Accused: A Rosato & Associates Novel (33 page)

“YOUR MOTHER THINKS YOU SHOULDA JUST SAID NO.”

Mary sighed. “I understand that now, but I was trying to be nice.”

“YOU’RE TOO NICE, MARE. YOU KNOW HOW ELVIRA IS. SHE’S A GOOD LADY BUT SHE CAN BE BOSSY.”

Mary glanced over to see if Anthony was offended, but he was nodding.

“Your father is exactly right,” he said under his breath, chuckling.

“YOUR MOTHER DOESN’T WANT YOU TO GET TALKED INTO WEARING THAT DRESS, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS BEAUTIFUL.”

Mary smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“YOUR MOTHER THINKS ELVIRA IS GOING TO TALK YOU INTO IT.”

“She won’t, Pop. Don’t worry.”

“SHE BETTER NOT. IT’S NOT HER PLACE. BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER WANTS YOU TO WEAR HER DRESS AT YOUR WEDDING.”

Mary blanched. “What?”

“SHE WAS GONNA TELL YOU BUT ELVIRA BEAT HER TO THE PUNCH. SHE WANTS YOU TO WEAR HER DRESS. THE ONE SHE MARRIED ME IN.”

Mary had no idea what to do or say.
No, but I’ll keep an open mind?

“YOUR MOTHER’S DRESS IS EVEN MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN ELVIRA’S. YOU KNOW. YOU SEEN IT IN OUR WEDDING PICTURE ON TOP A THE TV.”

Mary closed her eyes, and a vision of her mother’s wedding dress materialized like a ghost. The dress was a satin version of a nun’s habit, with severe lines, a narrow waistband, and a collar so high and thick it could’ve been a neck brace.

Anthony looked over, with a smile. “Now this is getting interesting.”

“Pop, tell Ma I love her and let’s talk about this another time. I have a lot on my mind right now, we don’t have to think about dresses. It’s late, so go to bed, and we’ll talk about this another day, okay? Tell Ma I love her, but we have to go, good-bye.”

“Okay, good night, Mare, we love you.”

“Bye,” Mary said hanging up, and rubbing her face.

“Oh man, what happens now? Mother or mother-in-law? It’s no-win.” Anthony chuckled, but he wasn’t the one who had to choose between dresses, or mothers.

“Honestly, I really don’t want to deal with it now.”

“You seem so bothered. What’s going on?”

Mary thought of her car, still at the impound lot. “My car got towed because I couldn’t find a legal space last night.”

“Oh no.” Anthony cringed. “Sorry. You’re mad.”

“No, just bugged.”

“I’ll take you tomorrow, I only have class until three, then we meet everybody for drinks, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Mary rubbed her forehead. She had forgotten.

“You can still go, right?”

“Yes, I can.”

“I appreciate it.”

Mary felt guilty for being annoyed about going. “I can, it’s just that we’re at the lowest point in this case yet.”

“How so?” Anthony glanced over, his tone softening, and they stopped at a traffic light on Lombard Street, almost home. “Tell me what’s going on in your case. I can understand it, and it might help to talk about it.”

Mary suppressed a sigh as the car cruised ahead and she knew they’d be orbiting the block to find an empty parking space. “There’s too many details.”

“So give me the gist. It helps me to understand what you do, and you never really talk about your work, not in specifics.”

Mary reflected that he was probably right, but the last thing she wanted to do after a long day of disappointment was to talk about disappointment. “Lou and I have been working on it, but I don’t think we have enough to get the investigation reopened and I’m not sure what to do next.”

“Do you believe it should be reopened?”

“Yes, absolutely.” Mary felt a stirring in her gut at the notion that Lonnie Stall was behind bars, while Tim Gage was driving around in a Jaguar. “I think an injustice was committed, and it’s driving me crazy.”

“How does an investigation get reopened? Do you have to file a brief with the court or make a motion?”

“No, you go to the district attorney and ask them to reopen it.”

“You just ask, person-to-person?”

“Yes. You make your case.” Mary realized that it was unusual, in a profession layered with needless paperwork, procedural rules, and technical complexity.

“So why don’t you just go and ask?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Anthony looked over, braking at the next traffic light. “If you believe it that strongly, you can convince them. You’re very convincing when you want to be.”

“But I don’t have all my ducks in a row. I’m not ready yet.”

“If you wait until you’re ready, you might lose your chance.” Anthony turned to her calmly, and suddenly Mary wondered if they were talking about the case anymore. Or maybe he was, but she wasn’t.

“You know, you might be right,” Mary said, after a moment. She’d never done anything like it before, especially not on her own, without Judy. But she was a partner now, and it wasn’t about her, at all. It was about Lonnie Stall, unjustly accused, and Fiona Gardner, whose murderer had gone free. “If I work all night, I bet I can get my act together. Would you mind dropping me off at the office?”

“Now? Aren’t you tired?”

“Not anymore,” Mary answered, pretty sure she wasn’t using work as an excuse.

Chapter Thirty-eight

The next morning, Mary sat across from the empty desk of Chief of the Homicide Division, trying not to be intimidated while she waited for the Chief herself. There were three hundred lawyers in the Office of the District Attorney of Philadelphia, and they hired only the best and the brightest. The cream of the crop worked in the homicide division, twenty-five of them, and they all reported to the
capo di tuttl capi,
Chief Gloria Weber. Weber was renowned for her judgment, fairness, and intelligence, and her name appeared in the newspaper headlines only when necessary. Mary knew if she had a shot with anyone, it would be Gloria Weber, and the proof was that the Chief had agreed to take the meeting when Mary had called and begged her this morning.

Mary looked around at the large corner office with windows on two sides, showing a southeastern view that was the sunniest. On the wall to the right was a lineup of diplomas and certificates of admission, as well as civic awards. The desk was a modern L shape, of a dark indeterminate wood, and there was a black leather sectional couch to the left, across from a standard-issue row of battered tan file cabinets. A bookshelf held a variety of photos of Weber’s three young sons, as well as law books, the Pennsylvania Crimes Code, and notebooks labeled
SENTENCING GUIDELINES
.

“Good morning, Mary.” Weber breezed in with a Starbucks vente and a winning smile, and her appearance took Mary aback. Gloria Weber was almost a dead-ringer for Julia Roberts, tall and slim in a black turtleneck, black slacks, and low heels. Her red-brown hair was pulled back in a knot, and a warmth and humor played around her eyes, with crow’s-feet just beginning to show.

“Thanks so much for seeing me on such short notice.”

“You lucked out. I’m not in court today and I took pity on you.” Weber strode around the desk, smiling at her in wry amusement. “I thought you were going to cry if I said no.”

“You could tell?” Mary burst into laughter, feeling at ease, and she understood instantly why Weber was such a successful trial lawyer, because she was completely charming.

“This office is always happy to help an outstanding member of the defense bar, such as Rosato & Associates.” Weber set her Starbucks on the desk and sat down, swiveling in her chair in a way that suggested she was having fun. “So go back and tell Bennie I’m not the enemy.”

“Will do.” Mary smiled. “So you know why I’m here. I’ve been investigating the Lonnie Stall case. I want to try and persuade you to reopen the investigation.”

“Persuade away.” Weber opened her palms, then folded her arms across her chest, and her expression grew serious. “Tell me what you got.”

“I think that Fiona Gardner was killed by her boyfriend, whose name is Tim Gage. He was a high-school boyfriend, and she broke up with him two weeks before the murder. For that reason he wasn’t invited to the party during which Fiona was killed. But when I interviewed him, he lied and said he wasn’t there. My investigator found a parking valet who remembers him and his car and can place him at the party that night.”

“At the time of the murder?”

“Yes, and he left shortly after he got there.”

“Go on.” Weber tented her slim fingers.

“I also spoke with Fiona’s best friend, Hannah Wicker, who was at the party that night and who dated Tim Gage after Fiona was killed. She said that Tim was abusive, controlling, and obsessed with Fiona, and that he told her that if he had found out that Fiona was dating somebody else after him, that he didn’t know what he would have done. The clear implication was that it would’ve been something violent.”

“What else you got?”

“Honestly, nothing more, not yet, anyway.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

Mary swallowed hard. “I want you to reopen the investigation.”

“And what is it you expect to learn, specifically?”

“Before I answer, let me back up a minute, so I understand your procedures correctly.” Mary edged forward on the seat. “When a body is found, the coroner’s office goes out with mobile crime techs and they collect trace evidence from a body, such as skin, hair, blood and the like. Is that correct?”

“Basically, that’s correct.”

“In this case, everybody was pretty sure that Stall was the killer that night, and for good reason, because of his actions in fleeing the scene. He was arrested and charged fairly quickly.”

“Yes, there what we would consider ‘emergent circumstances.’”

“Right, so then I assume that the coroner and mobile crime techs find trace evidence from Lonnie Stall, bag it, mark it, and that’s what the D.A. used to support his case.”

“Yes, that’s correct, too.” Weber’s eyes strayed to her desk clock, and Mary knew she’d better get to the point.

“I’m assuming there’s lots of trace evidence on the body that was collected but that wasn’t part of the Commonwealth investigation, and as such, wasn’t used or tested, since it didn’t relate to Lonnie Stall. You think that’s a correct assumption?”

“Yes, I do.” Weber nodded. “There would be a wealth of trace evidence that wasn’t relevant to the trial, and that evidence be would be in the evidence lock-up in City Hall or in the police warehouse on Erie Avenue.”

“But only the D.A. can get that evidence.”

“True.”

“Not even a party can get that.”

“Right.”

“So, in answer to your question, if I could get that evidence, I would specifically like to know if any of it is skin cells, hairs, saliva, DNA, or blood from Tim Gage. If so, that would contradict his story and link him to the murder. Am I right?”

“Yes, completely.”

“So what do you think?”

Weber thought a moment, cocking her head. “If this Tim Gage was the victim’s boyfriend, then she could have any of that evidence on her.”

“No, but they had broken up two weeks prior. He hadn’t seen her in two weeks. That kind of evidence doesn’t hang around that long, does it? It can’t.” Mary was thinking out loud, but she had to go with her gut. “Fiona was a teenage girl. If she was like me, she took showers all the time and would’ve changed into a nice new party dress.”

Weber arched an eyebrow. “Can you establish that she hadn’t seen Gage in two weeks?”

“Yes.” Mary could go back to Hannah Wicker to get the information, or if she had to, go to the Gardners.

“Well, that’s interesting, but it’s only a good start. It’s not enough to reopen the investigation in this case.”

“Can you tell me why?” Mary’s heart sank, but she didn’t let it show.

“You have a two-pronged problem on your hands. First prong. To reopen an investigation, you would need to show me some significant physical evidence, or some very compelling other kind of evidence. Hard evidence.”

“I can’t get the evidence, if I can’t get the record, and I don’t have the power to subpoena samples from Tim Gage.” Mary thought a minute. “What happens in all those cases where someone is trying to prove actual innocence? Those guys get the record and retest everything.”

“That’s called being granted access to the original sample, and those ‘guys,’ as you call them, have more compelling physical evidence to offer.”

“What about the fact that Gage lied about being there?”

“It’s useless. He didn’t lie at trial. I didn’t have him on the stand. It wasn’t sworn testimony, or even in an affidavit.” Weber shook her head. “If he had been called at trial, maybe, but he wasn’t. Trial counsel should’ve dug a little deeper.”

“What if you got Gage in here and talked to him?” Mary asked, though she knew the answer.

“It doesn’t work that way, we don’t reopen piecemeal. You need more on him before we can begin to talk about my bringing him in here.”

“Right now, I have an investigator looking into recent girlfriends to see if he was violent with them, or maybe even mentioned something about killing Fiona, like if he was drinking.”

“Follow up on that. I’m no social scientist, but in my experience, that kind of doer is arrogant. They love the feeling of power and superiority. Generally, that type of criminal wants people to know how smart he is. Sooner or later, they start talking and slip up.”

“What about if I could find him on surveillance tapes, getting into the building? They don’t have tapes of the murder scene, because it was a new building.”

“That would help, too, so we didn’t have to rely solely on the valet’s memory, which could be stale at this point. But wait.” Weber raised a finger. “I told you there are two prongs to your case, and you have a second problem that’s even bigger. The guilty plea. Your client pled guilty. Why?”

“He didn’t at the beginning of trial, and he didn’t take the deal that was offered, but he changed his mind later on the advice of his trial counsel, who was a nice guy but not experienced in murder cases.” Mary hadn’t mentioned to Weber that she wasn’t technically representing Stall, because the Chief probably wouldn’t have agreed to see her at all.

“So why did Stall change his mind?”

“Because he thought he was going to be found guilty and the case wasn’t going very well.”

“The guilty plea is the second problem you have to overcome.” Weber leaned back in her chair, folding her arms again. “The guilty plea matters because it is an admission by the defendant himself and evidence of his accepting responsibility for the crime. And it’s a serious crime, the most serious crime there is.”