The Last Innocent Man (11 page)

“I believe the indictment in this case should be sufficient. It establishes that the grand jury, after hearing testimony, decided that there was sufficient proof to indict for murder.”

Judge Autley scanned the document for a moment; then he handed it back to the bailiff.

“Bail denied,” he said without looking up. “Next case.”

David was on his feet, waving a law book toward the judge.

“Your Honor.”

“I’ve ruled, Mr. Nash. Next case.”

“Your Honor, last month in the Archer case the Oregon Supreme Court ruled on this specific question and held that an indictment is not sufficient evidence to support a denial of bail in a murder case. I have the case here, if the Court would read it.”

“What case?” Autley asked, annoyed that the matter was not over.

“Archer, if you’d take a look.”

“Give it to me. But if this case isn’t on point…” He let his voice trail off, leaving the threat dangling over David’s head.

David handed the law book to the bailiff. Stafford leaned forward to say something, but David touched his leg and he sat back. Autley read the page twice, then turned his anger on Monica Powers.

“Don’t they teach you the law anymore? Didn’t you know about this case?”

“Your Honor, I—”

“You’d better have more than this, young lady,” Autley said, waving the indictment toward Monica, “and you’d better produce it fast.”

“We do have further evidence, Your Honor. Officer Ortiz is prepared to testify.”

“Then call him.”

Monica gestured toward the first row of spectator seats, and Bert Ortiz rose from his seat next to Detective Crosby. He pushed through the gate that separated the spectators from the bar of the court and stopped in front of the bailiff.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” the bailiff asked.

“I do,” Ortiz replied.

“Then state your name and spell your last name.”

Ortiz sat down in the witness box and spelled his last name for the court reporter. His throat felt dry as he did so, and there was none of the air of self-assurance about him that he usually had when he testified. He felt uncomfortable reliving the events of the murder.

“Officer Ortiz,” Monica asked, “how are you employed?”

“I’m a police officer with the Portland Police Bureau.”

“How long have you been so employed?”

“It will be seven years this coming February.”

“Were you so employed on the evening of June sixteenth of this year?”

“I was.”

“And what was your assignment at that time?”

“I was working in a special vice unit. We were using policewomen disguised as prostitutes to arrest males who were soliciting prostitution.”

“Could you be more specific for the Court?”

Judge Autley leaned toward Monica and waved an impatient hand.

“I know what he means. Don’t insult the Court’s intelligence. Now, get on with this.”

“Very well, Your Honor. Officer Ortiz, who was your partner that evening?”

“Darlene Hersch, a policewoman.”

“When did you begin work?”

“The shift started at ten-thirty, but we weren’t out on
the street until about eleven-thirty. We had a meeting first.”

“Officer, please tell the Court what happened from the time you began work on the street until the time Darlene Hersch was murdered.”

Ortiz leaned forward slightly. There was tension in his shoulders and a tight feeling in his stomach. He looked down at the railing of the witness box and quickly ran his tongue across his dry lips.

“I was in our car in a parking lot on the corner of Park and Yamhill, and Officer Hersch was on the far corner. Shortly after I started my surveillance, a beige Mercedes-Benz stopped and Darlene—Officer Hersch—got in. It drove off and I followed.”

“Were you able to read the license number of the car at that, or any other, time?”

“No.”

“Go on.”

“Officer Hersch was not supposed to enter a vehicle if asked. She was supposed to decoy the subject back to the lot, where we would make the arrest. She had strict orders not to do that.”

Ortiz stopped. He realized that he was trying to justify his actions by putting Darlene in a bad light. He looked up. Monica was waiting for him to continue. There was little sound in the courtroom. For the first time in a long time, he noticed the faces watching him.

“Officer Hersch got into the Mercedes and I followed the car to the Raleigh Motel. I saw Officer Hersch enter the motel office, and I saw the car drive around back. I parked in the lot of a fast-food place next door and took up a surveillance post.”

“To this point had you been able to see who was driving the Mercedes?”

“Not really. I had a look at him when Officer Hersch got into the car, but he was too far away. It was the same when he was letting her off at the motel office.”

“Go on.”

“Well, Officer Hersch was new. She didn’t have much street experience. I started to worry about her being alone with the, uh, the subject.”

Ortiz paused again. He wanted to look for Crosby but was afraid. Would the older man condemn him for letting things go as far as they had? He had been wrong. He should never have let Darlene go into that room alone. Even if it meant losing the collar, he should have stopped it as soon as he reached the motel. Should have parked in the motel lot and gone straight up to the room.

Ortiz looked over to the defense table. They had dressed Stafford in a suit. Very Ivy League. He looked more the lawyer than Nash. Their eyes met, and Stafford’s face, for a brief instant, reflected contempt. There was no fear in his eyes, only ice. Humorless, emotionless, unlike Ortiz’s own, which wavered with confusion and self-doubt. Ortiz looked away, defeated. And in that moment he felt the sick feeling in his stomach turning to hate for the man who had taken Darlene Hersch’s life. He wanted that man. Wanted him more than he had ever wanted any other man he had hunted.

“I saw the subject walk along the second-floor landing and enter the room Officer Hersch had entered.”

“What did the man look like?”

“He was tall. About six feet. Athletic build. I would say he was in his late twenties or early thirties. I didn’t see
his face, but he had curly blond hair, and he was wearing tan slacks and a flowered shirt.”

“What happened after the man entered the motel room?”

“I…I crossed over to the motel lot and started up the stairs. When I was halfway up, I heard a scream. I broke down the door, and then I was struck several times. I remember crashing into the bed. I must have hit the metal leg, because I passed out.”

“Before you lost consciousness, did you get a look at your assailant?”

“I did.”

“Do you see that man in this courtroom?”

Ortiz pointed toward Stafford. This time his hatred made him strong and he did not waver. David watched his client. If the identification upset him, he did not show it.

“The man I saw in the motel room is sitting beside counsel at that table,” Ortiz said.

“Officer Ortiz, if you know, what type of car does Mr. Stafford drive?”

“Mr. Stafford drives a beige 1991 Mercedes-Benz, model 300 SEL.”

“Is this the same car that you saw at the corner of Park and Morrison and later at the Raleigh Motel?”

“Yes.”

“At a later point in time, did you have an opportunity to search the defendant’s home?”

“On September fifth we obtained a search warrant for Mr. Stafford’s home. Detective Crosby, myself, and several other policemen arrested Mr. Stafford and conducted a search for clothing.”

“What did you find?”

“A shirt identical to that worn by the person I saw at the Raleigh Motel, and tan slacks that were very similar to those worn by the killer.”

“I have no further questions,” Monica said.

“Officer Ortiz,” David asked, “you were a full city block away from the Mercedes when you first saw it, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“As I understand your testimony, Officer Hersch was supposed to lead a person back to you if she was propositioned and you would then arrest him in the lot?”

“Yes.”

“And you were watching Officer Hersch from your car?”

“Yes.”

“Was the engine on?”

“In the police car?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“And you were surprised when Officer Hersch got into the Mercedes?”

“Yes.”

“Park is one-way going south, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Officer Hersch when she got into the Mercedes?”

“At the corner of Park and Morrison.”

“Did the Mercedes turn up Park?”

“No. It proceeded down Morrison.”

“In order to follow it, wouldn’t you have to go up Park to Taylor, then back down Tenth?”

“No, sir, I went down Park the wrong way.”

“Then turned on Morrison?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How far away from the Mercedes were you when you spotted it again?”

“Two blocks, about.”

“And did you maintain that distance?”

“Yes.”

“You were too far back to read the license plate?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the Mercedes when you reached the motel?”

“I believe it had just stopped in front of the motel office.”

“Why didn’t you get the license number then?”

“At that point I didn’t realize it would be important. Besides, I was going too fast.”

“When did you next see the Mercedes that night?”

“I didn’t. It was gone by the time I parked.”

“Let me see if I have this straight. You first saw the car from a distance of one city block, then you followed it from a distance of approximately two city blocks, and, finally, you saw it briefly as you passed by the motel lot?”

“Yes.”

“Now, you testified that the car you saw was a beige 1991 Mercedes-Benz, model 300 SEL, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

Ortiz looked perplexed.

“How do I know…?”

“The model and year and color?”

“That’s the car Mr. Stafford drives.”

“Yes. But did you know the year and model and color on the night of the murder?”

“I…The color was beige. I could see that.”

“And the year and model?”

Ortiz paused.

“No. I only knew it was a beige Mercedes on that night.”

“So it could have been an ’89 or an ’85 Mercedes?”

“I later saw Mr. Stafford’s car and it was the same one.”

“Do you know what a 1989 Mercedes looks like?”

“No.”

“Or an ’85?”

“No.”

“The only time you saw the killer’s face was just before you passed out, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you and where was he, when you saw his face?”

“I was lying on my back on the floor looking up, and Mr. Stafford…”

“Your Honor, I move to strike that response,” David said. “He’s saying it was Mr. Stafford. That’s a conclusion a jury or judge will have to draw.”

“Oh, let him go on, Mr. Nash. I’ve been around.”

Judge Autley turned to Officer Ortiz and smiled. David didn’t like that. It was rare that anyone was graced with an Autley smile, and if the judge was bestowing one on Ortiz, that didn’t bode well.

“Just say ‘suspect,’ Officer, and Mr. Nash won’t get all bent out of shape.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Ortiz said. “I was lying on
my back on the floor, my head was against the bed, and the suspect was standing in the doorway.”

“Could you step down to the easel and draw a picture for us?”

Ortiz turned to the judge and the judge nodded. There was an easel with drawing paper and felt-tipped colored pens propped against the wall. Ortiz pulled the easel closer to the witness stand and picked up a black pen.

“This would be the doorway,” he said, tracing a rectangle on the paper. “I was here, against the bed.” He drew a stick-figure bed and a stick-figure man. The man’s head rested against a leg of the bed with its eyes facing the door.

“The door was open. It opened inward and it was half-open, about where I’d kicked it. I guess it must have swung back a ways. He was standing at the door frame, leaning into the room.”

“How far in?”

“Not much. I think his body was at a slight angle, and his right leg and arm were outside the door, but the left leg and his left arm were inside the room a bit.”

“And where was his head?”

“Leaning down toward me. Looking at me.”

“You are certain?”

Ortiz looked directly at David. Then he looked at Larry Stafford.

“I will never forget that face.”

David made some notes, then directed Ortiz back to the stand.

“Were you seriously injured?”

“I was in Good Samaritan Hospital for a day or so.”

“What hospital?”

“Good Samaritan.”

“How long did you view the killer’s face?”

“I don’t know.”

“A long time?”

“No.”

“How long did the man stand there?”

“A few seconds. Then he bolted.”

“So you saw him for a few seconds?”

“Yes.”

“Less than a minute?”

“Maybe five, ten seconds. But I saw him.”

David consulted his notes. He looked at the judge.

“Nothing further, Your Honor.”

Judge Autley looked at Monica Powers.

“Any further witnesses?”

“No, Your Honor. The State feels that it has met the standards set out in the case law. Officer Ortiz is a trained police officer. He has identified the man he saw at the Raleigh Motel as being the defendant. His testimony is corroborated by the fact that the defendant drives a car similar to the car seen at the motel and has similar clothes.”

“Mr. Nash?”

“Your Honor, I don’t feel that a five-second identification by a man who had just been struck sufficiently hard to require hospitalization is the type of proof that creates a presumption of guilt that is evident or strong as is required by the Chambers case.

“Furthermore, Officer Ortiz can only say that the car was a Mercedes. He embellished that description with information he learned later.”

“Have you made your record, Mr. Nash?”

“I do have several character witnesses here to testify in the defendant’s behalf.”