We never saw Tom Kelly or Bob Vogel-all communications with them were handled either by phone or well out of our sight-but from Dunn’s terse reports, both of them were having a pretty good day.
As was the press. On its own merits, this case had already built up enough steam to attract over two-dozen reporters-among them two competing-network correspondents from New York, complete with camera crews-all of whom had been roving about town in packs of various sizes. However, now that something had obviously gone awry-the judge having granted an unexpected continuance in the middle of the state’s case, and Dunn sequestering himself in his aerie with all of us-everyone with a tape recorder, a note pad, or a camera was packed into the Municipal Center’s third-floor hallway.
The impression of being under siege was further enhanced by Dunn himself-driven to distraction by the cacophony of ringing phones-who finally ordered all public lines into the office disconnected, leaving only the unlisted ones, which nevertheless stayed busy enough. Outside, the muted rumble of the growing crowd burst into occasional flower whenever one of the staff battled his or her way through the door.
At last, the windows darkened by the coming of night, Dunn called Brandt, me, Todd Lefevre, and Billy Manierre into his office. He arranged himself behind a desk almost as large, polished, and bleak as his ego, and stared at us in theatrical silence.
“This continuance will extend twenty-four hours, at which point the judge will ask both sides if we need further relief. I intend to answer no. That means that you will have totally reviewed this case by then and found it to be as airtight as it should have been when I first received it. I can then present all this as a minor glitch, of no great consequence.”
He leaned forward, placing his hands flat on the glistening desktop. “That is what’s going to happen-correct, Lieutenant?”
“We’ll see,” I answered, which caused him to flush. The discovery of that severed alarm had been no minor glitch to me. It had been a crack in a structure perfect in outward appearance, neatly plastered over by a truly malevolent artist. Despite Dunn’s wishful thinking, I was sure we’d find more flaws, now that we knew to look for them. Unfortunately, I had no way of proving that to him and thereby sparing him further humiliation.
Dunn glared at me, straightened, and then addressed us all. “Get out. Todd, coordinate with them.”
“That arrogant bastard,” Brandt muttered as soon as Todd had closed the door behind us.
“Maybe,” Todd said, showing an unexpected loyalty. “But he’s got a point. He doesn’t need his own people pulling fast ones on him in mid-trial.”
“If he doesn’t like surprises, he ought to give us more than twenty-four hours,” I countered. “Now we’re going to have to review the evidence selectively. Luck’ll have to substitute for thoroughness.”
“What do you mean?” Billy asked, leading the way into the empty conference room opposite Dunn’s office.
“It means that a few key elements could swing this case one way or the other.” I began pacing up and down the length of the room as the others slowly grabbed seats and made themselves comfortable. “Given the down time I’ve had, I’ve been able to dissect this one more than most, and what I’ve found is that the most supposedly concrete evidence-the underwear, the blood on the knife, the knife nicks on the window lock, the red shirt, the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, the leaf, and even Vogel’s MO-might well be the most circumstantial, the most easily manipulated by someone who wanted to lead us by the nose. After all, it’s the kind of evidence we’re trained to look for, and that juries can get their teeth into.
“But there are other details-more supportive ones, like the clock and those photos-which were a little harder to manipulate, since they called for more than just planting something in the right place. As a result-if I’m right-those can be traced to the real rapist. It’s the window-dressing details that we need to track down.”
Tony shook his head and spoke softly. “And all in a single day.”
I turned to Todd. “What will Tom Kelly be doing during the continuance? Is twenty-four hours enough?”
He nodded. “No reason why not. He’ll probably depose Fran Gallo, the doctor who just alibied his client, Vogel’s next-door neighbor, the Green Mountains Lab people for good measure, and maybe even you, so that you can throw the oil-slick and red-shirt angles into question.”
“Great,” Tony murmured.
“’Course,” Todd continued, “he may not bother, figuring the judge or our newfound zeal will get him off the hook anyway. He’s been so cagey up to now, it’s hard to tell. But the momentum’s going his way all of a sudden. I’d bet he’s not going to trust to fate alone.”
“What’s the judge got to do with it at this point?”
Todd shrugged. “Tom Kelly clerked for the Honorable Gordon Waterston in Burlington way back when, and Waterston’s notoriously hard on women in sexual-assault cases.”
“Susan Raffner told me that last part,” Tony admitted. “So you’re the one who knocked over the apple cart. What’s the first step?” he added, looking at me.
“The pubic hairs found in Gail’s bed,” I answered. There was a stunned silence. “That’s what I meant by focusing on a few key elements-things we overlooked before. The standard tests on hair don’t give us much, especially when the samples don’t have roots, and therefore can’t be DNAed. But there are nontraditional tests they can do, including one I thought of when we found out about Vogel’s doctor visit.
“One thing you can detect in hair, if you’re looking for it, is nicotine. We all have it to a certain extent, because of smoke in the air, but smokers themselves-heavy smokers-have a lot. Since neither Gail nor I smoke, heavy nicotine in the pubic-hair samples will help point to Bob Vogel.”
“Unless there is none,”
Todd pointed out. I raised my eyebrows. “Either way, it’ll point us in some direction.”
“All right,” Brandt agreed, “I’ll send J.P. up to Waterbury with the samples. How long should it take?” he asked me.
“The test shouldn’t take more than a couple of hours. Getting it priority attention’s something else.”
Tony nodded firmly. “I’ll handle that. What else?”
“We assumed that some of the minor discrepancies between this rape and the others Vogel committed were because of a learning curve. That was a mistake. What we should have noticed was that there were too many similarities between Vogel’s third rape and Gail’s. Seeing that might’ve started us thinking of a copycat crime instead of a learning curve.
“I think we need to get the people who investigated those cases on the phone-like Jim Catone from Greenfield-and grill them, point by point.
“We also need to retrace all the physical evidence, from the red fiber on the doorjamb to the Victoria’s Secret catalogue, only not for how it lines up against Vogel, but for how it might’ve been used to frame him. For example, find out where Gail had the catalogue in the house. If it was on a coffee table, Vogel might’ve grabbed it on the way out. But if Gail had already thrown it out, then why would he have gone through her trash? Or the oil pan on Vogel’s car-why did it puncture when it did? Tyler’ll be out of town, but Kunkle’s pretty good at forensics-have him check it out more closely.”
I looked around the room, surprised and pleased at the lack of interruptions. None of them wasted time defending themselves, arguing that the case was sound and that what I was proposing was a waste of time. Not that they were converts-I knew that. But just as one set of evidence had put them on course to one conclusion, they all seemed to accept that another set might result in something different. It was an attitude I didn’t expect to be shared by many outside this room, but it was here where it counted.
I took advantage of the silence to make one last proposaclass="underline" “I also think we need to call in a criminal psychologist, give him or her everything we’ve got on Gail’s case, and see how it matches what we know of Vogel’s personality.”