- Margolin - The Last Innocent Man

Monica finished combing her hair and put on her coat. Her key witnesses, Grimes and Ortiz, were scheduled to testify today. If they survived David’s cross-examination, she might not have to put on Johnson.

“AND WHAT HAPPENEDthen, Mr. Grimes?” Monica asked. The motel clerk had just taken the stand and had been preceded by several laboratory technicians, a supervisor from the Motor Vehicles Division who established Stafford’s ownership of the Mercedes, and Detective Crosby, who testified about the search of Stafford’s house.

“I gave her the key and she left. I went back to readin’, and the next thing I know, I hear these screams.”

David leaned forward and began making notes about Grimes’s testimony on a yellow legal pad. Larry Stafford sat beside him at counsel table, looking businesslike in a conservative dark-blue three-piece suit. David had intentionally dressed more casually than his client to give the jury an initial visual impression that Stafford, not he, was the defense attorney.

“Where were the screams coming from?” Monica asked. David heard Stafford shift nervously in his seat. He glanced at his client and caught him looking over his shoulder at the crowded courtroom. Stafford was looking for his wife, and David felt a slight pang of conscience that momentarily dampened his otherwise expansive mood. David knew where Jenny was and why she was late for court this morning. They had spent the night together, and she had returned home to change while he dressed for court.

“Did you notice Jenny this morning?” Stafford whispered, as if reading David’s thoughts. There was an edge to Larry’s voice, and an air of tension around him that David had noticed since the start of the trial. David expected a person on trial for murder to be nervous, but he sensed that there was something else eating at his client and that it concerned Jenny.

“She’ll be along,” David whispered back. “And don’t look so down in the mouth. Take notes and concentrate on the witnesses, like I told you. I don’t want the jury to see your interest lag for one second.”

“I couldn’t tell who was screamin’ at first,” Grimes continued, “so I went outside in the lot. The motel rooms are behind the office, and I had to go around the corner of the building. That’s when I seen this guy come bustin’ out of twenty-two.”

“Did you get a good look at the person you saw running away?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t. He was runnin’ too fast and there’s a lot of shadow up there.”

“Go on.”

“Well, by now the screamin’ had stopped, and I looked up at twenty-two to see if anyone’d come after the one that run out. I seen the door was wide-open, but no one was comin’, so I started across the lot to see what’s what. Just then this car came from the rear parking lot. It was the same one the girl’d come in, but she wasn’t in it.”

“Who did you see in that car?”

“It was a man drivin’, but I didn’t get a clear look at him.”

Monica stood up and walked across to the witness box. “Mr. Grimes, I hand you what has been marked as State’s exhibit number five, and I ask you if you recognize the car in that picture.”

Grimes took the color photograph of Stafford’s Mercedes and studied it carefully.

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s like the car that girl came in.”

“Thank you,” Monica said, returning the exhibit to the bailiff. “After the car left the lot, what did you do?”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t too anxious to find out why there’d been all that screamin’, but I got to thinkin’ that someone might be hurt up there, so I went up to the room. That’s when I seen ’em.”

“Who was that?”

“Well, the lights were out, so I didn’t see her at first. The man was lyin’ with his head against the bed. He was bleedin’ and I thought he might be dead. Then I seen he was breathin’, so I went to use the phone. That’s when I saw her. You see a lot workin’ in the hotel business, but that was terrible. I ran outa there and called the cops from my office.”

“And did the police come?”

“A few minutes later. An ambulance came too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimes. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Nash,” Judge Rosenthal said, nodding in David’s direction.

David took a final look at the report Detective Crosby had made of his interview with Grimes, and Terry Conklin’s report of their interview. It was quiet in the courtroom, and David could hear a juror shifting in his seat and the nervous drumming of Stafford’s fingers on the wooden table.

“Just a few questions, Mr. Grimes. As I understand your testimony, you did not get a good look at the man who was driving the Mercedes while Darlene Hersch was registering.”

“That’s right.”

“And you did not get a good look at him when he ran out of the room where the murder was committed?”

Grimes nodded.

“Did you get a look at him as he drove out of the parking lot, after the murder?”

“Like I said, not a clear look.”

“Did you see his hair well enough to describe it to the jury?”

Monica had been going over her notes and listening to David’s examination with half an ear. Now she lowered her pen and concentrated. She could tell from David’s tone that something was up.

“Yeah, I seen his hair,” Grimes answered. “Just for a second, but I seen it.”

“Did the driver of the Mercedes have blond curly hair like Mr. Stafford?”

Grimes leaned forward and studied Larry Stafford.

“Could he turn around?” Grimes asked, turning toward the judge. “I only seen him from the back.”

“That’s up to Mr. Nash,” Rosenthal replied.

“Certainly,” David said, and Larry stood up and turned his back to the witness stand.

“I don’t remember it lookin’ like that,” Grimes said decisively.

“How would you describe the driver’s hair?”

“Well, like I said, I only seen it for a second, but it looked brown-colored to me, and he had one of them cuts that came down a ways.”

“Thank you. I have nothing further.”

Monica reread the police report on Grimes rapidly. There was nothing about hair color in the report. She turned to the third page and saw why. The son of a bitch was going back on his statement to the police. This was bad, because Grimes had the appearance of an honest witness. His testimony about the hair color could be crucial in a close case.

“Mr. Grimes,” Monica asked, “how well lit is the parking lot at the Raleigh?”

Grimes tilted his head back and furrowed his brow. “Not too good over by the side near Tacoma Street, but there’s plenty of light from that McDonald’s. Bothers some of the customers sometimes.”

Monica felt her stomach tighten. Damn, she’d just made it worse. She hated surprises in trial, and this was a bad one. She decided to back off on the lighting.

“Was the murderer’s car moving fast when it left the lot?”

“I’ll say. It just come whippin’ around that corner. He screeched his tires when he did that, and that’s why I looked over.”

“So you just had a brief view of him?”

“Right. Like I said, I wasn’t concentratin’ on him much. I was lookin’ up at the room.”

“Do you remember being interviewed by Ronald Crosby, a Portland police detective, on the evening of the murder?”

“Was that the fella that bought me coffee?”

“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Grimes.”

“Nice fella. He even sprung for a doughnut. Not as tight as some a them cops I know.”

Someone laughed in the back of the courtroom, and the judge rapped his gavel. Monica waited for the jury’s attention to return to the witness stand.

“You never told Detective Crosby that the man had long brown hair, did you?”