The Motive (45 page)

“Wait a minute. Whose kids are we talking about?”

“Catherine’s. Her own kids.”

“What did Theresa have to do with them?”

“Evidently a lot. She expected to be a hands-on grandma. If you can believe it, she came close to suing them over grandparents’ visitation rights.”

“One of those, huh?”

“At least. The woman’s a piece of work. And of course she’s pretending to be a reluctant witness. Rosen or Cuneo just happened to ask her if she’d ever heard Catherine threaten Missy or Paul, and it just so happened she did. It was the truth. So what could she say? If they called her as a witness, she had to tell the truth, didn’t she?”

“It’s a sacred thing,” Wes said.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hardy replied. “But the real truth is that Theresa wants Catherine out of her life, out of her son’s life, out of her grandkids’ lives. And if a few words about Catherine’s motive in front of a jury can help get that done, she’s on board for it.”

Farrell plopped into one of his stuffed chairs. “Okay, where would I come in? If I did, not saying I will.”

“You make an appointment to see her as my representative. You’re helping me out with the trial and wanted to get some sense of her testimony before she got to the stand.”

“I thought you said you knew what she was going to say.”

“I do. But tell her you want to hear it from her, and maybe coach her a little. Maybe we can throw the prosecution a curve ball. You know that she needs to tell the truth, of course, but if there’s any way she can somehow help Catherine’s defense, she’d want to do that, too, wouldn’t she?”

“And why exactly, when she asks, didn’t you get around to talking to her before this?”

“Tell her I really didn’t think she’d get called. And still don’t, but Rosen had talked about some motive witnesses, and I thought just to be safe…you get the idea.”

“So what are you really trying to get at?”

Hardy broke a grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“S
ergeant Cuneo, you testified in front of the grand jury before this, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were under oath?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And where was that?”

“Upstairs in the grand jury room.”

“How long did that testimony last?”

Cuneo was bouncing already, slight but visible tremors erupting through his shoulders every three to five seconds. “I don’t know exactly. I’d guess something like three hours.”

“Now, Sergeant, in this three-hour testimony, did you talk about your initial visit to Catherine Hanover’s house?”

“Yes.”

“Did you make any mention of Catherine making it clear to you that she wanted you to stay for dinner?”

“No. I don’t believe I did.”

“No, you don’t believe you did.” Hardy went back to the defense table, gave a confident nod to Catherine, and picked up some sheets of paper that had been stapled together. Walking back up to the witness box, he handed the stack to Cuneo. “Do you recognize these documents, Sergeant?”

He flipped quickly through the pages. “These are copies of my reports on this case.”

“Of your interviews with Catherine Hanover and others, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Now, Sergeant, how long have you been a policeman?”

Hardy’s change in direction caused Cuneo a moment’s pause. His eyes flicked over to Rosen, then back to Hardy. “Sixteen years.”

“So you’ve written reports such as the ones you now hold in your hand many times, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And the purpose of these reports is to memorialize evidence, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, when you write up these reports, you try not to leave out important facts, isn’t that true?”

Cuneo’s shoulders seemed to be closing in around him, his neck sinking down into them. He was closing down de-fensively. His next answer came as a brusque nod.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant,” Hardy said. “Was that a yes? You would never knowingly leave an important fact out of one of your formal police reports?”

Another nod.

This time Braun leaned over from the podium. “Answer the questions with words, Sergeant. Do you need the question read back again?”

“No, Your Honor.” He leveled a malevolent glare at Hardy. “Yes, I try to make my reports accurate.”

To keep the press on, Hardy ignored the answer. Instead, he repeated his exact question, using the precise same rhythm, tone and level of voice. It highlighted the fact that Cuneo had not answered the question the first time. “You would never knowingly leave an important fact out of one of your formal police reports?”

“No.”

“Thank you. Now. Did you know that you were going to testify in this case?”

“Of course.”

“And did you know that you would be asked about the reports you submitted?”

“Yes.”

“And that others would rely upon the accuracy of these reports?”

“Yes.”

“So, as you’ve testified was your habit and inclination, you tried to make your reports both accurate and complete,
is that right?” Cuneo continued to wilt. If Hardy wasn’t having such a good time, he might have let a little sympathy creep into him and let up a bit. But the thought never occurred to him. “Accurate and complete,” he said, “and never more so than in the case of a homicide, correct?”

“Yes.”

Pulling a page from Rosen’s book, Hardy went to his table and drank some water. Returning to his position in front of Cuneo, he started in again. “Sergeant, when you conducted your interview with my client, did you tape-record it?”

“No, I did not.”

“So the only record of your conversation with my client is in these reports? These complete and accurate reports, is that so?”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“All right. Then, please point out for the jury where in your report you state that Catherine asked you to dinner, or came on to you in any way.”

Cuneo’s shoulders twitched. He stretched his neck, flicked his eyes to Rosen’s table, cleared his throat. “I did not include it in the report.”

“No, sir,” Hardy said. “No, you did not.”

Hardy went back to his desk, returned to the witness stand with another bunch of papers—Cuneo’s grand jury testimony. Same questions, same answers. No, Cuneo hadn’t mentioned anything about Catherine Hanover coming on to him, asking him to dinner, making inappropriate small talk. Hardy allowed surprise to play about his face for the jury to see. He hoped that by now that the word had spread to the panel that this witness was the reason that they wouldn’t be watching any television for the next few days, why they would be locked up in their hotel rooms. He hoped they were primed to hate him. And he was going to give them more.

“Detective Cuneo,” he said, “when Deputy Chief Glitsky conveyed to you my client’s complaint about your conduct, you denied that any such exchange ever took place, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t want to…”

“Thank you. In fact, Sergeant, the very first time you ever claimed that my client made an improper sexual advance to you was after she made her complaint to Glitsky, isn’t that a fact?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure of the exact timing.”

“All right, then, how about the first time on the record that you mentioned her invitation to dinner? Wasn’t it when you were on the stand here just before this cross-examination?”

“It may have been.”

“Yes or no, Sergeant.”

“I believe so.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. When you were on the stand under oath. Like you were under oath at the grand jury.”

“Your Honor. Objection! Badgering the witness.”

Braun nodded. “All right. Sustained. Mr. Hardy, I’m sure Sergeant Cuneo realizes when he is under oath.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Your Honor!” Rosen again.

“Sustained.” Braun glared down from the bench. “Don’t get cute, Mr. Hardy. I’m warning you.”

Hardy, straight-faced. “I apologize, Your Honor.” He came back to the witness. “So, Sergeant, did you remember the alleged invitation before you took the stand?”

“Of course I remembered it.”

“And yet you did not mention it? Why was that?”

“I didn’t think it mattered.”

“You didn’t think it mattered?”

“I didn’t think it would be part of the case. Besides, nobody asked me about it.”

“That might explain why it didn’t come up in your three-hour testimony. By the way, there was no defense lawyer at the grand jury, was there?”

“No.”

“No one to ask you the sort of questions I’m asking now?” Hardy didn’t wait for the answer. “No one to challenge your account of what took place?”

“No.”

“Would it be fair to say, Sergeant, that you could talk about anything you wanted to the grand jury and no one would hear the other side of the story? Could it be, Sergeant,
that you never brought up the incident because Catherine Hanover did not, in fact, extend any such invitation?”

“No. She did.”

“She did? Can you recall her exact wording?”

“I don’t think so. It was almost a year ago. She asked me if I liked homemade pasta and said her husband wasn’t going to be home.”

“Ah. Her husband. Since he was the son of the deceased, weren’t you interested in his whereabouts?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Since you’ve told the jury that
everyone
was a suspect at the time, was Will Hanover a potential suspect as well?”

“Yes.”

“And did you ask his wife where he was?”

The questions were flying fast now, in a rhythm, and Cuneo answered without any forethought. “Yes.”

“And wasn’t it this, Sergeant,” Hardy continued, “your question about her husband’s whereabouts, and not an improper advance, that prompted Catherine’s admission that her husband was gone and wouldn’t be home for a few more days?”

Suddenly Cuneo straightened up in the witness box. “I took it as an improper advance.”

“Obviously you did. Was that because this kind of thing had happened to you before?”

Rosen must have been waiting for his chance to break it up, and this was it. “Objection!” His voice had taken on some heat. “Irrelevant.”

But Hardy wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. “Not at all, Your Honor,” he jumped in. “This jury needs to hear if other female witnesses have found Sergeant Cuneo irresistible.”

“Your Honor!” Rosen was frankly booming now, outraged anew. “I object!”

Bam! Bam! Bam!
Braun’s gavel crashed down again and again. “Counsel! Counsel, come to order! Both of you approach the bench.” When they were before her, she fixed them with a frozen gaze. “That’s it from both of you. Last warning. Clear?”

It might be clear, but that wasn’t the point to Rosen. “Your Honor,” he began, “this line of questioning…”

“I heard you, Mr. Rosen. I’m going to sustain your objection and instruct the jury to disregard any innuendo contained in the question. Mr. Hardy, this is my second warning to you in the last ten minutes. There won’t be a third. Now we’re going to take a short break and let everybody calm down.” She looked over the lawyers’ heads to the gallery, slammed down her gavel again. “Five-minute recess,” she said.

Hardy hated to leave off on the sexual harassment, but he knew he’d be able to come back to it. Meanwhile, he’d soon be talking to eyewitnesses who’d identified Catherine, and the jury needed to understand how Cuneo’s methods in securing those identifications had been flawed. So he walked back to his table and picked up a small manila folder.

It looked like the kind you could get in any office-supply store, but one side had six holes cut in it. Through the holes you could see six color photos, three on top, three on the bottom. Each was a front mug shot—style color likeness of a young woman’s face. The women were all brunette, all of a similar age and hairstyle. None wore jewelry, none were smiling or had their mouths open. There was no writing. Nothing distinguished one photo from the others except the facial features of the women depicted. One of the women was Catherine.

“Now, Inspector,” he began, “I’d like you to take a look at what I’m about to present to you and describe it for the jury.” Taking the folder in his hand, Cuneo opened it, glanced at the plastic pages inside, then closed it up and faced the jury. “It’s a folder used to hold photographs.”