Читать книгу The Cutting Room - Jilliane Hoffman - Страница 13

‘State your name and position for the record, please.’ Although she couldn’t scream at him, Daria shot Manny a look that would freeze water.

He grinned back at her. ‘Manuel Alvarez, City of Miami Homicide.’

‘How long have you been so employed?’

Manny pulled thoughtfully on his oversized mustache. ‘Let’s see, I’ve been a cop since eighty-nine, and in Homicide since ninety-two, so altogether I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years, State.’ He smiled again.

She glared at her notes.

And so began the direct examination of Manny Alvarez.

To hold someone without bond, the state had to present enough of a case to show that ‘proof was evident and presumption was great’ that a crime was committed and the defendant was the one who’d committed it — a higher standard of proof than even ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’, which was what she was going to need for a conviction. But the rules of evidence were much more relaxed at an Arthur than they were at trial and hearsay was admissible, so that the only witness you usually needed to testify was your lead detective or arresting officer. The more experienced the detective the better, because, like a movie trailer that gives you the gist of what a movie’s about in a seriously condensed, really exciting version, you needed to tell just enough of your story at an Arthur to keep your defendant behind bars without giving away the entire investigation. Plus, the more times someone told a detailed story, the more times he or she was bound to tell it with different details, and even the most innocent of misstatements could and would be used later on to poke holes in the state’s case or impeach a witness’s credibility. What you definitely didn’t want was an unproven detective, or one who ran at the mouth, providing the defense with a sworn transcript full of ammunition. With all those years of experience, Manny didn’t need his hand held; when she asked a question he ran with the ball and made the shot. Normally she’d be thrilled to have such a stellar witness. Today his competence only irritated her all the more.

She’d led him smoothly through his credentials and then up through the initial investigation when Holly’s body was first found in the dumpster. The bumps started right after she asked him to describe the condition of the body.

‘She was buried in garbage, wearing nothing but a pair of black panties,’ Manny answered, without needing to refer to his notes. ‘She’d sustained visible traumatic injuries to her face, feet and neck. I also saw nasty bind marks on her wrists and ankles, indicating she’d been tied up for a period before she was murdered.’

Joe Varlack sprang to his feet. ‘Objection! Speculation!’

‘An autopsy was performed by Dr Gunther Trauss of the Miami-Dade ME’s office,’ Manny continued, basically ignoring Varlack.

‘There’s an objection pending,’ barked the defense attorney. ‘I guess the detective didn’t hear me.’

‘Your Honor,’ Daria responded, ‘Detective Alvarez has been investigating murders for eighteen years. We can assume that he knows rope burns on someone’s wrists when he sees them. We’re getting to the autopsy, which will confirm the detective’s observations.’

Steyn nodded. ‘Go on.’

She held up the autopsy report. ‘What was Dr Trauss’s determination as to the cause of death?’

‘Manuel asphyxiation. She was choked to death with bare hands. She had finger marks on her throat, bruising, and a crushed larynx.’ Manny looked over at the defense table and smiled smugly. ‘I observed that, too.’

‘And the bind marks on her wrists?’

‘Dr Trauss determined that she was tied up with rope and tortured prior to her death.’

‘Objection,’ interrupted Varlack again. ‘Not only is this hearsay, but it calls for speculation, both on the part of the detective and the pathologist.’

Daria sighed heavily so that everyone in the courtroom could hear. Patience was not her strong suit. She was gonna hit stop-and-go traffic the whole way home. Either Varlack was trying to fluster her by making loud, dumb objections or he was an idiot. ‘This is not trial, Counsel,’ she shot back sharply. ‘It’s a bond hearing and the last time I checked, hearsay is admissible. Judge, the ME’s report extensively details Ms Skole’s injuries — the victim was most definitely tortured before she was murdered. And as much as Counsel might not like that word or want to hear it, torture goes to show premeditation, which is an element of first-degree murder, which is the crime his client has been charged with. If Mr Varlack wants to second-guess the findings of the Medical Examiner, let him do so at his deposition or at trial or in a written motion, but once again, this is a bond hearing. Now, can I get on with my case, or are we gonna bicker all afternoon about how to conduct an Arthur Hearing way down here in the bowels of Miami? Because I thought Mr Varlack had a pressing appointment back home with one of his degenerate high-profile clients in Palm Beach.’

Justice Joe looked taken aback, followed by embarrassed and then, finally, really, really angry — all in a spate of thirty seconds. The shiny part of his head turned red. It was war. And just like that, Daria had eliminated yet another law firm to float out a résumé to in the event she ever did decide to go into private practice. She had to stop doing that. With a pile of law school loans to still pay back, a $44,000 career as a prosecutor wasn’t supposed to last forever.

‘You don’t need to worry yourself about my schedule, Counsel,’ Varlack hissed.

She shrugged. ‘Take a look at the law on a subject before you start making objections, is all I’m saying. It will make this go faster for all of us.’

‘Enough,’ Steyn cautioned, obviously flustered. ‘Both of you, take your corners. Continue, Ms DeBianchi.’

Daria turned her attention to Manny. ‘If you would, please describe Holly Skole’s injuries.’

‘She had a traumatic burn mark on the back of her neck and severe chemical burns on the soles of her feet and on her face, most likely caused by sulfuric acid,’ Manny answered.

Those who had actually been listening in the courtroom collectively gasped. And that made all the others who were still whisper-chatting amongst themselves or reading files or secretly checking and sending texts stop and listen. The courtroom went completely quiet.

‘She’d been both vaginally and anally raped,’ continued Manny. ‘Toxicology reports indicate that she’d also been injected with, or force-fed, large amounts of diphenhydramine and dextromethorphan, the chemical compounds found in cough syrup and sleep aids that produce hallucinations in high enough doses. Her wrists were abraded where she’d been bound with rope, and she had cuts on her gums, indicating she’d been perhaps fitted with a bit, like a horse — all indications of sadomasochistic behavior.’ Manny turned and gave the defense counsel a steely look before finishing with his next sentence: ‘Yet another clue she’d been tortured before she was murdered.’

Varlack snorted loudly but said nothing. The spanking had worked.

Daria hid her smile and the ice began to thaw. ‘What caused you to believe that Mr Lunders was responsible for Holly’s death?’

‘On Monday, April eighteenth, Holly’s roommate, Jenny Demchar, reported Holly missing to Coral Gables police. Holly had gone out two nights earlier to the Miami nightclub Menace to celebrate a friend’s birthday, but didn’t come home. When she didn’t show up for class, Ms Demchar and Holly’s other friend, Esther Flicker — the girl whose birthday Holly’d been celebrating — went back to Menace and discovered Holly’s locked car parked in a municipal lot under the 395 overpass. Ms Demchar called the police. A missing persons investigation was opened by Coral Gables and, pursuant to that investigation, surveillance video from the nightclub was pulled, which records Holly leaving Menace at 4:16 a.m. with an, at the time, unknown white male. Coral Gables Detective John Coffey obtained additional video footage from a nearby traffic cam, which shows Holly getting into the passenger side of a dark-colored, late-model Mercedes. Visible in the video is the last digit of the plate. It was “Z”, as in Zulu.

‘Holly was entered into NCIC — the National Crime Information Center — as a missing person. Her photo, along with a still photo of the vehicle from the traffic cam and a still photo of the individual seen leaving Menace with Holly were distributed in the community and broadcast on several local television news stations.’

Daria held up a poster. ‘Are these the photographs you’re referring to?’

‘Yes. That’s a Crime Stoppers reward poster. A thousand-dollar reward was set up requesting information on Holly’s disappearance.’

She moved the poster into evidence and continued. ‘After Holly was entered into NCIC, what happened?’

‘Holly’s body was subsequently discovered on April twenty-fifth and her death was classified a homicide. A couple of weeks later I was contacted by a Ms Marie Modic of Hallendale, Florida. She told me that she’d been in Menace on Saturday night, May seventh, and in the club’s bathroom she’d seen the Crime Stoppers poster. She recognized the male in the surveillance photo and called me. I interviewed her at the nail salon where she works and she identified the man in the Crime Stoppers’ photo as “T”, a guy she’d talked to in Menace on the night of April sixteenth, which was the same night Holly Skole had been in the club and disappeared. “T” was the name he went by, but Ms Modic didn’t know his full name. He flashed a lot of cash, was dressed real nice. Said he was, quote, “slumming it down in Miami”, endquote. Said he came from the land of the Trumps and Kennedys, where the real money is.

‘So this “T” bought Marie Modic a couple of drinks and then asked her if she wanted to come back to his suite at the Mandarin. She initially said yes, at which time he placed his keys on the bar to pay the bar tab and she saw a car key with the Mercedes logo. Attached to the key was a metal plate that said, ‘Automotive Expert’. Ms Modic then excused herself to go to the bathroom, where she said she had second thoughts about going with “T”. Something just didn’t sit right with her about him and she was not feeling well physically, so she texted her girlfriend, who was also in the club, and asked her to get the car and meet her outside. She snuck out the back entrance. Stepping into the car is the last thing she remembers that night. She blanked out until the next morning, when she woke up in her apartment some seventeen hours later. Her girlfriend told her that as soon as she’d gotten into the car she’d pretty much passed out. She now believes she was drugged by the defendant.’

‘Objection! How much leniency are you gonna give this prosecutor, Judge? Hearsay upon hearsay, and now we have a medical opinion being offered up from a nail tech who downed one too many free drinks,’ barked Varlack. He threw his hands up in frustration.

‘Sustained,’ replied the judge. ‘Move on, Ms DeBianchi.’

‘How did you come to identify this “T” as being the defendant, Talbot Lunders?’

‘I contacted a company called Automotive Experts, a high-end car dealership with offices in Palm Beach and Stuart. I spoke with the owner and had him pull records for late-model Mercedes sales within the past two years. Then I did a records check on all of the Mercedes sold by Automotive Experts for plates ending in “Z”, and I found a black 2010 S-class registered to Abigail Charmaine Lunders, age forty-six. A background check on her revealed that she was the wife of Frederick Alastair Lunders, age sixty-seven. An insurance check on the vehicle listed Talbot Alastair Lunders, age twenty-eight, as an additional authorized driver of the vehicle. I pulled Mr Lunders’s driver’s license and identified him as the guy captured on the surveillance video leaving Menace with Holly Skole. Marie Modic also identified him through his DL — his driver’s license photo. A search warrant for the Mercedes was obtained and executed on May thirteenth.’

‘What did you find?’

‘A lipstick compact was recovered under the front passenger seat of the car, along with three long blonde hairs that the lab subsequently confirmed matched the chemical composition of Ms Skole’s hair dye. Fingerprints were also lifted from the lipstick case, which matched both the index and thumbprints on Ms Skole’s right hand. DNA analysis of the lipstick is pending. Fingerprints matching Ms Skole’s right thumb and right palm were also found on the inside door handle of the passenger side of the vehicle. So we know she was in that car.’

‘Objection.’

‘Overruled.’

‘Was the defendant present when the Mercedes was seized?’

‘Yes. It was seized from the parking lot of Flower & Honey Bath Products in Palm Beach, where Mr Lunders works. He appeared very agitated and upset, pacing the lot, threatening to call his attorney. His mother accompanied him. She wasn’t very happy, either. At that time I asked him if he wanted to talk about the disappearance of Holly Skole. He declined.

‘Three days later, while lab results were pending, I learned that the very afternoon the Benz was seized, Mr Lunders had gone and listed his 2008 Cigarette High-Performance Top Gun for sale through a broker in Coconut Grove, Miami. The racing boat was being offered for thirty percent less than other Cigarettes listed for sale of the same year and style. That raised my eyebrows way up. So I ran a system search of airline flights and learned that one T. Lunders was booked on a one-way JetBlue flight out of Palm Beach International to New York’s JFK the following afternoon. And a T. Lunders and A. Lunders were also booked on a Lufthansa flight to Zurich the day after that. His mother’s name is Abigail Lunders. Based on that, Mr Lunders was asked to come down to his boat broker to provide additional paperwork to facilitate the pending sale of his boat. When he arrived at the marina, I approached the defendant, identified myself once again, and told him his boat was being searched pursuant to a homicide investigation. Mr Lunders didn’t like that; he again declined to talk to us.’

‘Objection!’ Varlack barked. ‘The defendant has a right against self-incrimination! He doesn’t have to talk to the police if he doesn’t want to and that can’t be used against him. That’s Criminal Law 101!’

Steyn frowned. ‘Was the defendant free to go at that time?’

‘I had not yet taken him into custody,’ Manny replied.

‘That, I’m thinking, is going to be up for debate in a future motion,’ the judge replied with a cocked eyebrow. ‘Sustained.’

‘The fingerprint analysis of both the lipstick and the prints left on the interior passenger door of the Mercedes confirmed Ms Skole had been in Abigail Lunders’s vehicle,’ Manny continued. ‘Based on the prints and hair of the victim being found in his car, the video surveillance of her getting into the defendant’s car, and then the quick sell-off of his worldly possessions and his impending flight from the jurisdiction to a country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the US, a decision was made to arrest him for the murder of Holly Anne Skole.’

That was enough for the judge. Particularly the Switzerland flight. As much as Joe Varlack and his well-heeled sidekick tried for the next twenty minutes to downplay the evidence as circumstantial and unreliable, and discredit Manny as biased, sloppy, lazy — and a zillion other disingenuous adjectives — there was no way that even liberal, let-’em-go, Slow Steyn was going to give Talbot Lunders a bond. Enough dots had been connected to keep him behind bars pending trial. And the truth be told, it was an election year. If Steyn did let Talbot Alastair Lunders of the Palm Beach Lunders buy his way out of the pokey with $150,000 in cold, hard cash, the press would start screaming favorable treatment for the rich and it would be difficult for anyone to argue otherwise come the August primaries.

Harmony called up the next case and a fresh set of attorneys approached the podiums, ready to do battle. The lurid transfixion that had held the audience captive during Talbot Lunders’s Arthur finally broke, and the hushed conversations and illicit texting started up once again as courtroom life returned to normal. Case file in hand, Daria made her way past the rows of spectators to the majestic mahogany doors. With her palm on the handle, she turned to look back at the box. Joe Varlack and Anne-Claire Simmons were standing outside the jury box, at the side of their client, who was at the far end of the box. Although they were speaking in hushed voices and she was too far away to hear what was being said, it wasn’t hard to read the body language — both attorneys were pissed and the client wasn’t listening. More than not listening, handsome Talbot wasn’t even affected. And that was what held her attention as she stood at the door. Accused of a brutal murder, remanded to a jail cell for the foreseeable future, facing imminent indictment by the grand jury, and, ultimately, a possible death sentence, and the guy seemed about as interested or affected as if the crowd around him were discussing the weather in Nepal. She’d seen cold-blooded gang members more worked up over a traffic ticket. He almost seemed amused.

Just as she was thinking that her defendant’s reaction, or lack thereof, to what was happening was bizarre and disturbing, she saw his lips move. Then, with a smug smirk, he raised his shackled hands together and pointed straight at Daria across the room. Those in the courtroom who had been watching the exchange looked over at her, which, in turn, started a chain reaction of courtroom rubbernecking — everyone wanting to see what or who the accused sadist was pointing at with his jingling chains, like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

The blood rushed to her face. It was as if she’d been caught peeking in someone’s bedroom window and now the whole neighborhood was up and out on the front lawn staring at her. The case file slipped from her hands, spilling papers and crime-scene photos all over the floor. She rushed to pick them up and dropped her purse. Makeup, pens, tampons, loose change, and an assortment of hoarded receipts shot everywhere. Court again came to a complete halt. Dixon, the correction officer who was manning the door, and Manny both stooped down to help her.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled to both men as she hurriedly stuffed papers into her file and things into her purse. ‘It must’ve slipped.’

After a few painful, all-too-quiet minutes, the judge finally broke the rubbernecking trance. ‘Okay, back to work, everyone. Ms DeBianchi, you got it together there? You okay now?’

Daria waved a hand in the general direction of the bench. She wished she could disappear.

‘Harmony, where’s my file on Acevedo?’ Slow Steyn barked. ‘This is the wrong one, I think.’ Court started up once more.

‘Let’s go now!’ Corrections shouted. ‘Take your seats. That means you, too, Lunders! Caused enough trouble now, didn’t ya, pretty boy?’

‘I think she’s hot for him,’ she heard one observer in the gallery remark with a chuckle.

‘I got the door, Counselor,’ Manny said as Daria stood to leave. ‘Have a nice day, Judge,’ he called with a wave as she scuttled past.

Once in the hallway, Daria took a breath and tried to shake off her embarrassment. She felt like a complete idiot, dropping her file all over the floor like an incompetent intern. Or worse, like a flustered schoolgirl who’d made eye contact with the school quarterback.

Why the hell had she gotten so rattled? Why had she lost her composure? It pissed her off, was what it did.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was defiance. Or maybe it was an attempt to reestablish her authority that had made her steal one final glance in the direction of the box as the mahogany doors began to close behind her with a hydraulic hiss. Whatever her intent, whatever the reasoning, she instantly wished she hadn’t. Because in all her years prosecuting terrible men for the terrible things they’d done, she’d never before felt the icy-cold sensation of fear race through her veins when she looked at a defendant. She’d never before had to fight off an overwhelming urge to run as hard and as fast as she could away from a moment. And she had never before wished that she’d not been assigned a case.

But that day had come.

Her defendant had not moved. He had not sat down. He was still standing in the box, still pointing at her with his manacled hands, a knowing smile frozen on his face, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he knew she would try to look at him once again, try to break him. The Ghost of Christmas Future now, staring at her as though she had none. Watching her at the door she’d just walked through, those beautiful hazel eyes of his fixed on the small sliver of her person that remained visible before the door finally closed and the judge ordered him removed from the courtroom.