Gurney paused the video and went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee. When it was ready, he carried it to the table by the French doors and took his habitual seat, the one that gave him a view out past the bluestone patio and the chicken coop, down over the low pasture to the barn and the pond.
His gaze drifted out to the rise on the far side of the pond. The trees were mostly bare now, except for isolated spruces whose summer greens had darkened into somber colorlessness. A few scattered oaks retained clumps of desiccated leaves. The muted color palette on the hillside was typical of a Catskill November—sepias, beiges, murky umbers. The still surface of the pond reminded him of a steel skillet. It wasn’t a pleasant image. He picked up his coffee and returned to the den.
6
THE NEXT WITNESS WAS A SQUARE-JAWED MAN WITH A law-enforcement crew cut, light blue shirt, dark blue tie, and a gray sport jacket with a flag pin on the lapel. He projected the calm, attentive expression of a witness well acquainted with courtrooms. Stryker asked him to state his full name, rank, and connection to the case.
His voice was clear, confident, pleasant. “Detective Lieutenant Scott Derlick, Rexton Police Department. Chief investigating officer assigned to the Leonard Lerman homicide.”
Stryker looked impressed. “You were personally involved in the case from start to finish?”
“Correct.”
“Please take us back to the moment when your involvement began.”
“We received a call from Adrienne Lerman at 9:00 a.m. on the Friday morning after Thanksgiving. She expressed concern about her father, whom she hadn’t heard from since receiving a 7:00 p.m. phone message from him on Wednesday. She did not at that time divulge the full content of that message, nor did she mention his proposed visit to Ziko Slade.”
“Did she give you any indication of where her father was when he called her?”
“She had the impression from something he said that he was somewhere north of Rexton, up near Garnet Lake.”
“Was any action taken at that point?”
“As a courtesy, we gave our mobile units Mr. Lerman’s physical description and vehicle data. However, unless there is evidence of foul play, an adult being out of contact with a family member is not a law-enforcement matter.”
“So, when did this turn into a homicide investigation?”
“Approximately twenty-four hours after we heard from Ms. Lerman, we received a call from a hunter who came upon a partially buried body on a private estate not far from Garnet Lake. We were unable to immediately identify the body as Lenny Lerman’s because the head and fingers had been removed. However, we found a DNA match on the state database of felons.”
“When you informed Ms. Lerman of her father’s death, was she then more forthcoming about his approach to Ziko Slade?”
“She was.”
“Did she explain her earlier evasiveness?”
“She said she was scared that the truth would get her father into legal trouble. But now that he was beyond trouble, all that mattered was bringing his killer to justice.”
“Please describe to the court exactly what you discovered when you arrived at the site of Lenny Lerman’s body.”
“The first thing I noticed was the smell. A decomposing corpse releases foul odors.” Derlick paused as murmurs of disgust arose from the jury box. “As I got closer, I could see it had been buried in a shallow grave, covered with pine needles and loose soil, some of which had been scraped away. By coyotes, most likely.”
Stryker grimaced. “I see. Please go on.”
“As I mentioned, the corpse’s most notable feature was the absence of the head and all ten fingers. The body was also dressed in hunting camos.”
“Anything special about them?”
“They were too big for the size of the body. The sleeves and legs were too long. The pockets contained a box of 30-30 cartridges and a package of venison jerky.”
“What was your initial interpretation of the scene?”
“That I was looking at a murdered hunter. But when we got a positive ID on Lerman and I spoke again to his daughter, she told me her father never hunted, had no gun, no ammunition, no camo outfits.”
“So, what did you make of that?”
“That I was looking at a smokescreen—a setup to point us in the wrong direction.”
Stryker nodded in thoughtful agreement, giving the members of the jury the impression that she was just learning these important facts along with them.
Good actress, thought Gurney. She knew how to create that all-important bond with the people whose verdict she depended on.
Stryker continued. “Did you later discover a diary in Lenny Lerman’s apartment—his own handwritten record of the events leading up to his death?”
“Yes—concealed under his mattress.”
Stryker strode over to the bailiff’s desk, picked up a small spiral notebook, and brought it to Derlick. “Please read the indicated passages aloud.”
Derlick opened the diary to the first page and began reading.
“October 24. Ran into Jingo at the Monster yesterday. Can’t get what he told me out of my head. Question one—is it true? I’m thinking sure why not? Z getting rid of Sally Bones. I can see how that would happen. Question two. What’s it worth? A hundred K? An even mil?”
Derlick continued through the notebook, turning over a new page for each entry.
“October 27. Do I or don’t I? If I do, a mil. If I don’t, nothing. Fucker has the cash. Cost of being a scumbag. Cost of Sally Bones. Need to work it out. One thing after another. Focus. Need sleep.
“November 2. Took A and S to the Lakeshore. Said hello to Pauly Bats at the bar. Big Pauly! Nobody fucks with Pauly Bats!! Explained the plan to A and S. Adie worries like always. What if? What if? What if? Like her mother. Sonny doesn’t talk. But Sonny likes money. Now we’ll have money. Serious money!
“November 5. Got Z’s number and made the call. The asshole picked up. I asked him how much it was worth for me to forget everything I knew about Sally Bones. I told him to think about it. I made the scumbag worry.
“November 6. Talked to Tommy Hooks. Quit the fucking job. Breaking my hump for chump change. Goodbye to that shit!
“November 13. Called Z again. Told him I figured an even Mil was the right number—to save his evil fucking ass. In used twenties. Whining son of a bitch said that was like two suitcases. I told him so what, you worthless prick. What the fuck do I care about suitcases? You got ten days I told him.
“November 23. Called Z, told him his time was up, he better have the fucking Mil. He said he did. I told him to have it ready tonight, make sure he’s alone. I walk with the Mil, or the whole fucking world hears about Sally Bones.”
Derlick closed the diary. “That was the last entry.”
“Thank you, Detective. By the way, were you able to verify the existence of the three phone calls Lenny described?”
“Yes. Phone company records show three calls from Lerman’s number to Slade’s number, corresponding to the entries in the diary.”
Gurney paused the video.
He sat back in his chair. The likely effect of Lerman’s diary on the jury was unclear. On the one hand, the entries supported earlier witness testimony regarding Lerman’s extortion plan, which the prosecution alleged was Slade’s obvious motive for killing him. In that respect, the entries were a plus for Stryker’s narrative. On the other hand, their tone might have eroded whatever sympathy Adrienne’s tears had generated for Lerman as a victim. However, the murder scene photos were yet to come, and they might have the power to regenerate that lost sympathy.