The Last Alibi

37

Shauna

“The People call Detective Raymond Cromartie,” says Roger Ogren.

Some people just look like cops. Ray Cromartie is one of them. The confident swagger, thick nose, wary eyes, and crooked smile. He is a bit overweight, with jowls and a ruddy drinker’s complexion, a nick or two on his neck from shaving. His hair is wavy, the color of ash. He’s the kind of man who could be charming at the right moment, comforting to a child, and intimidating as hell with a bad guy. His cologne lingers with me even as he’s reached the witness stand and begun the introductory portion of his testimony.

Cromartie goes back over twenty years on the force, the last nine as a detective. Lightner, who knows all the cops, says he’s “good people,” which I’ve always thought was a stupid saying.

“I arrived about half past one in the morning, July thirty-first,” Cromartie says. “I spoke with Officer Garvin and then took a look at the crime scene myself.”

“And what were your initial impressions?” Ogren asks.

“I saw no indication of forced entry,” he says, right out of a TV show. They teach prosecutors nowadays to be aware of all of the criminal trials people see on TV, to understand what assumptions they’ll bring with them to the courtroom and what language they’re comfortable with. No sign of forced entry, Lieutenant! “I saw very little indication of a physical struggle, as you can see from the photographs. The second floor was relatively intact in terms of the furniture, things on top of the kitchen counters, that kind of thing.”

“What happened next, Detective?”

“I wanted to speak with the defendant. He was seated on the couch in the living room.”

“And did you speak with him?”

“I did. I made him aware of his Miranda rights. He indicated that he’d been given his warnings from Officer Garvin and that he was a defense attorney by trade and knew well his rights. I asked him if he was willing to speak with me. He said he was.”

“Describe the conversation.”

“I asked the defendant if he knew the victim. He said he did. He said her name was Alexa Himmel.”

Jason stirs, ever so slightly, at hearing Alexa’s name.

“Please continue, Detective.”

“I asked him who Alexa Himmel was to him. He said, ‘We’ve been seeing each other for several months.’”

He’s quoting Jason verbatim there, or at least claiming to. He has his reasons.

“I asked him if Ms. Himmel lived with him. He said that she spent a lot of time at his house and spent the night often, but she had her own house in Overton Ridge.”

“Okay. And what happened next?”

“I asked the defendant what happened tonight. He said he came home from work and found Ms. Himmel dead on the living room floor. He said he called 911 upon finding her. He said the Glock handgun belonged to him, but he didn’t kill her.”

“What did you say next, Detective?”

“I asked him if he knew of anyone who would want to kill her.”

“And what did the defendant say, Detective, when you asked him if he knew who would want to kill Alexa Himmel?”

Drawing out the question, highlighting the significance.

Cromartie pauses a beat for good measure. “He said, ‘I have a pretty good idea, but I can’t be sure.’”

“And what did you say at that point?”

“I asked him who that person was that he had a ‘pretty good idea’ killed her.”

“Did he tell you?”

“No, he did not. He said he wanted to talk to a lawyer and did not want to speak with me further.”

Roger Ogren pauses a beat, as if surprised. “He said he thought he knew who killed Ms. Himmel, but he wouldn’t tell you?”

“Objection,” I say, as if disgusted.

“Sustained.”

Ogren doesn’t protest, having made his point with the question.

“What did you do after the defendant invoked his right to counsel?”

“I ceased any further questioning. An officer stayed with the defendant on the couch while we processed the crime scene. I went upstairs, first of all, to the third floor of the town house. The defendant’s bedroom.”

Ogren admits into evidence photographs of Jason’s bedroom, close-ups on the dresser of drawers and the contents of each drawer, and the bathroom, including shots of the medicine cabinet and the inside of the cabinet beneath the sink.

“What were you looking for in the defendant’s bedroom and bathroom, Detective?”

“The defendant had told me that Ms. Himmel often spent the night. So I was looking for makeup, brushes, perfume, hair sprays or hair gels, tampons or maxi pads. I was looking for things in the shower like women’s shampoo or soaps or loofahs. I was looking in the dresser for any women’s clothing.”

“And did you find any evidence that a woman had been spending time routinely in that bathroom or bedroom? Any evidence that a woman appeared to be staying overnight on a regular basis?”

Roger Ogren is overstating what Jason said to Detective Cromartie. He knows better, but he’s testing me. It’s early in the trial, and he is trying to see how much he can get away with.

“Your Honor,” I say, standing, “could the witness do the testifying instead of Mr. Ogren?”

The judge admonishes Ogren, who nods with his eyes closed. “Detective?”

“As you can see from the photographs, I did not find any of those things. I saw no evidence that a woman spent any time in that bathroom or in that bedroom. Nothing that would indicate that a woman was sleeping over every night.”

Now it’s every night. I consider objecting again.

“I couldn’t square what the defendant had said to me with what I saw upstairs,” he adds.

Jason pats my hand. I take his cue and stay silent, poker-faced. He doesn’t like to object very much when he’s the defense lawyer. Now I’m the defense lawyer, he the defendant, but I find myself following his advice. I shouldn’t. It’s my insecurity and fear getting the better of me. If it’s Jason’s idea and it turns out badly, it won’t be my fault, it will be his.

“Well, what about an overnight bag?” Ogren asks. “Anything that Ms. Himmel would have brought with her, just for that night? A bag with a change of clothes or toiletries, that kind of thing? Did you find anything like that, Detective?”

“No, I did not. I looked very pointedly for that kind of thing and didn’t find it.”

Ogren walks Cromartie briefly through the remainder of his canvass of the house, which takes us to past two-thirty in the morning.

“I advised the defendant that I wanted to take him to headquarters for further questioning,” he says. “I asked him if he would go with me voluntarily. He said that he would, but that he wanted to call his attorney, Ms. Tasker.” He nods to me. “I told him that he could make that call before he left and she could meet us there.”

Shauna, I’m being arrested for murder, Jason had said to me over the phone, at 3:06 in the morning. Not, They want to question me, Alexa’s been murdered, but I’m being arrested. He already knew it was coming. What did he reveal to Detective Cromartie in his mannerisms, his speech, his eye contact or lack thereof, his coolness or his sweat, the vibe he gave off? These are the kinds of things that rarely get revealed in a courtroom.

One of many things about that night, I realize, that I’ll never know.