beats. “Did you, Senior Constable Bianchi, at any time, either on or off duty, stalk Martin Cresswell-Smith?”
“No.”
“You didn’t park outside and watch the Cresswell-Smith house?”
Lozza goes pale.
A rustle whispers through the gallery. The court artist’s chalk flies over her paper. Reporters scribble furiously.
Quietly, she says, “I once watched the house for a few moments from a police vehicle.”
“Why?”
My pulse quickens.
“I . . . had reason to fear for his wife’s safety.”
“You felt Mrs. Cresswell-Smith was in danger?”
“From her husband, yes.”
“Why?”
“I’d seen bruises on Ellie.”
“And you assumed they were from him? Did that make you angry?”
Lozza’s mouth thins. Color creeps into her cheeks. “As I said, I feared for his wife’s safety.”
Lorrington moistens his lips and nods. “Violence against women or children—this makes you very angry, does it not, Senior Constable?”
“It should make anyone angry.”
“How angry?”
“Objection!” says Konikova, coming to her feet. “Again, I fail to see the relevance to the case at hand.”
“Mr. Lorrington, do we have a point?” The judge glances at her wristwatch.
“Your Honor, I put it to this court that Senior Constable Bianchi—a lead investigator on this case—was a biased investigator with a personal vendetta that blinded her to other avenues of inquiry from the moment she saw those bruises.” He swings to face Lozza in the box.
“Senior Constable Bianchi, you have a scar on your forehead.”
Movement rustles in the gallery. The sketch artist flips a page. Lozza’s face goes deep red. Her eyes narrow.
“How did you get that scar?”
“Objection!” shouts Konikova, her eyes flashing with anger now.
“Your Honor,” counters Lorrington, “that scar goes to this detective’s history of aggression and tunnel vision on the job. It goes to the fact she once beat and kicked a suspect in her custody to the point she had to be hauled off by fellow officers—such was her rage. The man had to be admitted to hospital. He had to have surgery. And why?” Lorrington raises his finger high in the air. “Because the suspect in the senior constable’s custody had a history of violence. And he’d just beaten to death his wife while their small child hid under the bed and saw the whole thing. And when Senior Constable Bianchi learned about the child, she just snapped.” He clicks his fingers with a snapping sound. “Like that. Blinded with rage, she became violent herself. Is that not so, Senior Constable Bianchi?”
Lozza is sweating. She’s vibrating. She looks like she’s going to explode out of that box and hit him. What Lorrington has just wrought in front of our eyes is a beautiful thing because each and every juror can see right now that Lozza Bianchi is about to snap again. In front of them all. Just like that. And they’re waiting for it—they want her to. This is surely not a woman they’d want investigating them. She would surely not give them a fair shake if she can so quickly be blinded like this.
“Constable Bianchi?” Lorrington says more quietly. “This incident is on record, is it not?”
“Yes, sir,” she says through clenched teeth.
Murmurs rise in the gallery. I glance over. The officers look pumped, angry. Battle lines are forming. I can smell the tension—the adrenaline, testosterone. It’s thick and hot in the room.
“Did you adopt that little girl from under the bed, Senior Constable Bianchi?”
Konikova explodes to her feet. But as she opens her mouth, Lozza says, “That is completely off base, sir. My daughter has no place in this trial. Shame on you.”
A reporter hurries out the courtroom door.
Slowly, quietly, Lorrington says, “It has every place. You lost your job as a detective with Crime Command after that incident. It was swept under the rug because it was bad publicity for the New South Wales force. It’s why you took a quiet job down the coast. But then you saw the bruises on Mr. Cresswell-Smith’s wife. And you were quick to judge him. Perhaps too quick?” He faces the jury.
“I put it to this court that Senior Constable Lozza Bianchi in fact developed an instant and vehement dislike for Martin Cresswell-Smith. I propose she even had something of a vendetta against him right from day one. Because of her own history. Ms. Bianchi in her past capacity as a homicide detective has demonstrated a predilection to irrational anger and extreme violence, and I put it to this court that she had an agenda. A bias. And she should have been removed from the case. It was not a fair or clean investigation.” His gaze swings back to Lozza.