The Insanity Plea (27 page)

Several of the male jurors murmured
to each other. For the first time in the trial, there was a small smile on the
defendant’s face.

“You know where I got this picture,
don’t you?”

“I imagine that you borrowed it from
the high school. It shows me and Dan, quite a bit younger and me fifty pounds
lighter, holding the state championship trophy with the rest of the team in the
background.”

The same male jurors nodded for a
number of them now remembered seeing this very photo along with the trophy in
the school trophy case.

Wayne knew he had the jury’s
attention and had managed to get them to momentarily forget about the pictures
of Debbie’s body. “Isn’t it true that long-ago relationship between you and Dan
is the reason you called me about this case?”

Rasmussen tried to cut Wayne off at
the pass. “Objection! Any conversation between Mr. Wayne Little and Detective
Jefferies is irrelevant.”

The judge peered over his glasses. “Now,
Ms. Rasmussen, I know where this is going and it certainly is likely to be
relevant. I suggest you keep your seat unless it’s something important and not
disrupt Wayne. You’ll have another chance.”

 
“You did call me just a few weeks ago?”

“I did.”

“And we met in Houston.” Wayne
decided not to embarrass Jefferies with the bar as a meeting place.

The witness sat up a little
straighter and looked directly at the jury. “Yes, sir.”

Wayne walked to the evidence table,
rummaged around and found the envelope with the key and a lab report attached
to it. “This is why you called me, isn’t it? For the record, Your Honor, this
is defense exhibit four.”

“That’s the reason. Should I explain?”

“Yes, Detective. That’s what all this
is leading up to.”

Jefferies turned in the swivel chair
to face the jury. “If you’ve seen some of the CSI programs on television,
you’ve seen the yellow police tape marking off the area that is determined to be
the crime scene. It’s usually a judgment call. In this case, I made that call
and started it about twenty feet beyond the body toward the water on the jetty
and stopped it at the curb by the street. As most of you know, the sidewalk at
that location is about twenty feet across. Judging from the blood it appeared
that the attack was only a few feet from the edge of the wall, probably about
five feet. I figured that was sufficient to capture any evidence potentially
related to the crime.”

Wayne paced up and down in front of
the jury, the key in his hand, “Let’s get back to the key, Detective.”

“Sorry. A young officer, fresh out of
training, was staying out of the crime scene area while the CSI officers walked
their grid. He picked this up in the street by the curb because he thought
there was a drop of blood on the tip.”

“In fact, Detective, I have a blown
up photo of the key which I’m showing to the jury. That dark spot at the end of
the key is blood, isn’t it?”

“It is, Mr. Little.”

“And the reason that you brought that
to me is that Ms. Rasmussen here told you to take it out of the evidence file,
didn’t she? And the reason she did so is the DNA testing determined the blood
on that key didn’t match the blood of the victim, or, for that matter, the
blood of the defendant.”

“Sir, she did tell me to remove it
from the evidence file. I can’t speculate on her reasons.”

Fourteen jurors looked over at the
prosecution table, waiting for an explanation as Wayne studied the jurors and passed
the witness.

“The key was outside the crime scene
that you and the CSI officers had set, wasn’t it, Detective?” Kate asked. “And
you strive to make that crime scene as wide as necessary to capture any
relevant evidence?”

“Yes to both questions, Ms.
Rasmussen.”

“When you showed me the evidence, you
told me that the key was out in the street?”

“I did.”

“And when I said that it must not be
a part of the evidence in this case, you didn’t disagree, did you?”

Jefferies looked down as he
responded, “No.”

While the prosecutor was doing her
re-direct and hoping to minimize the fall-out from her decision to remove the
key from the state’s evidence, Duke leaned over and whispered something to
Wayne. Judge Fernandez saw the whispered conversation and watched as Wayne’s
eyebrows raised and a slight smile broke through on his face. Fernandez
wondered what was about to happen.

“Nothing further,” Rasmussen said.

Wayne said, “Now I have a few more,
Judge.” Wayne took the bag with the key and patted it in his hand to re-focus
the jury’s attention. “Detective, since you had this key as evidence at one
time, did you make any effort to find where it came from?”

Jefferies hesitated, now
understanding where this was going. “I had an officer take it across the street
to the Galvez. It wasn’t one of theirs.”

Wayne had walked up to stand directly
in front of Jefferies. “Did you ever even think to drive a few blocks down the
street to Debbie’s apartment, maybe show it to the manager to see if it
unlocked her door?”

Jefferies squirmed in his seat and
gazed out the window before turning to face Wayne, knowing that he had omitted
one of the most basic parts of the investigation. He mentally kicked himself
and tried to reply in a calm voice, “No, Mr. Little, we didn’t.”

Wayne had walked toward the back of
the courtroom. Now he whirled. “Why not, Detective? Certainly, if it unlocked
the door of the victim, it could have become a very important piece of
evidence, wouldn’t you agree?”

Jefferies’s voice dropped low. “I
suppose it could have been. I really can’t say now.”

Wayne’s voice rose. “At least tell
this jury why you didn’t check out the apartment.”

Jefferies looked at the clock on the
back wall, then down at his feet, trying to come up with a reasonable answer
for such a glaring omission. “Mr. Little, we captured the person who killed
Debbie Robinson in twenty-four hours. We had our man. At that point the
investigation stopped.”

Several of the jurors now looked at
Jefferies in a different light. They were not sure of the significance of the
key, but it was clear to them from watching crime shows that what Wayne proposed
seemed certainly to be right out of police investigation 101.

“Nothing more, Judge,” Wayne said as
he took his seat. “Oh, but we will have a motion to make at the end of the
day.”

Fernandez looked at Wayne, wondering
what was coming.

“And one last thing, Detective,” Kate
said as she looked smugly at the jury, “Is it still your opinion that the
defendant here, Daniel Little, murdered Debbie Robinson?”

The witness struggled with his answer
and thought for thirty seconds before saying, “That’s what the evidence
indicates.”

“That’s all, Your Honor.”

Fernandez excused the witness and
told the jury that they would begin the next day at nine o’clock.

Once they were gone Fernandez looked
at Wayne. “Okay, what’s this about some damn motion? You’re about to interfere
with my Miller time.”

Wayne turned from a conversation he
was having with Duke and approached the bench with Duke trailing behind. “Judge,
the Defendant moves for a jury view.”

“What the hell are you talking about?
I’ve only had a couple of motions for a jury view since I’ve been on this
bench. Denied them both.”

“Judge, the prosecution hid the key
from us. Detective Jefferies conceded it could be an important piece of
evidence.”

Harry Klein rose. The judge waved him
off.

“You’re asking me to disrupt my trial
to take the jury away from this courtroom for what?”

“We need to know if that key that is
in evidence will unlock the victim’s door.”

Fernandez shook his head. “Come on. You
want me to get the county to hire a bus, take the jurors, Barney, Casey and me
to do this. As I recall, you had that key in your possession before the trial
started. I feel sure that you could have taken it down the street and checked
this out. In this state a jury view’s a discretionary ruling on my part. I’m
going to deny it. Any error is on the record and is preserved for appeal. See
you all in the morning.” Fernandez left the bench and disappeared into his
chambers.

Wayne shrugged his shoulders as the
judge left. Barney was about to take Dan back to the holding cell. Wayne saw
his mother looking at her older son. “Barney,” he said, “can we have a few
minutes with Dan, including Sarah?”

Barney looked around the deserted
courtroom and nodded his agreement. Wayne, Duke and Sarah trailed him to the
cell. Once there with the door closed, Sarah hugged Dan.

“You doing okay?”

“I’m fine, Mom. Can we talk about
this key?”

Sarah backed away while Wayne spoke.

“My screw-up, Dan. We should have
picked up on it earlier.”

“Is it important?

“Don’t know. Could be. If it unlocks
Debbie’s door, we know it has some foreign blood on it. One more thing to raise
a reasonable doubt, but the key is now in evidence and we can’t take it away
from the courtroom.”

Dan’s shoulders slumped.

“I have an idea, Dude,” Duke said. “Tell
the judge I have something else to attend to in the morning and I’ll get the
door.”

Wayne looked at Duke. “What the hell
are you going to do?”

“You never subpoenaed a door in your
life? Well, neither have I, but there’s always a first time. I’ll get the subpoena
issued and deliver it personally to the apartment manager, probably along with
a thousand bucks or so in an envelope. We’re taking a chance, but if the key
doesn’t fit, we really haven’t lost any ground. So let’s go for it.”

         
That
evening as Sarah’s pot roast was cooking, the team settled themselves on the
veranda, drinks in hand. Sarah, Rita and Claudia rocked slowly as they enjoyed
the breeze blowing from the Gulf. Wayne sat on the top step and Duke leaned up
against one of the porch pillars, his legs crossed as he sipped a scotch.

Duke looked over at Wayne and asked,
“Okay, dog, what’s your take on today’s evidence?”

 
“Now, Mom, I don’t want you to get upset, but
we gotta be concerned. They put on a pretty much open and shut case of guilt. Tomorrow,
all they have to do is put on the crime scene investigator and the cop who
handled the initial interrogation and they’re done. And I’m sorry that I didn’t
pick up on the fact that they never checked to see if the key opened Debbie’s
door.”

 
Sarah rocked quietly for a moment, the only
sound on the porch coming from the creaking of her rocker before she spoke. “Were
you disappointed in what Jimmy Ray had to say?”

 
“He gave us the key, Mom. That’s really all he
could do. He had already concluded that Dan did it. He just wanted to make sure
all the facts were on the table. He plays by the book.”

 
“But, doesn’t the key and what Kate did raise
reasonable doubt?”

“Sarah, there’s a difference between
doubt and reasonable doubt,” Duke responded. “Right now the key’s pretty much a
red herring. We’ll see what I can do about the door tomorrow. Even if it
unlocks Debbie’s door, it just goes to reasonable doubt. Don’t get me wrong. That
could be important. We stack up as many doubts as we can and hope the stack
gets high enough that the jury concludes it’s reasonable doubt.” He turned. “Rita,
you had any more hits on your computer? We’re running out of time to prove some
other dude did it.”

Rita got up from her rocking chair, Chardonnay
in hand and started into the house. “I haven’t checked this evening.
 
I’ll do it now and also call Detective Jennet.
I’ve got his home number.”

Entering the house, she turned on her
computer and while she waited for it to go through its start-up, she called Jennet,
who told her that there had been no new reported incidents that anyone thought
were related to
The Runner. Walt knew
the trial was underway and apologized that he had nothing more for them. The
computer search, likewise, added nothing new. Rita knew that there had to be
some clue that would tie all of the murders along with the attempt on her life
to one person. She forced herself to re-live the morning of her attack. What
could she remember?

He was fast; that was a certainty. There
were not very many people, male or female, who could keep up with her over a
couple of miles if she pushed it. He was strong, strong enough to prevent her
from breaking away. And, wait a minute, he said something. What was it? Rita
tried to recall his words or even his voice; yet, her mind was blank. The
doctors were right about post-traumatic amnesia. She could only hope that the
veil would lift before the trial ended.
 
Having accomplished nothing, she returned to
the veranda and gave them the bad news.

Crime scene investigation in real-life
criminal trials had taken on a whole new meaning in only a few years. It was
the rare jury without two or three members who never missed any of the
CSI, NCIS
, and other criminal
investigation shows, where bodies on metal tables and microscopes were as
important to solving crimes as the cop on the street. Harry knew that he had to
be meticulous in his presentation of this evidence for fear that some juror
would get back in the jury room and complain that the crime scene team didn’t
walk the grid right or they failed to study every last twig and fiber under a
microscope. Harry was up to the task.

“Your Honor, the State calls Officer
Jasmine O’Leary.”

“Bailiff, please bring Officer
O’Leary from the hall.”

Officer O’Leary walked down the
center aisle and stopped in front of the court reporter who swore her in. Wayne
watched her take the witness stand and thought that some of the male jurors
would be willing to believe almost anything she said. Standing about five feet
five inches, she had a milky brown complexion and blue eyes that smiled at the
jury through large wire rimmed glasses. If the jury had known her heritage,
they would have understood her name. Jasmine came from her African American
mother. O’Leary was her father’s name. When she got into law enforcement, it
was to follow in her father’s footsteps. He was one of the NYPD officers who
died trying to save lives during the 9/11 terrorist attack at the World Trade
Center.

Harry smiled as he said, “Tell the
jury a little about yourself and your professional qualifications.”

Officer O’Leary turned to the jury. “As
you’ve heard, I’m Jasmine O’Leary. I’ve been a crime scene investigator with
the Galveston Police Department for the past five years. I also work with the
Sheriff’s department and occasionally am called on by some of the smaller
cities between here and Houston. I grew up in New York City where I graduated
from Columbia. I decided I wanted a warmer climate and went to work for the
Huntsville Police Department while I got a Masters and Doctorate at Sam Houston
State University. As most of you probably know, Sam Houston has a widely
respected criminal justice school. After graduation I was recruited to
Galveston. I wasn’t born on the island, but I got here as soon as I could.”

The eyes of several jurors sparkled
at her last comment.

“Officer O’Leary, were you called to
the crime scene at the seawall and 21
^st
when Debbie Robinson was
murdered?”

“I was.”

“And did Detective Jefferies put you
in charge of the crime scene investigation?”

“Correct.”

Harry rose and walked to the evidence
table where he found Dan’s left sneaker along with photos of the footprints on
the steps and one on the seawall. “Officer, the jury knows that there were
footprints at the scene. Did you identify those prints as coming from this
sneaker?”

“Yes, Mr. Klein. If you will put the
photo I took of the sneaker up on the overhead along with one of the prints, it
should be clear to the jury.”

Klein did as he was asked.
 

“Now, Officer, were you able to
identify the source of the blood on the sneaker?”

Wayne knew he could force Harry to
walk her through boring detail after detail as to how she arrived at her
conclusions, but he chose not to make an objection when they had nothing to
refute the evidence.

“The victim’s blood matched that on
the defendant’s shoe.”

“How certain are you of that,
Officer?”

“It was a perfect match, according to
the DNA.”

“Other than the footprints and the
DNA matching blood, was there anything else in the crime scene that was
significant?”

A flicker of doubt crossed the
officer’s face before she replied, “Not in the crime scene, per se, Mr. Klein.”

Harry went to the evidence table and
showed the key to the witness. Officer, O’Leary, by nature a meticulous person,
studied the key and the lab results and then looked up at Klein to await a
question.

“Officer, was this key within the
crime scene designated by you and Detective Jefferies?”

“No, Mr. Klein. It was not. An officer
found it in the street. Since he handed it to us, we couldn’t just toss it back
on the street. So we tagged it. There was some blood on it, but none related to
the victim or Mr. Little.”

“Officer, in your opinion, should the
jury give any weight to this key?”

Wayne jumped to his feet, knowing
that Harry had crossed the line. “Just a minute, Your Honor. It’s not a
witness’s judgment as to whether any weight is to be given to evidence. Invades
the province of the jury.”

Judge Fernandez fixed a stern
judicial look on the D. A. “Mr. Klein, you know better than that. The question
is stricken. Jury is instructed to disregard the question and any implications
or inferences that may flow from it.”

Harry knew when to quit and passed
the witness.

Wayne left his seat and walked to the
evidence table. He rummaged around it for what seemed like several minutes and
turned to Officer O’Leary. “Officer, would you mind stepping over here a minute
and helping me?”

O’Leary looked at the judge who
motioned her to do so. She stepped down from the witness chair and joined Wayne
at the table. “Now, Officer O’Leary, I’m having a little trouble here finding
an important piece of evidence. Can you show me the murder weapon?”

Nice little dramatic effect, thought
Duke. I may have to turn this boy into a criminal defense lawyer yet.

“Mr. Little,” Officer O’Leary
replied, “You won’t find it there. We didn’t find a murder weapon at the
scene.”

Wayne faked astonishment as some of
the jurors looked puzzled. After all, didn’t they always find a murder weapon
on television? “Well how about on Dan here? You find the murder weapon on him?”

“No, sir,” O’Leary replied, now in a
much softer voice.

“Come on now, Officer. Did you even
identify what kind of weapon it was?”

O’Leary was the sort who wanted to
tie every lose end of any investigation and present it to a jury with a pretty
pink bow around it. Not to have a murder weapon was below her standards. “Mr. Little,
we searched the scene; even moved some of those big rocks on the jetty. All I
can tell you is that it was extremely sharp and was used by someone who knew
what he was doing.”

“You know, don’t you, Officer, that
my brother was a lawyer, not a doctor or a butcher. Do you even know if he ever
even cleaned a deer with a knife?”

“No, Mr. Little. I do not. May I
return to the witness stand now?”

Wayne returned to counsel table. Taking
time to gather his thoughts, he slowly turned the pages of his yellow pad, then
rose and went back to the evidence table. He picked up the evidence bag
containing the right sneaker and handed it to the witness.

“Officer, please remove the sneaker
from the bag.”

The witness complied, wrinkling her
nose at the odor.
          

“Can you identify what is on the heel
of that shoe?”

O’Leary held it up close to her face
and then reached into her purse where she retrieved a large magnifying glass. After
studying the shoe, she looked at the jury. “This appears to be blood. It’s so
small, though, it’s a little hard to tell.”

Wayne picked up the shoe and asked to
borrow the magnifying glass as he made a show of studying the discoloration on
the heel. “Is there enough of it to do DNA testing?”

“Close, Mr. Little. Not likely, but
we could try.”

“How long, Officer O’Leary, would it have
taken to do DNA testing on this blood?”

O’Leary chose to stare through Wayne
to the back wall of the courtroom as she answered, “Assuming there is enough to
test and we put a rush on it, probably a couple of days.”

Now, Wayne was almost in the witness’s
face. He knew he might be called down by the judge, but it would be worth it. “Did
you try, Officer O’Leary? Did you even try?”

“No, sir. I suppose none of the
investigating officers noticed it.”

Wayne left the witness stand and
returned to his table. With his back to the witness, he said, “Nothing further,
Your Honor. I’ve had enough of this witness.”

Harry rose and started to object to
Wayne’s demeanor, thought better of it and sat down.

Judge Fernandez peered over his
glasses at Officer O’Leary. “You’re excused, Officer.”

As she was leaving the courtroom,
Wayne couldn’t resist a parting comment. “And, Officer, if you find the murder
weapon, will you let us know?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Harry
sputtered.

“Never mind, Your Honor. I withdraw
it and apologize to the court and jury.”

“Okay,” the judge said. “I think it’s
time for our morning break. See you all in fifteen.”

As soon as the door to the judge’s
chambers was closed, Wayne walked over to the window and speed dialed Duke. “Hey,
man, where are you?”

“In the hall with this damn door on a
dolly. Come open the door.”

Wayne hurried into the hallway. Duke
was there with the door and its frame strapped to a dolly. The door was an
ordinary apartment door, white with a gold door knob and a small peep hole. The
number, 243, was just below the peep hole.

“You subpoenaed the frame, too?”

“How else are we going to prove the
key opens the door? Had to fake it with the manager. Told him that this kind of
thing happens all the time in Houston. Didn’t hurt that I slipped him a grand
and told him we’d pay to have a new door and frame installed. I told him to be
here after lunch to prove this was Debbie’s door. And we got lucky. The
apartment was vacant. Seems no one wants to rent the place once they learn that
the last tenant was killed.”

Wayne smiled and shook his head. “What
do you suggest we do with it?”

“You open up those double doors and
I’ll wheel this to the back of the courtroom and prop it up against the wall. Should
give the jury something to think about over lunch.”

Wayne did as he was told. When Rita
saw what was happening, she held one of the doors. Duke carefully leaned it
against the wall, making sure not to scratch the paneling. Klein saw what they
were doing and hurried to the back.

“Wayne, what the hell are you doing?”

“Evidence, Harry. We expect to use it
with our first witness after you rest.”

“You, you can’t just leave it there,”
Harry sputtered.

“You got a better place to put it?”

Harry stared at the door. “We better
take this up with the judge. Barney, tell Judge Fernandez we need a moment of
his time before the jury returns.”

Barney nodded and picked up his
phone. In a minute Fernandez came from his chambers. Without taking the bench,
he nodded to Casey who began on her steno machine. “What do you need, Harry?” Then
he looked to the back of the room and turned to Wayne. “What the hell is that?”

“Evidence, Judge, just like we told
Harry.”

“Judge, we can’t have that standing
against the back wall. No way the jury will be paying attention to our next
witness.”

Fernandez absent-mindedly twirled his
mustache with his left hand. “Duke, see if you and Wayne can lay it on its
side. Lean it between the back bench and the wall. Maybe that will get it out
of sight until you need it. This the door to Debbie’s apartment?

“Yes, sir.”

“You try the key yet?”

“No, Judge. Didn’t have time once I
got here.”

“Well, I suppose we’ll just all learn
if it’s the right key at the same time.”

Wayne and Duke unstrapped the door
from the dolly and did as the judge instructed. There was just enough room for
it to disappear behind the last bench. Fernandez nodded his approval.

“Okay, Barney. Bring them in.”