If It Walks Like A Killer (The Carolina Killer Files #1) (13 page)

“No further questions your honor.”

As he turned, Caide saw a hateful glare in Hampton’s eyes. Caide sensed that he’d enjoyed seeing Caide humbled more than he could’ve known.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rachael

Rachael stared at the floor. Her head reeled from Caide’s testimony. She heard Avery stand up, her heels clicking as she approached the witness stand.

“Mr. Smith, have you ever seen this woman before?” She held up a picture of Blaire, twirling it around so everyone could see her pretty smile leap from the page.

“Yeah, uh, she called my guy Rudy. Said her tires had been slashed. I went out to pick up her car at some law office.”

“And when you got to the law office, what did you see?”

“Her.” He pointed to the picture. “She was by her car. All of her tires was flat, had been for a while I think.”

“Did you see that man?” She pointed across the court room to Caide.

Mr. Smith scratched his balding head and squinted toward Caide.

“Yeah, he was there. He came running at me, too, like some lunatic, said ‘Put that car down.’ That’s what he says to me. I told him, I says, ‘I was called here to pick it up, buddy.’ He was real mad at me, that’s for sure. Like I was stealing his car or something.”

“How did Mr. Abbott act toward Miss Underwood?”

“Well, he was real nice to her, real protective. Kept watching me with her car. I thought maybe he was her boyfriend or something.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, it sure seemed like it. You don’t get that upset over a coworker, you know what I mean?”

“So you were a complete stranger and yet you picked up on their relationship?”

“They just seemed real close.”

“Funny then that Mr. Abbott doesn’t think his wife noticed.” She raised her eyebrows at the jury. “No further questions.”

Hampton stood next to Rachael. “I have no questions for the witness, your honor.”

“Very well. You may step down, Mr. Smith.”

Smittie climbed down from the witness stand, looking like a dog awaiting a treat. Avery stood from her seat, glancing at Rachael with unforgiving eyes.

“The prosecution calls Detective Stan Wallace to the stand.”

As she said it a sharply dressed man in the back of the room rose from his seat, not looking directly at anyone. At the same time, a woman walked to a room hidden behind the judge’s bench and rolled out a TV cart.

“Mr. Wallace, can you tell me if this is a picture of the crime scene?” Avery asked, holding up a picture to a visibly disturbed jury and then to the stone faced witness.

“It is.”

“When did you arrive on the scene?”

“We received a call just after ten that morning and arrived just before eleven.”

“Why wasn’t a call made until ten? Surely a law office opens earlier than that.”

“The staff at the law office is primarily male, excluding the victim of course. No one entered the restroom where the body was discovered until a client stumbled upon it accidentally.”

“And everything was left untouched until you arrived at the scene?”

“Well, it is a law office. They are very familiar with crime scene protocol.”

“Who did you question first?”

“First we spoke with a Mr. Chester Mason and a Mr. Bart Meachum, co-owners of the law office, followed by the client who found the body, a Mrs.,” he looked at his notes and read, “Agnes Wimbledon. We then spoke to Brian Sparks, Mr. Abbott’s assistant, and finally Mr. Abbott himself.”

“Did you question any of the janitors? It was earlier brought up that they may have been working upstairs during Mr. Abbott’s rendezvous with the victim.”

“We weren’t able to speak with them that day, however we have questioned them since. They were both off duty the night of the murder and both had solid alibis.”

“What did you notice when you arrived at the crime scene?”

“The blood. There was a lot of blood, consistent to a head injury, but nothing ever prepares you for that. We noticed she was dressed and showed no signs of rape. We found the murder weapon, a metal soap dispenser with traces of blood on it, had been placed back on the sink where it had come from. The coroner pronounced that the victim had been dead about fifteen hours, which put the time of death at approximately 8:15 the night before. All stories were consistent in stating that Mr. Abbott was the last to see the victim, he claimed to have left her alone and alive at around 7:30. He, of course, became our prime suspect. We questioned him. He seemed suspicious, for sure, but news of the affair could have been the cause. We had no real evidence against him so we requested copies of the security tapes. The owners were very cooperative with our efforts. We found semen inside of the victim, which was later determined to belong to Mr. Abbott.”

“Now, you mention the security tapes. We have a copy of that here, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“At this point, your honor, we’d like to present evidence piece seven sixty-one for the court’s viewing, the security footage from the law office of Mason and Meachum the night of November 11.”

She stepped back so the room could see the screen, pressing play with ease on her remote. Rachael could only see the side of the screen closest to her, but that was enough to tell her what was happening. She watched as her perfect little husband, her good husband, her husband who’d ‘done his best’ screwed his secretary for the world to see. Rachael’s blood boiled, she felt rage in the pit of her stomach unlike anything she’d ever felt before. She wanted to look away, but couldn’t pull her eyes from the screen. Her eyes burned with tears, but she couldn’t allow herself to cry. She tightened her jaw, her vision clouding with hatred. She hated her husband in that moment, more than she’d ever hated anything or anyone. She hated him with every fiber of her being, every ounce of her soul. She sat, the embarrassment of the situation written on her face, and pretended like it didn’t bother her.

She felt Hampton’s eyes on her, rather than on the tape.
Stop staring at me.

“Your honor,” he called out, his eyes still locked on Rachael. “Is this necessary? Can’t we just skip to the actual evidence? There’s no reason to put my client through this torture.”

“What’s the matter, Hampton? Your client can’t control her temper?” Avery asked, dragging the last three words out to prove her point.

“Actually I think, considering the circumstances, my client is doing an exceptional job controlling her temper. It’s inhumane to expect her to watch this. Please, your honor.”

They both turned to the judge, who nodded. “I agree with Hampton, Avery. Have some decency. Skip to the end.”

“Your honor, I think it’s important for the jury to see—”

“The jury has seen more than enough, Avery. As have I. Skip ahead or I will ask you to turn it off and dismiss your evidence altogether.”

“Yes, your honor.” Avery paused the movie on a not so flattering shot of Caide. There were chuckles heard throughout the crowd. She began fast forwarding, much to the amusement of the jury.

A scream of rage built up in her chest. No one looked empathetic. Not a single person looked as though they were watching someone’s heart being ripped out and danced on, but rather a Saturday morning cartoon.

Avery paused the tape. “Ah. Here you can see Mr. Abbott leaving the building. Notice the time, 7:45, just as he said. Miss Underwood watches him leave and then immediately grabs her phone. We see her dialing. Phone records along with Miss Olson’s statement prove that’s who the call was made to. Now we will see, watch the left corner closely.” She paused, watching as Blaire chatted happily on the phone. Rachael saw something shift in the far corner. “Up until this point, we couldn’t tell that this shape was actually a person, but as the tape goes on you see the defendant moving toward the staircase and then walking down the stairs to approach the victim.”

The jury gasped. Rachael looked up and saw a faint figure walking down the staircase. The blonde hair became increasingly clear the closer to the camera she became. As the figure moved closer, it became obvious to everyone including Rachael that she was staring at herself.

It’s a crazy feeling, seeing yourself in a place you don’t remember being. It’s like looking at photos of you from childhood. You know that it’s you, that it was you doing something in the past, but you don’t remember it. You can’t think back to that day and remember how that ice cream cone tasted or how the water felt coming at you from the water hose, you can’t remember exactly what your great grandma smelled like that day, or how that wrapping paper felt under your fingers. With baby pictures though you expect not to remember, you just smile kindly at the picture of someone else’s memory, and then turn the page. This was different. Rachael watched herself walk across the screen. There were no words to explain how utterly confused and hopeless she felt.

“As you can see, the defendant stood in front of Miss Underwood. She remains calm, almost emotionless. Miss Underwood hangs up the phone. As this video doesn’t have audio, and the film isn’t clear enough to read lips, we can only guess that Mrs. Abbott must’ve said something to coax Miss Underwood into the bathroom with her. After a few moments, yes, there they go. Mrs. Abbott leads the victim into the bathroom, which as we know is where the body was later found. I’ll fast forward just a bit because they were in the restroom together for around seven minutes.” She stopped the video just as the bathroom door crept open. “And here you’ll see Mrs. Abbott leaving the scene of the crime. Alone.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Hampton

Hampton watched Rachael turn green right before his eyes. Her hands left sweat prints on the table when she moved them, which she couldn’t seem to stop doing. He’d been sure she was going to pass out several times now. Finally, he stood. He’d prepared himself for this moment, but he knew there was no true way to prepare to have someone mop the floor with your case.

“Detective Wallace, did you have any specialists look at the tape?”

“My team of detectives, yes.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. Did you have it tested for authenticity?”

“With all due respect, we are trained to spot fake tapes, sir. We did run it through rigorous tests and multiple sets of eyes, however.”

“I see. Now, maybe it’s just me but these tapes certainly seem a lot clearer than the tapes shown on the news. Why is that?”

“Well, it’s been enhanced, obviously.”

“How do you mean?”

“We’ve enhanced it through a government approved software.”

“So you’ve changed it?”

“No. Nothing was changed. It was put through a filter to remove the excess grain.”

“You just removed a bit of grain?”

“We were also able to pull bits of the video together, also through an approved software. It’s sort of like a puzzle. It fixed the pixels to make them clearer.”

“So, it guesses at what each pixel is supposed to look like?”

“I wouldn’t call it a guess, no. More like an educated estimation. A very, very time tested, educated estimation.”

“Right. Now, this educated, government approved
guess
it shows my client leading Miss Underwood into the bathroom, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Not pushing?”

“No.”

“Not chasing?”

“No.”

“In fact, my client is the one being followed, is that correct?”

“Yes, we can only assume Mrs. Abbott coerced—”

“You know what they say about assuming, don’t you? You also see my client leaving alone, right?”

“Yes.”

“As I recall earlier, it was pointed out that my client’s fingerprints were not found on the murder weapon?”

“No, they were not.”

“In fact, it’s my understanding that my client’s fingerprints were nowhere to be found in the entire building, is that correct?”

“Yes, but on the tape you see she isn’t seen touching anything.”

“But she would’ve had to touch the murder weapon, unless we’re going to assume that along with being a time traveler my client is also telekinetic?”

The detective looked annoyed. “She most likely wore gloves or wiped off her prints.”

“Most likely. See, here we go with the assumptions again. You say she may have wiped off her prints?”

“Yes.”

“Yet she didn’t manage to wipe off any of the other twelve sets of prints?”

“Apparently not.”

“Yet she forgot to clean up her blood or better yet get rid of the murder weapon altogether? She also seemed to have a blatant disregard for the security cameras, which I’m told are housed upstairs. If my client had been hiding up there, she would’ve seen the camera screens and known exactly where not to go. Now, let’s go with the gloves theory again. It seems plausible, I guess.” He walked to Avery’s desk and grabbed the remote, rewinding the tape. “We see here my client enters the restroom. Tell me, detective, is my client wearing gloves?”

“No, she’s not.”

He nodded, fast forwarding the tape. “And here she’s seen leaving. Is she wearing gloves here?”

“No, but she could’ve taken them off. Just because she isn’t seen wearing them, that proves nothing.”

“Did you find any gloves in that bathroom?”

“No, we did not.”

“My problem with your theory is simple. In this video, my client isn’t making any effort at all to hide her identity. Why would she put gloves on and take them off before and after the murder? Would she have had that kind of time? And let’s just say she did. She took them off. If she didn’t hide them at the crime scene, where are they? She’s hardly dressed to conceal anything. So where did these gloves go?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“I see. Well, Mrs. Abbott.” He turned to face Rachael, giving her a wink. “It looks like we’ve just added disappearing acts to your list of magical powers.”