David Ellis - The Last Alibi

Typically, the lawyer would save these arguments for closing, when she is free to argue anything she wants from the evidence. She wouldn’t ask them of a witness who could fight her. But Shauna has a couple of reasons for doing it now. One, she wants the reporters to hear it. She wants them to take this information and publish stories and call for an end to this prosecution, to build public pressure.

And second, she knew Roger Ogren would object. She hoped he would object. Because now the prosecution looks like it’s hiding the truth. The white hat Roger Ogren is wearing has just received a stain or two.

Jason

“Since we’re on the topic of the inventory of Mr. Rivers’s apartment in early August,” says Shauna, “did you or your colleagues look at any keys or key chains recovered from his apartment?”

“Yes, we did,” says Austin. “He had a key ring that held six keys. I remember when we first searched his apartment on August second, they were hanging on a hook by his front door. Anyway, yes, this weekend we took a look at the keys on that key ring.”

“Detective, did you visit Mr. Kolarich’s house yesterday?”

“I did.”

“And who was with you when that happened?”

“I was accompanied by Detective Raymond Cromartie, Katie O’Connor from the county attorney, and you, Counselor.”

“What was the purpose of the visit?”

“To see if any of the keys on Marshall Rivers’s key chain opened Mr. Kolarich’s door.”

“And did any of the keys from Marshall Rivers’s key chain fit into the lock on Mr. Kolarich’s front door?”

He nods. “Yes, one of them did.”

That juror in the front row, the one who tends to visibly react-the one who leaned back in his chair and looked around at his colleagues when he watched me lie in the police interview-now repeats that gesture, making faces at the woman next to him, only this time I daresay his allegiance has switched to the defense.

“May I approach the witness?” Shauna asks.

“Yes.”

“Defense Exhibit Four,” she says, holding up a clear bag containing a single, rather shiny silver key. “Is this the key that you found on Mr. Rivers’s key chain that opened Jason Kolarich’s front door?”

“That’s it,” Austin says.

Shauna holds up the bag for the jury to see. No need to formally publish it, to actually hand it to the jurors. It’s just a basic house key. But it will mean everything to Shauna in closing argument. Marshall Rivers jumped Alexa as she entered Jason’s house, and he kept her key as a souvenir. He wanted Jason to know he’d killed her.

The mystery of Alexa’s missing house key is no longer a mystery.

Jason

“Detective,” says Shauna, “just one final area of inquiry. We talked previously this morning about the fact that Marshall Rivers injected fentanyl in his victims. Did you find evidence at his apartment that he was doing this?”

“Yes. When we searched his apartment, we found over a dozen fentanyl patches, which can be broken down and cooked and then used for injection. We found a pack of unopened hypodermic needles. And we found three used hypodermic needles in a plastic sandwich bag.”

“And back on August second, when you discovered these three used hypodermic needles, did you test them for the presence of fentanyl?”

“We did. All three tested positive for fentanyl.”

“Did you find anything else on those hypodermic needles?”

Austin raises a fist to his mouth and clears his throat. “One of them contained trace DNA of the first two victims in this case, Alicia Corey and Lauren Gibbs,” he says. “The second hypodermic needle contained trace DNA belonging to the fourth victim, Nancy Minnows. And the third needle showed trace DNA of the fifth victim, Samantha Drury.”

“So. . one needle had the first two victims’ DNA, another had the fourth, and another had the fifth.”

Austin nods. “Correct. And as I said before, the third victim, Holly Frazier-the needle used to inject her had broken off and was left at the crime scene. That’s how we learned about the fentanyl in the first place.”

“Sure.”

That was no accident, the needle breaking off at the third crime scene. Marshall Rivers wanted the cops to know all about the fentanyl.

“As for why Rivers used the same needle for the first two victims,” says Austin, “it’s anybody’s guess.”

Except mine. I don’t have to guess. That’s the needle Marshall Rivers stuck behind my framed prosecutor’s certificate on my office wall. At that point, he had only killed the first two women. He needed their DNA on that needle so it would implicate me.

“Now, Detective, did you recently submit those three hypodermic needles for additional DNA testing?”

“Yes, we did. Last Friday, following the testimony of Mr. Kolarich, we decided to have those three needles checked for the presence of Alexa Himmel’s DNA.”

“Did you expedite that testing?”

“We did. Yeah, I think our county lab set a new record. We got the results back last night, Monday night.”

“And?” Shauna turns toward the jurors.

Detective Austin says, “The hypodermic needle that contained trace DNA of the first two victims, Alicia Corey and Lauren Gibbs, also contained trace DNA belonging to Alexa Himmel.”

Check, please.

The judge immediately bangs her gavel, and the additional sheriff’s deputies manning the courtroom rush to silence the roar from the spectators. It takes them a while. This is too splashy for the reporters to resist. Especially when taken with everything else that has come out today-the note on Marshall’s computer that jibes with my story, my house key on Marshall’s key ring. With the possible exception of Roger Ogren and Katie O’Connor, there is not a single person in this courtroom who thinks I killed Alexa Himmel.

That was one busy needle. First, it was injected into Alicia Corey. Then it was sunk into the skin of Lauren Gibbs. Then it was hidden behind a certificate on my wall. Then it was tucked safely away in my bedroom.

Then it was sunk into Alexa’s jugular vein.

But ultimately, it made its way back to the apartment of Marshall Rivers.

It’s kind of ironic, when you think about it. Marshall was using that needle to implicate me for murder. And it ends up being used as evidence that exonerates me of a different murder.

“Ms. Tasker,” says the judge, flushed, after she finally brings the courtroom back to silence. “Do you have any further questions?”

Shauna glances at her notes, then at me. I write something on a piece of paper and show it to her. She looks at it and walks over to me. There is such a looseness to her stride, such a relaxed look on her face, that I almost don’t recognize her.

“You never said what happened to Marshall,” I whisper.

“I didn’t? I guess I didn’t,” she acknowledges. “But everyone knows what happened. Everyone knows all about him.”

We look at each other for a long time. Then she leans in and whispers into my ear.

“He killed himself,” she says. “Right, Jason?”

Shauna draws back, looks me over with a poker face. But she doesn’t wait for an answer. She returns to the podium to address the judge.

Marshall Rivers was found dead in his apartment on the evening of Friday, August 2, nearly three full days after Alexa was found dead in my town house. And two days after his rent was due. His landlord let himself in and found Marshall lying in a pool of blood. The police responded, and it wasn’t long before the search of that apartment led them to conclude that Marshall Rivers was the infamous North Side Slasher. The bloody knife, the hypodermic needles, the packets of fentanyl, all told the story. The suicide note on his computer didn’t hurt, either.