Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (134 page)

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN I STEPPED INTO the court hallway, the buzz assailed me. Everyone was fired up about something. Cops were running down the hallway, attorneys were whispering to each other and frantically passing papers, and everyone’s eyes were alarmed.

Adam Boden, a nice man who graduated at the same time I did, rushed past me. I caught his arm. “What’s going on?” I asked. Dan came up to us and leaned in to hear the answer.

Adam met my eyes, serious, and then looked at Dan and back at me. My throat tightened. In a low voice, he said, “One of the forensic techs, Joel McFay, came in to work today stoned out of his mind. They found cocaine in his locker, and traces of it all over his car and apartment.” He stopped and his eyes widened.

“So?” I said, not ready to relax but not yet seeing the significance. “They’ll fire him and get a new one.”

“No.” Adam frowned. “There’s no telling how long he’s been coming to work toasted. They’re declaring all the evidence he’s catalogued for the past year null. He swears he was set up, but he can’t prove it.”

Dan still stared at him, as if not understanding. But the full reality of what it meant sank in for me.

“So the DNA he ran could be off,” Dan said slowly.

“No DNA test he did will hold up in a court of law,” I whispered.

He must have done hundreds of tests in the past year. And now, in one moment, they would all be trashed. How many criminals would go free because of this? I grasped my briefcase and shuffled through the papers until I reached the right one. My eyes tore down the page until it lit on a name.

“Joel McFay, you said?”

Adam’s face creased in compassion. He nodded.

My mask cracked and I groaned. “No! No! No way!” My voice echoed through the hall. The din quieted. People stared at me in shock and then glanced away.

Adam stepped back. Dan put a hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he said in a soothing voice. “It’s going to be okay.” But even as he said the words, I could tell he didn’t believe them.

I closed my eyes and collected myself, drawing from deep within me, willing myself to hide that wild side.

Adam looked at me as if he’d never seen me before and then inched away, turned, and walked off. Dan still had his arm on my shoulder, which seemed to burn through my blouse. I stepped forward and his hand fell.

My mind raced, already going through the case in light of the recent setback. No, it was more than a setback. It was enough to get most cases thrown out of court. I mentally filtered out the DNA evidence from my presentation and concentrated on what I had left.

There was no doubt that the tech could’ve been set up. And I had no doubt that Hank Williams could’ve done it. Ten years ago he’d been charged with possession, but got out with only a hefty fine and some community service. I was sure he was in on the drug trade—he’d just been successful at not getting caught.

Walking fast, I weaved between the people in the busy hallway, not meeting anyone’s eyes, in my own world. I’d lost Dan, who was probably finding the nearest judge to try to get some privileged information.

My case was built on the DNA, no doubt about it. But was there enough evidence without it to prove him guilty? I thought of the stun gun they’d found in his hand, the murder weapon. There was a witness, a neighbor who saw his car at the barn that night. And then there were his fingerprints all over the place. That had to be enough.

I gritted my teeth. It
would
be enough. I wasn’t going to fail Tracy just because some cokehead had been caught—or framed.

Besides, the judge might allow for the DNA in our case. You never know.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE JUDGE PUT HIS hands together in a prayerful position and said mournfully, “Because Joel McFay completed all of the DNA evidence for the case, none of it can be used as evidence.” He sighed. I had a feeling that behind his morose attitude, he was enjoying the drama. “In light of this recent setback, I will allow you to convene another day, if you so choose.”

“No, thank you, Your Honor,” Sawyer said quickly. “We don’t want to reschedule.” He looked down to where Williams sat and nodded. Williams looked at me. His eyes glistened with pleasure.

I shuffled my papers, picked up my pen, and then set it down again, thinking hard. Dan’s eyes were boring into the side of my face, but I didn’t meet them. I knew what he would say: wait. But the murder had taken place eleven months ago. The thought of Williams getting away another week set me on edge. There was still enough evidence to convict him—I knew it. The witness would seal the deal for us.

Raising my eyes to the judge, I copied Sawyer word for word. “No, thank you, Your Honor. We don’t want to reschedule.”

It was as if the room audibly sighed. Everyone hated delays.

Dan Butler sat on my left with the intern, Joshua, who took notes and tried not to look nervous. Dan was there for support and to make sure I didn’t screw up. I hated feeling babysat, but being a newbie came with its baggage. Mine was Dan. He would only sit in on high-profile cases, and this being the biggest case of the year, it was understandable why he was keeping a close eye on me. I knew I was a Cinderella figure. Sure, I was riding in the carriage now, but I was one mistake away from landing on my butt on the curb with pumpkin all over my dress.

CHAPTER FIVE

THE COURTROOM WAS PACKED. Not only was the media there, keenly observing every move we made, but there were family members, tense and agitated at the sight of Williams, and then there were the citizens who came for the show, for the gory pictures and dramatic courtroom speeches.

I pushed everyone out of my mind. All that mattered now were my witnesses and my jury. At the beginning of each case, I claimed the jury for myself. It helped me speak to them as if I knew them, as if we were longtime friends and I was telling them a horrific story. Working the jury was my greatest strength, and it’s what Dan had seen in me that got me hired.

The first witness of the day was Hank Williams’ mother. In my interview with her, she mentioned how her son had a porn addiction, and I hoped to use it to show that Hank Williams was into girls, young ones. But she folded on the stand. She all but vouched for his character with tears in her eyes. She backed up his not-guilty claim by saying how he never lied, how he had been a Boy Scout and a model student, and how he treated women with the utmost respect. I masked my anger with a smile and cut my questions short.

Then came Kathleen Perry, an elderly lady—big boned, thinning hair, teeth that had half an inch of tar coating them, and a skull and bones tattooed on her neck. She didn’t exactly look like the type of person you’d leave your children with. She was a neighbor to the abandoned farmhouse where Williams had kept Tracy.

I was halfway through my interrogation and had already pulled out a few tears from her as she recounted the experience. But she wasn’t as confident as she’d been when she was alone with me. Kathleen’s eyes were shifty, and she answered with, “probably,” “maybe,” and “kind of” more often than I’d like. It was more than just jitters, too. I could tell. This was something different. Something had spooked my witness and I didn’t know what. I plowed ahead, though, ready to hear her testify that he was there the night Tracy died. And then I would get her out of here.

Cross-examining witnesses was always an adrenaline rush. There was no other feeling like an open conflict between two people with a silent audience.

“Now let’s jump to the night of the murder,” I said. “Did you see anything out of the ordinary at the barn?” I sneaked a sideways glance at the jury. They were listening with rapt attention.

“Yes. I saw a silver car in the driveway. You know, one of those nice ones that you see on TV a lot? I’d seen it in the driveway off and on for about a month.”

“May I approach the witness with State’s Exhibit number twenty-one, Your Honor?” The judge nodded. I slid a picture of the defendant’s car toward Kathleen and her eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s the one. I remember the sticker in the back window. It looks like a snake or something. I remember thinking it was a little creepy.”

“Tell the Court what you heard coming from the farmhouse, if you can.” I leaned in and handed her a tissue. She took it and dabbed her eyes.

“Around eleven o’clock, I went out for a smoke. It was a calm night. No wind at all. I noticed that car there by the barn. And I heard something. Screams … they sounded muffled, and almost like an animal. I thought it might be a wounded dog or something.” She said it so low that everyone in the courtroom leaned in to hear.

I asked my next questions in a calm voice. “Why didn’t you call the police? Why didn’t you try to get some help?”

She looked up at me with red, puffy eyes, and then looked around the room apologetically. “I didn’t believe it was really what it sounded like. We have such a peaceful little place and I never imagined it was more than a tomcat, or maybe a wild animal. I should have called, but I just didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think that someone could be that cruel and heartless to a helpless little girl, did you?”

“Objection!” Sawyer stood so fast his chair tipped over.

I turned and walked to my desk. “No further questions, Your Honor.” I made my point and the courtroom felt it just as I did. After a few more expert witnesses and slide after slide of Tracy Mulligan’s broken body, everything would wrap up like a Christmas present. I looked over at Williams. Through it all, he looked calm and collected.

What is he hiding?

Sawyer righted his chair, red-faced, and walked over to Kathleen. I tensed as if I were the one on the stand.

“Have you ever been convicted of any felonies, Mrs. Perry?” He spoke her name crisply.

Kathleen gasped.

“Objection, Your Honor,” I said evenly. “Irrelevant.”

“Lends to character, Judge,” Sawyer said.

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Please continue, Mr. Sawyer.”

Kathleen looked down and wrung her hands. She wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes and barely whispered, “Yes.”

“What were you charged with?” Sawyer asked. I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure it was smug.

Kathleen shifted in her chair. I willed her to look up, speak confidently, and not appear so darn guilty. “I was heavy into drugs. Got caught with possession. Served my time.” She looked up and said loudly, slipping into her normal slang, “It ruined my life and my son’s life. I ain’t never gonna get ahold of that stuff again. We moved here and alls I do is smoke, nothin’ more. Every day, I’m sorry I ever introduced drugs to my family.”

“So there is no more drug use in your family?” Sawyer asked.

Kathleen took a shaky breath. “N—n—no,” she stuttered. I forced myself not to look down in defeat.

I glanced at the jury. Their eyes were distrustful. I tried to meet Kathleen’s gaze, but she wouldn’t look at me. This was going downhill fast.

“So if I were to get the police to raid your house, we’d find no drugs at all?” Sawyer asked. Kathleen’s eyes widened.

“Objection,” I said. “Threatening the witness.”

So this was what it was all about. Kathleen wasn’t nervous for herself—I knew people on drugs and she didn’t have the look of it on her. She was protecting her son. I held my breath. What would she do to protect him?

“Sustained,” the judge said, and I let out my breath.

But Sawyer had already done what he needed to do. Kathleen looked like a cornered rabbit.

“So on the nights when you saw the defendant’s car at the barn and heard those screams, you were in no way inebriated?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but stopped. Sawyer continued.

“You’re absolutely sure, without a shadow of a doubt, that you saw that car parked at the barn and heard those sounds at eleven o’clock on May 14th?”

Kathleen swallowed. I could see what she was thinking. She was wondering if a raid would be ordered on her house if she said yes. So wrapped up in the moment, I nodded for her, as if it would help.

“Would you swear—” Sawyer pointed at Williams, “—on his life that you are absolutely sure you saw what you described?”