Authors: William Bernhardt
“Information. You were still a member of Green Rage when the murder took place, weren’t you?”
“Yeah. I was Zak’s right-hand person.”
“That’s what I heard. Do you know anything about the murder? Anything that might help?”
“Well, I know Zak didn’t do it.”
“Were you with him? That night, I mean.”
“No, nothing like that. I just know Zak. He talks tough, but he wouldn’t hurt anyone.” She glanced back at the cabin. “Look, if we’re going to have this conversation, why don’t we step inside?”
Loving followed her through the cabin door. He had to turn sideways and duck just to get through; whoever designed the portal wasn’t thinking about people his size.
The furnishings were strictly utilitarian—a sofa, a bed, a dining table. The decorations were sparse; the place did not have a lived-in feel.
“We rent these cabins from the Forest Service on a weekly basis,” she explained. “Sometimes we can stay another week, sometimes not. We get moved around a lot. So there’s never much time to settle in.”
Loving took a seat on the not-very-comfortable-looking sofa. “That sounds rough.”
Kelly situated herself on the other end of the sofa, not far away at all. Their knees were practically touching. “We’re just grateful to be in the forest,” she said. “To be this close to the Goddess.”
Loving opted to let that one pass. “Did you ever hear Zak talk about this Gardiner character? Or act like he might be plannin’ to do something violent?”
“Oh, Zak talked all the time. He’s been talking as long as I’ve known him. I don’t take it seriously.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Years. Since he moved out this way from Oklahoma. We …” She hesitated a moment. “We were intimate once. At first. But that passed.”
“Really. Were you angry about that?”
“Of course not. Love is meant to be free. I don’t allow myself to get hung up by these patriarchal templates of right and wrong. I focus my energy on the here and now. Zak is free to act upon his natural urges … and he usually does. For that matter, so do I.” She inched subtly closer to him. “If you know what I mean.”
Loving hoped he didn’t. “Did you ever hear anyone else act like they might wanna take a shot at Gardiner?”
She seemed slightly irritated to be dragged back to this mundane subject. “I’d never even heard of the man. Not till he turned up dead and the cops dragged Zak away. After rummaging through our camp.”
“So you don’t know why someone mighta killed him?”
“Sorry, I don’t. And I wouldn’t focus on it, even if I did. That is not the path to harmony. That is not the teaching of the Goddess.”
Loving really didn’t want to get into this at all, but he supposed he would be derelict in his duty if he didn’t. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re talking about?”
“About the Goddess? It’s Mother Nature. Gaia. Sophia. Whatever you care to call her.”
“And she has … teachings?”
“Of course.”
“Are they written in a book somewhere?”
Kelly laughed. “Mother Nature didn’t publish a dissertation, if that’s what you mean. Her teachings are everywhere. In the earth, in the air. All around us.”
Oh, geez. Now Loving really wished the Skipper had made this visit himself. He was much more tolerant of wackos. “Is this … some kinda religion?”
“I wouldn’t use that word. It’s more like a belief system. Goddess worship is a female-centered focus for spiritual expression.”
“Oh. Guess that’s why I didn’t learn about it in Sunday school class.”
Kelly laughed. “You’re a scream.” She pressed her fingers against his knee and held them there way longer than Loving thought was necessary.
“So, in this Goddess thing, God is a woman?”
“Oh, there’s much more to it than that. The Goddess is not just a female God. She represents an entirely different concept. The Christian God is an all-powerful, transcendent deity. The Goddess is more tangible, more real. She’s located in each individual and in all things in nature. She’s everywhere. She connects with us because she’s part of us. But she’s also part of nature, which heightens our environmental awareness. That’s the aspect that first drew me to Goddess worship.”
Loving steadfastly maintained a straight face, even though this sounded to him like something the boys at Orpha’s might spout after several six-packs. “I gotta admit, I never hearda this before. Who cooked this up?”
“No one cooked it up,” Kelly said, but she didn’t seem the least bit annoyed. “It’s existed for centuries. Have you read Marija Gimbutas?”
Loving knew better than to bluff when he was out of his depth. “I don’t think so. I’ve read Louis L’Amour.”
She laughed again. “Gimbutas has proved that goddess worship was a prehistoric belief eradicated by patriarchal invaders about six thousand years ago. In fact, she says goddess worship goes back to 25,000
B.C.
That’s why farmers sometimes dig up those little female goddess statuettes.”
“But don’t you think those prehistoric beliefs probably died out … for a reason?”
“Yes, but it isn’t a good reason. Most progress isn’t, if you ask me. The prepatriarchal Utopia was egalitarian, peace-loving, and entirely gynocentric.”
Loving was blank-faced. “Entirely—”
“Centered around women.”
“Oh. Oh.” He tilted his head. “Well, that’s okay. I like women.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Somehow, without even appearing to move, Kelly had inched so close to him they were mere inches apart. “How would you like to get in touch with some of your … primitive urges?”
Loving was beginning to feel distinctly hot under the collar. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think.” She wrapped her hand around his thick neck. “Focus on the here and now.”
“I don’t—” Loving peeled himself off the sofa so abruptly Kelly tumbled over in his wake. “Not that it isn’t tempting. But I’m on duty. So to speak.” He rubbed a hand across his sweaty forehead. “Got work to do.”
“I see. Pity.”
“And I wouldn’t wanna take advantage. What with the Goddess watching and everything.”
Kelly smiled.
“Are you sure there’s nothing more you can tell me about the murder?”
“Sorry. I know it must’ve taken you a while to find me. But I just don’t know anything.”
“Let me ask you one more question,” Loving said. He kept one eye on the door, just in case he needed to beat a hasty retreat. “Why did you leave Green Rage?”
Her eyes drifted, just as they had when the group had been mentioned earlier. “What did they tell you?”
“They didn’t want to talk about it.”
She turned away. “Well, neither do I.”
“Please. I’d really like to know.”
“I’m sorry. No.”
“Please.” Loving knelt down and placed his hand on her knee. Boy, the Skipper was going to owe him big-time for this one. “I need to know.”
Her head turned slowly back in his direction. “It’s not that I wasn’t committed to the cause. I was. I gave my heart and soul to Green Rage.” Her voice dropped a notch. “And Zak. But there are some things I wasn’t willing to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like taking advantage of people. Manipulating them. Of course the Green Rage crowd would say, when you’re wrestling with the devil, you have to get a little dirty. But honestly, if you get too dirty, how can you tell yourself and the devil apart?”
“What was it they wanted you to do?”
“It was something they were all planning to do. Something beyond the pale. So I left.”
“And … do you know whether they did it?”
“I know they did. After I left. I’m certain of it.” She placed her hand over the big strong hand on her knee and squeezed. “If they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here now.”
A
FTER THE LUNCH BREAK
, Granny brought her next witness to the stand.
“The State calls Detective Arnold Cath.”
Ben watched as Cath ambled up to the front of the courtroom. He was a middle-aged man with about thirty pounds he didn’t need riding his midsection. He was wearing a suit jacket with complementary slacks, the standard issue plainclothes-cop-in-court regalia.
Granny quickly established the man’s credentials, including the twelve years he’d spent covering homicides in the county. She touched on a few of his past cases. None of them meant anything to Ben, but they garnered appreciative nods from some of the jurors.
As before, Granny spent no more time on the preliminaries than was absolutely necessary. “What were you doing on July thirteenth? Say about two in the morning.”
“Well, I was sound asleep in bed, like most everyone else, I expect.” He seemed amiable and good-natured, an appealing witness. “Till the phone call came.”
“And who was calling?”
“Sheriff Allen. He’d received a report of a homicide from one of his deputies. Poor kid had found the body—what was left of it—all by himself in the middle of the night. Sheriff Allen asked if I’d come out and take charge of the investigation.”
“Is that standard operating procedure?”
“Absolutely. Sheriff Allen’s a fine officer, but he’s not a homicide specialist. He always calls me when he has a murder on his hands. Not that that happens very often.”
“And what did you do after you received the call?”
“Well, I told him I’d get out there as soon as I could. I live in Mount Collie, ’bout twenty-five minutes out of Magic Valley. Plus I had to get dressed, splash some water on my face. Then I had to find this crime scene out in the middle of the green leafy nowhere. I got lost about six times; had to get on my cell phone and have Sheriff Allen lead me in step by step.”
“When did you arrive?”
“I think I got there about four-thirty, which I thought was pretty damn good, given the circumstances.”
“And what did you do when you arrived?”
“I conferred with Sheriff Allen briefly, then took control of the crime scene.”
Granny nodded appreciatively. “Detective Cath, for the sake of the jury, would you please explain what you mean by taking control of the crime scene?”
“Sure.” He turned to face the jury box. “Everything I do can probably be boiled down into two categories: restricting access and preserving the evidence. Obviously, we don’t want the crime scene contaminated. Something like seven out of ten homicides are solved in the first six hours based upon evidence found at the crime scene. We don’t want to lose that window of opportunity. So I cordon off the area and post guards at the entrances, to make sure no one gets in unless they have my okay.”
“And after that?”
“Then I start preserving the evidence on the site so it will still be there when the forensic teams arrive. I lay butcher paper down on the walkways so we can get in and out without damaging any evidence. In this case, out in the forest, there really weren’t any walkways as such, so I just created some, around the perimeter of the area and through the middle, near the remains. That way our footprints wouldn’t obliterate any evidence.”
“And what else?”
“I make sure no one sheds on the crime scene or bleeds on it or moves things around. We want everything to be just as it was when the killer left. Once that’s done, I admit the forensic teams.”
“Such as?”
“The hair and fiber team. The photographers and videographers. Trace evidence teams. Fingerprint experts. And of course the coroner’s team.” He shuddered involuntarily. “Man, I wouldn’t have wanted their job for all the tea in China.”
“And did all these forensic teams you mentioned appear?”
“They certainly did. Took some of them a while to get out there, but they all made it.”
“And did they find anything?”
“Objection.” Ben had been taking it easy on the objections, trying not to alienate the jury. But this one he couldn’t let go. “Hearsay. Detective Cath shouldn’t be testifying about what someone else did.”
Judge Pickens shrugged. “Well, I’ll allow it.”
“Your honor,” Ben insisted, “it hasn’t been established that the witness has any expertise in these various forensic fields.”
“The prosecutor just asked if they found anything. He can answer that, if he knows, without going into any great detail about what was found. Will that make you happy, counselor?”
“Ecstatic,” Ben murmured under his breath. Christina suppressed a giggle.
“So I’ll ask you again,” Granny said. “Did the forensic teams find anything? If you know.”
“They did. They found footprints. And they also recovered a few fingerprints from a piece of the tree cutter that was thrown clear of the explosion.”
“And were they able to identify the fingerprints?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “Now the prosecutor is asking for analysis. Analysis that was not conducted by this witness and is not within his field of expertise.”
“Very well,” Judge Pickens said wearily, as if Ben were an annoying insect that he couldn’t quite swat. “We’ll save that for the fingerprint expert.”
Granny didn’t seem particularly annoyed. And why should she be? They both knew she had the proper expert waiting in the wings. “Thank you very much. No more questions.”
After the judge gave him the nod, Ben took his place behind the podium and launched into his cross-examination. He tried to adopt a tone somewhere in the middle ground—insistent, but not overbearing. He knew it was critical that he remain in control during cross or he wouldn’t get anything. On the other hand, if he came on too strong with Mr. Friendly, the jury would resent it.
“Detective Cath, how reliable is the evidence found at the crime scene?”
Cath seemed a bit taken aback, but it didn’t last long. His placid smile soon reasserted itself. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, the jury has to know what they can believe, what they can trust. Can they trust the crime-scene evidence?”
“Of course they can.”
“Isn’t it true that evidence is only reliable if it hasn’t been contaminated?”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
“And if it has been contaminated, then all that evidence you mentioned is unreliable.”
“Right. Garbage in, garbage out. That’s why they have me on the scene.”
Ben raised a finger. “Ah, but you didn’t arrive at the crime scene till four-thirty, right?”
Cath chuckled. “Well, I can’t deny it, since I just said so myself a few minutes ago.”