sized up the
situation, turned the ambulance, jumped the curb and drove in the direction
that Bill pointed. While the fog was still impeding visibility, the ambulance
lights soon illuminated two figures, one kneeling and one lying on the ground. The
driver leaped from his seat almost before the ambulance stopped. The second EMT
ran to the back, threw open the doors and grabbed a stretcher.

“Keep up that pressure kid. I want to
feel the other side of her neck.”

He knelt beside Rita, searching for a
pulse. “It’s thready, but she’s alive. Okay, keep that pressure up while we put
her on the stretcher.”

With Josh continuing to press Rita’s
neck, the two EMTs lifted her onto the stretcher, belted her down and wheeled
her to the back of the ambulance where they secured the stretcher.

“Kid, you come with us. I need to get
a line into her and start fluids.” He reached into a cabinet and took out a
large package. Ripping the cover off, he handed a sterile cloth to his new
assistant. “Drop your tee shirt on the floor and use this. Keep pressing as
hard as you can.” Then he turned to Bill who was standing at the back. “Son, I
see a cop car coming up behind us. Tell them what happened. We’re out of here.”

As they started to pull away, two
officers were walking from their car. The ambulance driver lowered his window
and said, “We’ve got the victim. She may die on us. We’re on our way to
Hermann. This guy can tell you what happened.”

One officer took Bill to the patrol
car where he got a clipboard and told Bill to take a seat in the back. The
other officer secured the scene with yellow tape strung from tree to tree. Using
his flashlight, he surveyed the scene as best he could. Even with daylight that
was creeping from the east, all he found was the pool of Rita’s blood and signs
of a struggle.

He expanded his search and discovered
the faint outline of footprints on the trail. Of course, it was a jogging trail
and footprints were to be expected. Still, he found one female set that stopped
at the crime scene. Almost on top of the female prints were prints clearly left
by a man. Searching further, he found those same prints leaving the scene and
disappearing into the woods. With that discovery, he radioed for a CSI team.