Open and Shut - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,82
His attitude has become more hostile, sensing that the jury will agree I am wasting all of their collective time.
“So after you got your car, did you head for the bar where the murder took place?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a bar you frequented yourself, that you were familiar with, or did Edward tell you where it was?”
“He told me. It was not hard to find.”
“Did you drive quickly?”
He nods. “Very. I was quite upset.”
“I know. You've told us that. How far would you say it is from your club to the bar?”
He shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe twenty miles.”
“Actually, it is twenty-nine point seven miles. I drove it. I made it in forty-seven minutes, but I wasn't rushing because I wasn't as terribly upset as you were. How long would you say that it took you?”
“I don't know, but I'm sure it was faster than that.”
“How fast?” I press him.
“I don't know; I had no reason to time the trip. But I was driving quickly.”
“Because you were so upset.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think you could have made it in forty minutes?”
“Maybe … I can't be sure.”
I walk toward him, firing questions almost before he finishes his answers.
“Thirty-five? Thirty?”
He is getting flustered. “I told you, I can't—”
“Twenty-five? Twenty? Fifteen? Do you think you could have made it in fifteen minutes?”
“Of course not,” he says.
“Because according to the police records and tape recordings, the police were at the scene fourteen minutes after Edward's call, and you were already there.”
“So?”
“So Edward testified that he called them first.”
Victor can't conceal the worry permeating his brain. “That's impossible. He must be mistaken about the order in which he made the phone calls. It was a very stressful time. A woman had been murdered.”
“He told this jury that he called the police first. He was quite definitive about it.”
“Well, he was mistaken. People make mistakes.”
“Yes, they do,” I say, “and then they'll do whatever is necessary to cover them up.”
“You're making things up, trying to make something out of nothing. To make my son and me look bad, as if we're lying …”
“You are lying.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“Mr. Markham, why did you rape Ms. McGregor?”
Wallace jumps up as if he had been in an ejector seat. “Objection, Your Honor, this is crazy! There is absolutely no evidence that Denise McGregor had sex of any kind that night, consensual or otherwise. To accuse Mr. Markham like this is unconscionable.”
Hatchet peers at me sternly. “Mr. Carpenter, if you have any evidence whatsoever to indicate that the victim had sexual relations the night of her death, I suggest you bring it forth now.”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, “I wasn't talking about that night … I was talking about a different night. And I wasn't talking about Denise McGregor, I was talking about her mother.”
The courtroom explodes in slow motion, but Victor Markham alone does not seem excited or agitated by what has been said. His eyes are glued to the back of the courtroom as the door opens, and Betty Anthony comes striding in, immediately lending dignity to the proceedings with her presence. He seems to sag; his dread of the last few minutes has become his certainty.
He knows that I know.
I want to savor the moment, I want him to twist in the wind up there as long as possible. I want him to sit and deal with the fact that justice is about to be realized for Denise and Julie McGregor. So I wait a few moments before continuing, until Hatchet orders me to.
Finally, I say to Markham, “It was thirty-five years ago, but you remember it as if it were yesterday.”
Markham denies everything, and I let him off the stand, subject to recall. I call Betty Anthony as the next defense witness. Wallace objects, accurately claiming that Betty is not on the witness list that we provided for the prosecution.
I ask for a meeting outside the presence of the jury, and Wallace and I head for Hatchet's chambers. I state that Betty had not come forward with information until just this morning, and I lay out in detail exactly what she is going to say.
To his everlasting credit, Wallace withdraws his objection, and Hatchet allows Betty to testify. I believe he would have ruled so anyway, but Wallace takes it upon himself to ensure that he does. Wallace is that rarest of prosecutors, of lawyers, one who believes that finding out the truth is more important than winning. When the truth comes out, everyone wins.
Betty Anthony takes the stand