Killer Ambition

66

Bailey and Declan and I hunkered down in my office. Melia had offered to pick up lunch from the cafeteria, a semi-step up from the snack bar, and I’d happily accepted. In the meantime, I opened my refrigerator and offered what I had: bottled water and a couple of diet sodas. They both opted for water. I opened one for myself and consulted my witness list. “I’m thinking we pile on more of the solid stuff now. The texts between Brian and Hayley on the mountain-”

“An especially nice move after Wagmeister’s genius cross,” Declan said.

“Exactly.” If the kids were texting, they weren’t standing together. The more often I could show the defense was throwing out theories that were easily disproved by the evidence, the better.

“That won’t take long,” Bailey said. “I bet Terry puts Wagmeister on a very short leash from now on.”

“Yeah, and that’s too bad,” I said. Worse, she might even do the cross herself. Which meant we’d be moving through the testimony pretty quickly. “We’re going to need more witnesses to fill up the day. Let’s put on Steven Diamond next.” The coroner’s criminalist, who’d testify about the knife, would be a great follow-up to Dr. Vendi.

“Good idea,” Bailey said. “But he won’t take long, and I’d guess the cell records witness won’t either.”

Court wouldn’t recess until five, and Judge Osterman had been adamant about our filling up every minute of court time. I wanted to save the best, most reliable witnesses for last so we could end the day on a strong note. “How about the body finders? Do we have Rostoni?”

Officer Bander, the airport cop who’d found Hayley, would be a great witness, and we could get him in at a moment’s notice. But our neo-Nazi was a different story. He’d been ducking subpoenas for days.

Bailey had a glint in her eye. “Oh yeah, we have him,” she said proudly. “I served the jerkweed myself. One day while you guys were playing around picking a jury, I sat on his pad. Caught him when he came out to walk the dogs.” Bailey shook her head and chuckled. “Big guy walking these tiny little dachshunds. But, man, small as they were, they were evil. One of ’em almost bit me.”

“Too bad they didn’t-you could’ve sued.” Rostoni was well heeled for a Nazi, thanks to his custom motorcycle business. “Do you have a line on him right now?”

“I’ve got someone sitting on his compound, and I hate wasting the manpower. I’d be really grateful if we could get done with him.”

“Get him on the road. I’ll put him on as soon as he gets here, even if I have to interrupt someone else’s testimony.” But Rostoni and the airport cop would only take me to three or three thirty at best. I had at least an hour and a half to fill. “Let’s put on Dorian.” Our criminalist would probably be crossed by Terry-Dorian had collected the most incriminating evidence. But Terry didn’t worry me in this instance. Dorian could’ve handled the McCarthy hearings.

“Nice, strong ending for the day,” Bailey said approvingly. “I’ll call and get her ready.”

Coroner’s criminalist Steven Diamond was one of my favorite experts. Careful, thorough, smart, and charming-and as neutral as they come, which of course earned him enormous credibility with juries. Steve was soft-spoken and had a gentle demeanor and an unusually delicate, respectful manner with regard to the dead. Most in the murder business, cops and coroners alike, find refuge in jocularity. Not Steve. When he spoke of a murder victim’s wounds, his tone was reverential. That compassion for the victims was sorely needed in this case.

Steve had examined the wounds on Brian and Hayley and had been able to pin down the brand of knife that was likely used.

“So, Mr. Diamond,” I said, “you can’t tell us whether any one particular weapon to the exclusion of all other weapons caused a wound, correct? It’s not like a gun?”

“Correct. With a gun, we have striae and lands and grooves that we can use to make a microscopic comparison between a possible murder weapon and the bullets or casings found at the scene of a homicide. But when a homicide is perpetrated with a knife, we cannot be that precise.”

I’d use this point later on to show how carefully these murders were planned. Ian Powers had a gun-a much easier way to kill, but he chose not to use it. Why? Because he was likely smart enough to know guns leave this kind of evidence.

“In this case, can you tell whether one knife was used or two different knives?”

“Based on the high degree of similarity between the wounds, I feel relatively certain that one knife was used.”

“And what brand of knife do you believe was used?”

“Most likely a Smith and Wesson, third series. The first and second series are no longer in production and haven’t been for some time.”

I put a photograph of a Smith and Wesson knife on the monitor. It was a vicious-looking thing, with serrated teeth on the bottom two inches closest to the handle.

“Can you describe the dimensions of that knife?”

“The knife is measured at just over eleven inches overall, with a seven-inch blade that is stainless steel.”

“I notice that there’s a handle guard separating the blade from the handle of the knife. Is that to keep one’s hand from slipping up onto the blade?”

“Yes.”

“Have you nevertheless found in your case studies that defendants who wielded such a knife have cut themselves during the homicidal attack?”

“Many times, yes. In the heat of struggle, hands do slip and victims can move about, all of which can, and frequently does, cause the perpetrator to get wounded in some manner.”

Dr. Vendi and Steven Diamond-a nice one-two punch to show how Ian could have cut himself during the murders and therefore left his own blood on the trunk of Brian’s car.

“Nothing further.”

This time I saw Terry put her hand on Wagmeister’s arm and stand. Terry took Steve through all the expected points: no, he couldn’t say it was this brand of knife to the exclusion of any other-it was an educated conclusion based on the database; yes, the handle guard sometimes did operate to keep the knife wielder from getting cut.

“And you cannot say with absolute certainty that the wounds on both Hayley and Brian were caused by one and the same knife?”

“Well…based on all the evidence-”

“Stop, Mr. Diamond. You were called as a knife expert, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then please answer the question within your field of expertise. Based on the wounds and what you know of knives, can you say with absolute certainty that both victims were killed with the exact same knife? Yes or no?”

Steven cleared his throat. “No.”

“Then it is possible that two different knives of the same brand could have been used?”

“Well…yes.”

“Thank you,” Terry said, and sat down.

We probably won that round on points, but Terry’d managed to kick up some dust clouds.

Next up was Barbara Meyerson, our very pregnant cell phone records custodian, who waddled in, ungainly and vulnerable, carrying a thick file folder. The minute I saw her, I knew there’d be little, if any, cross. It’d be suicidal to get belligerent with a mother-to-be, and besides, there was no point. The records were what they were.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t have dramatic points to make for our side, and I intended to squeeze the max out of them. I started with the phone calls between Ian Powers and Jack Averly, to prove their connection.

“Do the cell records of Ian Powers and Jack Averly show contact before the murders?”

“Yes.” Barbara shuffled through her paperwork. “Prior to the murders, there were sporadic calls, maybe twice a month, for a period of a few years. None of them were lengthy, and all of the calls placed by Ian Powers came from a cell phone that had a blocked number. It would show up in the records as ‘unknown caller.’”

“And did you find any calls between them on the day of the murders?”

“Yes. I have a call placed from Ian Powers’s unlisted number to Jack Averly’s cell that evening.”

“Just the one?”

“Yes. But the following day there were four calls between Ian Powers’s unlisted cell phone number and Jack Averly’s cell phone, and another few calls over the next three days.”

“Would you say that there were more frequent calls between them after the murders than in previous months?”

“Def-”

“Objection,” Terry said loudly. “The records will speak for themselves.”

“True, they will. Sustained,” the judge said.

I gritted my teeth. Barbara was qualified to summarize what was in the records. But it wasn’t a point worth fighting for. I moved on.

“Did you obtain the locations of the cell sites these phones accessed for the calls in issue?”

“Yes. The call placed from the defendant’s phone to Averly on the day of the murders came from the Bel Air area to a location in West Hollywood. The following day, Jack Averly’s cell phone was making and receiving calls in New York, and Ian Powers’s calls were being made and received in various locations in Los Angeles.”

I put a printout of the texts between Hayley’s and Brian’s cell phones on the monitor.

I pointed to the monitor: still waiting for drop. stay in car. “That first text was sent from Brian to Hayley?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the phone when that text was sent?”

“The cell site location accessed was near Ventura, in the Santa Monica Mountains.”

“Would that cell site be the one accessed if the phone was on Boney Mountain?”

“Yes.”

“Was there a text from Hayley to Brian after that?”

“Yes. Three minutes later, her phone sent a text to his.” She pointed to that text on the monitor: what’s going on? “That text accessed the same cell site location as Brian’s text.”

“So that text also could have been sent from Boney Mountain?”

“Yes.”

“Did Hayley’s phone send more texts to Brian’s phone after that?”

“Yes. Over the next fourteen minutes, she sent four texts.”

“Were any of them answered?”

“Only the last one.”

I took her through each of the texts Hayley had sent after that: u should be done by now! Where r u? No answer. what’s going on??? No answer. r u ok? No answer. where r u??? what’s happening??

Those texts-their rising panic-again gave the sad yet eerie sense of hearing from Hayley herself beyond the grave. “Was there finally an answer from Brian’s phone?”

“Yes. Four minutes after Hayley’s last text, Brian’s phone responded.” She again pointed to the monitor: I’m ok. All clear. Meet me on trail.

“Then a total of two texts were sent from Brian’s phone to Hayley’s, correct?”

“Yes.”

“How much time elapsed between Brian’s first text to Hayley and his second, which would be his last one?”

“Twenty-one minutes.”

“Ms. Meyerson, if you would please consult your cell phone records for Jack Averly now.” She pulled out her paperwork, scanned it, then looked up at me. “Can you tell us whether any calls-as opposed to texts-were placed from Brian’s cell phone to Jack Averly’s cell phone that evening from Boney Mountain?”

“Yes. Within the same minute that last text was sent from Brian’s cell to Hayley’s, a call was placed from Brian’s cell phone to Jack Averly’s cell phone.”

“How long was that call?”

“Very short. Less than thirty seconds.”

I paused and checked through my list of questions, giving the jury a chance to catch the significance of that testimony. “Now, Ms. Meyerson, those records don’t tell you who was actually using those phones, do they?”

“No. All we know is which phone was used and where it was when the call was made.”

“But according to your records, Brian’s killer could have used Brian’s phone to send that last text to Hayley, and then the killer could have used Brian’s phone to call Jack Averly-”

As I’d expected, that one brought Terry to her feet. “Objection! Improper hypothetical, calls for speculation!”

Judge Osterman shot me a disapproving look. “Sustained. That’s not for this witness to say. Ladies and gentlemen, disregard the question and don’t speculate about what the answer might have been. Anything further, Ms. Knight?”

“No, thank you, Your Honor.”

As I sat down, I whispered to Declan, “Think the jury got it?”

“If they were listening,” he whispered.

Terry did the cross. She didn’t even bother to move to the lectern.

“Ms. Meyerson, your records don’t tell you who the killer was, do they?”

“No.”

“Thank you very much. And congratulations. Is it your first?”

The records custodian beamed. “Why, yes, thank you.”

“I know it’s an exciting time.”

I knew Terry had no children. Probably never even had a gerbil. And her move had cut right to the chase-very effectively minimizing the emotional impact of the texts. As I helped the witness off the stand, I noticed a few of the jurors were nodding appreciatively. Terry was gaining fans. Which made this the worst time to have to call my next witness: skinhead führer Dominic Rostoni.

He rolled in, scanning the courtroom from wall to wall as though he’d just landed on Mars. But he looked better than I’d expected: he wore his usual jeans and flip-flops, but his shirt had sleeves, and his shoulder-length white-blonde hair was neatly combed. He looked almost human, albeit not the kind of human you’d want to marry your sister. Or marry anyone at all if procreation was part of the package.

I took him through his testimony with as little fanfare as possible. Not just because I wanted to finish with him, but also because there was no need to embellish. The photographs of Brian’s body in the shallow grave did that for me. All Dominic really had to do was point and say, “That’s what I saw.”

And that’s what he did. On direct. Cross was another matter.

Again, Terry took the reins. “You’re the leader of a white supremacist group, aren’t you?”

“That I am.”

“And your group isn’t fond of liberals, is it?”

Dominic wrinkled his brow, wondering where this was going. I could’ve objected, but I didn’t want the jury to think I was protecting a skinhead, so I sat back.

“Not their biggest fans, no.”

“In fact, your group hates the Hollywood elite, doesn’t it? You think they’re all minority- and fag-loving liberals, don’t you?”

Dominic shrugged. “They are, aren’t they?”

This drew a few titters from the audience and some lip-twitching from the jurors. It was the first comic relief in the trial and everyone appreciated it, regardless of who’d provided it and how.

“And yours isn’t the only group who hates the Hollywood liberals, is it?”

“S’pose not.”

“Thank you. Nothing further.”

“People?” the judge asked. “Redirect?”

I was about to let it go, but then I decided to try and make a point.

“Do you even know who this defendant is, Mr. Rostoni?”

“Sure. He’s a big-time manager. Partner of that director, Antono…something.”

Ouch. Since when did this cretin know anything about Hollywood business? My bad. I’d violated the old saw: never ask a question to which you don’t know the answer. Keeping a neutral expression, I tried again. “Is that something you found out after this case made the news?”

“Nah. I knew about them ’cuz that director guy used a coupla my bikes in a film.”

“So you had no problem doing business with him, liberal or not?”

“His money’s still green.”

I’d lucked out.

“Thank you, Mr. Rostoni. Nothing further.”

“Defense?” The judge asked. “Any re-cross?”

“Briefly,” Terry said, rising slowly.

“Then I take it that some of your employees or ‘club’ members have been to Mr. Powers’s studio?”

“Probably. Delivering bikes and whatnot.”

“Ever deliver to Mr. Antonovich’s home?”

Dominic sniffed and thought a minute. “Not that I know of.”

“It’s possible though, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Thank you, Mr. Rostoni.”

And there it was, Terry’s point: people who had it in for Antonovich and Powers had access and opportunity to hurt them, know things about them-and, of course, set them up. Likely? No. But the beginnings of a basis for “reasonable” doubt? Absolutely.

The judge looked at me. “People? Anything in light of that?”

“No, thank you, Your Honor.”

“We’ll take our afternoon recess,” Judge Osterman said. He turned to the jury. “Folks, you’d be wise to use this time to stretch your legs and get ready for our last session of the day. See you back here in fifteen minutes.”