Tony Dunbar - Tubby Dubonnet 03 - Trick Question (19 page)

“So the actual cause of death was not the freezing, nor the head falling off. It was a stab wound in the neck, am I right?”

“Yes, that’s right, Mr. Dubonnet.”

“Which could have been a scalpel.”

“A scalpel would certainly fit the bill, yes sir.”

It was just for show.

The next witness was the security guard, who told about finding Cletus holding Dr. Valentine’s head.

“He looked to me like he was leaving the room with it,” guard Josef Malouf testified.

“On the Friday before you found the defendant and the body, were you on duty?” Tubby asked on cross-examination.

“Sure was.”

“Did you see Mr. Busters enter the lab?”

“I imagine I did. He worked Fridays.”

“But you don’t remember really seeing him?”

“Can’t say that I do, exactly.”

“Who did enter the lab?”

“I didn’t keep a list of everyone.”

“Isn’t it a fact that lots of nurses and doctors and orderlies pass right by your station in the corridor?”

“Yeah, but not so much at night.”

“On that Friday, you don’t remember who went in and out, do you?”

“Not really.”

“Almost anybody outfitted in hospital-type clothing could have passed you without causing you to notice, right?”

“Sure I would notice. That’s what I get paid for.”

“Do you remember who went in and out or don’t you?”

Malouf looked uncomfortable. “Not exactly, no.”

“Okay, now you said that when you went into the lab on Sunday night and met Mr. Busters, he seemed to be leaving the room.”

“You mean when I saw Cletus with Dr. Valentine’s head?”

“Yes,” Tubby said testily.

“He looked to me like he was leaving the lab with the head.”

“Did it occur to you he might be on his way to find you, the security guard?”

Malouf puckered his lips and shook his head violently.

“You have to say your answer, not just move your head,” Judge Stifflemire lectured.

“If he was coming to get me, he didn’t look very happy when he saw me standing in the doorway.”

Tubby used the walk back to the counsel table to compose his face.

“No more questions,” he proclaimed triumphantly.

“That was good?” Cletus asked as guard Malouf walked past. Tubby looked at him and crossed his eyes. Then he turned around and smiled at the jury.

“Good as a sharp stick in the eye,” he whispered between his teeth.

To nail the coffin, Snedley called Detective Porknoy of the New Orleans Police Department.

The district attorney warmed Porknoy up with a couple of easy questions to establish his impressive credentials as one of the city’s foremost crime fighters. Fourteen years on the force. Three in homicide. Porknoy, who never seemed too moved by anything, seemed animated, almost human, when he talked about himself.

He told about how he got a call on Sunday night at 11:03 p.m. about an incident at the Moskowitz – which he pronounced “Mass-kee-witz” – lab. How he and Detective Ike Canteberry had responded, and how they finally found their way into the correct wing of the labyrinth. Joe Malouf was watching the door, and Cletus Busters was inside, sitting quietly on a stool and waiting for them. Right by the doorway, on a trolley cart full of cleaning supplies, was a rather pale and wet-looking human head.

On the floor, approximately twenty-four feet in front of the door, was the body itself.

Having brought Porknoy to his climax, Snedley asked, “Whose body was it?”

“Didn’t know at the time,” Porknoy said sullenly, provoking a glare from the DA.

“Well, who did you determine it to be?”

“Whitney Valentine, M.D. He was identified by a Dean Auchinschloss, head man of the place.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about him?”

“He was frozen solid.”

“Objection,” Tubby cried.

“Why?” the judge asked.

“He’s no doctor. Neither is he a weatherman.”

“Oh well, okay, sustained.”

“After you found the body, what did you do?” Snedley resumed.

“I had the scene secured and called in the forensics unit. Then I interviewed the defendant.”

“Cletus Busters?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He claimed to have discovered the body by accident,” Porknoy said incredulously.

“How did the defendant seem to you?”

“Agitated. Excited.”

“Did he give you his version of what happened?”

“Objection,” Tubby erupted.

The judge looked curious.

“Improper form of question. The word ‘version’ suggests the defendant was not telling the truth exactly like it happened.”

“I don’t think that’s improper. I’ll permit the question.”

“So what was his version, Officer Porknoy?”

“He said he was cleaning up the room. He opened the door to this walk-in freezer, and the body of Dr. Valentine fell out, striking the floor, with the resulting head dismemberment.”

The DA chewed on that word. He straightened his tie, walked around in a circle, and cleared his throat. “Did you ask him why he opened the door to the freezer?” he resumed.

“I did.”

“What did he say?”

“He stopped answering my questions.”

“Did you subsequently run a check to see whether the defendant had a prior arrest record?”

“Objection,” Tubby yelled.

“I’ve already ruled, Mr. Dubonnet, that the prior record is admissible.”

“But any prior encounters with the law have absolutely nothing to do with this case and are only intended to paint this man black and suggest to the good people of the jury that one mistake in life condemns you forever,” Tubby exclaimed excitedly.

“Objection!” Snedley was waving papers, arms spread wide, pleading. “He’s arguing his case -”

“Enough!” the judge bellowed. “Everybody sit down. Mr. Dubonnet’s objection is overruled and will not be repeated. No, stand up again. I want to see counsel up at the bench.”

Snedley and Tubby approached the judge humbly and craned their necks to hear what he had to say in private.

“What are you doing, Mr. Dubonnet? That issue was already disposed of pretrial.”

“I’m just trying to protect the record, judge,” Tubby said seriously.

“Well, there’s protecting the record and then there’s just jacking off,” Stifflemire growled.

“Yes sir.” Tubby coughed and, conscious of the jury’s eyes on his back, nodded vigorously in agreement.

Dismissed, both lawyers hiked back to their tables. Snedley had a big grin on his face.

The jurors shifted around and exchanged glances. They hoped something good was coming.

“Did you run his record through the computer?” Snedley asked the policeman.

“I did.”

“What did you find?”

“The defendant has been convicted of distribution of a controlled substance. He was sentenced to three years, of which he served one year and six months at the P. G. T. Beauregard Correctional Institute in Bogalusa.”

His back to the judge, Snedley rolled his eyes for the jury’s benefit. “Did you determine that such drugs were kept in the Moskowitz lab?”

“Objection, leading,” Tubby piped up.

“Sustained. Try again, Mr. Snedley.”

“Did you search the laboratory, and if so what did you find?”

“A large quantity of controlled substances, including phenobarbital-like substances.”

“Oh, sure,” Tubby complained. “Now he knows what to say.”

“I think he could figure it out for himself,” the DA said dryly.

“Get on with it, gentlemen,” the judge said.

“Where did you locate these phenobarbital-like substances?” Snedley asked.

“In the freezer.”

“That wasn’t in the police record,” Tubby whispered angrily to Cletus, who just looked back at him, in pain. “You didn’t tell me that.” Tubby kicked his client in the calf.

“Did you determine whether Cletus Busters had ever had an altercation with Dr. Valentine?” Snedley wanted to know.

“Yes.”

“How did you find that out?”

“By talking to his partner, Dr. Randolph Swincter.”

“Objection! Pure hearsay.”

“Mr. Snedley?” the judge inquired.

“No problem, judge. We call Dr. Randolph Swincter to the stand.”

“Hey.” Tubby laughed. “Don’t I get a cross-examination here?”

The judge nodded, and Snedley sat down with a glare that said he did not like that rule.

“Detective Porknoy,” Tubby began, slowly rising. He rested his hand on the shoulder of Cletus, who flinched. Tubby pulled his hand away quickly. “Wouldn’t you be agitated and excited if you had just discovered a dead body and saw the head go rolling around the floor?”

“Objection, irrelevant,” Snedley cried out.

“Sustained.”

“Okay,” Tubby said calmly. “Detective, did you ever point-blank ask Mr. Busters whether he killed Dr. Valentine?”

“Yes, and he denied it.”

“He said he didn’t do it?”

Behind Tubby’s back, Snedley was looking askance at the jury.

“Yes,” Porknoy conceded.

“When was the murder committed?”

“On Friday night, near as we can tell.”

“Did anyone claim to see Mr. Busters with Dr. Valentine that night?”

“No.”

“Did anyone hear a fight?”

“Not that I could discover.”

“Did you ever find the weapon?”

“No.”

“Did you find Dr. Valentine’s blood on any of the defendant’s clothing?”

“Not the doctor’s blood, no.”

“Someone else’s?”

“We found some animal blood, which I figured -”

“We don’t want to know what you figured,” Tubby interrupted quickly. “The jury does the figuring. You did not find any human blood in any way connected with this crime on the defendant or his clothing, did you?”

“No.”

“Did you investigate any other suspects in this case?”

“None seriously. Our attention quickly focused on the defendant.”

“You never looked elsewhere at all, did you? Not at the wife. Not -”

“Objection,” the DA shouted.

“Mr. Dubonnet, that’s going too far,” the judge admonished.

“Your Honor, my point, which will become obvious when we put on our case, is that there are several others” – Tubby pivoted and took in the courtroom – “who had a motive to kill Dr. Valentine, far more of a motive than Cletus Busters had, but through shortsightedness the police did nothing to follow up on any of these obvious leads.”

“Your Honor,” Snedley complained.

“All well and good, when it’s your turn, Mr. Dubonnet, but you can’t get more from this witness. He already said he focused on Mr. Busters.”

“Okay, Your Honor. Mr. Porknoy, you said the freezer compartment contained phenobarbital-like drugs.”

“That’s right.”

“And you suggested Cletus may have killed Dr. Valentine to get the drugs.”

“That’s right.”

“The murder was on a Friday night?”

“Yes.”

“And the drugs were still there on Sunday?”

Porknoy hesitated. “Yes…” he said, starting to look confused.

“Well, why on earth, Detective, if taking drugs was the motive, would the defendant have stuffed the body in the freezer on Friday and waited all weekend to come back and get the drugs?”

“Who knows what these voodoo doctors will do. Maybe he needed to go home and conjure up a spell.”

“What?” Tubby yelled. “Objection to that answer as totally unresponsive.”

“Sustained! Officer Porknoy, really. The jury will disregard all that.”

“No more questions,” Tubby said, returning to the old oak chair beside Cletus.

Porknoy heaved himself off the witness stand and threw Tubby a triumphant grin when he stalked past.

“It’s late,” the judge announced, checking his watch to confirm that it was four fifteen. “Mr. Snedley, you can bring on your next witness when we reconvene at nine o’clock tomorrow. The jury may go back to the jury room and collect your belongings. Court is adjourned.”

Bonk went the gavel.

“All rise!” the bailiff bellowed.

“Bad day for the good guys,” was the postmortem Tubby delivered while they waited for their meals. He had invited Flowers and Cherrylynn to join him for dinner at Franky and Johnny’s – a neighborhood restaurant uptown, where the air was light with garlic, cayenne, and tomato sauce – so they could go over the case together, but he didn’t really feel like talking.

The waitress had brought the men Dixies, and a Heineken for Cherrylynn, who thought she had taste, and a platter of boiled crawfish for the table, bright red and breathing steam. At the bar a clean-up man gently applied a feather duster to the portrait of the founder. The framed jerseys of Joe Namath and Billy Martin on the wall silently reminded everybody that men who suffer big-time know how to enjoy a good meal. But for Tubby, normally at peace with the world, a positive attitude was hard to find tonight.

“That was terrible, the way that disgusting policeman threw in that bit about voodoo,” Cherrylynn said angrily.

“All my fault,” Tubby moaned, listlessly sucking a crawfish morsel from its moist peppery tail. He reached for his beer. “I should never have asked Porknoy a question that allowed him to say more than yes or no.”

“He was going to say it, no matter what,” Flowers opined. “He’s that kind of a putz.”

The waitress came with a tray and began passing around warm plates. Fried shrimp for Cherrylynn, pork chops and black-eyed peas for Flowers, and a big bowl of fragrant, rich, brown seafood gumbo and rice for Tubby, with a roast beef po-boy on the side, extra gravy.

“I don’t see how they can convict him on the little bit of evidence the DA put on today,” his secretary said.

“They can surely convict him.” Tubby tasted his gumbo and immediately felt its restorative effects. “But I’m revising my opinion. I don’t think they can give him the death penalty. The jury will have just a little nagging doubt. Our best angle is still to show that someone else had a motive.”

“Trina, uh, Dr. Tessier and I spent a couple of hours going over Valentine’s professional writings,” Flowers said. “The man was quite a whiz where strange causes of death are concerned. He was a detective, really. But I didn’t see anything that looked the least bit relevant.”