Stranglehold (36 page)

DiPaulo had repeatedly told Greene never to look at the jury, but he couldn’t stop himself from stealing a glance at their faces. These people only knew Jennifer from the still photos of her dead body. Now they would see her moving. Alive.

The jurors watched intently as Alpine described for them what they were seeing on the screen: Jennifer coming into the Coffee Time in her running gear, slipping into the washroom, coming out in her new clothes wearing the wig and sunglasses, going to the pay phone.

When Jennifer headed toward the front door, Alpine nodded at Summers. She hit a button on the remote and the one-quarter image filled the screen.

No one spoke as Jennifer walked briskly along the empty sidewalk, swinging her backpack. It was like the final scene in a movie you never want to end, Greene thought.

“Could you pause it here for a moment please,” Kreitinger said.

The image of Jennifer froze.

All Greene could think of was that she looked beautiful and happy and was about to die. He felt ill. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream in rage and frustration.

He heard one of the jurors sob, but he didn’t dare look over again.

“Officer, the pay phone we saw Ms. Raglan using,” Kreitinger said. “Were you able to find out who she was calling?”

Greene couldn’t stop staring at the screen. Summers had paused it at a perfect point. Jennifer’s body seemed to be in full motion. This was how Kreitinger had staged it, for maximum emotional impact.

“Yes, we were,” Alpine said. “Before we arrested the defendant, we obtained a search warrant for his cell-phone records.”

“Excuse me,” Judge Norville said.

Kreitinger looked up. “Yes, Your Honour?”

Norville pointed at the video screen. “Do we really need to have this on any longer?”

As if on cue, the video started up again on its own and within seconds Jennifer walked into the void. The street was empty.

“Of course not, Your Honour,” Kreitinger said, acting as if this was some oversight. She nodded at Summers, who immediately hit the remote and the screen went blank.

They’ll be high-fiving themselves about this back in the Crown’s office after court, Greene thought. A criminal trial was theatre, and they’d put on a showstopper.

Kreitinger focused her attention back on Alpine.

“Detective, you were telling the jury about the defendant’s cell-phone records. What were you able to find?”

Alpine opened his notebook to a page he’d folded over to mark it.

Greene knew that a veteran cop such as Alpine didn’t need to refer to his notes. He’d have all the numbers burned into his brain. But it was a good prop. It made his testimony more authoritative.

“A call was received on the defendant’s cell phone that originated from this phone at the Coffee Time at 9:56:12 on September tenth. It lasted for one minute and thirty-two seconds. We triangulated the location of the cell phone at the time the call was received.”

“What does ‘triangulate’ mean?” Kreitinger asked.

Alpine turned to the jury. “All cell-phone calls in Toronto are located between three towers. By a method known as triangulating, we can track which cell tower received the strongest signal, and by comparing it with the strength of
the signal received by two nearby towers we can get an exact location of where the incoming call was received.”

“And where was the accused’s phone located when it received the call the victim made from the pay phone at the Coffee Time on Kingston Road?”

“At the accused’s residence.”

“The same place where you found Exhibit Two, the boots?”

“Yes, the same location.”

“And, Detective, it’s a bit hard to read up on the screen, but can you please tell the jury the time indicated on Exhibit Three, the tapes from Coffee Time, when we see Ms. Raglan pick up the receiver of the pay phone.”

“9:56:12,” Alpine said.

“The exact same time to the second.”

“The exact same time.”

Greene didn’t dare look at the clock on the wall above the jury. He pulled back the cuff on his left wrist and checked his watch. It was 3:50. Ten minutes to go until court ended.

From her position at the lectern Kreitinger motioned to Summers, who reached down for a board that she took over to her. Greene couldn’t see what was on it.

Kreitinger walked back to the witness box. “Detective Alpine, this is a scale map of Toronto, which I have had enlarged and mounted.” She showed it to him, turned it toward Judge Norville, and then the jury.

“As you can see, I’ve marked the location of the Maple Leaf Motel and the Coffee Time on Kingston Road with yellow arrows and labelled them. Are these accurate?”

Alpine studied the map, pretending he’d never seen it before. “That’s right,” he said.

These last ten minutes are going to seem like an hour, Greene thought. He could see what Kreitinger was going to do. It was like being buried alive.

“I have more of these arrow sticky notes in my pocket,” Kreitinger said, pulling them out of her vest pocket. “Could you please place one on the location of Detective Greene’s residence, where he received that phone call.”

Alpine took the first label and placed it pointing at Greene’s house.

“Thank you. Do you know how long it would take to drive from the accused’s house to the Maple Leaf Motel?”

“I tested it myself,” Alpine said, referring to his police notebook again. “On Monday morning, September 24, at 9:58
A.M.
I left the accused’s residence and drove at the legal speed limit.”

“How long did it take?” she asked.

He traced his route along the map. This was very shrewd. Often lawyers would talk about streets assuming the jury knew the locations they were referring to. But with twelve jurors in such a large city, it was impossible to know if they were familiar with these roads and neighbourhoods.

“Twenty-seven and a half minutes. I parked in the nearby strip mall and walked into the courtyard of the motel. I arrived at the door of room 8 at 10:23:08.”

“And remind me please, what time was the initial 911 call received?”

As if she needed any reminder, Greene thought.

“10:39:12,” he said, without looking at his notebook, but at the jury instead. Sixteen minutes and four seconds later.”

Kreitinger plodded back to her lectern, her footsteps the only sound in the big courtroom.

“Excuse me, Madam Crown,” Judge Norville said. “I see it is almost four.”

Thank God, Greene thought.

Kreitinger smiled at Norville. “Thank you, Your Honour. I have one more brief set of questions for the detective. I know it’s been a very long day, and that Your Honour has an important commitment at City Hall, but if I could complete it, then my friend Mr. DiPaulo can start his cross-examination first thing in the morning.”

“Shit,” Greene heard DiPaulo mutter. My sentiments exactly, Greene thought.

Norville gave an exaggerated frown. “Okay, be quick.”

“Detective, you told us about checking the records on the accused’s cell phone, and how you can triangulate the position of a cell phone when a call is received. Were any other phone calls received on his cell phone that morning?”

“Only one. At 11:12.”

“And who was that from?”

Alpine pointed to the Crown counsel table right in front of him. “Detective Daniel Kennicott, the officer in charge of this case. He made the call from the Maple Leaf Motel.”

“And please, put a last arrow on the spot where the accused was located when he received the call from his fellow police officer.”

“Right here,” Alpine said, placing the arrow on a side street behind the motel. “Once I got these cell-phone records, I went back to the motel and walked to the spot. It only took me three and a half minutes.”

“The accused is a homicide detective,” Kreitinger said, “isn’t he?”

“Correct.”

“Was he a part of this murder investigation?”

“No.”

“Had you or anyone else on the police force notified him of the murder?”

“No.”

“Or the indentity of the victim?”

“No.”

“Was there any reason tied to this investigation why he should have been so near to the Maple Leaf Motel that morning?”

“No official reason.”

“Thank you, Detective Alpine,” she said.

And with that last piece of evidence, Greene realized, Angela Kreitinger had just pushed him into the witness box.

KREITINGER SAT DOWN. HER WHOLE BODY FELT LIKE A STRING PULLED TO ITS LIMIT AND HER
back felt as if it was about to go into spasm. But she wasn’t going to break. I did it, she thought. I did it.

Judge Norville looked at the courtroom clock and scowled. It was 4:38. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, court will resume at ten tomorrow morning,” she said.

The jurors stood up, then bunched up at the exit as they waited awkwardly in line to leave. Much like airline passengers trying to get off a plane.

“Counsel, anything we need to discuss?” Norville asked the moment the last juror was out of the courtroom and the oak door had closed behind them.

DiPaulo stood. “Thank you, no, Your Honour,” he said.

Kreitinger could hardly get to her feet. She half stood. “No,” was all she was able to say.

Norville nodded at Mr. Singh, seated below her. He rose to his feet in his usual dignified way and announced, “Court stands adjourned until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Norville raced off the bench.

Behind her, Kreitinger heard the courtroom fill with noise. A hand touched her shoulder.

“Incredible,” Jo Summers said. “You were amazing.”

Kreitinger smiled. She didn’t want to talk. She wanted everyone to leave so she could savour the moment by herself. She took a deep breath. “I’m going to wait for the court to clear,” she said.

“Sure,” Summers said. “Can I get you anything? A coffee? A Coke? Sandwich?”

Kool-Aid, Kreitinger thought to herself. Jo, you’ve drunk the Crown Kool-Aid. She poured herself some water from the silver jug on the table and took a small sip. “No. But thanks. You were a great help.”

“I’ve made a list of potential witnesses for tomorrow. I’ll go back and pull out all the files. Lay everything out for you.”

Already the hubbub behind them had begun to subside. DiPaulo and the defence team had left. Soon there would be blessed quiet. “Perfect,” Kreitinger said between gritted teeth.

“You weren’t watching the jury, but I was,” Summers said. “I’m telling you, it was incredible. When you showed Jennifer in that video, did you know that one of the female jurors started to cry?”

“I didn’t.” It was a lie, but Kreitinger had to end the conversation. Her back felt as if a huge hand were squeezing the life out of it. She looked at Summers and her enthusiastic, smiling face and wanted to smack her. God, I’m an asshole, she thought.

“Okay, see you back at the ranch,” Summers said.

Back at the fucking ranch? Kreitinger said to herself. What is this? Some rich kids’ summer camp? It was a totally unfair thought, Kreitinger knew.
Just leave, Pretty Ms. Perfect. Just leave.
She put one of her hands under the table and dug her nails into her palm until it hurt.

Summers seemed to take a hundred years to pack up her files, but at last Kreitinger was left alone. With her unclenched hand she reached into her vest pocket and took out four little pills. She slipped them onto her tongue and drank them down with the blessed glass of water.

The relief would take some time to arrive, but at least it was on its way. Soon thousands of receptors in her body would open their welcoming arms to the familiar soma of the drug. The heat would spread out across her skin in a luscious, warm wave.

She unfurled her tightened hand. It felt like she could breathe again. She smiled. Of course she’d kept an eye on the jurors. One had cried. Two others had sniffled. A number of them had looked at Greene with a look of total disgust.

Today was the result of six years of re-creating herself. She’d reined in all the excesses of the old Angela and distilled her performance down to a perfect pitch.

She closed her eyes.

I’m back, she thought. I’m back. And it felt good. So, so damn good.

GREENE LEANED HIS HEAD BACK IN A COMFORTABLE LOUNGE CHAIR IN THE BARRISTERS’
lounge and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows onto City Hall Square. DiPaulo sat beside him, equally prone. The top button to his court shirt was undone and his starched white tabs were in his hand.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired,” Greene said.

“Welcome to the defence side of the courtroom,” DiPaulo said. “The opening day of a trial always feels endless. Especially when you don’t make an opening statement. It’s like travelling for the first time on a road in the dark. Seems to go on forever.”

“Tell me this gets easier,” Greene said.

“The only good news is that Monday is over. There are only four more days in court this week.”

Greene rubbed his eyes. He yawned.

“Nancy’s gone to get your father,” DiPaulo said.

“I saw him during the lunch break. He’s having a great time. Talking to everyone,” Greene said.

“Glad that someone had a good day,” DiPaulo said.

“Was it as bad as I thought it was?” Greene asked.

“It was worse,” DiPaulo said. “I always knew that if Angela could control herself, she’d be a top lawyer. What she did in there was masterful.”

“She’s forcing me to testify, isn’t she? The boots. The video from Coffee Time. My cell phone putting me around the corner after the murder.”

“Let’s say it’s close,” DiPaulo said.

“She’s not going to call my dad, is she?”

“Highly doubt it. She subpoenaed him to try to catch us off guard. That’s no-holds-barred Angela.”

Greene closed his eyes. Somehow, foolishly, until today nothing about the trouble he was in had felt real. Despite all he’d been through – being charged
with murder, going to jail, the bail hearing, the long days of house arrest – he hadn’t really believed he could be convicted and go to jail for twenty-five years. Denial runs deep, he realized. But seeing those jurors, the disgust and anger in their eyes directed right at him, had changed everything. For the first time he was afraid.