TEN
10:50
A.M.
T
ESS DIANGELI WAS ON
her feet again. “The People call Jack Briar.”
“Objection!” Dotson Elihu bolted up from his chair. “The People have never turned over the police tape of Jack Briar’s interview; the defense has a right to see it before Mr. Briar is examined.”
Smoke came into Judge Bernheim’s gaze. “Ms. diAngeli, does such a tape exist?”
“Yes.” Tess diAngeli spoke the word grudgingly, giving it the emotional force of
no
. “And it contains precisely the same statements that Mr. Briar made in his depositions. Mr. Elihu has had those documents for six months. If he really needed to see this videotape, why didn’t he request it months ago?”
“Your Honor …” Elihu’s face was doing astonishment; and he angled himself so the jury couldn’t miss it. “I didn’t even
know
of the tape’s existence till last night when I came across a page of footnotes that the People had omitted to show me.”
“This tactic is pure, calculated obstruction.” DiAngeli pushed out a sigh. “Mr. Briar is our most important witness, and his testimony is absolutely vital to our case.”
Judge Bernheim studied the prosecutor, eyelids low. “The People will furnish the defense with a copy of the tape. After Mr. Elihu has had twenty-four hours to review it, the People may call Jack Briar.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” DiAngeli did not hide a flicker of annoyance. “In that case, the People call Britta Bailey.”
It was four minutes before a door opened and a short, stocky woman in a navy blue dress crossed to the witness stand.
“Place your hand on the Bible.” The bailiff held out a small book bound in black leatherette. “Do you solemnly swear that the testimony you give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
“I do.”
Tess diAngeli approached the witness. “Ms. Bailey, would you tell us how you are employed?”
“I’m a sergeant with the New York City Police Department, assigned to the Twenty-second Precinct, in Manhattan.”
“How long have you worked for the police department?”
“Four and a half years.”
“Would you describe the events of the Sunday before Labor Day, two years ago, as they relate to this trial?”
“Around midday a woman by the name of Yolanda Lopez came into the precinct. She said she was worried about John and Amalia Briar, who lived at 777 Park Avenue.”
“Did she say why she was worried?”
“Apparently they’d been sick for some time. They didn’t answer the buzzer and the building staff was on strike. Ms. Lopez wanted an officer to break into the apartment. I telephoned the apartment. A man answered and I asked if John and Amalia Briar were having any kind of problem. He said they were fine.”
“Did you break into the apartment at this time?”
“No. Since I’d been able to speak with someone on the premises, and they reported no emergency, that would be against departmental procedure. We classified Ms. Lopez as a false alarm.”
“Ms. Bailey, would you describe the events of the Tuesday after Labor Day, as they relate to this trial?”
“Tuesday, a little after one
P.M.
, Jack Briar came into the precinct. He said he had a lunch date with his father and stepmother. He was worried because they didn’t answer their buzzer and their phone was off the hook. He said they’d been in failing health for some time. Since the building staff was on strike, he wanted an officer to break into the apartment.”
“And how did you respond?”
“First I phoned the apartment. The phone was busy, and the operator confirmed that it was off the hook. Which suggested Mr. Briar was right, there might be some kind of mishap. So I went with him to 777 Park and broke into the apartment.”
“How did you break in?”
“I used a police department crowbar and sledgehammer on the front door.”
“Before you broke the door,” diAngeli said, “did you notice signs of an earlier break-in?”
“At that door? No.”
“When did you enter the apartment?”
“At one-thirty
P.M.
, approximately.”
“Would you describe what you found?”
“John Briar was lying on the floor of his bedroom, naked except for an adult diaper and a robe. No visible wounds, but there was no pulse; the body was cold.”
“And did you find anyone else in the apartment?”
“Amalia Briar was lying in her bedroom—faceup—no visible wounds, but she was also dead.”
“And did you find any person
alive
in the apartment?”
“There was a man in the kitchen—alive.”
“Did he identify himself?”
“He didn’t need to. I recognized him—it was Mickey Williams.”
A stir passed through the courtroom.
“Do you mean Mickey Williams the ex-running back for the Houston Oilers?”
Sergeant Bailey nodded. “Yes.”
“What was he doing in the kitchen?”
“He was sitting there. Eating spaghetti from a pot.”
“Did he act surprised to see you?”
“He showed no reaction to anything. It was like he was in a trance.”
Dotson Elihu jumped to his feet. “Objection. Conclusion.”
“Sustained,” Judge Bernheim said. “Jury will disregard witness’s last remark.”
Dotson Elihu was holding a sheaf of papers. “Sergeant Bailey—is this your report on the discovery of John and Amalia Briar’s bodies?”
The officer examined the papers. “It is.”
“You just testified that you found Amalia Briar faceup. But on page two of that report you say that you discovered her body facedown on the bed.”
The officer leafed again through the pages. She looked back at Elihu, her expression wary.
“So which is the truth? Facedown or faceup?”
“Faceup.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then why do you say facedown in the report?”
“I made a mistake.”
“You made a mistake? Why didn’t you correct the mistake?”
“I did. But sometimes the computer loses information.”
“Then your final, considered testimony, under oath, is that you discovered Amalia Briar lying how—facedown or faceup?”
“Faceup.” Officer Bailey’s voice had risen slightly.
“And did you examine the front door of the apartment for signs of a break-in before you broke in yourself?”
“Naturally.” The witness’s voice was inching into irritation now. “And I observed that there were no signs of a break-in.”
“How long did you examine the door?”
Sergeant Bailey didn’t hesitate. “Thirty seconds.”
Elihu went to the defense table and reached into a battered briefcase. He crossed to the jury box, winding a white plastic kitchen timer. He set the timer on the rail. It had the lopsided tick of a juvenile’s homemade bomb and it seemed to tick much longer than half a minute.
When the timer finally jangled, the witness gave a little start.
“That’s thirty seconds. Is that how long you took?”
Thirty seconds was obviously an overestimate and Elihu had trapped her; but this lady did not retreat. “Approximately.”
“Did you ask the crime scene photographer to photograph the door before you broke in?”
“There was no crime scene crew present. I didn’t know for a fact that the apartment was a crime scene till I found the bodies.”
“Are you saying there are
no
photographs of the door as it was before you destroyed it?”
“To my knowledge there are no such photographs.”
“The People call Lieutenant Vincent Cardozo.”
Cardozo took the stand, swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but.
Tess diAngeli rose from the prosecution table. She walked him through his record and career: eighteen years with the NYPD, twelve years a detective, eight years a lieutenant, seven years at the Twenty-second Precinct. Twice wounded in the line of duty. Two distinguished service citations.
“How soon after the discovery of the Briars’ bodies did you arrive at their apartment?”
“Twelve minutes.”
“Could you describe the state of the apartment as you found it?”
“Aside from the front door, which was broken in, most of the rooms were fairly neat. John Briar’s bedroom was not neat. Mr. Briar was lying dead on the floor. He’d pulled the bedclothes down with him. A lamp was on the floor, broken. Articles were knocked off the tabletop.”
“Based on your years of experience as a detective, would you say these were signs of a struggle?”
“Absolutely. No mistaking it.”
“Do the police possess an inventory of the Briars’ apartment?”
“We were given one by the estate’s lawyer.”
“Was anything of value missing from the apartment? Any jewelry, any artwork? Rare books? Anything of that sort?”
“Nothing was missing.”
A movement at the defense table caught Cardozo’s eye. The defendant and his lawyer, heads bent together, were reviewing some kind of checklist. Cardozo had never seen Corey Lyle in the flesh before, but he recognized him from photos: calm, centered, smiling a smile that suggested either complete innocence of the charges or complete indifference to them.
Cardozo had met Dotson Elihu a dozen times over the last decade, but he was intrigued to see him at the defense table today. Elihu had represented Lyle five years ago, when the government had failed to sustain an indictment on charges of conspiring to blow up the White Plains post office; he had represented Mickey Williams two years ago. Mickey was now the state’s chief witness against Corey Lyle—and Elihu was again defending Lyle. Whatever happened to conflict of interest?
“How many people were in the apartment when you arrived?”
“Aside from the two victims, there was Sergeant Bailey. And a sergeant at the front door. And three sergeants inside. And a civilian in the kitchen.”
“Who was the civilian?”
“Mickey Williams—the ex-running back.”
“What was Mr. Williams doing in the kitchen?”
“Sitting. Eating spaghetti.”
“Did he tell you at that time if he had witnessed the murders?”
“
Witnessed
was not the word he used. But based on his statements to me, he witnessed the murders. Decidedly.”
Dotson Elihu crossed slowly to the witness box. “Lieutenant Cardozo—would you describe the state of Amalia Briar’s room when you found her dead body?”
“Nothing upset, nothing obviously out of place. Except for the phone on the floor.”
“Would you say the scene was like or unlike the scene in John Briar’s bedroom?”
“Very unlike. At first glance, you’d think Amalia Briar died peacefully in her sleep.”
DiAngeli leaped up. “Objection. Not responsive.”
“Overruled.”
Elihu smiled. “Lieutenant, did the police dust the premises for fingerprints?”
“Yes, we did.”
“How many prints did the police find in the apartment?”
“Usable prints? Over a hundred.”
“How many of these could the police identify?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Which leaves sixty-nine unidentified?”
“That’s right.”
“So there could have been as many as sixty-nine as yet unidentified people who left their prints in the apartment?”
“No, there were nine sets of duplicates.”
“Then sixty as yet unidentified people could have left prints?”
“That would have been the maximum.” Cardozo held up both hands, blunt fingers outstretched. “But a lot of people have ten prints.”
Elihu tugged at his ear, playing it slow-witted, letting it show that he was playing. “Then an absolute minimum of six unidentified people left prints?”
“Theoretically, yes.”
“When the police first searched the Briar residence, was there any evidence that an intruder had broken in and robbed the apartment?”
“No.”
“Isn’t it a fact that Amalia Briar for tax reasons did not insure her jewelry?” Elihu casually waved a sheet of official-looking paper. “Isn’t it a fact that a missing diamond-and-emerald bracelet valued at eighty thousand dollars did not show up on the insurance inventory?”
Cardozo shook his head. “No record of any such bracelet has come to my attention.”
Elihu strolled away from the stand. “You say two murder weapons were found? Could you describe them?”
“They were goose-down pillows.”
“Were you able to recover prints from either of the pillows?”
“We recovered prints from both pillows.”
“Whose prints?”
“Mickey Williams’s.”
“So did you arrest Mickey Williams?”
Cardozo glanced toward Tess. She gave a barely perceptible shake of the head. “No. I did not.”
Elihu seemed puzzled. “In the light of Mickey Williams’s presence at the scene and his prints on the murder weapons—why on earth didn’t you arrest him? Wasn’t he the first person you suspected of the murders?”
DiAngeli jumped up. “Objection.”
“Overruled. Suspicion is part of this witness’s job and he may testify as to his state of mind in this regard.”
“I was under the impression,” DiAngeli said, “that this was cross-examination.”
Judge Bernheim shot the prosecutor a dead-eyed stare. “Your impression is correct and I’ve overruled you. Lieutenant Cardozo may respond.”
“If you’re asking, do I recall my state of mind? …” Cardozo pressed his fingers into a pyramid. “It crossed my mind that here were two dead bodies in a locked apartment, here was Mickey Williams sitting in the apartment, there was a good chance he knew what had happened.”
“It didn’t cross your mind there was an even better chance he had caused it to happen?”
“We didn’t have the print results at that time, but yes—it crossed my mind.”
“It crossed your mind, but you still did not arrest him?”
“I did not.”
“Then what did you do? Allow him to walk away?”
“As it happened, Mr. Williams chose to come to the precinct with us.”
“Mickey Williams went with you
voluntarily
?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are you telling this court that you found Mickey Williams sitting at a murder scene, you invited him to a tête-à-tête at the precinct, and you never once considered the possibility of charging him, not even after his prints were identified on both murder weapons, not even on
suspicion
?”