The Plea, page 30
part #2 of Eddie Flynn Series
“What happened next?”
“I told them what happened. One of the guards went out on the balcony. Then I guess they found her.”
“Apart from the front door of your apartment, is there any other way out?”
“No.”
“Do you know if it’s a similar situation in Mr. Child’s apartment?”
“I believe so. When I leased the apartment, it was on the understanding that no structural alterations were to be made. I assume Mr. Child would’ve had the same lease as I did. I think all residents were told the same. So no, the only exit is the front door.”
“Would it be possible to exit Mr. Child’s apartment via your balcony?”
Zader was tying off all loose ends—nailing Child to the crime scene and the time of the murder without any possible doubt.
“Not unless you climbed down outside of the building, like Spider-Man, or something.”
“When you entered your panic room, you said that you kept the door open because you are a little claustrophobic. Would you still have had a view of your balcony?”
“Yes.”
“So, in the time between hearing the shots and the security team arriving, did you see anyone leave Mr. Child’s apartment and step onto your balcony?”
“No. I kept an eye on the balcony in case anyone leaped over the divide and tried to get into my apartment. Then I would have to close the panic room door. I didn’t want to do that unless it was absolutely necessary. I don’t do well in confined spaces, not since I spent a six-week night shoot in a tunnel in Pinewood Studios.”
“Nothing further,” said Zader, taking his seat.
I stood, buttoned my jacket, and gave Gershbaum a smile.
I really had only one question. A simple one. I was throwing a snowball up a hill with the hope that this one question would start rolling back down the incline, getting bigger and bigger until it reached the bottom and crushed Zader’s case like a wrecking ball through a log cabin.
Clearing my throat, I was about to speak when the rear doors of the courtroom banged open. Two men, federal agents, each of them flanking my wife.
Even from this distance I could see her tears, her trembling hands, and the bright silver cuffs encasing her slender wrists.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Seats bolted to the rear wall of the courtroom were reserved for court security, law enforcement, and bail bondsmen. One of the agents threw his overcoat across Christine’s wrists and guided her to those seats. They’d wanted me to see the cuffs. Now they were being discreet.
From the crowd I picked out Dell’s bearded, smiling face. He winked.
Pressure. Dell was all about pressure. And he would use every last piece of leverage to force a deal. I saw Sinton get up from the gallery and leave the court. He nodded at Christine as he walked past.
I felt a cold spike in my back that spread up toward my neck. It was almost as if the gun in my waistband called to me. My eyes grew hot, and I thought about whipping out the piece, grabbing Christine, and running. If we got out of the courthouse, we could hide. But that would be no kind of life for Christine, or Amy.
“Mr. Flynn?”
Rollins, calling me. That icy tingle in my spine melted as I turned to face the witness—turning my back on my wife, turning away from her red, pleading eyes.
There was only one way to save her. Her fate and the fate of David Child were linked, bound together as sure as I was bound to her. I didn’t trust Dell, but I’d learned the hard way to trust my own instincts. It didn’t make sense to me at the time. I just knew. Get this kid off—that’s all I had to do, and things would play out for Christine.
“My apologies, Your Honor.”
Just as I knew he would, Rollins rolled his eyes. I was sure that he still thought this hearing was a waste of time.
“Mr. Gershbaum, you had heard gunfire and you went out onto your balcony to investigate. Then you saw the glass in the apartment next door exploding. So, you didn’t hear any gunfire after the bullet went through Mr. Child’s balcony window?”
He lowered his gaze, blinked, began shaking his head.
“No. I would’ve heard it. There was no more gunfire after the window exploded.”
“No further questions,” I said, glancing at Zader. His pen paused on the page. Then he looked to his assistants, hands spread, as if to say, Is that it?
I was glad. Zader didn’t see it, but if the rest of the case played out the way I hoped it would, then Leo Gershbaum would become the main witness for the defense.
“Redirect?” asked Rollins. Zader shook his head.
“Call your next witness. Let’s keep this moving, Counselors,” said Rollins.
“The people call Richard Forest.”
Even as he spoke, Zader eyed me suspiciously. He was beginning to wonder if he’d missed something.
Footsteps in the aisle. I hadn’t even heard the doors opening. It was Kennedy, with a bunch of documents in his hands. He almost bumped into the next witness, so eager was he to let me see what he’d found.
Four pieces of paper. Five copies of each of the four documents. A copy for me, one each for the judge, the prosecutor, and the witness, and the original, which was to be logged into evidence.
I read the documents as security officer Forest took the oath.
“What are those?” asked David.
“Snowballs,” I said. “Big freakin’ snowballs.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Kennedy told me he got a call about Christine, from one of his FBI buddies on the task force.
“I’m sorry, Eddie. This isn’t right. My guy told me Carmel and Amy are fine. They’re still in Grey’s Point. At least Amy is safe,” he said.
“She too young to see all of this. To watch her mother being taken away after what she’s been through…” I clamped my teeth and said no more. Whatever else happened, Dell would pay for putting my family through this.
It took Zader around five minutes to lead the security officer through most of his evidence. They covered the initial emergency call from Gershbaum, the response time, gaining access to Gershbaum’s apartment, and climbing over the small gap between the balconies. He was a good witness; he gave clear answers, and it was obvious from his answers, that he had once been a cop. Medrano told me that Forest had left the force because of a ball-busting sergeant. He didn’t take too well to that kind of authority but found a home, and better pay, at Central Park Eleven Security. A tall, lean officer with a starched collar and a red handkerchief in his blazer, Forest came across as an accurate, conscientious witness.
“Once you’d made it onto Mr. Child’s balcony, what did you see?” asked Zader.
“I saw the glass on the floor of the balcony first. I drew my weapon, hunkered down, and peered into the room. That’s when I saw the body of a young, blond female, lying facedown on the kitchen floor. I could tell that she’d sustained massive head injuries and in all likelihood she was already dead.”
“What did you do next?”
“I climbed over the balcony and moved into the room, trying not to tread on the glass too much, and I radioed my supervisor that he should enter Mr. Child’s apartment, that we had a body on our hands and the perp could still be in there.”
“Your supervisor had not entered the apartment prior to your call?”
“No. We can’t enter a resident’s dwelling without permission, ordinarily. Not unless we have evidence that their safety or the safety of others is at risk. We’re not the police. There are a lot of powerful people who live there, and they cherish their privacy more than most folks.”
“Please continue,” said Zader.
“My supervisor called 911 and informed them that we were entering the apartment to do an emergency search. He got clearance for that from the operator, and he entered through the front door with the response team. We swept the apartment, found no one else. Not long after we finished our search, NYPD finally showed up. Then we cleared the scene and I gave a statement to Detective Morgan.”
“Thank you,” said Zader, taking his papers from the lectern.
“Mr. Flynn, do you have any questions for Mr. Forest?” said Rollins.
“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Forest, you entered the apartment and discovered the body. You then say you radioed for backup and your team performed a sweep of the apartment. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Describe this search of the apartment.”
“We searched the kitchen, the living room, TV room, first-floor bathroom, ah—then we searched the bedrooms, bathroom, study.”
“Anywhere else?”
“No, well—there was nowhere else to search. Apart from the victim, the apartment was empty.”
My dad’s warm breath in my ear: People believe what they can see.
The next question was risky. I didn’t know the answer for sure. My mouth felt dry as I spoke.
“You didn’t search the panic room?”
Warning signs appeared in front of him, big as traffic signs and flashing red for danger. He searched for an answer.
“By the time the security team arrived, they’d already been informed that Mr. Child had left the apartment—so there was no point in searching the panic room. He’s the only one with access, and he’d already left.”
It was good enough. Time to move on.
“Mr. Forest, you are a former police officer, so you would have some training and experience in firearms?”
“Correct.”
“Considering your training and experience, how long would it take to aim and fire a whole magazine from a pistol, reload, and then spend the new cartridge?”
He blew out his cheeks and said, “I don’t know, maybe half a minute?”
“Half a minute. Could you do it faster? Would it be possible to do it in say fifteen or twenty seconds?”
“Fifteen would be very fast, maybe twenty seconds.”
“Twenty seconds, okay. I see that you wear a watch, Mr. Forest.”
He was a little taken aback. He screwed up his eyes, let his lips fold down. “Yes, my wife gave it to me for our anniversary.”
“Do you have your cell phone with you?”
“Yes, it’s powered down.”
“With His Honor’s permission, I’d like you to turn on your cell phone, just for a moment.”
“Your Honor, objection, relevance?” said Zader.
“I’ll be quick, Your Honor. This is relevant and I’m coming to the point shortly.”
“Go faster, Mr. Flynn,” said Rollins.
We waited while Forest switched on his phone. That delay gave me enough time to doubt the next set of questions. I decided it was worth the risk.
“While we’re waiting for it to power up, can you tell me what time it is, Mr. Forest?”
Zader threw his hands up at the judge. Rollins nodded, looked at me. I stared at him hard, my jaw set and tense. I shook my head slightly as my eyes flitted between Rollins and Zader. Like I was waiting for the judge to back Zader, and then I’d be ready to jump in and claim bias.
“Let’s give Mr. Flynn the benefit of the doubt for now, Mr. Zader.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Forest, the time by your watch is?”
“Eleven oh two.”
“Can you read the time for me from the wall clock just behind you?”
He swiveled around, stared, and said, “Eleven oh five.”
“And what is the time by your cell phone?”
Pressing a button, he sighed and said, “Ten fifty-nine.”
“So that’s three different times, on three different devices just in this room. Mr. Forest, the security log at Central Park Eleven operates on a different system from the security camera system, isn’t that right?”
“Yes. They run on two different pieces of software, on different systems.”
“Mr. Forest, you did not, at any time subsequent to this murder, check whether the time code on the security footage camera system was synchronized with the time code on your security log, did you?”
He pursed his lips, straightened in his chair.
“No, I did not.”
I lifted the first document from the pile Kennedy had given to me, passed out copies to Judge Rollins, Zader, and the witness.
“Mr. Forest, this is a copy of the 911 emergency log for that night. I take it you are aware that when a resident makes an emergency call, a text registering that call is simultaneously sent to 911?”
“I knew that,” he said.
“And from this document, can you read the time that the text was received?”
His eyes flared, and he read, “Twenty oh four.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I sat down, and Zader was on his feet right away.
Suddenly I was aware of the sheer weight of the evidence against David. And the defense was no thicker than a sheet of ice. I had to tread carefully, slowly, or David, Christine, and I would fall into the cold, dark depths.
Zader was about to send a huge crack across the ice.
“Mr. Forest, if there was a difference in the time signatures, would it be possible for the defendant to have left his apartment before the murder occurred?”
Judge Rollins nodded enthusiastically—he’d been thinking the same thing.
The witness shook his head.
“No. It’s not possible for the murder to have occurred after the defendant left the apartment. There is only one way in and one way out—the front door. The footage from the security camera showed Mr. Child and the victim enter the apartment, and then Mr. Child leaves. I spoke to Mr. Gershbaum personally. No one entered his apartment via the balcony, and it’s twenty-five stories high. When I swept the apartment, it was empty. It’s not possible because the victim had injuries that could not have been self-inflicted, and nobody but the defendant left the apartment. The only person who could’ve killed Clara Reece was David Child.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY
Every nerve ending, every muscle, every ounce of blood in my body wanted me to turn around and look at Christine, but I knew that if I did that I risked losing it completely. The battle was in this trial.
I told myself to stay focused.
I whispered to David, “Don’t worry. We’re okay.” We were pretty far from okay.
Swallowing down his fear, David patted my arm. He still believed in me.
At least somebody did.
“Officer Noble,” said Zader.
A thin man wearing glasses, blue jeans, a red and blue checkered shirt, and a hopelessly mismatched white tie strode forward and took the witness stand. He wore cowboy boots, which, inexplicably, made the whole ensemble come together.
After Officer Rudy Noble was sworn in, he began polishing his glasses with the end of his tie. The DA’s first questions established Noble as the experienced CSI who’d examined both the victim and the crime scene and had documented his investigation with the photographs.
“Officer Noble, given your extensive examination of the crime scene, and given the ME’s findings, what were your conclusions as to how the murder occurred?” said Zader.
“Given the wounds on the victim and the rounds found embedded in the victim’s skull and in the concrete beneath the tiled floor, the head shots were inflicted when the victim was lying facedown on the floor. That leads me to believe that she was initially shot from behind. There are two bullet entry wounds in the victim’s lumbar area. One round became lodged in the victim’s spine. The other was a through-and-through. It is—”
“Sorry, can I just stop you there for a moment? What is a through-and-through?” said Rollins; tax attorneys didn’t deal with too many gunshot victims.
“It’s a term used to describe a bullet that enters the victim and passes through the body completely.”
“I understand. Please continue,” said Rollins.
“It’s my belief, based on the evidence, that this second bullet went through the victim’s back, leaving a large exit wound in the chest, and it was this round that went on to travel through the window.”
“How did you arrive at the conclusion that it was this bullet that shattered the window?”
“We found an empty clip at the crime scene and another empty clip in the murder weapon, which was found in the defendant’s vehicle. This weapon holds seven rounds per magazine. Fourteen shell casings were found on the kitchen floor. Altogether thirteen rounds were found either in the victim or in the floor beneath the victim’s head. One fired round is unaccounted for. It’s a reasonable conclusion that this round passed through the victim, broke the glass, and was subsequently lost to us.”
“What is beyond the balcony window?”
“The window overlooks Central Park. We have searched an area of the park but have been unable to locate the spent round.”
“In the ME’s report, it is her view that the bullet that became lodged in the victim’s spine may have killed the victim instantly, or certainly paralyzed her. Given your expertise, what view can reasonably be taken of the head shots after the victim has already sustained a near fatal wound?”
“Passion. To my mind, the head shots were overkill. They were not the work of any kind of professional killer—this was a rage killing.”
“What makes you certain of that?”
“The killer reloaded. And then spent the entire magazine.”
“Are there any official statistics in relation to homicides involving this level of violence?”
“Yes. Where a homicide has taken place in the home, and a high level of damage has occurred to the victim postmortem, statistics tell us that in ninety-four point eight nine percent of those cases, the victim was killed by a spouse or a partner.”
And with that, Zader sat down. My witness.
I stood silently, waiting for Rollins to raise his head from his notes and listen to my question. A whole ten seconds passed before the judge had the courtesy to pay attention. It felt like ten minutes. Noble had time to take a sip of water, then readjust his tie and check his glasses. I had time to think, to worry. Just before Judge Rollins fixed me with a disdainful look, Cooch got up, put a hand on my shoulder, and whispered, “Shake it off, Eddie.”
