The case file made clear that attorney Dowd had pinned his client’s defense almost wholly on an alibi constructed from the sketchy recollections of Janet Bollinger, a co-worker of Ruth Walker’s at Castle Robotics who described herself as Ruth’s “former” best friend. Bollinger had told FBI agents initially that Dorian Munz could not have possibly killed anyone during the approximately three-hour window in which Ruth was believed murdered because he’d spent that entire evening with her. On the stand, however, Bollinger recanted. She testified that she’d gotten her dates mixed up. Upon reflection, she couldn’t be certain, she said, if she and Munz had been together the night Ruth Walker was killed, or whether it had been the night before. Munz’s attorney pressed Bollinger. Someone had threatened her, he insisted, forcing her to change her testimony, but Janet Bollinger held fast; she’d simply gotten the dates wrong. The defense’s case fell apart faster than a Kardashian marriage.
A succession of Ruth’s friends and acquaintances testified that her breakup with Munz had been acrimonious, an allegation that Munz himself did not deny when he later took the stand in his own defense. Cellular phone records entered into evidence by the prosecution showed that he’d made several calls to Ruth’s office and home on the day of her slaying, each lasting no more than a few seconds. They were hang-up calls, the kind meant to intimidate Ruth, the prosecution theorized. Munz countered that he’d been framed: someone had stolen his phone from his locker at the YMCA, where he swam daily, then made calls to Ruth to incriminate him.
Two prosecution witnesses testified that on the day of Ruth Walker’s murder, they observed Munz at the Mystic Mocha coffee shop in San Diego’s University Heights, a few blocks from Ruth’s apartment. Munz seemed upset about something, both witnesses said. Munz insisted that his presence at the coffee shop that day was far from sinister; he stopped by occasionally for his favorite espresso. As for his agitated mood, he claimed to have been under pressure at work.
Ruth Walker’s autopsy found that she’d been stabbed twice in the abdomen. It revealed scrapes and bruises on her hands and arms consistent with the defensive wounds of someone who’d fought for her life and lost. Munz was taken in for questioning four days after her body was found. There were incriminating bruises on the knuckles of his left hand, photos of which were also entered into evidence. He insisted during his testimony that he’d hurt himself trying to replace the oil filter on his VW Jetta. Dowd, his attorney, claimed during the trial that the bruises were proof of Munz’s innocence; the accused was right handed.
Though the murder weapon was never recovered, the nature of Ruth’s knife wounds showed the blade to have been approximately six inches in length and one inch wide. Munz owned a pricey set of eight steak knives fitting those specifications. The knives, ironically enough, had been a Christmas present from Ruth, given to him before their relationship soured. Dowd argued that the FBI’s own laboratory examination showed all eight knives to be in pristine condition, free of any DNA that would’ve linked any of them to Ruth Walker’s killing. Justice Department experts, however, pointed out that a well-made knife can show no sign of wear, even after years of heavy use. As for the lack of incriminating DNA on the blades, the experts testified that Munz could’ve simply washed off any flesh or blood after fatally stabbing his victim.
There was, meanwhile, no denying the bloody Pima cotton dress shirt that was discovered inside a trash can in the alley behind Munz’s condo in San Diego’s North Park neighborhood. The monogram on the shirt’s cuff bore Munz’s initials. The blood was Ruth Walker’s. Munz insisted on the stand that the shirt had also been stolen from his health club locker, and that whoever had framed him had taken the shirt and mopped up Ruth’s blood with it.
In the end, jurors professed little interest in Munz’s version of events — not with the mosaic of circumstantial evidence laid out by prosecutor Tassio and his team. The jury deliberated less than one day before finding him guilty.
By the time I looked up from the files, it was nearly 4:30. Closing time. My butt was numb. What kind of federal government shells out $2 billion for a single Stealth bomber and not $2 for a lousy seat cushion? I massaged the circulation back into my bottom, stretched my aching lower back, and returned the file boxes to the counter.
A medium-sized man in his early forties with a sallow face, short receding hair and tortoiseshell bifocals entered the clerk’s office and approached me. The right sleeve of his conservatively cut gray suit hung limp and empty.
“Are you Mr. Logan?”
“Depends. You a bill collector?”
“Steve Tassio, Assistant U.S. Attorney. You called me.”
I shook his left hand with mine.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“The Munz file is flagged, as are all capital cases,” he said. “Anytime anyone asks to review documents in the case, the clerk’s office contacts me as a matter of routine. We like to know who’s snooping and why.”
He gestured to the wooden table and the same unpadded chairs where’d I’d just spent the last two hours. We sat.
“I’m afraid you’re spinning your wheels,” Tassio said. “I can assure you, Greg Castle was in no way involved in the death of Ruth Walker. Dorian Munz most definitely was.”
“I never implied Mr. Castle was involved. Just the opposite. Ruth’s father wants me to dredge up information that would confirm Munz was lying about Castle before you executed him.”
Tassio cleared his throat, peeved. “I didn’t execute him, Mr. Logan. The people of the United States did. You’ll have to forgive me. I assumed you were attempting to somehow have the case reopened.”
“I’m attempting to help restore the reputation of an innocent man.”
“I can certainly appreciate your efforts, but, unfortunately, I can’t be of much assistance. Anything I’d have to say is already on record and can be found in the case file.”
“Mr. Tassio, I’m sure you can appreciate how significantly Mr. Castle was victimized by Dorian Munz’s allegations. Mr. Castle is at a considerable disadvantage defending himself against those allegations because his accuser, the man you prosecuted, is now fertilizer, and the case is officially closed.”
“Make your point, Mr. Logan.”
“From what I understand, the local press had a field day with Munz’s last-minute claims. Munz was convicted nearly ten years ago. He was executed last month. The average San Diego resident is not going to come down here, request the case file, and educate himself as to the truth of what actually went down. It would be helpful if you issued a statement saying, in effect, that Munz was lying.”
“As I said, Mr. Logan, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but whatever I’d have to say about the Munz case, I already said many times, both at trial and during a very long, protracted appellate process. Beyond that, any information, or any personal opinions I may hold, would be considered privileged and confidential.”
He stood. I stood and gave him my business card.
“In case you decide to reconsider.”
“Good luck to you, Mr. Logan,” Tassio said, extending his left hand once more. We shook.
I watched him walk out, wondering how he’d lost the arm.
The clerk shoved my driver’s license across the counter like she couldn’t get out of there fast enough and began turning off the office lights.
As I made my way through the courthouse lobby and toward the exit, past a couple of silver-haired U.S. marshals in blue blazers, I sensed someone’s eyes on my back. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Steve Tassio staring at me from the elevator. Then the doors slid closed and he was gone.