Philip Margolin - Gone ,but not forgotten

Page did not answer and Betsy did not force him to.

"Mr. Page, there were six victims in Hunter's Point, including a six-year-old girl. Can you think of any reason why a responsible public official would close a case like that and publicly declare an individual to be the killer, if there was any possibility that the murderer was still at large?"

"Maybe the officials wanted to allay the fears of the community."

"You mean the public announcement might be part of a ruse to make the killer lower his guard while the investigation continued?"

"Exactly."

"But the investigation didn't continue, did it?"

"Not according to Detective Gordon."

"And the murders stopped after Mr. Waters was killed, didn't they?"

"Yes."

Betsy paused and looked directly at judge Norwood.

"No further questions, Your Honor."

"Mr. Highsmith?" judge Norwood asked.

"I have nothing further of Mr. Page."

"You can step down, Mr. Page."

Page stood slowly. Betsy thought he looked tired and defeated. She took satisfaction in this. Betsy did not enjoy humiliating Page-he seemed a decent sort-but Page deserved any pain she inflicted. It was clear he had arrested Martin Darius on the flimsiest evidence, made him spend several days in jail and slandered him. A public defeat was a small price to pay for that kind of callous disregard of his public duty.

"Any other witnesses?" the judge asked.

"Yes, Your Honor. Two, both brief," Highsmith answered.

"Proceed."

"The State calls Ira White."

A chubby man in an ill-fitting brown suit hurried forward from the back of the courtroom. He smiled nervously as he was sworn. Betsy guessed he was in his early thirties.

"Mr. White, what do you do for a living?" Randy Highsmith asked.

"I'm a salesman for Finletter Tools."

"Where is your home office?"

"Phoenix, Arizona, but my territory is Oregon, Montana, Washington, Idaho and parts of Northern California, near the Oregon border." Where were you at two p.m. on October eleventh of this year?"

The date rang a bell. Betsy checked the police reports. Victoria Miller was reported missing that evening.

"In my room at the Hacienda Motel," White said.

"Where is that motel located?"

"It's in Vancouver, Washington."

"Why were you in your room?"

"I just checked in. I had a meeting scheduled for three and I wanted to unpack, take a shower and change out of my traveling clothes."

"Do you remember your room number?"

"Well, you showed me a copy of the ledger, if that's what you mean."

Highsmith nodded.

"It was 102."

"Where is that located in relation to the manager's office?"

"Right next to it on the ground floor."

"Mr. White, at approximately two p.m. did you hear anything in the room next to yours "Yeah. There was a woman yelling and crying."

"Tell the judge about that."

"okay," white said, shifting so he could look up at judge Norwood. "I didn't hear anything until I got out of the shower. That's because the water was running. As soon as I turned it off, I beard a shriek, like someone was in pain. It startled me. The walls in that motel aren't thick. The woman was begging not to be hurt and she was crying, sobbing.

It was hard to hear the words, but I'd catch a few. I could hear her crying, though."

"How long did this go on?"

"Not long."

"Did you ever see the man or the woman in the next room?"

"I saw the woman. I was thinking of calling the manager, but everything quieted down. Like I said, it didn't last long. Anyway, I dressed for my appointment and I left around two-thirty. She was coming out at the same time."

"The woman in the next room?"

White nodded.

"Do you remember what she looked like?"

"Oh, yeah. Very attractive. Blonde. Good figure."

Highsmith crossed over to the witness and showed him a photograph.

"Does this woman look familiar?"

White looked at the photograph. "That's her."

"How certain of that are you?"

"Absolutely positive."

"Your Honor," Highsmith said, "I offer State's exhibit thirty-five, a photograph of Victoria Miller."

"No objection," Betsy said.

"No further questions," Highsmith said.

"I don't have any questions for Mr. White," Betsy told the judge."

You're excused, Mr. White," judge Norwood told the witness.

"State calls Ramon Gutierrez."

A neatly-dressed, dark-skinned young man with a pencil-thin mustache took the stand.

"Where do you work, sir?" Randy Highsmith asked.

"The Hacienda Motel."

"That's in Vancouver?"

"Yes."

"What's your job there?"

"I'm the day clerk."

"What are you doing in the evenings?"

"I'm in college at Portland State."

"What's your field of study?"

"Premed."

"So you're working your way through?" Highsmith asked with a smile.

"Yes."

"That sounds tough."

"It isn't easy."

"Mr. Gutierrez, were you working at the Hacienda on October eleventh of this "Yes."

"Describe the layout of the motel."

"It's two stories. There's a landing that goes around the building on the second floor. The office is at the north end on the ground floor, where we have the rooms."

"How are the rooms numbered on the ground floor?"

"The room next to the office is 102. The one next to that is 103 and so on."

"Have you brought the check-in sheet for October eleventh?"

"Yes," Gutierrez said, handing the deputy district attorney a large, dull-yellow ledger page.

"Who was checked into Room 102 that afternoon?"

"Ira White from Phoenix, Arizona." Highsmith turned his back to the witness and looked at Martin Darius.

"Who was checked into Room 103?"

"An Elizabeth McGovern from Seattle."

"Did you check in Ms. McGovern?"

"Yes."

"At what time?"

"A little after noon."

"I am handing the witness State's exhibit thirty-five.

Do you recognize that woman?"

"That's Ms. McGovern."

"You're certain?"

"Yeah. She was a looker," Gutierrez said sadly.

'-Then, I saw her picture in the Oregonian. I knew her right away."

"To what picture are you referring?"

"The picture of the murdered women. Only it said her name was Victoria Miller."

"Did you call the district attorney's office as soon as you read the paper?"

"Right away. I talked with Mr. Page."

"Why did you call?"

"It said she disappeared that night, the eleventh, so I thought the police might want to know about the guy I saw.,

"What guy?"

"The one who was in the room with her."

"You saw a man in the room with Mrs. Miller?"

"Well, not in the room. But, I saw him go in and come out. He'd been there before."

"With Mrs. Miller?"

"Yes. Like once or twice a week. She would register and he would come later." Gutierrez shook his head.

"What I couldn't figure out is, if he wanted to sneak around, why did he drive that car?"

What car?"

"This fantastic black Ferrari."

Highsmith searched for a photograph among the exhibits on the clerk's desk, then handed it to the witness.

"I'm handing you State's exhibit nineteen, which is a photograph of Martin Darius's black Ferrari and I ask you if it looks like the car driven by the man who went into the room with Mrs. Miller?"

"I know it's the car."

"How do you know?"

Gutierrez pointed at the defense table. "that's Martin Darius, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Gutierrez."

"He's the guy."

"Why didn't you tell me about Victoria Miller?" Betsy asked Martin Darius as soon as they were alone in the visiting room.

"Calm down," Darius said patiently.

"Don't you tell me to calm down," Betsy responded, infuriated by her client's icy composure. "Damn it, Martin, I'm your lawyer. Don't you think I would find it interesting that you were screwing one of the victims, and beat her up, the day she disappeared?"