Legal Thriller: Michael Gresham: Secrets Girls Keep: A Courtroom Drama (Michael Gresham Legal Thriller Series Book 2) (18 page)

C
olleen Takaguchi
from the CSI team is telling us about hair and fiber. The jury is somewhat tuned in, but the forensics of the case are beginning to slow the State's momentum from the overdrive of the medical examiner to the less-exciting testimony of this technician who spent over six hours at the scene collecting evidence and over forty hours examining and testing what she found.

"Tell us about the hair in this case. What do we need to know?" asks SA Dickinson.

Takaguchi, a strapping thirty-something with the arms of a world-class weightlifter, reaches and adjusts the square eyeglasses on her flat nose.

"In my workup I used a comparison microscope to view known and unknown hairs side by side."

"What hairs did you compare?"

"I compared the hairs taken from the rodent removed by Dr. Tsung from Amy's mouth to the hairs taken from the mouse cage belonging to the defendant."

"The hairs taken from the mouse cage of Jana Emerich?"

"Yes."

"Your findings?"

"Well, there are common characteristics in the study of hair. My checklist of comparisons includes color and width; distribution pattern of the medulla; and color and distribution pattern of pigment in the cortex; and cuticle pattern."

"We'll hold off on describing those things. Did your comparisons of these two hair samples result in a laboratory finding?"

"Yes. The hair in her mouth was the same as the hair from the defendant's cage."

"You mean it was the same type."

"The same type of hair, yes."

"Now, are you saying it's the exact same hair or just the exact same hair type?"

"Hair type. Hair type only."

"Now, let's go ahead and describe the hair types you compared."

"Rodent hair contains coronal scales. Coronal or crown-like scales give the hair a mosaic surface appearance. Human hair rarely has these scales, but they're common among rodents. So, for openers, I knew I was dealing with rodent hair."

"What else?"

"The characteristics I've previously mentioned. They all matched up."

"So hair of the same type of mouse was found in the mouse cage and in the decedent's mouth?"

"Yes."

"What about transfer evidence? Any fingerprints, for example?"

"No, and no DNA samples, either. Not from the rodent where the killer might have handled the mouse and not from Amy's skin where the killer may have touched her. No DNA to study."

"What about mouse DNA? Did you try to establish whether the mice in the defendant's cage were the same family as the mouse in Amy's mouth?"

"Inconclusive there. I cannot say."

"Very well, then, that's all I have. Counsel, you may cross-examine."

I am immediately on my feet and stepping up to the lectern.

"Ms. Takaguchi, you've told us about the defendant's mouse study. But isn't it true you also did a study on the mouse hair taken from a second individual?"

"Yes."

"Who would that be?"

"Rudy Gomez."

"Who is Rudy Gomez?"

"Another student at Wendover High."

"And what did your comparison of Rudy's mouse hair to Amy's mouse hair tell you?"

"They matched. Same kind of hair."

"So at least one other person in Chicago keeps mice like the one in Amy's mouth?”

"Yes. At least one."

"And there could be thousands more, correct?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know."

I knew that. It was the question I was after, not her answer.

This next one will get me into trouble, but I ask it anyway because defense lawyers should never fear being in trouble with the judge. Not in a criminal case and certainly not in a criminal case as serious as this one.

"Ms. Takaguchi, wouldn't you agree, being that there is at least one other source of mice in Chicagoland, that reasonable doubt as to the defendant's guilt has been established?"

"Objection!"

"Sustained! Counsel, you know better. The jury will disregard the last question."

"That is all I have," I say meekly, seriously contrite as far as anyone can tell.

But inside I am singing the praises of Marcel Rainford, my investigator who obtained the Rudy Gomez mouse hair sample.

Thank you, Marcel.

We have raised reasonable doubt whether the court wants me to ask about it or not.

Now to do the same with the Superglue.

If I can, Jana has a chance of walking out of here a free man.

Just then he looks up and says, "What are my chances, Mr. Gresham?"

I look down at him and whisper, "Eighty-twenty."

"Eighty-
twenty
?" he whispers back. "That's fantastic!"

"No. The eighty is at the other table. The twenty is you."

"Oh. Eight times out of ten I'm dead in the water."

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Well,
do
something, man.
Do
something!"

I reach down and pat his shoulder. I do it for the effect it has on the jury. They like me, and the theory among defense lawyers is that some of that will rub off on the defendant when I touch or pat him.

That's the theory.

Had the jury not been there, I never would touch this young man.

I just wouldn't.

W
e take
our afternoon break and, just as we stand and stretch, Danny returns with a venti Starbucks coffee for me. My nectar. I take a sip and smack my lips. It's the little things that get the trial lawyer through the trial. Always the little things.

Ordinarily on our breaks Jana will disappear. I think he's going outside on the sidewalk to smoke and I couldn't care less. His help to me in the trial has been utterly worthless. I'm even beginning to think he doesn't know anything of use to me because he's not the killer. He has personal problems galore, like spying on Priscilla in the shower, but I'm almost a hundred percent certain he's not a killer to boot. I have been wrong before, but always find out too late, after I have acquired freedom for someone who goes back out to kill, rob, assault, or drive drunk again. It's happened many times over my thirty years.

We launch into the final session of Monday afternoon and the SA announces he will be calling his second to last witness of the trial. He calls Mira Kendricks, a gaunt image of a once-beautiful woman who has spent her life inside laboratories and courtrooms, without sun, without exercise, and without personal care. Her hair is stringy and different lengths, her eyes look flat and lack makeup, and her tight lips and small chest give her an almost childlike look that makes me think of an angry high school boy. It's the image.

The State's attorney asks the witness the usual foundational questions and we discover she's a chemist with the crime lab. If it's got any chemistry, she does it. This time around, it's the Superglue. She has tested what was found and seized in Jana's room and she tells us that it's the same batch of glue that was used to seal Amy's mouth.

But we knew that and I'm ready for it. I cross-examine her, making a big point out of the fact there are thousands of other tubes of Superglue in downtown Chicago alone that would have come from that sample. She limps from the courtroom, having been bitten several times by me.

Hopefully that put an end to the Superglue connection.

Now to wait for the final witness. I can guess that it will be Amy's father, our esteemed mayor, but I can't know for sure. Whoever it is, the State's Attorney has exhausted his list of expert witnesses.

We are done with the technical portion of the trial. The science has been handed off to the jury for its consideration. Good riddance, I'm thinking as I ride the elevator downstairs, exhausted. Danny is back at the office, finished with her own cases for the day. I close my eyes and visualize my boat and the lake. We are a good team, my boat and I; we have our own special blend of chemistry. Now that's some science I could really spend some time with. But it will be a few more days of trial first.

Then, I'm all in. I'm gone.

W
e're
off and running at 9:03 a.m. the next day.

Our mayor is a Jew and a damn smart one. He came up through Yale and Wharton and worked for a stint at Goldman before returning to Chicago and buying a seat on the Exchange here. He amassed a fortune, sold his seat, and turned to politics to bleed off the incredible energy he's known to generate. He is a suave man in his Savile Row suits and shirts and neckties; he is understated in mood and manner and will not countenance drama in the mayor's office. He wears his white hair parted on the side and his black eyebrows give him a conflicted look as if he exists somewhere between young and old. It is a look many many his age--fifties--have, and, like everything else he does, he wears it well.

Amy Tanenbaum, he tells the jury from the jury stand, was a late-in-life child who grew up with the "only child" syndrome because of the ten years between her and her nearest sibling. By the time she reached high school her older brothers and sisters--two of each--were gone and either settled down with children of their own or pursuing medicine or Ph.D. Programs.

She was a charming girl, he says, an astute observer of people and the degree of sincerity with which they communicated, and so, the mayor assures the jury, the man who murdered her was not someone with whom she would venture far from the stands, as in going down the sidelines and into the dark to the restrooms. She just wouldn't have done that.

"So what are you telling us, Mr. Mayor?"

He hand-brushes his dense hair.

"What I'm saying is, Amy was surprised in the restroom. She had no idea her assailant was waiting there."

"So it's very likely the man who murdered her was not someone she knew."

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"So we can rule out her friends as potential suspects?"

"Yes. My point, exactly. She took great care in choosing who she let come near."

"Were you familiar with Amy's circle of friends?"

"Very. We hosted a sleep-over just about every weekend. Our pool is heated and covered, there's a pool table in the game room, the refrigerators and pantries are always well-stocked with teenager food--we've done everything possible to encourage Amy to bring kids home with her. So, yes, I would say I knew them all. More than most parents, I would venture."

"Was she friends with the defendant, Jana Emerich?"

"Never heard his name before his arrest. Never saw him at our house. He was never there."

"Had you ever seen him before?"

"Never."

"Have you spoken with her friends about Mr. Emerich?"

"Yes."

"What have you learned?"

"Objection," I say, "hearsay."

"This is preliminary, counsel," says Judge Lancer-Burgess. "I'll allow it, but only so far, Mr. Dickinson."

"Please answer," SA Dickinson tells the witness. He takes a sip of water from his glass on the lectern.

"I have learned that Amy never spoke of the boy, was never seen with him, and wouldn't have had any idea who he was."

"It's true he was a newcomer at the school?"

"He started Wendover in September with the new semester. Before that, I believe he was in the Los Angeles area."

"Mr. Mayor, shifting gears now, are you acquainted with the detectives who have taken the lead on this case: Detective Ngo and Detective Valencia?"

"Yes. I have spoken with them numerous times."

"And you have asked them to find your daughter's killer?"

"No more so than any other homicide file on their desk. But I have asked, yes."

"At any time have these two detectives exhibited any doubt as to the identity of Amy's killer?"

"Never. They have been certain all along that Jana Emerich is the man who killed my Amy."

He then goes on to establish what the mayor knows about the investigation, the normal departmental procedures that were followed, and the like. When it comes my turn to examine, I know better. Leave the family members alone. The jury will filter out what is useful and what is not. Their bullshit sifters are always at work.

So I have no questions for His Honor.

At which point, the state rests the prosecution's case against Jana Emerich.

There follows the usual motion for a directed verdict, made by me, as is the usual procedure in criminal and civil cases at the close of the prosecution's and plaintiff's cases. These motions have never been known to be allowed, at least not by me, but I plunge ahead anyway, out of the hearing of the jury, with what will amount to my closing argument to the jury. It is a time to hone my words and my logic and get my ducks in line for the time when we argue to the jury.

My motion for directed verdict is denied.

The defense case must now begin.

T
im O'Donnell--Uncle Tim
--arrives at court wearing gray Dockers, a white shirt with a wide tie from the Seventies, and a blue blazer that is frayed at the wrists and becoming threadbare at the elbows. He looks hungover and probably is with his venous red sclera and two-day growth of facial hair. The look isn't anything like what I asked for. But like so many things that happen in courtrooms, it is what it is. So I call him to the stand and he is sworn and takes his seat.

He is restless and drums his fingers on the shelf at the front of the witness stand. I catch his eye and give him the briefest head shake. He looks at me with a question mark on his face, clearly without a hint of what I'm driving at.

Anyway.

So we launch right into our dialogue.

"Please state your name."

"Timothy J. O'Donnell."

"What is your business, occupation, or profession?"

"I’m a plumber."

"Where do you work?"

"Out of the back of my Ford van.”

"So you're self-employed?"

“No, I work for someone.”

I pause in my questions and appear to be reading through my notes. What I'm actually doing is giving him a chance to relax and acclimate to his surroundings. I don't want what he's about to tell the jury to be tinged with fear or trembling. I want him rock solid.

"Your nephew is Jana Emerich, correct?"

"Jana is my sister's boy. That makes me his uncle."

"How long have you known Jana?"

"Really known him only since last summer when my sister and him moved back here from L.A."

"They had been living in Los Angeles?"

"Santa Monica, to be exact."

"How old is Jana?"

"Seventeen. Eighteen this coming summer. July twenty."

"How close are you to Jana?"

"Well, he eats my food and sleeps under my roof. That's pretty damn close where I come from."

"Is there an emotional connection?"

"I like the boy a lot. He helps me on weekend emergency calls."

"Plumbing emergencies?"

"Yeah. Water heaters, overflowing toilets, clogged sewers, burst pipes. The usual."

"He goes with you in the van?”

"Sure, and he goes to the van and grabs things when I'm on my back under a sink. That kind of help."

"Do you pay him to help you?"

"Room and board."

"Does he have any source of income?"

"His mother is on Social Security Disability as of a month ago. Jana's now getting benefits because of her."

"How much?"

"Objection. Relevance."

He's right. I'm only relaxing Uncle Tim, getting him into the flow, letting the jury see him for the decent man he really is.

"It is rather tenuous, counsel. If you don't have a particular objective in mind with this line of questioning, please move on."

"Mr. O'Donnell, do you recall the night of the football game when Amy Tanenbaum was murdered?"

"It was October thirty-first. I remember."

"Do you recall what you were doing that night?"

"Thursday night? Probably watching
Thursday Night Football
. It was the Bears playing."

"You're a Bears fan?"

"Isn't everyone?"

A smile from the jury. They just might be warming to him.

"Where was Jana that day, after school?"

"He came home from school about three-thirty. It was cold outside and my van cab was a mess. I had him clean out the Ford."

"Why was the cab of the Ford a mess?"

"Because it was the end of the week. Or almost. Soft drink empties, fries on the floor, packages and wrappers. I hate a dirty truck, so Jana keeps it clean."

"Room and board?"

"Exactly."

"Do you recall what time it was when he cleaned the cab of the Ford?"

"Well, he would've changed clothes so I expect he started in at four o'clock."

"So he was outside?"

"He was in the garage. The trash barrel's in there too. Pick up's on Friday. When he finished, he rolled the barrel out to the curb. We put it out on Thursday night."

"You saw him roll it out?"

"Not so much as I heard it. Plastic wheels make a racket on the concrete driveway."

"What happened next?"

"He came back in the house and sat down on the couch. He wasn't wearing a coat and I chewed him out about that. It's flu season and I don't want him coming down sick and missing school. I'm supposed to be his overseer, you know."

"So he sat down on the couch about what? Five o'clock?"

"Give or take twenty minutes. Something like that."

"What happened next?"

"He went upstairs and took a shower. I told him he smelled bad. Teenage boys."

"I thought teenage boys his age kept themselves very clean and smelling good in case they met someone."

"Not this one. He had to be told."

"So what happened?"

"I heard the shower pipes upstairs. They pound in the wall. Air in the pipes."

"What time did the shower noise stop?"

"Five-fifteen, five-thirty."

"What were you doing?"

"Watching ESPN and clipping my toenails. I had my work boots off because they hurt my feet when my toenails get too long. Should I say that here?"

"Sure. We want to know what happened and that's part of it. What happened once the shower ended?"

"He came downstairs. He was wearing baggies and a Chargers sweatshirt. He knew I hated it, so he wore it to piss me off. Sorry."

"Chargers football team?"

"Yep."

"And you're a Bears fan?"

"Who isn't?" he asks again with a short laugh as when you're poked in the ribs unexpectedly.

"What happened next?"

"I made some money that day, so I had him call for Chinese food. He ordered Beef Teriyaki and I ordered Kung Pao Chicken. It came about forty minutes later."

"So now we're talking maybe six-thirty?"

"Yep. So we eat and I grab a shower. By this time, he's inside his room with the iPod blasting. I can hear it through the walls even from downstairs."

"Did you see him later that night?"

"No. I watched the game until I fell asleep in my chair then I hit the hay. But I think he made a sandwich, probably about nine. Left his stuff all over the counter, as usual.“

"Was Jana in his room all that night?"

"Sure."

"How can you be sure if you didn't see him again after your shower?"

"Because I had told him no football at the high school that night. It was a school night and I wanted him to study for his math mid-term next day."

"But you didn't see him again?"

"No. But he didn't leave. I'm certain of it."

We then go into the arrest the next morning, the move-out of the defendant to my house, the coming back and a brief explanation for that, and then I turn him over for cross-examination. With all of my witnesses I instruct them to listen to the questions on cross and answer only what is asked. They are specifically instructed not to embellish and not to explain. I tell them that if explanation is called for we'll get it done on re-direct examination when I'm controlling things.

"Mr. O'Donnell," says SA Dickinson, "I'm the attorney for the state. My job is to put your nephew in prison. Do you understand my role?"

"Yes."

"My job is also to bring charges against witnesses who commit perjury. Do you know what perjury is?"

"I grew up on Perry Mason. I know perjury."

"Have you committed perjury here today by telling this jury you're certain that Jana was in his room all that night of the football game?"

"No. I told the truth, sir."

"How can you be sure he was in his room when you didn't see him again? I mean, couldn't he have snuck out of the house while you were in the shower?"

"He could, but he didn't."

"How can you be sure of that?"

"I know my nephew. He's a good boy. He does whatever I say."

"Yet you didn't actually see him?"

"No."

"Or hear him?"

"Heard his music."

"But you didn't hear him?"

"No."

"So we could say you're really only guessing he was in his room all night?"

The witness turns to me. I am busy with my head down. I can't be seen telegraphing an answer to his questions. Especially not this one.

"I didn't see him. I didn't hear him. But I knew he followed my orders and my orders were to stay home and study."

"Did you speak to the police when they came for him the next morning? The police report indicates you were very uncooperative."

"Who the hell's gonna cooperate when their family is getting arrested? I didn't jump in and help them take him away, hell no!"

"You swore at the police?"

"Sure did. They put the cuffs on way too tight. I thought he was gonna cry."

"Isn't it true you told the police you didn't know for certain that Jana was in his room all night?"

"I told them he would've had to have wings to get out without me seeing."

"And you also told them you weren't certain he was there?"

"As certain as I could be. I'm not running a jail, sir."

"So you weren't certain?"

"Did I do a head count like on California Avenue?"

"Yes."

"No. Like I said, my house isn't some jail."

"I am left with the impression that you don't really know where your nephew was the night Amy Tanenbaum was murdered. Is my impression accurate?"

"I don't know nothing about your impression. I don't even know what the hell you're talking about, your impression."

He's riled and I decide not to re-direct when the State's Attorney breaks it off. Sometimes it's best to leave an agitated witness alone. Emotion too often brings out the truth. The last thing I need right now.

So the witness is excused and we all have the same impression.

He didn't know for sure on October 31 and he doesn't know for sure now.