Guilty as Sin (63 page)

"Uh, yes, Your Honor."

"And, theoretically, even a statement from a prosecution witness can be considered such if given proper weight and light."

And fertilized, by the right defense attorney. Cameron's attempt at diplomatic steering had just been bent into a pretzel by Grabko's love of the sound of his own voice.

"Proceed with caution, Mr. Costello," Grabko went on. "I want to hear a definite point made in the questioning, not counsel giving testimony in the guise of cross-examination."

Costello nodded. "Of course, Your Honor. Thank you, Your Honor."

Ellen refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. Taking no chances, Cameron physically turned her back toward their table.

"Nice try, Opie," she said under her breath.

He leaned his head toward hers as he took his seat. "You're pissing him off, Ellen."

"He's pissing me off."

"Yeah, but his fate isn't in your hands."

"In my dreams."

Costello resumed his place behind the defense table, maintaining distance from the witness stand.

"Chief Holt, is it true you and Agent O'Malley are involved personally?"

Mitch's jaw hardened. "I don't see how that's any of your damn business, Mr. Costello."

Grabko leaned toward the box. "You'll answer the question, Chief Holt, and please refrain from using profanity in my courtroom."

"Yes, Your Honor," he responded grudgingly, glaring at Costello. "Yes, we are."

"So when you saw Agent O'Malley in danger, in pain, your reaction went beyond ordinary professional concern."

"Yes."

"You wanted to get the person responsible, and Agent O'Malley told you the person responsible was Dr. Garrett Wright."

"Yes."

"You believed the person you were pursuing was Dr. Wright. Dr. Wright lives on Lakeshore Drive. The chase took you in that direction, and when you saw someone going into Dr. Wright's garage, you pursued, even though you admit you had lost sight of your suspect for an unknown period of time. Isn't that correct?"

"Seconds," Mitch specified. "A heartbeat. What are you getting at, Costello? Spit it out and spare us the theatrics."

He wanted to punch the smug little smile off Costello's face, and he realized that the distance the attorney was keeping between them was aggravating him more than if the son of a bitch had been standing a foot away, as he had done with Megan.

"You wanted to see Agent O'Malley keep her position here as regional agent, didn't you?"

"Agent O'Malley is an excellent cop."

"And your lover. And Agent O'Malley had decided, based on virtually no evidence, that Dr. Wright was guilty. She told you Dr. Wright was the one. You pursued Dr. Wright."

"I pursued the suspect," Mitch corrected him, his blood boiling at the insinuation. "I apprehended the suspect. I didn't give a damn if he was Dr. Wright or Dr. Spock."

"It never occurred to you that the man you ultimately apprehended and the suspect you chased through the woods in the dead of night were not the same person?"

"Never."

"Dr. and Mrs. Wright live at 93 Lakeshore Drive, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me who lives just two houses north, at 97 Lakeshore Drive?"

"The Kirkwoods."

"Paul Kirkwood?"

"Yes."

"No further questions, Chief Holt."

Ellen watched Costello as he settled into his chair.

"He's really going to do it, isn't he?" Cameron whispered. "He's going to try to pin this on Josh's father."

"He'll do whatever he has to," she murmured. "Garrett Wright and his shadow aren't the only ones playing a game here."

She rose again just as Grabko started to dismiss the witness. "Redirect, Your Honor?"

Impatience flashed in Grabko's eyes, but he grumbled a yes and sat back to pet his beard.

"Are the houses on Lakeshore Drive numbered on the back side, Chief?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"So when you followed the suspect into that garage, you didn't know if you were in 93 Lakeshore Drive or 95 or 91."

"I had no idea. It didn't matter."

"The suspect you chased through the woods was dressed in black, is that correct, Chief?"

"Yes. Black pants, black boots, black jacket."

"And how was Dr. Wright dressed when you apprehended him?"

"He was in black pants, black boots, and a black ski jacket."

"Did he show signs of physical exertion?"

"Yes. He was breathing hard, perspiring."

"And do you have any idea what the temperature was that evening?"

"About twenty degrees with a windchill factor of six degrees."

"Not the kind of night the average person would break a sweat, was it?"

"Objection."

"Withdrawn," Ellen said, biting down on a sly smile. "In regards to the tests for gunpowder performed on Dr. Wright's hands: would the outcome of the tests be affected if he had been wearing gloves at the time he'd used the gun?"

"Yes."

"No further questions, Chief Holt. Thank you."

The final witness for the prosecution was a criminalist from BCA headquarters in St. Paul. Norm Irlbeck had been on the scene the night of O'Malley's abduction, had been the one to collect the bloodstained sheet that had been draped around Megan. Ellen showed him photographs of the sheet taken at the scene and at headquarters.

"Is this the sheet, Mr. Irlbeck?"

"Yes, it is." He nodded a big, square head that sat like a block atop a big, square body. His voice was the deep, sonorous voice of authority that caught Grabko's attention and held it.

Ellen handed the photographs over to the clerk. "The sheet is still undergoing some tests in the lab—is that correct?" she asked, coming back toward her witness.

"Yes. The DNA tests will take another four to five weeks to complete."

"But there have been some conclusive preliminary findings, have there not?"

"Yes, there have been. Two distinct types of blood were found on the sheet. O positive, which is the blood type of Agent O'Malley, and AB negative, which is the blood type of Josh Kirkwood."

"And the extensive DNA tests now being conducted will determine if indeed the AB-negative blood is in fact Josh Kirkwood's—correct?"

"Yes."

"Hairs were also found on the sheet?"

"Yes. Hairs that were tested against samples and were found to be consistent in type with Agent O'Malley, Josh Kirkwood, and the defendant, Dr. Garrett Wright. There were also hairs from an unidentified fourth person."

"What about the ski mask found along the trail of pursuit, Mr. Irlbeck? Were hairs also found on that?"

"Yes. Hairs that were consistent with the defendant and also hairs that matched those unidentified from the sheet."

"Thank you, Mr. Irlbeck. I have no further questions."

"Mr. Irlbeck," Costello said before Ellen was even back to her seat. "Is the analysis of hair an exact, reliable science?"

"No, it is not."

"You can't make an absolutely positive identification as to whether a hair found on a sheet belongs to a particular person based strictly on the study of the hair itself."

"No, sir."

"Do you have any way of determining who last wore that ski mask?"

"No, sir."

"And do you have any way of knowing precisely how any of the hairs came to be on that sheet?"

"No, I do not."

"Could they have been deliberately placed on the sheet?"

"Possibly."

"No further questions."

"We have enough," Cameron said, ignoring the chairs and sitting on the credenza. Phoebe handed him a white deli sack and placed Ellen's on the table without looking at her.

Ignoring her secretary's pique and the food, Ellen paced the length of the conference table. She was too nervous to eat. Their part of the hearing had gone well enough, even with Costello scoring a few points, but the afternoon would be Tony's show, and what little control she'd had in the morning would be taken from her.

"We've got more than enough," Mitch said, pacing the lane on the other side of the table. "Even if Grabko is tempted to buy into Costello's bullshit, there's more than enough weighing on Wright to push him into a trial. Grabko would never have the guts to cut him loose."

But how much nerve would it take, Ellen wondered, with the press shouting out all the things Garrett Wright could not have done? He could not have brought Josh home. He couldn't have taken Dustin Holloman or killed Dustin Holloman. That was the public's focus now—the monster at large. Grabko's decision was to be based on law, but he was just a man, as susceptible to rumor and pressure as anyone.

"It's pretty clear which way he's leaning," she said. "I haven't seen a judge give that much leeway in a pretrial since Perry Mason went off the air. I'm sorry he let Costello put you through that, Megan."

Megan sat at the end of the table, looking small and battered, as if the ordeal of the morning had caused her to pull in on herself. "I'm the one who should apologize," she mumbled, eyes down. "I know better than to let some asshole lawyer punch my buttons."

The tension in her voice, in the set of her jaw, hinted at a torrent of emotion building up behind the walls Megan erected around herself. Ellen had seen it happen before. Cops made lousy victims. They were, by nature, control freaks; victims were stripped of all control, all pride, all dignity.

"It's not your fault, Megan," she said.

"He made me look like a raving lunatic who'd say anything, do anything, to get that arrest on my record."

"Or like someone who was damn sure of her facts and set on convicting a guilty man," Ellen countered. "It's all in your perception. People see what they want."

"We know what they want to see when they look at Wright," Megan said. Nobody wanted to believe a man like Garrett Wright was capable of evil. And with the death of Dustin Holloman, the people of Park County would be even less willing to accept Wright as their devil.

"So we have to prove them wrong," Ellen said, her gaze direct, her meaning clear.

Megan nodded. "Yes, we do."

CHAPTER
 
32

The defense calls Dr. Garrett Wright to the stand," Costello announced, setting the crowd buzzing, a noise that rose up to the high ceiling of the old courtroom like a swarm of yellow jackets. It appeared to be a bold move, playing his ace first, offering up his client for direct scrutiny and cross-examination. That the defendant himself would be testifying at all was highly unusual for a probable-cause hearing, but, then, nothing about this case was ordinary. Jay sat back with his arms crossed, considering the strategy. If Wright was the sociopath Ellen painted him to be, then he was a consummate liar, an actor with a role he relished—the mild-mannered professor, well deserving of public sympathy.

Jay had to admit, he'd seen it before. A mind as cold as arctic ice; capable of charm, just as capable of murder. He had once sat opposite just such a man in a visitation booth in Angola Penitentiary one hell-hot Louisiana summer. A man who was pleasant, articulate on all the political issues of the day. Well-read, bright, with a sharp, sardonic wit. A man who had held three truck-stop waitresses hostage as sex slaves for three months, tortured them to death, then took up taxidermy and mounted their heads and breasts for his own private trophy room. D. Rodman Madsen, a sales rep for an irrigation-pump company, twice voted salesman of the year, and treasurer of the local Elks lodge. A killer behind the socially acceptable facade. No one who knew him had ever suspected.

Garrett Wright took the stand and quietly recited the oath. In his blue suit and regimental tie, he gave the appearance of the quintessential young professional—attractive, conservative, educated. Jay could all but hear the gears grinding in the minds around him, the sly speculation, the denial, the disbelief. Even the judge looked down on Garrett Wright with barely concealed incredulity, as if astonished to find such a man before him as the focus of a court proceeding.