Trial and Terror (23 page)

Hightower cut her off. “You’ve already established this point.”

“Sorry, Your Honor,” Summer said. “Detective Tyler, you testified that forensics found fingerprints on Mr. Gundy’s front door. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Which side? The inside or outside?”

“The outside.”

“It doesn’t bother you that your earlier testimony implied that the fingerprints were on the inside?”

“I didn’t imply anything. I said they found fingerprints on the door.”

Summer let it go. She had established that anything Tyler said should be taken with a grain of salt. She changed direction and brought up Tyler’s record. He had come up empty on the three cases he had worked on prior to collaring SK. He admitted that the failure to catch these culprits had resulted in intense pressure from his superiors. But after arresting SK, this pressure lessened.

“What are your feelings regarding my client?” Summer asked.

“I have no feelings one way or the other,” Tyler responded. “A case is a case, and a suspect is a suspect.”

“And you had no feelings regarding my client’s late husband, Jonathan Sadbury, and his work, did you?”

“None.”

“Nor the fact that he performed abortions?” Since Raines had already worked this nugget into his opening statement, Summer knew she couldn’t work around it.

“Right,” he said in a clipped voice.

Summer removed a photocopy from a folder. “Do you remember writing a check for $750 to the Anti-Abortion Crusade?”

Tyler was clearly ambushed. Summer had to hand it to Tai. He really did know how to investigate. She let Tyler’s silence hang in the air.

“Time’s a-wasting, Detective Tyler,” Summer said in a noisy whisper. “If you’re not careful, you’ll anger Mr. Raines. You know what a stickler for time he is. He even carries an alarm clock with him wherever he goes.”

Over the laughter, Hightower said, “That’s quite enough, Ms. Neuwirth.”

“My apologies, Your Honor. Well, Detective Tyler? Yes or no?”

“That was a long time ago,” he said.

“Yes, eight years ago, not long before Jonathan Sadbury was slain.” She showed him the photocopy. “Is this your signature?”

He fumbled for his eyeglasses. “It is.”

“But you’re telling the court that you don’t have feelings regarding Jonathan Sadbury’s work one way or the other. Is that correct?”

“I would never let it affect my judgment on the job.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“All right,” he said. “I’m against abortion and believe Jonathan Sadbury’s work was immoral. But that doesn’t mean—”

“After Mr. Sadbury was murdered, did you say that God was just evening the score?”

Tyler took a sip of water. He was sweating and his eyes were red. “I don’t recollect ever having said that.”

“If I could produce a witness who would swear that you had, would he be lying?”

Tyler answered before Raines could object. “I don’t know.”

Summer withdrew the question. Haze County was in the heart of Right To Life, U.S.A. She wasn’t sure how much damage this would cause Raines’s case—hell, she thought, three-quarters of the jury probably agreed with Tyler’s stance. But she was laying the foundation for their mistrust.

She moved on to the crime scene. “Were you the first one to search the bedroom where the boots were found?”

“No. Another member of the search team had already searched.”

“Where was he when you were in the bedroom?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Your colleague searched the room?”

“He did.”

“And yet it was you who found the boots.”

“Yes.”

“While he was not present.”

“Yes.”

“How long were you unsupervised?”

Tyler sucked in some air. “About, oh, five minutes, give or take.”

Summer approached him. “You didn’t plant evidence, did you, Detective Tyler?”

Tyler’s face narrowed. His pupils were little beads. “Absolutely not.”

“If you had wanted to, however, it is possible that you could have transported a glass fragment with a drop of blood on it to my client’s home and planted it.”

“Objection,” Raines called. “This is pure fantasy, supposition.”

“Overruled,” the judge said. “Counselor merely asked the witness whether it was possible to plant evidence if he’d had the desire to. She didn’t accuse him.”

Tyler said, “I would never do that. It’s possible I could have done a lot of things. I could have walked off with the family silver. I could have painted graffiti on her walls. I could have taken a nap. The point is, I didn’t.”

“I see. Detective Tyler, what else was on the boots?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“No, strike that,” Summer said. “You testified on direct that Malcolm Byers, the eyewitness you interviewed, offered a description of the clothes worn by someone fleeing the crime scene?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever find these clothes?”

“She could have ditched them.”

“If she ditched the clothes, why would she keep the boots?”

“Objection,” Raines called. “Calls for speculation.”

“I’ll rephrase the question. Based on your experiences, why would a suspect ditch some articles of clothing, but not all?”

“Maybe she panicked.”

Summer crossed her arms. “She’s not the only one.”

Raines was up in a flash and barked, “Objection.”

Hightower said, “That is unnecessary, Ms. Neuwirth. You’ve made your point.”

“OK,” Summer said, “Let’s try this. Detective Tyler, you’re saying that the boots you found are the boots the killer wore, right?”

“That’s logical.”

“So you’re saying the killer wore the boots, and then stepped on the glass fragments during or after the perpetration of the crime?”

“Yes.”

“Then wore these boots all the way to my client’s residence?”

“Yes.”

“Walked on pavement, up the dirt path leading to the Center’s front door?”

“Yes.

“Then why is it that there is no dirt or mud on the soles of the boots?”

Tyler stumbled. “I don’t have an answer for that.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Summer could see Robinson and some of the other jurors scrawling notes. The electrician held a finger to his lips and seemed to be giving this a lot of thought. The computer magazine editor pursed his lips.
Everybody likes a good fight,
Summer thought.
Good
. They were in for a treat.

She was in a rhythm. “Outside of the victim’s home, there’s a concrete path, right?”

“Right.”

“No other way for the killer to have exited the victim’s premises, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“The windows were locked and sealed, and there was no back door, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So why do you think the glass fragment doesn’t show any wear, no scrapings, nothing?”

Tyler shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“So let me get this straight. The perpetrator wore a pair of boots, somehow gets a glass fragment with a dab of the victim’s blood on it lodged in one of them, wears them the four miles to my client’s home, walks or runs over concrete and dirt, but somehow the soles stay pristine?”

“I wouldn’t say pristine exactly.”

“Oh?” Summer held up the boots and showed the soles. “Pristine, except for this fragment of bloody glass.”

“I suppose.”

“Is it possible the killer skipped the walking part and drove from the victim’s door to the Center’s door, or perhaps flew on a magic carpet?”

“She could have driven.”

“But forensics, to your knowledge, found no trace of physical evidence in my client’s car.”

“That’s correct.”

“Would you say the killer took off his or her boots, put on a different pair to go home, carried them to the Center—yet didn’t notice the glass or blood—and deposited them in my client’s closet?”

Tyler was nettled. “That’s absurd.”

“So if you assume the killer wore the boots home, he or she had to walk in them, at least as far as the parking lot.”

“I’d say you’d have to assume that.”

“Then how do you account for the cleanliness of the soles?”

“I can’t.”

Chapter 27

The next two court days
were spent criss-crossing over the testimony of a local martial arts instructor, who offered his opinion that SK, from what he could tell from documentary footage, did possess the skills to toss a 220-pound man through a railing; entering Chantelle’s medical examiner’s report into the record, which, although a dry recitation of the evidence, was extremely damning; and making various motions to Hightower outside the purview of the jury on certain points of evidence.

Normally, when Summer worked a trial, she skipped breakfast, usually too nervous to eat. But today she was ravenous and headed to the cafeteria. She joined the line and grabbed a tray, slowly moving past hot plates containing eggs, waffles, pancakes. She chose cereal, a fruit cup, and coffee, paid for it, and carried her tray out to the sun deck.

Two bites into her meal, a shadow crossed over her.

“Mind if I join you?” Tai asked.

Summer took her briefcase off the chair. “Of course not.”

Tai set his tray down, sat next to her and removed his sunglasses. “I caught your act with Tyler the other day. You made him look like the ass he is.”

“Thanks,” Summer said, taking a bite of canned pineapple. “But even if the jury buys the idea that Tyler planted the bloody glass in the boot, they could easily view it as a cop enhancing evidence to ensure that a murderer is put away.”

Tai dug into his scrambled eggs and talked while chewing. “You always so cheerful? Don’t answer that. I already know.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t returned your calls.”

Tai swallowed. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I pushed you when I shouldn’t have. It’s just—”

“I can’t do this now.”

Tai scraped the eggs off and began tearing off pieces of toast. While he talked, he tossed the crumbs to the birds. “Have you heard from Marsalis recently?”

“Surprisingly, no.”

“He’s a hard man to track.”

Summer’s cereal settled into the pit of her stomach. “Leave him alone, Tai. I don’t want him riled up.”

Tai tossed the last of the bread. “This psycho threatened you and you don’t want to rile
him
up? What gives? I can understand why you wouldn’t want the cops in on this, but I’m one of the good guys. Remember?”

“You don’t know who you’re dealing with. He’s very dangerous.”

Tai gave her a dismissive laugh. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Please stay away from Marsalis.”

“And from you, right?”

Summer didn’t respond.

“Oh, fuck it.” Tai frisbee’ed his plate into the bushes.

Summer snickered.

“Oh, so you don’t hate me.” Tai said.

She touched his cheek. “Of course not.”

He held her hand there for a moment, and then reached into his daypack and extracted a DVD. “Brought you a little gift. Pizza Boy, the D.A.’s only eye witness, is coming up later today, right? Did you know that he was weenie wagger?”

Summer’s eyes got big. “He exposed himself in public? I checked him for priors, but he didn’t have any.”

“The judge let him go with a warning. Didn’t even get a mark on his record.”

“I wish there were a way I could get that little seed of information to the jury.”

“Seed? Very funny.” Tai tapped the disk with his finger. “But I got something much better. Reread his police interview, then watch this. You won’t be sorry.” He picked up his tray and left.

Summer looked at the title scrawled on the label:
Kinky Ninja Sex Girls
. She left her breakfast partially eaten and headed upstairs to view it.

* * *

Rhonda Spellman, Gundy’s building superintendent, took the stand. She was a gray, wrinkly woman with a stooped spine from years of mopping, sweeping, and providing maintenance to Gundy’s fellow condo dwellers. She had dressed up for her moment in the sun, wearing a dress and shoes too modern for her Old World figure. Her hands were leathery, but that hadn’t stopped her from getting a manicure. During Raines’s direct, she peppered her testimony with polite gestures: “Yes, sir” and “No, sir” and “I really couldn’t say, Mr. Raines.”

Spellman said she had encountered “a pretty, redheaded woman” on the condo complex premises the morning of the murder. She didn’t know how old the woman was. Everyone under 50 all looked alike to her, she said. Her testimony culminated with Raines asking her to identify the woman with whom she had spoken.