Steve Martini - The Judge

Lenore and I exchange a knowing glance. We had both assumed that the girl struck her head on the metal corner of the tabletop during a fall. Now we are confronted with suspicions that it may have been more than this.

“Anything on the condition of the body?” says Lenore.

This sends Harry scurrying for other notes. He finds what he’s looking for.

“Her attire didn’t leave much to the imagination. A pair of white nylon panties, and a cotton top. That and the blanket the killer wrapped her in,” he says. “Oh. And there was a large bath towel wrapped around her head.”

I look at Lenore.

“Probably to keep blood off the interior of the killer’s car,” she says.

“You’d think the blanket would have done that,” I say.

She gives me a shrug.

“The report notes some bruising on the victim’s throat. Probably the result of the violent confrontation leading to death, according to the cops,” says Harry.

“Did they do a rape kit exam?” says Lenore.

Harry looks for the report, finds it, and pages down with one finger. Flips the page.

“Yeah. Here it is. According to the report, pathologist did it, but no findings.”

“What does that mean, negative result?” I ask.

“Not necessarily. Standard instructions from our office,” says Lenore, “was not to disclose anything except the essentials in the early reports. They’ll tell you they did the report, but not what they found.”

“I thought it was supposed to be a search for justice,” says Harry.

“That’s what we want the information for,” she says. “Just us.”

There is a long history of mandatory discovery in this state, something that used to be a one-way street with the prosecution disgorging all of its information to the defense. But the worm has now turned, and recent laws demand reciprocal discovery. The cops are experts at hide-the-ball, something we are still learning.

“Semen in the victim would be critical evidence,” I say. “Especially if the perpetrator was a secretor.” This could lead to a blood typing, or more to the point, a DNA match.

But Harry is troubled by some other obvious point, something that Lenore and I discussed that night after leaving Hall’s apartment.

“Why would the killer move the body? Seems an inordinate risk,” he says.

There is no rational answer to this. But then homicide is not a rational act. That those who perpetrate it might act illogically is the rule rather than the exception. It is why so many are caught.

Harry doesn’t buy this.

“The glasses I can understand,” he says. “People panic, drop things. Their business card at the scene,” says Harry. “But take a dead body and move it. I could understand if the place belonged to the killer. Move the body. Mop up the blood. But it’s her apartment There’s no evidence that she lived there with anyone except her child. At least the reports don’t disclose any roommates.”

It is one of those imponderables. Lenore shakes her head.

“What if somebody else moved the body?” I say.

“That’s crazy,” she tells me. “Makes no sense. Why would anybody do it?”

I scrunch up my face, a concession that I do not have a better answer. I make a mental note to see if somehow we can work this crazy act, the movement of the body, into our defense.

“Let’s talk about the child,” I say.

“Little girl,” says Harry. “Five or six.” He can’t remember so he paws through the pile of paper. “Here it is. Five years old,” he says. “Name is Kimberly.”

“Where was she that night?” I ask.

“She was there,” says Harry.

Lenore’s gaze meets mine like metal drawn to a magnet. This is the first time we have heard this. The little girl has not been mentioned in the news accounts; apparently she’s being shielded by the cops.

By this point I’m stammering. “Did she see anything?”

“The notes aren’t clear,” says Harry.

“Where was she in the apartment?” She wasn’t in her bed when I looked, but I can’t tell Harry this.

“Cops found her in a closet. In the hallway,” he says. “Huddled up in the shadows.”

The door that was open a crack, that I peered through.

Lenore has the look of cold sweat as her eyes lock on mine.

“We have to find out what she saw. Get a specific order for discovery,” I tell him. “We need to nail it down early.”

“What about the witnesses?” says Lenore. “Any of the neighbors see or hear anything?”

“A statement from one upstairs neighbor,” he says. “She heard something that could have been a scream about seven-thirty.”

“It could fix the time of death,” I say. “See how this fits in our case.”

“Anything else?” Lenore means witnesses.

“Not that night,” says Harry.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“One of the neighbors said she heard a lot of arguing from Hall’s apartment a couple of weeks before. Lotta noise. Angry words. A male voice,” says Harry. “Next day, Hall comes out of her place with a shiner.”

“Any clue as to the male voice?”

Harry shakes his head. “If the cops know, it ain’t in their report.”

“Check with the neighbor,” I tell him. “What about the guys who found the body? In the alley?”

“Transients, all three. Names we have. Addresses?” He gives a shrug. “Sixteen hundred Dumpster Manor,” he tells me.

“How do we find them if we want to take a statement?”

“Good point,” says Harry. “Knock on the lid?”

“Any driver’s license numbers?”

“You gotta be kidding.”

“Fine. What do they say in the report?”

Harry makes a big goose egg with his fingers.

“No statements?”

“Nada. Just their names and a note by the first officer on the scene that they found the body in the Dumpster.”

Harry looks at me. We are thinking the same thing, that this leaves a lot of room for creative investigation. Without a clear statement by these witnesses, they are open to suggestion, the subtle, and not so subtle, shading of recollections. If the witnesses have criminal records they may be subject to pressure by the cops to embellish their testimony, to suggestions of things they did not actually see, such as the car that dropped the body or the person who was driving it.

“We need a specific motion, filed tomorrow morning,” I tell Harry, “demanding all written statements from their witnesses and specifically the three named individuals. You know they would have taken statements,” I tell him.

“They probably have the witnesses on tap.” Harry means in jail.

“You guys are cynical,” says Lenore.

“What? This from lady ‘just us’?” says Harry. “You wanna bet they don’t have ’em on ice? Some trumped-up charge? Vagrancy. Or maybe some interstate federal rap, like defecating in a trash bin. The cops know if they let ’em go, they’ll take the next coal car to Poughkeepsie.”

“Find out,” I say, “if they have them. If so, I want an interview so we can take our own statement.”

Harry makes a note.

“While we’re at it, get the transcripts of all computer transmissions from the patrol cars that night and any copies of radio transmissions. Also subpoena the victim’s telephone records for the last ninety days. Let’s see who she was talking to.”

The kids are getting restless, noisy footfalls on the stairs and a lot of giggling. We are about to lose all semblance of calm.

“Anything else in their notes or reports?” I ask.

“Just one item,” he says. “The police are assuming that she knew her killer.”

“How so?”

“No signs of forced entry,” says Harry. “According to their reports she must have unlocked the door for him. The cops had to find the landlord to get in.”