“I can’t.”
“So that’s the way it is?” she says. She’s picking up her papers, her briefcase, and purse.
“I wish I could,” I tell her, “but I can’t.”
At this moment I am staring into Lenore’s dark, resolute eyes, the revelation that the first person she will be talking to when she leaves my office is Tony. I have driven her there by my silence.
More shouting in the outer office. Then I realize that Harry is not on the phone. There are two voices; a second person is with him.
I get up from the desk and make my way to the door. When I open it, I’m staring into the hot, malevolent eyes of Gus Lano.
“Just the person I wanted to see,” he says. “What the fuck is this?”
He’s holding a crumpled piece of paper in one hand.
“His subpoena,” says Harry. “Seems he’s a little pissed off.”
“Wrong,” says Lano, “I’m a lot pissed off.”
It was among the last set of subpoenas that Harry sent out, to Lano and a hundred others, in the event that our evidence develops like an octopus, with tentacles in every direction.
“Fine,” he says. “You got a dog-and-pony show going on downtown. That’s your business,” he says. “But don’t try and draw me into it. Or the association,” he says. “We’ll kick your ass.”
“Seems we already did that number,” I tell him.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A face that belies it.
“The quest for drugs,” I say.
“Oh, that,” he says. What passes for a smile. “Read about it in the paper. Some people think you got away with it.”
“Some people would know,” I tell him.
“In the future they’ll have to be a little faster,” he says.
“Yeah, and a lot quieter,” I tell him.
He looks at me, a question mark.
“The clink of the toilet tank,” I tell him. I can tell this fills in a blank for him-how I discovered the stuff so quickly.
He makes a mental note. Cable man is going to hear about this.
“Next time your friends go swimming in my toilet, do me a favor.”
He’s not going to ask, but he looks at me as if to say, “What’s that?”
“Tell ’em to bathe first, so they don’t leave a ring around the bowl.”
He gives me a wicked look and a cavalier denial. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.
“Think about it. I’m sure it’ll come to you.” I start to close the door.
“What about this?” He holds up the subpoena as if I’m actually going to withdraw it. “I’m out of the country in five days,” he says. “Vacation in Bali.”
Harry, a pencil in hand, asks him for the date of departure and Lano, without thinking, gives it.
“I wouldn’t pack the suntan lotion just yet,” says Harry.
Lano gives him a dismissive look.
“What about it?” He appeals to a higher court.
“I hope it works out,” I tell him. I start to close the door again.
“Eight thousand dollars’ worth of tickets,” he says. “Nonrefundable. It better work out.”
“You have a problem, talk to your travel agent,” I tell him. The problem here is that at least tacitly Lano is a peace officer. Once under subpoena, he cannot absent himself from the trial without accounting to the court later. There could be severe repercussions.
“This is bullshit,” he says, “and you know it. I don’t know a goddamned thing about your case.” He calls it “a lotta crap.”
“It’s been nice talking,” I tell him, and I close the door.
He rants at Harry for a couple of seconds until Harry threatens to call security. Then I hear a lot of things go onto the floor, as if perhaps Lano has swept objects off one of the desks. There are a few choice words, and the door to the outer office slams, rattling in its frame.
I look at Lenore, who is studying me, briefcase in hand, behind my door.
“There you have it,” I say. “Tony’s tight circle of friends.”
CHAPTER 28
When Harry and I open our case for Acosta, it is in those areas of scientific expertise where the prosecution has for some inexplicable reason never ventured. If Kline has a weakness, a soft underbelly exposed by inexperience in the courtroom, it is in his failure to anticipate.
There are mysteries he has left in his wake, needling questions of evidence that he would have been better to explore than leave for us.
Lewis DeShield is an expert in the science of metals, specifically the alchemy of separating trace elements, matching known with questioned samples from crime scenes.
We do the foundational dance, getting his curriculum vitae, education and experience that entitle him to testify, offering expert opinion. Kline offers a stipulation in an effort to keep DeShield’s credentials away from the jury. We decline, and twenty minutes later finally reach the core issue.
“Mr. DeShield, did you inspect the crime scene, in this case the victim’s apartment, last August twenty-eighth?”
“At your request,” he says, “I did.”
“And as a result of that inspection can you tell the jury what you found?”
“I examined the area of the living room, and in particular a small metal-and-glass coffee table. On the underside of that table I observed scratches on the metal at one edge, and what appeared to be traces of some foreign metal, not part of the table. I photographed these, and then, using tools, I removed some traces of metal from the edge of the table, packaged these in an evidence envelope, and removed them to my laboratory for analysis.”
We retrieve this envelope from a box of physical evidence. DeShield identifies it and we have it marked by the clerk, along with some slides and pictures.
I have the table, which the state has already placed in evidence, brought forward into the well of the courtroom, where DeShield identifies it. He then comes down off the stand to show where he found the scratches and trace metals. It is near the corner where blood had pooled and where according to the coroner the blows that killed Brittany Hall were most likely administered. Then the witness climbs back onto the stand.
“Did you form any early opinion based on visual observation as to what these trace metals on the table might have been?”
“It was my belief that they were scratches left by jewelry. There appeared to be elements of gold in the traces.”
For this DeShield employs photographs, enlargements under magnification, mounted on poster boards. We prop these on two easels in front of the jury box, where the witness illustrates the location of the metal scrapings with a pointer.
“Do you know whether the victim was wearing jewelry the night of her death that could have accounted for these scratches?”
“According to all the information I have, she was not.”
“In your examination of the table, did you notice anything remarkable about the location of these scratches?”
“Yes. While there were some minor scratches on the top surface near the edge of the table, the most severe marking appeared to have taken place at the edge on the underside of the table. Assuming the marks were left by a piece of jewelry worn by the perpetrator, it would appear that the force exerted in making these marks was the result of an upthrust, a pulling of the victim toward the perpetrator perhaps in preparation for the administration of another blow. This was done several times, leaving a distinct series of scratches each time.”
“And why is this significant?”
“It’s consistent with other expert opinion that multiple blows were struck. But more important, it is possible that as a result of the force of these upthrusts the jewelry in question may have become dislodged, caught on the table, and actually ripped off the perpetrator.”
“Objection,” says Kline. “Speculation.”
With this, Kline’s detective, John Stobel, comes out of his chair and leans toward the prosecutor. He wants to talk, but Kline abruptly waves him off as a distraction.
“You can tell this?” says Radovich, looking at the witness.