Nancy Grace - Murder in the Courthouse

Usually a man of very few words unless he was on the witness stand, Piper had chewed Finch’s ear off about the intricacies involved in the gangland murder case that brought him all the way from his digs at the crime lab in Atlanta to Savannah that morning.

Finch scanned the front steps. A full hour had passed. No Hailey. He headed back in the courthouse lobby. Had she come back for him? He checked outside the bathrooms and again, no sign of her.

Maybe she left something in the courtroom again. Finch headed up the elevator back to the Adams trial. Entering the courtroom, he saw testimony had resumed. He was sure Hailey would be back any minute. Over her cold, dead body would Hailey Dean ever miss a word of testimony.

The defense had taken over. Again. The judge looked peeved and the state’s attorneys were hunched forward over their notes at their counsel table.

The prosecutors were no match for a flamboyant performer like DelVecchio. He was prancing back and forth in front of the judge’s bench like a Lipizzaner stallion, whose jumps and maneuvers displayed the highest classical dressage. He was having a field day.

Fincher felt sick. Where was Hailey? She couldn’t miss this. He glanced back over heads and shoulders toward the swinging doors at the back of the courtroom. DelVecchio’s voice cracked like a whip. Finch jerked his attention back to the front of the room.

“So let me understand more clearly, Dr. Richards. An errant fishing line, plastic, nylon, or otherwise. Could that be responsible for Julie Love’s strangulation? Is it possible ?”

“You mean if a nine-months pregnant mom was out swimming in the choppy waters of the Savannah River and she encountered a fishing line? Are you serious?”

Dr. Richards was clearly not in agreement with DelVecchio’s theory as to how Julie had mysteriously obtained ligature marks around her neck. The defense went livid, sputtering and red in the face. He was clearly not used to a government employee, even a medical doctor, fighting back.

“Your Honor, again, I must cut off the witness and ask that you direct Dr. Richards to answer only the question I ask him and not elaborate any further. No musings. I am the lawyer and he is on cross-examination! I have a right under the Constitution for a thorough and sifting cross-examination in order to protect the rights of my client, Mr. Adams. And in so doing…”

“Mr. DelVecchio, we’ve all read the Constitution. That’s enough, counsel. Save the speeches. Sustained.” The Honorable Judge Luther Alverson, wearing an extremely pained expression, turned toward the Chatham County Medical Examiner, now visibly sweating along his brow and mustache line.

“Dr. Richards,” Alverson began wearily, “you have testified in my courtroom many, many times. Defense counsel DelVecchio is correct as a matter of a black-and-white reading of the law. I now direct you to answer his question.”

“But, Judge Alverson, I don’t want to be responsible for misleading this jury…” The medical examiner looked distraught.

“I understand, Doctor. But under the law you may not explain or elaborate upon cross-examination. The jury will decide the truth of the matter. Proceed, counsel.”

DelVecchio rubbed his hands together in delight. Fincher imagined a filthy fly poised over a laden dinner table.

“Again, for the record, Dr. Richards.” DelVecchio turned with a flourish toward the jury and, leaning over the jury rail, looking directly at the jurors, he repeated his earlier-thwarted grand finale.

“Dr. Richards, how long have you been the chief medical examiner here in Chatham County?”

“Twenty-two years,” Richards answered in a flat tone, averting his gaze completely away from DelVecchio. He looked like a POW held hostage by DelVecchio, who in return flashed his bejeweled fingers in a dramatic backward pointing motion at the doctor, never once breaking eye contact with the jurors, who sat transfixed by the debacle.

“And isn’t it true, Dr. Richards, that it is possible that poor Julie Love Adams could have sustained ligature strangulation markings around her neck from a wayward fishing line as her body floated in the Savannah River? Isn’t it possible?”

“It’s possible,” Richards answered, staring numbly. He obviously still had a little fight left in him though, as he began to add, “But practically imposs…”

“ Objection! Unresponsive!” DelVecchio bellowed it so as to drown out the doctor. “Let the record reflect Dr. Richards responded it is possible the ligature strangulation markings around Julie Love Adams’s neck came from a dislodged fishing line, netting, or otherwise!”

“So reflected.” Alverson looked as though he could use an antacid.

Faring no better, the state’s prosecutor looked like he’d just been dealt a knockout punch. Huge, swelling sweat stains darkened the armpits of his navy suit, the perspiration long ago having leaked through antiperspirant, pit hair, a short-sleeved white T-shirt, a dress shirt, and the dark suit. He’d bought it on sale at Jos. A. Bank and was convinced it looked like it was from Brooks Brothers.

Leaning forward and peering between backs, heads, and shoulders, Garland Fincher could barely spot Julie Love’s mom and dad seated in the front row behind the state’s table. Her father sat stiffly upright with his arm protectively around his wife. His skin beneath his short-sleeved dress shirt was worn and suntanned from years working outdoors on construction sites.

Julie’s mom, on the other hand, was bent forward, her face downcast. She was holding a white handkerchief to her eyes with both hands. Although her shoulders heaved occasionally, she made not a sound as she cried silently into her husband’s hanky out of fear she’d be ejected from court over an emotional display. The prosecutors had warned her of this before the trial had started.

The pink and sky-blue ribbon she’d worn on her blouse in honor of Julie and baby Lily had been confiscated by the bailiffs. They apologized profusely, explaining DelVecchio had objected to a display of support for the state in front of jurors. The state getting trounced at every turn by DelVecchio wasn’t helping. And now, the Chatham County Medical Examiner was being crushed right before her eyes.

Fincher could see Dana Love’s shoulders shaking. Thunder raging inside him, he glanced across the aisle at the defense supporters. They were taking up the first three rows behind Adams’s team. Tish Adams and her husband led the pack and Fincher looked over just in time to see Tish turn toward the jury, a triumphant gleam in her eye. The satisfied look of a winner rubbing it in to the losing team was hard to miss.

“The state requests a recess.” The defense attack on the ME had been so thorough, the lead prosecutor didn’t bother to stand when he addressed the court.

“So granted.” Alverson rose and left through the door beside his bench.

As he left, Finch stood up with the rest of the courtroom and headed toward the exit. Whipping out his cell phone, he immediately called Hailey as soon as he got out into the hall.

After several rings, it went straight to voicemail. That was weird. She’d have to be dead to not pick up a call. Especially during a trial.

Scanning the front sidewalk, no Hailey. Sauntering down the wide granite steps as if he owned the place, Finch looked both ways and then reached into his pocket and glanced at his cell phone to make sure she hadn’t called while he was on the elevator.

No good. Not a single call in the last five minutes, anyway.

As he headed toward the parking garage, people that normally moved with the flow of pedestrian traffic suddenly became a human wall, knotted tightly at one corner. Making his way through, he saw why.