Beyond Justice (13 page)

"Yes.  It was an eight-inch Henckel’s chef knife." She pointed to the knife.  Dodd stepped over to the table.  He picked it up and walked it by the jury before entering it as evidence.

"Please continue, Detective."

"With the wife fatally wounded, the defendant proceeded to the second victim’s room."

"The second victim being?"

"His daughter, Bethany Hudson."  Gasps and murmurs floated throughout the courtroom, as though these horrific details were new and had happened only yesterday.  "The defendant stabbed her several times."

"How many times, Detective?"

She turned to the jury. "Eleven."

"And then what happened?"

"The defendant then proceeded to rape and sodomize his
daughter
—"

Someone sprang up from the gallery, a man about my age.  His eyes flashed with rage as he rushed over to me screaming, "You sick sonofabitch!  You’re gonna burn in hell after we pump you full of poison and watch you die!"

A few jurors let out frightened cries.  Several people in the audience pulled back, making plenty of room for the crazed man.  Out of sheer instinct, I slid my chair away from the oncoming attack.  Just before he reached the rail, an armed deputy blocked his way.

There was such a commotion that Judge Hodges could barely be heard, pounding his gavel and shouting for order.  When the dust settled, I found Dave Pendelton and the armed bailiff standing in front of me, ready to take the deranged man on hand-to-hand, if necessary.  The bailiff escorted the man outside.

Hodges’ face burned crimson as he addressed the courtroom.  "If anyone else thinks they may be unable to conduct themselves as civilized human beings, save me the trouble and leave the courtroom now.  From this point on, I promise to hold in contempt the
perpetrator of the next such outburst.  That’s something you can contemplate in a jail cell just a few blocks from here."

You could have heard a mouse breathing.  No one dared so much as twitch.   Their eyes fixed upon the judge like children staring at a wooden spoon in the hands of an angry mother.

Shaken, I slid my chair back to the table. 

"You okay?" Rachel asked.  I could tell she was unnerved.

"Yeah."

Dodd continued to question Detective Pearson.  With each response, she painted a bloody picture of what she was convinced I had done.  I kept my nerve as best I could, clutching the armrest of my chair.

"Then the defendant went to his son’s room," said Pearson.

Dodd held up a glossy eight by ten. "Aaron Hudson."

"Yes."

"How old is Aaron?"

"Four."  One glance at the jury and I knew Dodd had them rapt.

"The defendant entered the room while the boy was asleep," Pearson continued.  He took that aluminum baseball bat." She pointed at it on the table.  Dodd entered it as State’s evidence.  "And at that point he struck the sleeping child at least three times in the back of his head."

  She faced me.  "What kind of man...what kind of
animal
does this to his own child?"

"Objection," Rachel said, unimpressed.  How she remained so calm, I had no idea.  I wanted to pound the desk, pound Kenny’s face.

"Sustained," Hodges said.  "Detective Pearson, you will refrain from commentary and please do not address the defendant."

"Don’t fall for it," Rachel leaned over and whispered.  "They’re trying to rile you up in front of the jury.  Just stay calm." I nodded and simmered while the prosecutorial tag-team continued

"Regarding the murder weapons..." Dodd held the knife in his right hand, the bat in his left.  "Were there any latent fingerprints found?"

Pearson glared at me again before turning back.  "On the knife, there were two identifiable sets.  The victim’s and the defendant’s."

"Were the stab wounds on both the mother and daughter consistent with said knife?"

"Yes."

"And were Mr. Hudson’s prints found on the bat?"

"Yes."

"Where were the murder weapons found?"

"In the defendants’ garbage container, on the side of his garage."

I whispered to Rachel, "Can’t we say anything?"

"Not now."

I stole a glance at the jury, most of them were transfixed with Pearson's testimony.  One or two jurors glowered in my direction.  I averted my eyes.

Next, Dodd set up two easels with white poster boards on which he fastened large, color photos taken at the crime scene.  The blood on the sheets of my bed were difficult enough to behold.  But when he displayed the pictures of Bethie’s four-poster canopy princess bed, and Aaron’s Thomas Train sheets, all covered in blood, I had to force myself not to look away.

The final stake in the heart came in the form of coroners' photos.  I had to turn my head and cover my mouth.  They were close ups of the stab wounds on Jenn and Bethie’s abdomens, backs, arms, hands.  But the worst of the lot were the images of their faces.  Pale and lifeless.  I had tried my best to erase the memory of their faces when they died, but these photos, brought them all back.  After about twelve photos, I was certain that the case was closed and that the rest of the trial would be an exercise in futility.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rachel approached the witness stand like a mongoose confronting a cobra—Rachel being the mongoose, of course.  Her questions were terse.

How long have you worked for the County Sheriff’s Department?  How many times did you question the defendant?  These along with a few basic questions laid the groundwork for her cross-examination.

Now to the evidence.

"You say my client’s fingerprints were found on the murder weapons."

"That’s right," Pearson replied, with all the charm of a corpse.

"Was that knife from a set in their house?"

"Yes, it was missing from the block in the kitchen until we found it."

"Is it possible that Mr. Hudson, the owner of the house, may have used that knife in the kitchen earlier that day and left his fingerprints on it?"  In fact, I had.

"It’s not the only evidence we have."

"Please answer the question."

"Of course it’s possible, but—"

"Thank you." Rachel held her index finger up, preventing her from saying more.  "And the same could be said for the baseball bat?"

"Again, it’s not our key piece of evidence.  But when you—"

"Perhaps I should simplify the question for you.  Is it possible that my client might have left fingerprints by handling the bat, say, to show his son how to hit a ball?"

"Yes, it is possible, but as I said—"

"Thank you." Another abrupt cut-off.  "Now regarding the search and seizure of my client’s property.  Isn’t it true that you conducted an illegal—?"

"We had a warrant."

Rachel held up a copy of the document and entered it as evidence, then handed it to the judge.  "In fact, you had no valid warrant at the time of the search.  This warrant was stamped by the clerk hours
after
you’d conducted it.  I have eyewitnesses who place you and a uniformed officer at property hours before it was issued."

"None of the evidence presented today is from the group of items seized during that search.  You made certain of that."

"What I did, Lieutenant, was hold you accountable to the law."

"Oh please!"

"Did you conduct an illegal search: yes or no?"

Pearson glowered at Rachel.  Her face twitched. "Yes."

Rachel nodded.  Let it sink in.  The mongoose cautiously paced around the cobra, then struck in a way that surprised everyone.  "Lieutenant Pearson, isn’t it true that you are up for a promotion?"

"Objection," Walden said, annoyed.  "Relevance?"

Hodges regarded Rachel.

"Goes to the witness's bias and history of ambition, which clouded her judgment in favor of ensuring a swift arrest and conviction despite—"

"Objection!  Lacks foundation.  She’s grasping."

"Sustained.  Ms. Cheng, move on."

"Yes, your honor."  Nice try.  The jury wasn’t impressed.

"Detective Pearson, as you interrogated my client, did you ever consider, even for a moment, that he might be innocent?  That maybe he really did come home and find his family attacked, the way he consistently told you in multiple statements?

"No.  I could see it in his body language, his demeanor during all his interviews.  He was nervous.  According to my experience—and I haven’t been wrong to date—guilt was written all over his face."

"You concluded he was guilty before you had any physical evidence?"

"I didn’t conclude anything at that point, but I did trust my instincts."

Rachel lowered her gaze.  The mongoose was poised to strike. "You’ve got a pretty good track record don’t you?" she stated, more than she asked.

"Yes, I do."

"You’ve closed just about every case you’ve worked on, right?"

"Yes."

There was a marked accelerando in Rachel’s questions.  "You’d love to put a bullet in my client’s head if the law permitted you, wouldn’t you?" My heart raced like a thoroughbred in the homestretch.

"Objection!" cried Walden.

"You would, wouldn’t you?  If you could find a legal loophole, you'd shoot him!"  The entire courtroom bristled.  Like most of the jurors I was at the edge of my seat.

Pearson turned to the jury.  "If some animal came and violated your sister, wouldn’t you?"

With a smile, Rachel took a deep breath.   "I have to confess, I might," she said.  "But I’m curious.  You mentioned ... your sister."

Pearson remained silent, her hands now planted firmly on the arms of her chair.

"Do you have a sister, Ms. Pearson?"

Walden objected.  Hodges overruled.

"No," Pearson said.

"Let me remind you ," Rachel said, "you’re under oath."

"I do
not
have a sister."

"Quite true.  You do not
have
a sister.  Because she died over twenty years ago.  Isn’t that true, Ms. Pearson?" Again Walden raised an objection.  But Rachel was so locked into a groove that Hodges didn’t hear it.  Or he was ignoring it.

"Yes," Pearson replied.  "She died when I was ten."

"And how did she die?"

"Objection.  Request that the court instruct counsel to stick with this case," Walden said.

"She opened this up," Rachel said, "by mention of her sister."

"Overruled.  I’ll see where this is going." Hodges turned to Rachel.  "I’m giving you a short leash, Counsel."

"Ms. Pearson, isn’t it true that your sister committed suicide at the age of twelve?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"Isn’t it true that prior to her suicide, she suffered depression after becoming pregnant?"

"Yes."  The rest of the answers were 'yes,' as the mongoose sunk her teeth in and thrashed the cobra.

"Didn’t she get pregnant as a result of a rape?"

"Yes."

"Wasn’t the rapist in fact, your father?"

The crowd stirred.  Hodges gaveled for order.  Pearson kept silent, but you could almost hear the embers crackling from the fire in her eyes.

"Anita," Rachel said, now sounding sympathetic.  "The police reports from 1983 indicate that your father was convicted of repeatedly molesting your older sister back when you were only ten years old.  According the transcripts, during his sentencing, you shouted threats." She read from her notes.  "You said, "I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!  I don’t care how long it takes, I’ll kill you!  True or false?"

The courtroom fell silent.

"He’s still alive," she replied, frosty disdain dripping from her lips.

"Isn’t it true that you have a personal vendetta against all rapists?  Especially those who attack young girls?"  Pearson opened her mouth to reply but Rachel cut her off.  "Isn’t it true that you’ve been eager to convict rape suspects based on your gut—so much so that you’re willing to break protocol... even the law?  Isn’t it true that this; all of this—is about revenge?"

"No, no, and no!"

Then something truly unexpected happened.

Detective Anita Pearson, the deadly cobra, the Ice Princess, began to melt into tears.

"Thank you, Ms. Pearson.  You’ve been most helpful."  Rachel returned to the desk and took her seat beside me.  But before she sat, she turned around again.  "And Ms. Pearson.  I am truly sorry for your pain."

Giving her a moment to recompose herself, Walden handed her a Kleenex.

"First of all, on behalf of the State of California, Ms. Pearson, I would like to express my appreciation for the excellent work you've done in bringing some of the most violent criminals to justice.  You’ve done a great deal to keep the citizens of San Diego safe."