The Law Partners (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 3) (19 page)

I
t is late afternoon
. The State's case has been presented though Detective Weldon. Now the cleanup witnesses will be called and the case will be made. I won't be able to have it dismissed through the motion for directed verdict that is presented by defense attorneys at the end of the State's presentation. There is just enough time for me to cross-examine Weldon--to try to unring some bells--before we finish up for the day. I need to score some points so the jury doesn't go home and have all night to brood on the State's proof. Without cross-examination the prosecution's case is extremely persuasive. Miranda Morales is definitely guilty if we stop right here.

But we don't.

Shaughnessy steps away from the lectern and goes to his table. He flips through two legal pads, obviously looking for questions he may have forgotten to ask. His assistant whispers in Shaughnessy's ear and then both men nod. They are done.

"That's all the direct I have, Your Honor," Shaughnessy tells the judge.

The judge looks across at me. "Counsel? We have forty-five minutes remaining in our day. You may cross-examine."

My chance to change this trial forever comes around at last.

"Mr. Weldon, please tell the jury about the police beating I suffered as a result of my defending Mira Morales in this case, and please don't leave out the part where you come to my ICU room and try to talk to me and try to take my statement after I've been beaten so badly by four police officers that I suffer brain damage."

"Objection!" cries Shaughnessy and he is on his feet, requesting a sidebar. The judge waves us forward and we move to the side of the judge's throne farthest from the jury. Judge Itaglia isn't smiling; she's clearly unhappy.

"Counsel?" she says to Shaughnessy. "What's the basis for your objection?"

"Obviously counsel poisoned the jury. His injuries at the hands of police officers not involved in this case are totally irrelevant and totally prejudicial. We move to strike and ask the court to instruct counsel not to go there again."

"Mr. Gresham?" she whispers to me. "What say you?"

"Judge," I begin with all feigned innocence, "Mr. Shaughnessy told the jury I was guilty of removing evidence from the scene of this homicide. My question now will be followed up by additional questions that dispute those statements. To prevent me from doing that after the State has poisoned the jury would be prejudicial and grounds for reversal on appeal."

"I tend to agree with that, Mr. Gresham. The objection is overruled. You may continue. But only as far as you're trying to contradict his opening statement and not just trying to prejudice my jury."

"Judge," Shaughnessy continues, "this is outrageous! Not one of the police officers who were attacked by Mr. Gresham has or had anything to do with this case. It is totally irrelevant, the fight he had with them."

"Counsel," says the judge, "I would have agreed with you had you not opened the door by telling the jury Mr. Gresham removed evidence from the scene of the crime. Now I believe he has the right to explain his actions. Please retake your seats, gentlemen."

Shaughnessy sits at counsel table while I return to the lectern. I can hardly wait. I will open the wound slowly and let it bleed out.

"Mr. Weldon," I begin again, "please answer my question."

Detective Weldon slowly shows us the beginning of a smile. "I don't remember the question."

The court reporter reads it back at my request: "'Mr. Weldon, please tell the jury about the police beating I suffered as a result of my defending Mira Morales in this case, and please don't leave out the part where you come to my ICU room and try to talk to me and try to take my statement after I've been beaten so badly by four police officers that I suffered brain damage.'"

The witness turns red on his face and neck. It is quite pronounced above his starched white shirt.

"I don't know. I wasn't there."

"Tell us what you've read about it in departmental reports, then."

"According to the arresting officers, Mr. Gresham was being transported to the Cook County Jail and, in the parking lot, he suddenly turned and attacked the officers accompanying him. According to Officer James Miller he was struck and kicked by Mr. Gresham. In order to protect himself he used his nightstick to subdue Mr. Gresham. Mr. Gresham was injured in the melee and taken to the infirmary. He was later transferred to UC neuro."

"That's all?"

"That's all I've read."

"You didn't read anything about me being down on the ground and being kicked by the police officers?"

"No, sir."

"You didn't read anything about me being down on the ground and being kicked in the head repeatedly by the police officers?"

"No, sir."

"All right, then. Tell the jury about coming with your partner to my area in the ICU and attempting to take my statement."

"We didn't know how badly you were or weren't injured. Our hospital call was just routine."

"Do you recall being told by my lawyer that I had suffered a serious head injury and remembered nothing about the attack?"

"Something like that. We learned you were much worse off than we first thought."

"Would it surprise you to know, Detective Weldon, that I suffered brain damage at the hands of the police?"

"I don't know if I would call it surprised. If you were struck in the head, I guess that's always a brain injury to some degree."

"Would it surprise you to know that the beating and kicking I received caused such significant injury that I couldn't practice law for a long period of time?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, no."

"Would it surprise you to know that with regards to the item I retrieved from the crime scene that I simply forgot to notify the State that I wanted to turn it over for examination?"

"You're saying you were going to turn it in?"

"I'm asking you whether it would surprise you to know that the beating I suffered at the hands and boots of the police simply removed all memory of the cigarette butt from my mind. Would that surprise you?"

"I don't know. Nothing much surprises me anymore."

"So when DA Shaughnessy told the jury that I removed evidence from the crime scene, he didn't actually know the whole story about why it was done and what I intended to do with it, did he?"

"I guess not."

"So would you like to rephrase what the jury has been told about my removing evidence?"

"I guess I would tell them that you meant to have it tested and turned over. At least that's your story now."

"Do you have any evidence to contradict my story?"

"No."

I pause and allow this Q and A to sink in with the jury, most of whom are furiously making notes. I take a drink of water from the glass on my table and I catch a look passing between the DA and the detective. It is an aggrieved look. It tells me they've caught their foot in a deep hole they should have anticipated, something they would have been wise to have left alone and not brought into this courtroom. Harley's eyes catch my own and I see a twinkle. She nods ever so slightly. Mira is sitting beside her writing. Her head is bowed and she is making notes on a legal pad opened many pages deep below the first one.

We resume.

"Now, Detective Weldon, I'd like to ask you to look over at the jury and tell them all the different ways I interfered with the crime scene before the police arrived on July Fourth."

Weldon lifts his hands but then drops them onto the ledge at the jury box.

"I can't" he says. His mouth is grim and his voice very quiet.

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I don't know how you interfered."

"Well, you told the jury I'd been alone at the crime scene and that defense attorneys alone with crime scenes are very suspicious. Do you remember saying that?"

"Something like that, yes."

"So look over and tell the jury what it was you meant. How was I suspicious?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know of any ways, do you?"

"No."

"So you were attempting to mislead the jury, weren't you?"

"Not mislead. Not exactly."

"Then you were lying to the jury, weren't you?"

"No, I wasn't lying."

"Then tell the jury how your words about me were truthful."

"I can't. I don't know how."

"That's because you were lying to the jury, isn't it?"

"Objection! Asked and answered."

"Sustained. Counsel, please move along."

I nod and skim over my notes, looking like I'm shifting gears. But I am not.

"Tell the jury how I disturbed the dead body of Darrell Harrow to take the blame away from Miranda Morales."

"I can't."

"You can't because there's no evidence I did that; am I correct?"

"Yes."

"Tell the jury how I prepared the defendant herself for your appearance on the scene."

"Well, you told her not to talk to me."

"No, I'm asking for how I changed her testimony, her physical attributes, anything that proves I somehow interfered before you arrived on the scene to take the blame away from Miranda Morales."

"I don't know."

"You don't know because you had no evidence I had done anything when you told the jury that defense attorneys can't be trusted at the scene of a crime, correct?"

"Correct."

I pause to go over my notes and take a drink of water. Breathing space: that's what I'm giving the witness. I don't want the jury to get the impression that I'm badgering him.

Then I continue.

"So you tried to mislead the jury about Ms. Morales and what I might have done, correct?"

"I guess."

"You guess or am I correct that you tried to mislead the jury."

"I didn't intend to. If I did mislead them, I was wrong."

"You lied to the jury."

"I wouldn't call it a lie."

"What would you call it?"

The court interrupts.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we're going to stop here for the day."

Judge Itaglia then gives the jury the usual admonitions about speaking to anyone about the case and about avoiding all news accounts of the case and the rest of it.

When the jury is taken out and returned to the jury room, the court declares us in recess. The press scrambles to the aisle leading out of the courtroom, prepared to get comments from counsel.

Bobbie Carroll from Channel Five catches me and Harley outside the courtroom. Her cameraman has us in his viewfinder and she's ready with her microphone.

"Mr. Gresham," she says, "Is your defense of Miranda Morales going to be that the police lied to the jury after they beat you up?"

For once, I stop and respond.

"Our defense is that Miranda Morales didn't shoot anyone. And the State knows it can't prove she did, so they're attempting to come after me and what I might have done to hurt their case."

"What have you done to hurt their case?" the reporter asks.

I smile and look into the camera lens.

"What have I done? I showed up here. That's what I've done to hurt their case."

Harley and I then turn away and make our way to the elevators.

It has been a good first day.

"You know," Harley whispers on the ride downstairs, "they really can't prove Mira did this. At first I was skeptical, but you're making me into a convert."

I smile at her. "They can't prove it because they arrested the wrong person."

The doors open onto the lobby. Now we can speak freely.

"So what are we going to do to prove they arrested the wrong person?"

"I think we have to put the killer on the witness stand and expose him."

"How do we do that?"

"The cop with the gun in his back pocket. Tory Stormont.”

"Yes."

Harley smiles and pats me on the back as we wait at the curb for Marcel to arrive with my car.

"We don't prove it," she says. "We intimate it."

"We suggest it."

"We offer it as a possibility."

"So the jury has a way out, a way to find Mira not guilty."

"Exactly."

"This is going to get very interesting."

Marcel pulls up to the curb and we clamber inside, Harley up front, me in back.

"Very interesting," I say.

"And the motion to strike won't be necessary," she says. "No need to strike what the DA told the jury about your involvement in the crime. You killed them on that today."

"It did go rather well, I thought."

She sighs and looks out of her window.

"Thank God for sympathetic judges," she says.

"Thank God for fair judges," I reply. "She was only doing her job. Do we still call Shaughnessy as our first witness?"

I've been thinking about this. A part of me thinks that maybe calling him would be overkill. All he can really say is that he was wrong in his comments about me.

But I quickly discard any worry about overkill. He can't be killed in front of our jury enough. I'm ready to take him on when it's my turn. My guess is that he will toss and turn in his bed tonight because he knows what's coming.

For me, it can't come fast enough.

T
hursday
, trial is spent with the District Attorney trying to rehabilitate Detective Weldon after the beating he took yesterday at my hands. But it is difficult because I get to re-cross-examine and I simply hammer home my points a second time.

Then the District Attorney spends several hours presenting his scene witnesses: two CSI's testify about the scene and evidence retrieved; then he presents his medical testimony by the medical examiner who did the autopsy for the Medical Examiner's Office.

After trial I head back to the office, where I meet with Marcel. He has been trying all week to serve a subpoena on Tory Stormont, who I want to put on the witness stand and implicate in the murder. It was Stormont whose arrival at the scene of the crime through the lobby of the condo building isn't found on CCTV security video except in civvies—but that’s only a maybe, not a sure thing. We do see him a second time, in his police uniform at the upstairs elevator but that footage isn’t preceded by him coming through the lobby.

And it is Stormont who, at the elevator and inside the elevator and coming off the elevator in the basement is seen carrying a gun in his hip pocket. Finally, Marcel has spoken with Brianna Finlayton and she's going to appear by subpoena and describe Stormont as the man who came to her apartment and threatened her and had the case against himself dismissed. Do these things add up to a murder conviction against Stormont for the killing of Darrell Harrow? Certainly not. But they totally implicate him in that murder by virtue of his departing the scene with a gun in his back pocket and by his demonstrating his willingness to commit a crime by going to Brianna Finlayton and threatening her as well as her family.

"I don't know, Boss," says Marcel, "I've staked out his home and haven't seen him coming or going. I've staked him out at work and he never appears during his shift."

"You're getting his work hours from someone on the inside?"

Marcel nods, saying, "Straight from the horse's mouth. His sergeant is feeding me the inside story on the guy's shifts. It seems like he's calling in sick every day."

"Where's he calling from?"

"He says he's at home, but I can't locate him there. Or maybe he's just not answering his door all week. I don't know. He's a will-o'-the-wisp, I guess."

This isn't good. Our case dies on the vine without Stormont. My plan is to put him on the witness stand and ask him all the questions I can about his possible involvement in Harrow's death. It's not that his answers will matter as much as the implications I can make by simply asking him the questions, much as I did with Detective Weldon. Without Stormont with us in court I don't even get to ask the questions. It's not looking good, not at all.

So I send Marcel back out to his house. I've asked him to get the manager of Stormont's apartment complex to let him inside on the pretense that Marcel is a family member to Stormont, who isn't answering his door and who the family fears is ill. It might work; it might not. If not, we might need to pick his lock and let ourselves inside: a very dangerous proposition given that Stormont is a police officer and that means he will be armed and very dangerous. He will understand that he has the right to shoot anyone who breaks in; this is enough to put the quietus on any notions of a break-in.

* * *

I
n trial
on Friday morning Shaughnessy shifts over to a police officer who was at the scene. He testifies about keeping the scene from becoming contaminated. He follows it with a diary of all who came and went during the time the shooting scene was under the control of the Chicago Police Department. His name is Tomas Algernon and he is a Latino from Guatemala who has been naturalized since coming here fifteen years ago as a young boy. I tell the judge that I do have questions for the witness and step up to the lectern.

"Officer Algernon, one name that appears on your diary is the name of Tory Stormont. Do you see that on your list?"

"Yes, I do."

"And who is Tory Stormont?"

"He's a Chicago police officer."

"Do you know him personally?"

"Not really. I had to get his badge number and ask him his name. Just seen him around the station. That's about it."

"Now, it says on here that he arrived on-scene after you arrived, is that correct?"

"Correct."

"And you arrived sometime after eleven o'clock--I think you have it down as eleven-oh-four, correct?"

"That would be correct."

"Were any other police officials there when you arrived?"

"I arrived in the lobby and waited, as instructed by the dispatcher. There were no other police officers there."

"Or detectives?"

"Or detectives. Detective Weldon arrived about five minutes later. Close behind him was CSI and close behind them was a member of the medical examiner's staff. No, I'm wrong. The M.E. came much later, about three in the morning if you look at my diary."

"Describe what happened after you all had assembled in the lobby of the building."

"We all went upstairs to twenty-five in one elevator. We got off and proceeded to the defendant's door."

"And then?"

"Detective Weldon rang the bell. Then he pounded on the door. Finally you came and let us in."

"What time did you actually enter the condo?"

"That would have been at eleven-sixteen."

"What did you do?"

"I was posted at the front door. I had the diary to run."

“What can you tell us about Tory Stormont?”

“He helped with the search of the premises, far as I know.”

"What time did he leave?"

"He came and went. When the last time was, I don't know. I've got it down as two-seventeen in the morning but he actually might have come back after that."

"He might have returned?"

"Yes, he might have returned. With the uniforms we don't make entries for every time they come and go because we'd run out of paper. I mean some guys are getting police tape, sometimes they're getting traffic cones, or first aid supplies, or video equipment--you never know. So you just kind of ignore them."

"Do you show him returning after he left at two-seventeen?"

"Officer Stormont? No, I don't show him returning. And I don't have an independent recollection, either. It was a kind of boring scene compared to some we get. Sometimes we got family members trying to get in, or kids crying, or neighbors trying to give us statements, or other police jurisdictions showing up, or FBI snooping around. You just never know. But this was just CPD and the M.E.'s office."

"When Officer Stormont left the crime scene at two-seventeen, did he take anything with him?"

"Well, you'd have to look on the inventory sheets for who took what. I don't have that information."

"Let me put it this way. Do you recall him carrying anything out when he left?"

"I have no recollection of him leaving, period. So I'm guessing he probably wasn't taking anything or I probably would remember. We're pretty tight on what leaves an active crime scene."

I then end my examination of Officer Algernon. He has been able to provide very little except that he did place Tory Stormont at the scene after the main police force arrived. Which leaves me asking, how did he get inside the building? There’s no video of his arrival. I make a note to review the video with Marcel again.

Next up is Natty McMann, who was present at the Democratic fundraiser and heard Mira arguing with the victim. Natty testifies about what he saw and heard. I don't bother to cross-examine him except for a few questions to prove that Mira was not the instigator of the upset; he is an eyewitness to an event that is very damning but if I belabor any of it he just gets to tell his story again. So I ask very few questions.

The victim's widow, Denise Harrow, testifies about the loss of her husband and what it's meant to her and their children. She is a good woman, a respiratory technician who labors at twelve hour shifts in a local hospital; the jury likes her. It is prudent to leave her alone in her grief and anger, and I do.

Next comes a records custodian who enters Harrow's human resources file into evidence. It turns out he was an exemplary employee with no black marks in his file. We should be so lucky as to find a suitable replacement for him. Everyone can see that.

The state then calls a crime lab firearms technician who testifies about the gun, the caliber, the firearms and bullet testing that was done and she finally concludes with the proof necessary to establish that it was, in fact, Mira's gun that murdered Darrell Harrow.

A shooting reconstructionist then testifies about the direction and angle the death shot traveled. It is his testimony that the bullet came from someone who was probably lying on the sofa in Mira's living room, someone with her arm raised just enough to point the pistol at Harrow's head as he came in through the door. It is an upwards angle the bullet travels, indicating that the shooter was lower than the target, indicating, again, that the shooter was very likely reclining. They have no way of knowing for sure that they have anticipated Mira's story to the effect that she was asleep on the sofa when the shooting occurred--at least that part of her story that places her on the couch. I am struck with just how accurate shooting reconstruction can be and I am hopeful we don't need to call Mira to testify, which would only lead to her admission that it was she, in fact, who was lying on the couch when the door opened and Harrow came inside her condo.

By late Friday afternoon, many witnesses have been called out of order, which is common in criminal cases, given the fact many of these professional witnesses are testifying in other courtrooms on the same trial days as our own.

The state finally rests its case and the usual motion for directed verdict is offered by me and it is of course denied. The State has made a prima facie case and now it's the defense's turn.

Then we are dismissed for the weekend.

Very little cross-examination was required as the witnesses basically did not hurt us that much. Yes, there was a crime scene and yes, evidence was collected. Yes, there was an autopsy and yes, the victim died by a gunshot wound at the crime scene. Yes, the victim left behind a beautiful family and yes, they will miss him greatly and forevermore. But there is no eyewitness, and that hurts the state's case more than anything else.

Returning to our office, Harley and I discuss our feelings about the case where it stands right now. The jury has learned that there was a relationship between Darrell Harrow and Miranda Morales. They learned through Natty McMann that a fight ensued between the lovers on the night of July Fourth and that two hours later--give or take--Darrell Harrow lay dead on Miranda Morales' living room floor, shot to death by Miranda Morales' gun. The circumstantial case is very strong at this point and, if we present no evidence, offer no explanations, and fail to prove an alternative theory, Mira will be found guilty of first degree murder and spend the rest of her days in prison.

From the front seat of my Mercedes, driving us back to the office, Marcel listens to all of this. He is quiet--a good sign, because when Marcel is quiet that means the wheels are spinning in his head. And very often that means he's close to offering up a solution for whatever problem we're facing.

"So, Boss," Marcel slowly begins, "I'm thinking we need to confront this Tory Stormont over the weekend. Bust into his place if we have to in order to serve the subpoena. I'm thinking he took out Harrow because Harrow was prosecuting him. Plus, we can play the video with him leaving the premises with a gun in his back pocket. Am I right?"

"We do need him," Harley offers. "But so far he's refused me every time I've asked to meet with him. In fact, he doesn't even answer my phone messages I've been leaving at the police department."

"I'll double down on that," Marcel adds. "I spent all afternoon bird-dogging his apartment. Still nothing. The manager also refused to let me inside Stormont's apartment. He wasn't buying that maybe the guy was ill. He said the guy's a cop and someone might get shot if he uses his passkey. So he wouldn't cooperate in my little scam. Imagine that."

"Do we have any other way of contacting him? Where does the guy live? Where have you been hanging out?"

"Arlington; his place is guarded day and night by other cops. They’re protecting him from those folks in South Chicago. Jesse Jackson and his Rainbow people have condemned him often enough that his life’s in peril every minute.”

“Any family living with him?”

“No. Divorced, lives alone, mostly keeps to himself from what I can gather. You think I should drive over with you and see if he’ll talk to you? See where we get together? Maybe the manager will take you more seriously than just me?”

“I’m thinking,” I say. “If he won’t even respond to Harley, he sure as hell won’t talk to me. So I’m nix on that. I think we need to step it up.”

“How about we bust in, kidnap the guy and force a confession out of him?” Marcel is only half-kidding. But we both know the guy’s armed. There’s zero opportunity to break-in. Way, way too dangerous.