David Ellis - In the Company of Liars

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Created:Wednesday, December 03, 2003, 5:19:04 PM

Modified:Thursday, February 05, 2004, 11:04 PM

Deleted:Sunday, February 08, 2004, 3:21 AM

Recycled:Sunday, February 08, 2004, 3:22 AM

“Take us through this, Deputy. What does all this mean?”

“She created the document-meaning she started writing it-on December third of last year. ‘Modified’ refers to when the document was last modified. She last modified that document on Thursday, February fifth of this year.”

“Tell us about the final two rows of information, Deputy.”

“As I already explained, ‘deleted’ is when you remove the document from the hard drive. ‘Recycled’ is when you remove it from the trash. Dumping it a second time.”

“And what does the information here tell us?”

“It tells us that Allison Pagone tried to remove that document from her hard drive on the very early morning hours of Sunday, February eighth of this year.”

“And for context, Deputy-”

“Only hours after we believe Sam Dillon had been murdered,” she says. “And just over two hours after that e-mail was sent from Sam Dillon’s computer.”

“Deputy, you work with computers on a daily basis, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Can you think of any reason why Allison Pagone would feel compelled, in the middle of the night, to try to eliminate any evidence of a document from her computer?”

“Oh, objection,” says Ron McGaffrey. “Move to strike.”

“Sustained,” says the judge.

“I apologize, Your Honor. Why don’t we answer that question another way? Deputy Griggs, did you look at this document that was deleted from the defendant’s computer in the early morning of Sunday, February the eighth of this year?”

“Yes, I did. It was fifty-six pages long. It looked, by all accounts, to be a draft of her next novel. The title wasBest Served Cold.”

“Did you read the document?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Did you find anything in particular in that manuscript that spoke to the time-of-death issue in this case?”

“I did. The novel is about a woman who kills her lover after she finds out he is cheating on her. She kills him in the middle of the day. But she knows she can be placed at the scene of the crime at the time of the crime. So later that night, when she’s at a party, she excuses herself and goes to the bathroom. She slips out through a window, sneaks back over to the dead man’s house, and sends an e-mail from his computer, to make it seem like he was still alive. Then, when she’s questioned, she has an alibi for the time when-”

“Your Honor,” says Ronald McGaffrey, “I’ve been patient. This is a rambling narrative. We object.”

“Let’s keep this question-and-answer, Mr. Ogren,” the judge advises.

“Very good.” Roger Ogren walks over to the evidence table behind the prosecution and carries a set of papers. He drops off one set for the defense. On the top page is the titleBEST SERVED COLD, and beneath that, aNOVEL BY ALLISON QUINCY PAGONE.

“Deputy, is this a true and accurate copy of a printout of the manuscript that was deleted from the defendant’s computer at three a.m. on Sunday, February the eighth of this year?”

“Yes. That’s it.”

Ogren moves the document into evidence. “Take you to page forty-eight, Deputy. Is there a new chapter beginning on that page?”

“Yes, there is. Chapter Five.”

“What is the title of Chapter Five?”

“The title is ‘Alibi.’ ”

“Okay. ‘Alibi.’ Now, if you would, turn to page fifty-one. Are we still on the chapter entitled ‘Alibi,’ Deputy?”

“Yes.”

“And could you read, beginning at the second full paragraph?”

She sits at the desk and pulls up his e-mail. She is not entirely sure what to write or to whom she should send it. It could be anything at all and serve her purposes. All that really matters is that an e-mail was sent from his computer at nine o’clock in the evening, while she is believed to be at a party, and long after she visited his home at noon today. An alibi. Proof of life.

This manuscript, Allison is sure, hurts her in more ways than one. Bad enough that it contains the identical alibi she created here. The fact that she deleted it from her hard drive only hours after returning from Sam’s house speaks volumes. It also shows the judge that Allison can think in diabolical ways. That is not a trait a criminal defendant wants the court to see.

And it hurts her attorney’s theory of a frame-up. They will argue that her fingernail and earring and hair follicle were planted at the crime scene by the “real” killer. But even if they could make that case, how do they explain how the killer copy-catted this exact method of manufacturing an alibi? When Allison was notoriously secretive about her novels in process? When Allison never let anyone read them until they were finished? Who could possibly have known that Allison was writing about this particular alibi-creating method?

“Deputy,” says Roger Ogren. “You weren’t an eyewitness to the murder of Sam Dillon.”

“No.”

“You can’t say from personal knowledge that the defendant killed him.”

“No.”

“And you can’t say from personal knowledge that the defendant went back to Mr. Dillon’s home and sent an e-mail, after his death, to provide herself with an alibi.”

“No, I can’t.”

These are all leading questions, but Allison’s lawyer will not object, because they sound more like questions that would come from her attorney. They are a setup, of course, to what will follow.

“But whatdoes this document you found in the ‘trash’ bin of the defendant’s computer tell us, Deputy?”

The witness nods. “It tells us that whoever committed this crime, and sent this e-mail, followed the exact model of what the protagonist did in Allison Pagone’s next novel. A novel that has not yet been published. That hasn’t even been finished. A novel that, as far as we know, nobody has ever read with the exception of Allison Pagone. To say nothing of the fact that in the middle of the night following Mr. Dillon’s death, she went to the trouble of deleting this document from her laptop.”

Allison’s lawyer objects, a long-winded eruption, and the judge will sustain the objection, but it doesn’t matter. She knows it. The judge will agree, ultimately, with everything the witness just said. Allison copy-catted an alibi from a novel that no one had read, tried to trash the evidence, and got caught.

Ilive next door to Sam Dillon,” says Richard Rothman. He is a scholarly looking man, a former small-business owner in his mid-seventies now, with a long, weathered face and a protruding nose on which his glasses rest.

“Do you recall the evening of Saturday, February the seventh of this year?” asks Roger Ogren. “And if I could direct your attention, sir, to the late hours of the night and the early morning of the following day, Sunday the eighth.”

“I do remember that evening.”

Of course he does. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have no memory whatsoever of a sleepless night. But when later that Sunday morning, squad cars had pulled up all around his neighbor’s home, the memory stuck.

“I often have trouble sleeping,” he continues. “Or I should say, my sleep patterns are very irregular. Since my wife died, I just don’t sleep like I used to. So, I had slept much of that Saturday evening and by eleven o’clock at night, I was wide awake.”

“What were you doing around that time?”

“I was painting. I do watercolors in my sunroom.” Mr. Rothman laughs, a throaty chuckle. “Not much of a sunroom in the middle of February.”