Tell Me No Secrets (41 page)

Don pushed through the doors of the courtroom with appropriate dramatic flourish just as the clerk was reading Rick Ferguson’s name aloud.

“Here, Your Honor,” Don said loudly, leading his client to the defense table.

“Is the defense ready?” Caroline McMahon asked, a trace of sarcasm evident in her voice as she peered over her reading glasses at the tardy attorney for the defense.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“And the state?”

“The state is ready, Your Honor,” Jess answered, almost eagerly.

“I’m going to reserve judgment on your motion, Mr. Shaw,” Caroline McMahon announced immediately, “until I see where the prosecution’s case is going. Ms. Koster, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Jess stated, walking toward the empty witness stand. “The state calls Detective George Farquharson.”

Detective George Farquharson, tall and fair-skinned and balding, marched through the outer doors of the court, through the already crowded spectator section, through the glass doors that split the courtroom in half, to the stand. He was duly sworn in and seated, stating his name and rank clearly and loudly, a man obviously comfortable with himself and the job he was about to do.

“On the afternoon of December fifth,” Jess began, “did you have occasion to investigate the death of Connie DeVuono?”

“I did.”

“Can you tell us about it?”

“My partner and I drove out to Skokie Lagoons in response to a telephone call from a Mr. Henry Sullivan, who’d been ice fishing and come across Mrs. DeVuono’s body. It was obvious as soon as we saw the body, she’d been murdered.”

“How was it obvious?”

“The piece of wire was still wrapped around her neck,” Detective Farquharson answered.

“And what did you do after you saw the body, Detective Farquharson?”

“We cordoned off the area and called the medical examiner’s office. Then the body was placed in an ambulance and sent over to Harrison Street.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

Don rose briefly. “Did you find any evidence at the scene, Detective Farquharson, other than the wire around Mrs. DeVuono’s neck?”

“No.”

“No footprints? No cigarette butts? No clothing?”

“No, sir.”

“So there was nothing at the scene linking my client to the deceased?”

“No, sir.”

“Thank you.” Don returned to his seat.

“You may step down, Detective Farquharson,” Judge McMahon told him.

“The state calls Dr. Hilary Waugh.”

Hilary Waugh wore a royal-blue pantsuit and a simple strand of pearls, her dark hair pulled into her trademark French braid.

“Dr. Waugh,” Jess said, as Hilary Waugh settled into the witness stand, “what were the results of the postmortem on Connie DeVuono?”

“We found that Connie DeVuono died of asphyxiation as the result of being strangled with a piece of magnetic wire. The wire also severed her jugular, but that was after death.”

“Was there evidence Connie DeVuono had been beaten?”

“Yes. Her left wrist had been broken as well as several ribs, and her jaw had been dislocated.”

“Was there evidence of sexual assault?”

“Yes. The body was nude, and the vagina showed signs of trauma.”

“How long had Mrs. DeVuono been dead before she was found, Doctor?”

“Approximately six weeks. We identified her through her dental records.”

“Thank you.”

“Was there any sperm found in the vagina?” Don asked quickly jumping to his feet.

“We found no traces.”

“Any bite marks?”

“Just from animals.”

“Any traces of blood that weren’t Connie DeVuono’s?”

“No.”

“Traces of saliva?”

“None that we could find at this time. Mrs. DeVuono had been dead for about six weeks and was in a state of advanced decomposition.”

“Yet, due to the severe cold, the decomposition hadn’t advanced as much as it would normally. Isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And yet you found no blood samples, no teeth marks other than animal, no saliva traces, nothing of any real significance. Certainly nothing that would help you identify the perpetrator of this crime.”

“No,” the doctor admitted.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“The state calls Dr. Rudy Wang,” Jess said, immediately following Hilary Waugh’s exit from the stand.

An expert in forensics, Dr. Wang was short, gray-haired, and—despite his Asian-sounding name—of Polish extraction. He wore a brown pinstriped suit and a worried expression that made him look as if he had forgotten to wear his glasses.

“Dr. Wang, did you have a chance to examine the wire that was used to strangle Connie DeVuono?” Jess asked, approaching the witness stand.

“Yes, I did.”

“Could you describe it, please?”

“It was a magnetic wire, steel gray, eighteen inches long and approximately a quarter of an inch around. Very strong, very sturdy.”

“You also examined a similar piece of wire taken from the Ace Magnetic Wire Factory where the defendant works, did you not?”

“I did. They were identical.”

“Thank you, Dr. Wang.”

Don was on his feet and in front of the witness before Jess had a chance to return to her table. “Dr. Wang, were there any fingerprints on the wire that was found around Connie DeVuono’s neck?”

“No.”

“Partial prints? Anything?”

“No. Nothing.”

“And how common would you say this type of wire is?”

Rudy Wang shrugged. “Pretty common, I guess.”

“You could buy it in any hardware store?”

“You might be able to find it in a hardware store, yes.”

“Thank you.”

“You may step down,” the judge directed.

Don smiled over at Jess before returning to his seat.

“I hate it when defense lawyers look so happy,” Tom Olinsky whispered to Jess.

“The state calls Mrs. Rosaria Gambala,” Jess said loudly, anger gripping her hands, twisting them into tight fists.

Mrs. Gambala, in a long-sleeved black sweater over a long black skirt, ambled slowly from the back of the courtroom toward the witness stand, swaying from side to side as she walked, as if she was in danger of tipping over. She steadied herself against the front of the witness stand as she was sworn in, her dark eyes nervously scanning the room, stumbling when she saw the defendant. A muffled cry escaped her lips.

“Are you okay, Mrs. Gambala?” Jess asked. “Do you need a glass of water?”

“I’m okay,” the woman said, her voice surprisingly strong.

“Can you state your relation to the deceased?” Jess asked.

“I’m her mother,” the older woman answered, speaking of her daughter in the present tense.

“And when did you first report your daughter missing, Mrs. Gambala?”

“On October twenty-ninth, 1992, when she didn’t pick up Steffan after work.”

“Steffan being her son?”

“Yes. My grandson. He comes to my house after school, till Connie is finished working. She always calls before she leaves work.”

“And on the afternoon of October twenty-ninth, your daughter called and said she was on her way, but then she never showed up, is that right?”

“I called the police. They say I have to wait twenty-four hours. I call you. You no home.”

“Why did you call me, Mrs. Gambala?”

“Because you were her lawyer. You were supposed to help her. You knew her life was in danger. You knew about the threats he made.” She pointed an accusatory finger at Rick Ferguson.

“Objection!” Don called out. “Hearsay.”

“This is a preliminary hearing,” Jess reminded her ex-husband. “Hearsay is admissible.”

“I’m going to allow it,” the judge ruled. “Proceed, Ms. Koster.”

Jess returned her attention to Rosaria Gambala. “Rick Ferguson made threats against your daughter’s life?”

“Yes. She was so afraid of him. He say he’s going to kill her.”

“Objection,” Don called again. “Your Honor, can we approach the bench?”

The two lawyers moved directly toward the judge.

“Your Honor, I believe now would be a good time to rule on my motion to limit the evidence introduced in this case on the grounds that almost all the evidence against my client is hearsay, and highly prejudicial,” Don began, taking the initiative.

“Which is perfectly admissible in a preliminary hearing,” Jess said again.

“Your Honor, there is no direct evidence that my client ever threatened Connie De Vuono.”

“The state will call two more witnesses in addition to Mrs. Gambala who will testify that Connie was scared to death of the defendant, that he threatened to kill her if she proceeded with her plans to testify against him in court.”

“Your Honor, such hearsay evidence is not only prejudicial, but irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” Jess asked, hearing her voice bounce off the surrounding glass. “It goes to motive, Your Honor. Connie DeVuono had accused Rick Ferguson of raping and beating her. …”

“Something that was never proved in a court of law,” Don reminded her.

“Because Connie DeVuono never made it to court. She was murdered before she could testify.”

“Your Honor,” Don argued, “my client has always claimed to be innocent in the attack on Mrs. DeVuono. In fact, he has an airtight alibi for the time of the alleged attack.”

“I will call several police officers to testify that Connie DeVuono positively identified Rick Ferguson as the man who beat and raped her,” Jess offered.

“Hearsay, Your Honor,” Don stated flatly. “And since Connie DeVuono didn’t say anything to the police about Rick Ferguson until three days after she was attacked, her statement cannot be classified an ‘excited utterance,’ and therefore is not an exception to the hearsay rule. The only person, Your Honor, who can identify my client as her assailant, who can testify that he threatened her life, is dead. Since it was never proved that my client had anything
to do with the attack on Mrs. DeVuono, I must ask that you disallow the introduction of such highly inflammatory and prejudicial evidence against my client.”

“Your Honor,” Jess stated quickly, “the state contends that this evidence, while admittedly hearsay, is definitely probative. It goes to the heart of the state’s case against Mr. Ferguson.”

“The fact is that the state has nothing that links my client to the dead woman except a series of unsubstantiated, secondhand claims.”

“Judge McMahon,” Jess said, noting the judge’s cheeks were now brushed with broad strokes of crimson, “the state intends to call Connie’s best friend and a co-worker to the stand. Both women will testify that Connie DeVuono was terrified of Rick Ferguson, that she told them he’d threatened to kill her if she testified against him. …”

“Your Honor, we’re just going around in circles here.” Don raised his arms in exasperation.

“What is going on?” Mrs. Gambala cried from the witness stand. “I don’t understand.”

Caroline McMahon looked sympathetically toward the older woman leaning forward in the witness stand. “You may step down, Mrs. Gambala,” she told her softly, the color in her cheeks deepening.

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Gambala repeated.

“It’s okay,” Jess told her, helping her down from the stand. “You did very well, Mrs. Gambala.”

“You don’t need to ask me any more questions?”

“Not at the moment.”

“That man doesn’t have to ask me questions?” She pointed a trembling finger at Don.

“No,” Jess said quietly, noting the look of defeat on Tom Olinsky’s face as Neil Strayhorn led Mrs. Gambala out into the hall.

“I’m prepared to rule on your motion now, Mr. Shaw,” the judge stated.

Don and Jess drew closer to the bench.

“I’m inclined to side with the defense on this one, Ms. Koster,” she began.

“But, Your Honor …”

“The prejudicial effect of the evidence clearly outweighs its probative value, and I will prohibit the state from introducing this evidence at trial.”

“But without this evidence, Your Honor, our hands are tied. The state can’t prove motive. We simply don’t have a case.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” the judge stated. “Are you prepared to bring a motion to dismiss?”

Jess looked from the judge to her ex-husband. To his credit, he refrained from visibly gloating.

“It’s your move,” he told her.

The next minute, all charges against Rick Ferguson were dismissed.

“How could you do it?” Jess demanded angrily of her ex-husband as she paced back and forth in front of him in the now-empty corridor outside the courtroom. Tom Olinsky had gone back to the office; Neil was at the other end of the long hall trying to explain to Mrs. Gambala and the other two witnesses exactly what had transpired, why Rick Ferguson would not be charged with murder. “How could you let that killer walk free?”

“You didn’t have a case, Jess.”

“You know he killed her. You know he’s guilty!”

“Since when did that count for anything in a court of law?” Don demanded, then immediately softened. “Look, Jess, I know how much you want Rick Ferguson to be guilty. I know how badly you want him behind bars. Frankly, I’d feel better about him behind bars too, at least until we figure out who’s been terrorizing you. But I’m not at all convinced it’s Rick Ferguson we have to worry about and I can’t abandon my professional obligation to my client because I happen to be in love with you.” He stopped, his eyes searching hers for a trace of understanding. Stubbornly, Jess refused to comply. “Look, let’s call a truce,” he offered. “Let me take you out for dinner.”

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea under the circumstances.”

“Come on, Jess,” he urged, “you can’t take these things personally.”

“Well, I do. Sorry if that disappoints you.”

“You never disappoint me.”

Jess felt the crest of her anger ebbing. What was the point in being mad at Don when the person she was really angry at was herself? “I can’t tonight, Don. I’ve already made plans,” she said.

“Adam?”

“My sister,” she said. “And my brother-in-law. And my father. And his new love. A fitting end to a perfect day. I’ll talk to you soon.” She spun around on her heels, found herself face to face with Rick Ferguson. “Jesus Christ!”

“No,” he said. “Just me.” He smiled. “I was hoping we could go out and celebrate,” he said to Don, speaking over Jess’s head.