Cold Case (28 page)

Barbara turned to Amy. “Will you make a drawing to scale of the whole area again, this time including your mother's position.”

Amy said of course she would. “Today. I'll drop it off at your office.”

Neither Barbara nor Frank had any more questions, and minutes later they walked out, got in Barbara's car, and she said, “Shit!”

Not only had Lucy McCrutchen just blown her only defense case out of the water if Robert had not been able to get his car out that night, but Lucy and Amy might add fuel to the case for McNulty if he accepted Elders's statement that David had learned on the night of the party that his lover was a prostitute.

T
hank God for routine, Barbara thought more than once that week as she sifted through the mass of papers, sorting, designating statements to the different facets of the coming trial. Opening statement. Stipulations. Chloe statements, Aaronson statements. Medical examiner's original report and autopsy. Statements from old schoolmates. On and on and on.

When she got tired of the chore, she walked around her office. When the office proved too confining, she walked along the river bike trail.

On Friday afternoon, a brisk wind was rippling the flashing water, as if trying to impede the flow, even reverse it, creating turbulence that caught the sunlight in bright splashes of silver, like jewelry being tried on and whisked away, discarded.

She was sitting on a bench in sunlight, but the wind was cold, and she pulled her jacket closer around her and thrust her hands into her pockets. She kept thinking of the dreams that were continuing. She couldn't remember the last time she had lost her house keys or car keys, or lost herself in a city, but night after night in her dreams she relived the same wrenching anxiety of lost items or self. She scowled at the river. “I know,” she said under her breath, as if the rushing water were responsible. “I admit it,” she said, not quite out loud. “I'm losing this case and there's not a thing I can do about it.”

The water rushed on, messenger from land to sea, from high mountains to deep water, sharing the secrets of time, creation, volcanoes, forests, particle by particle.

She was getting too chilled and finally started back to her car, back to the office, back to routine. She had to reread David's book with a highlighter in hand. McNulty would read from it, make David answer with a yes/no response if those were his words, and there was enough ammunition in those words to fell an army. Taken out of context, read in a harsh voice, incredulity and contempt voiced in equal amounts, David's words alone could be enough to condemn him. Somewhere in that book, he had written that such words would have guaranteed his being burned at the stake just a few hundred years ago. Nothing changed, she thought, nothing changed ultimately. Mere words could still bring about his damnation. She recalled Frank's remark made months before—half the world is trying to kill the other half over ideas.

On Sunday night, after Barbara, Darren and Todd left, Frank sat in his study. He was concerned about Barbara. She was too detached, too remote, withdrawn. It was a bad sign. She was looking at defeat, losing a capital case for the first time, and was in despair with helplessness. He knew exactly how that affected a defense attorney and it worried him.

Barbara had done a good job with discovery and the police file, leaving nothing for him to come across that she had not already considered, and he knew as well as she did that there was virtually no defense to be made from what scant testimony they had in their favor. The ambiguity of Jill's words made interpretation very dependent on the mind-set of those who heard them.

He made a note. They should go back to Lucy's house and do a little playlet out on the deck, make certain that words spoken at the end could be heard from where Lucy had been. He suspected that McNulty would argue that they could not have been heard clearly from such a distance. It could come down to having the jury hear words on the deck.

He was making a list of questions for David's ordeal on Tuesday, and he realized he was dreading it as much as Barbara.

Barbara arrived at Frank's office at eight-thirty on Tuesday. Shelley would come with David at nine, and they would begin. It would be a long day, with breaks every hour or so, a lunch break, and time afterward to discuss anything that might prove to be a problem.

“Two pretrial meetings in chambers next week,” Barbara said, taking off her sweater. “We're to have our witness list ready and pass it over by the end of next week. Right on schedule.”

She sounded and looked tired. “There's something interesting I wanted to show you,” she said, pulling papers from her briefcase. “This is the schematic Amy drew with her computer program. Really professional.” She had redone her original drawing, this time labeling the rooms being shown, and the position of both Lucy on the deck and herself under the dogwood tree. She had used small circles to represent the people shown both inside the family room, and those outside. Now, with all the lines in place, the whole drawing was centered. “She left all that out before,” Barbara said, indicating the side of the deck, “but she left space for her mother's position. I guess it was totally unconscious on her part.”

She put that drawing on the table, and next to it, she placed the sheet with the
x
's that Robert had drawn. She shifted it so that the three
x
's were lined up with Amy's three circles.

“Same thing without walls,” Barbara said. “Apparently he had the same kind of gift for spatial relationships. I don't think there's a doubt what he was doing. Either he didn't need the walls to visualize it all, or else he hadn't finished it when he was shot.”

Frank agreed. “He didn't know Lucy and Amy had witnessed that scene and he left no space for them.” The word
Key
was scrawled on the top of the paper. He had that exactly right, Frank thought. The incident on the deck was the key.

Barbara returned both papers to her briefcase and brought out her yellow legal notepad, and another one for David to use, along with a pen. Frank's identical notepad was on his desk, ready.

Shelley and David arrived a few minutes later and Barbara said, “Briefly, this is how we'll be handling it. First I'll outline the case the prosecution is going to make, based on what I know now. We'll talk after I summarize it. When we're through with that, I'll do the same thing with the case I'll make for the defense. Then, you'll take the stand, and I'll ask questions. You have to answer truthfully, of course, and I'll allow you to expand on your answers. If you're too succinct, I'll ask you to elaborate. It's going to be a drag, but it's important. We'll discuss that part, and then Dad will become prosecutor. You should answer his questions as briefly as possible, volunteer nothing and stay calm and alert to possible traps. We believe the prosecutor will read selections from your book and demand yes or no answers when he asks if those are your words. When we get to my redirect examination, we will return to those sections and put the words in context, and let you explain what you meant, or address them in any way that seems necessary. We don't know which selections he might choose to attack, but the book is jammed full of possibilities.”

David smiled a tight, mirthless smile. “He'll find possibilities,” he said.

“Just one more thing,” Barbara said. “Every charge he makes will be presented in sworn testimony. Ready?”

He shrugged. “Ready or not, fire away.”

Barbara outlined the case for the prosecution. Childhood sweethearts, inseparable, David jealous and possessive, suspicious at the party, saw Jill go out, followed by Robert, and went after them. Learned that Jill was prostituting herself. Attacked Robert. Took Jill by the arm and left with her. Chloe went upstairs with Robert who had a bloody nose. Aaronson saw Robert's bloody hand, blood on his face, collected his date and left the party. Jill was living with, or planned to live with David, had a key to his apartment. Robert told Elders about the unwarranted attack the night he was shot.

As she outlined the case, David's expression went from incredulity to disbelief, and finally to a cool remoteness that was impossible to read.

“A prosecution that's one lie after another from start to finish,” he said when she was done.

“We know that. But, David, always assume the prosecutor believes the case he's making, and will work his ass off to convince a jury that he's right,” Barbara said.

“In other words, you're telling me that I'm screwed,” David said.

“I didn't say that. I'm saying that he's going to make a case that will be hard to refute. I can't do anything about what Chloe says. The housekeeper who did the laundry will testify that there was no blood on a washcloth, clothing or towels, but under cross-examination, intimidated, she could admit that it was a long time ago and it's possible that she can't remember exactly. We have a statement from the woman who got a ride with Aaronson that night along with his date—someone named Tiffany. No last name. He will swear he took Belinda Hulse home, and admit that it's possible that they gave someone else a ride, that he forgot about her. A he said/she said situation, coin flip which is right. Belinda Hulse died some years ago. We haven't been able to find anyone else who arrived or left with her. Lucy McCrutchen will testify that Aaronson thanked her while dancing was still going on. If they were still dancing, the incident on the deck was yet to play itself out, and she was in the shadows watching when it did.”

For the first time David registered surprise. “I didn't realize we were playing to a full house that night,” he said.

Suppressing her annoyance at his sardonic tone, Barbara told him about it, then continued.

“Olga refuses to testify and would deny everything anyway. I haven't found anyone else to testify that Jill was a lesbian. Amy will be ridiculed as a romantic girl, or it might even be suggested that she and Lucy McCrutchen discussed their testimony and made sure there was no contradiction. Elders is like Chloe, no way I can prove him wrong. Either Robert told him what he claims, or he didn't. In the end, you and Lucy McCrutchen will be the most important witnesses we present.”

“But I'm not screwed,” David said.

Before Barbara could respond, Frank said it was time for a break.

It was just as well, Barbara knew. The retort she might have made would have added nothing but a release of some of her pent-up frustration.

Patsy brought in coffee, and Barbara and Shelley went out to the hallway where Shelley said, “Oh, dear.”

“Yep,” Barbara agreed. “Oh, dear.” That summed it up, she thought. It was enough. She composed herself and returned to the office.

Sipping coffee, David asked, almost lazily, “Did Robert follow Jill that night? Did he murder her?”

“We don't think so,” Frank said when Barbara remained quiet. “For a time we thought that was the case, but his car was in the garage, hemmed in.”

“Too bad,” David said, as if talking about a minor difficulty with a missing button. “It could have explained why both Chloe and Aaronson are going to perjure themselves, to protect him for whatever reason.”

“We're guessing it's to prevent an investigation into him and his deals with Aaronson,” Barbara said. “Now they're stuck with those stories.”

“Oh,” David said with a nod of understanding. “I wonder what Elders's motive is.”

“I wish I knew,” Barbara said. “Either Robert lied, or Elders did. No way to prove either. Dad has a theory.”

“He may resent your success,” Frank said. “Consciously or unconsciously, he may harbor hostility that his upstart student made it big while he continued to plod along.”

David laughed. “That fits him. He goes by the rules, and hates it when anyone who doesn't gets rewarded. Like me. One more question before we start again. What's the prosecutor's name? What do you know about him?”

Barbara recited what they knew. “Roy McNulty, fourteen years in the D.A.'s office, said to be a good prosecutor, with a lot of wins under his belt. Family man, four kids, active in civic affairs, avid fan of the U of O teams.”

David nodded with mock gravity. “Good devout Catholic Irishman who agrees with the Vatican that South American liberation theology is heresy. Wanna bet?”

“It's irrelevant,” Barbara said. “Fifteen minutes are up. Let's get back to the job at hand.”

“Irrelevant? I don't think so,” David said. “Depends on which side of that ongoing debate he would take. Blind, unquestioning, absolute obedience to authority without regard for personal morality or principles, or not.”

“This isn't the time or place for philosophical discussions,” Barbara snapped.

She started the questions again, beginning with David's earliest memories of Jill.

When they broke for lunch, she didn't know which of them was more exasperated, she or David. They both remained silent over sandwiches and salads.

Before she resumed, Barbara said, “David, you have to stop acting as if you're defending a dissertation. You'll be defending your life, as I'll be trying to do also.”

He nodded without comment, and it began again.

His answers were so brief they sounded truculent, brusque, and again and again she asked him to elaborate, to explain, to furnish more detail. What had he thought, felt?

When she finished, she spread her hands, then stood. “Let's have a break.”

“I flunked, didn't I?” David said, and again the mockery was heavy in his voice, whether directed at her or himself was impossible to tell.

“David,” Frank said quietly, “we want you to reveal the man who wept over the Trail of Tears, when Indians were driven from their homes, their farms, their lands and made the forced march to Oklahoma, and died along the way. The man who wept when the same thing happened to the Northwest Indians, defeated, rounded up, herded like cattle to barren reservations. The man who held Olga in his arms and wept with her over the death of her lover and his best friend. That man is all through your book, revealed in your indignation, your pain, your fury, and you're keeping him buried so deep now that you're like a robot, when it's your own life at stake.”