Cruel Justice

52

“THE STATE CALLS SERGEANT Wilford Tompkins.”

Tompkins approached the stand in full uniform, naturally. Juries liked uniforms; they made witnesses seem so official and important. He was a tall man, boyishly attractive, clean cut with a face that dripped of honesty. Bullock couldn’t have gotten a better witness from Central Casting.

Bullock raced the witness through his background and credentials. He was a family man with twelve years on the force, two at the time of the murder. He was on duty the night Maria Alvarez was killed.

“Who called the police and notified them that a murder had occurred?” Bullock asked.

“We still don’t know,” Tompkins replied, in a typical police-witness matter-of-fact manner. “The call came from the vicinity of the country club, but the caller didn’t leave a name.”

“Didn’t the police dispatcher record all incoming calls?”

“Yes, but the tape is staticky and indistinct. You can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

“Okay. What happened?”

“Upon arrival, I immediately made my way to the caddy-shack. The light inside the building was on. I entered and found … the remains.”

Bullock insisted that Tompkins identify the body he found as Maria Alvarez. It gave him a splendid opportunity to drag out those full-color photos again.

Tompkins described the state of the corpse when he arrived. His testimony didn’t differ from that already introduced by Dr. Koregai.

“Was anyone else in the shack when you arrived?”

“Yes. The defendant. Leeman Hayes.”

Ben glanced at Leeman. He was sitting at the defendant’s table with the same ambiguous expression on his face.

“What did Mr. Hayes do?”

“As soon as I entered the building, he began to run. I commanded him to stop, but he continued to flee.”

“What happened next?”

“Following standard procedure in such situations, I gave pursuit. Fortunately, he wasn’t a fast runner, and I was able to apprehend him without drawing my weapon.”

“Did he resist arrest?”

“Very much so. He struggled and fought. He even bit my arm. And he made a strange wailing sound. Like a sick dog.”

“Did you attempt to question him?”

“I did attempt it, but he was unresponsive. Therefore, I cuffed him to the door. I secured the crime scene, radioed for backup, contacted Homicide, and proceeded with a preliminary investigation.”

“Why did you call Homicide?”

“That’s standard procedure. And frankly … I wasn’t sure what to do next.”

“Had you ever handled a homicide before?”

“Oh, sure. But never one like this. This was … different. Worse.”

“In what way?”

“Well … for instance … it’s standard procedure to leave everything just as you find it when you arrive at a homicide scene. But I wasn’t certain whether it was … right to leave that woman’s body just … hanging there like that. Staked against the wall. It seemed … inhuman.”

“I’m sure the jury appreciates that it was a difficult decision for you. Did you investigate the scene?”

“Yes. I had pretty much covered the entire caddyshack by the time the homicide investigators arrived and relieved me.”

“Did you discover anything noteworthy?”

“Yes. I found a row of lockers where personal belongings were kept by the individual caddies.”

“What did you find?”

“In the defendant’s locker, I found a small six-club golf bag. It had five clubs inside.”

“Only five?”

“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “The sixth club was the murder weapon. It was a matched set.”

An electric ripple passed through the jury box. This was probably the most damning piece of evidence yet.

“Did any of the other lockers have clubs?”

“Oh, yes. Most of them, in fact. I suppose most caddies are budding golfers. But only the defendant’s contained the clubs in question. It’s a very distinctive set.”

“Do you know where this set of clubs came from?”

“I learned later. It had been stolen from the pro shop.”

“Anything else in the locker?” Bullock asked.

“Yes. A necklace.”

Bullock held up a necklace in a clear sealed bag. “Is this the necklace?”

Tompkins examined it. “Yes. I initialed the bag after sealing the necklace inside at the crime scene.”

Bullock had it admitted into evidence. “Do you know to whom the necklace belonged?”

“We believe it belonged to the murder victim, Maria Alvarez. It matches a bracelet she wore.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t find the bracelet in Mr. Hayes’s locker as well.”

“It was hidden by the victim’s dress. The necklace would have been exposed, however.”

Bullock gave the necklace to the bailiff, who in turn passed it to the jury. “I notice that the necklace is broken. Any idea how that occurred?”

“Yes. The necklace was broken by the murder weapon.”

“Can you explain?”

“When the shaft of the golf club impaled her, it must have severed the necklace. Not to mention the woman’s neck.”

“Thank you,” Bullock said solemnly. “No more questions.”

“You may inquire, Mr. Kincaid,” the judge said, nodding in Ben’s direction.

Ben walked directly to the stand, silently plotting his strategy. There was no point in coming on too strong. The jury seemed to like the witness—they usually trusted police officers—and probably thought he was telling the truth. For that matter, so did Ben. What he had to demonstrate was that Tompkins’s evidence didn’t prove as much as Bullock suggested.

“Let’s make one thing clear right off the bat, Sergeant,” Ben began. “You didn’t see Leeman Hayes kill Maria Alvarez, did you?”

“Well, no …”

“And you didn’t discover any eyewitnesses to the crime, did you?”

“No.”

“And you never heard Leeman confess to the crime, did you?”

“No. He wouldn’t talk to me at all.”

“Wouldn’t? Or couldn’t?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re assuming a lack of cooperation, Sergeant. All you actually know is that he didn’t answer your questions, right?”

Tompkins squirmed slightly. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Thank you. Now, did you ever determine why Leeman was at the caddyshack so late at night?”

“Well, I assumed he was after that woman—”

“Come now, Sergeant. If you were going to kill someone, would you do it at the Utica Greens caddyshack?”

Tompkins hesitated. “Well … I would never kill anyone.”

“No, I’m sure you wouldn’t. But it’s not an ideal place for a murder, is it? Bound to be discovered. Quickly.”

Tompkins cast a sideways look at the jury box. “I never claimed the defendant was very smart.”

A few chuckles from the jury box. Ben plowed ahead. “Did you ever consider any other reasons why Leeman Hayes might’ve been at the caddyshack that night?”

“Such as?”

Ben glanced back at Ernie Hayes in the gallery. “Well, did you notice whether Leeman had a pillow there?”

Tompkins squirmed a bit more this time. “Well … I didn’t find one in his locker.”

“No, that wouldn’t be a very comfortable place to sleep, would it?” This time the chuckles were with Ben, not against him. “And did you notice whether Leeman had a sleeping bag in the shack?”

Tompkins frowned. “I reviewed the inventory list before I came to court today, and it did show that we found one blue sleeping bag.”

Ben spread his arms wide. “Would it surprise you, then, to learn that Leeman slept at the caddyshack?”

Tompkins was surprised. “No one ever said anything about that. …”

“So he would’ve been there even if he had nothing to do with the murder, right?”

Officer Tompkins cocked his head. “Or that might explain why he chose to commit the murder there.”

“What?”

“Maybe he brought the woman back to his, er, sleeping bag, and when she wouldn’t cooperate—”

“Just answer the questions.” Ben riffled through the other cross-ex questions he had jotted down beforehand on index cards. When would he learn? Just ask the yes or no questions and don’t give the witness a chance to get creative. “Sergeant Tompkins, you’re aware that Leeman is developmentally disabled, aren’t you?”

“I didn’t know it that night, but I’ve learned since.”

“Now you’ve told the jury that he struggled and resisted arrest. Do you suppose it’s possible that he just didn’t understand who you were and what you were doing?”

“I plainly identified myself as a police—”

“Plainly for you and me, maybe, but what about a young man barely capable of speech? You burst into his bedroom, tackled him, cuffed him, and started shouting questions. Would he know what was happening? Wouldn’t he be scared to death?”

“Objection,” Bullock said. “Who’s asking the witness to speculate now?”

“Sustained,” Judge Hawkins ruled.

“Sergeant, you testified that you found some golf clubs in Leeman’s locker, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“But isn’t it also true that Leeman didn’t have a lock on his locker?”

A wrinkle creased Tompkins’s brow. “None of the lockers had locks.”

“Did you ever see Leeman open the locker?”

Tompkins thought for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose I did.”

“Did you ever see Leeman put anything into it?”

“No.”

“And you weren’t in the shack before the murder occurred.”

“Right.”

“So anyone could’ve put that golf bag in there, right?”

“I suppose that’s technically correct.”

“In truth, Officer, you have no physical link between the items found in that locker and Leeman Hayes.”

“It was his locker.”

“Answer the question, sir.”

“That’s true,” he said reluctantly.

“And you have no personal knowledge about how those goods got into the locker.”

“I didn’t see it myself, no.”

“And in truth, you don’t really know why Leeman was at the caddyshack that night.”

“Right.”

Ben leaned in close. “The only reason you arrested him is … he was the only person there, right?”

“Well, he was the only living person there.”

“What was your probable cause for the arrest, Officer?”

Bullock leaped to his feet. “What’s this, Kincaid? More tricks?”

Ben glared back at him. “Your honor, may we approach the bench?”

“Approach.”

They did so.

“Your honor,” Ben whispered, “I think we have a serious evidentiary problem here. If the arrest was unconstitutional, then all the evidence obtained subsequent to the arrest, including the videotaped interrogation, is inadmissible.”

“So that’s your game,” Bullock snarled. “Judge, you see how he’s trying to thwart justice.”

“The officer didn’t have probable cause!” Ben insisted. “You can’t arrest someone just because they’re available!”

“What about the clubs and the jewelry in the locker?”

“Tompkins discovered that after he arrested Leeman.”

“What about the attempted escape?”

“Escape? He wasn’t in custody. He was free to go wherever he pleased.”

“Your honor, this is totally frivolous,” Bullock protested. “Mr. Kincaid will do anything to keep his client from being tried on the evidence.”

“This is a serious matter,” Ben insisted, “particularly when you’re dealing with a developmentally disabled person such as my client. He’s a prime example of why our Constitution guarantees certain rights. Such as the right not to be arrested just because you happen to be sleeping at the scene of a murder.”

Bullock drew himself up defiantly. “Give me a chance to redirect. I’ll establish cause for the arrest.”

“Fair enough,” the judge said.

“If he doesn’t,” Ben insisted, “I’ll renew my motion.”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” the judge said wearily. “Proceed, Mr. Prosecutor.”

Bullock stood beside the jury box and faced the witness. “Sergeant Tompkins, a question has arisen as to whether you had sufficient grounds to make an arrest. Now, in addition to being at the scene of the crime—the only person at the scene of the crime—do you recall any other details that indicated that the defendant committed the crime?”

A cold chill shot down Ben’s spine. He realized now where Bullock was going.

“Objection,” Ben said. “He’s trying to introduce new evidence on redirect.”

Hawkins flung his pen down on his desk. “What is it with you, Kincaid? You’re not happy when he doesn’t put on the evidence, and you’re not happy when he does.”

“Your honor, he can’t raise new matters on redirect—”

“He’s responding to your objection, counselor.”

“Fine. Let him. But that’s no excuse to violate the—”

“Mr. Kincaid, I have already ruled.” Hawkins’s cheeks were turning crimson and puffy. “Now sit down.”

Ben slunk back into his seat.

“As I was asking,” Bullock continued, “do you recall any other factors, Sergeant?”

“Just one,” Tompkins said. He paused. The jurors leaned forward ever so slightly.

“And what would that be?” Bullock asked.

“He had blood all over his hands.”

Ben checked Mrs. Alexander, on the front row of the jury box. Her lips parted; her eyes widened.

Damn. This was a setup.

“On his hands?”

“Yes. On his hands, and up and down his arms. It was all over him.”

“That was the defendant?”

“Yes. Him.” Tompkins pointed at Leeman. “He had the victim’s blood all over him.”

Suddenly Leeman bolted upright in his chair. He stared at Tompkins, his eyes wide, his face terrified. And then, to Ben’s horror, he held out his hands and began rubbing them furiously, fast and desperately. Like a pathetic Lady Macbeth, he couldn’t get the blood off his hands.

Ben pushed Leeman back into his seat and shoved his hands under the table, but it was too late. The jury had seen all.

Once the unexpected performance was over, Bullock lowered his head gravely. “And after you noticed that the defendant literally had the victim’s blood on his hands, you arrested him?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed I would,” Bullock replied. “No more questions, your honor.”

“Anything else from the defense?” Hawkins asked.

Better to leave bad enough alone. “No,” Ben said.

“Then I will recess this court for the day. We’ll resume tomorrow morning at nine. Dismissed.”

The judge exited and the courtroom exploded into pandemonium. The whir of mechanical flashes and the drone of shouted questions echoed between the walls.

Ben ignored them. He glanced at Leeman, and saw to his dismay that Leeman was still wringing his hands under the table. Pontius Pilate gone mad.

The first day of testimony was over, and Ben didn’t need to consult with Christina to know how it had gone. Bullock had taken every hill, had won every important point.

The reality of the situation was perfectly clear to Ben now. The truth was of no importance. Bullock was going to win, not because Leeman was guilty, but because Bullock understood how the justice system worked, what judges liked, what jurors thought. He had twenty years in the trenches, twenty years hard-won trial experience on Ben.

Ben had heard it since he was One-L at OU, but he’d never really believed it until now.

Facts didn’t win trials. Evidence didn’t win trials. Lawyers won trials.

Bullock was going to win this trial, not because he represented the truth, but because he was a better lawyer than Ben was.

A few more days in court like this one, and the truth wouldn’t matter anymore. The jury would be convinced of Leeman’s guilt. Leeman would be doomed.

Before he had ever had a chance to live.