Lisa Scottoline - Running From The Law

“Is the district attorney testifying now?” I said, but I was wondering how Kate would take the news about the fingerprints. We had prepared her for it by saying Fiske had been to Patricia’s to drop work off.

“Overruled,” Justice Millan ordered, banging the gavel loudly. “Quiet in the back, or I’ll clear the courtroom. Ms. Morrone, save your objections for cross-examination. Let the witness tell me what she saw, ladies.”

Ryerson looked at me sideways, like a driver edging a slowpoke out of the fast lane. “Thank you, Your Honor. Now, Mrs. Mateer, you are positive it was Judge Hamilton you saw?”

“Absolutely. Also he was quite tall, about six feet, and of muscular build, like Judge Hamilton. It was him.”

“What did you see the defendant do next?” Ryerson asked.

“I saw him leave the carriage house and get into his car.”

“Was he running?”

“No, not running, but kind of hustling, with his head down, as if he didn’t want to be seen.”

I made a note and heard Fiske shift in his chair.

“What did the defendant do then?”

“He got into his car and backed out of the driveway. It’s rather long and curving, so you have to reverse quite a ways to get to the street.”

“So you got a good look at the car?”

“Objection,” I said.

Justice Millan smiled. “Relax, Ms. Morrone. She’s young, she can lead a little.”

Ryerson wasn’t sure whether she’d been insulted. “Mrs. Mateer, do you know what kind of car it was?”

“I do. It was a black Jaguar, a newer model.”

“How do you know it was a Jaguar?”

“I should know a Jaguar when I see one.”

There was mild laughter from the gallery, and Mrs. Mateer drew her scarf closer to her throat.

“I see,” Ryerson said. “Now, did you testify that the back end of the car was facing you as you looked out the window?”

“Yes. It had to reverse.”

“Did you see the license plate on the car?”

“I did. I saw the license plate the whole time. It said GARDEN-2, so I remembered it.”

“And you saw that very clearly?”

Come on. “Objection, Your Honor,” I said.

Justice Millan nodded. “Sustained. Mrs. Ryerson, don’t push your luck.”

“Mrs. Mateer, did you see the defendant do anything else unusual?”

I leaned forward. “Objection, Your Honor. The question assumes the actions described were unusual.”

Ryerson leapt to her pumps. “There certainly is something unusual about a man scurrying out of a private home, jumping into a car, and driving quickly in reverse.”

Justice Millan smiled tightly. “Oh, really? I had an ex-husband who did just that.”

The gallery laughed, but I didn’t. I was thinking of something. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Something was wrong, bothering me. I sat upright, listening.

“Then what did you do, Mrs. Mateer?” Ryerson asked.

“I waited a little, I wasn’t sure what to do. It all seemed so odd to me. Then I decided to call the police. They came and found Patricia, dead. Murdered.”

“Thank you. I have no further questions,” Ryerson said, and sat down.

Justice Millan eased back in her chair. “Ms. Morrone, your turn.”

I stood up to cross. “Mrs. Mateer, let me begin with just a few general questions, if I may. Do you know that the distance from your kitchen window to the carriage house is about a hundred yards?”

“I suppose.”

“And there are trees in front of the carriage house, aren’t there?”

“There are some trees.”

I looked at my notes. “At least five large oaks, with very thick trunks, lie between your house and the carriage house, isn’t that right?”

“I suppose.”

“Also, there’s a tall hedge between the two, isn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“It’s about five feet, is it not?”

“Yes, but we keep it trimmed.”

“But it hasn’t been trimmed recently, has it?”

“No. It was due in early June, but the lawn service isn’t overly reliable. Sometimes in the summer months, the service gets too busy, what with people spraying chemicals everywhere, willy-nilly.” She shuddered.

“It was raining the afternoon of June 18, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The storm began about three o’clock, didn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Objection,” Ryerson said. “What’s the relevance of this weather report?”

Fuck you. “Your Honor, the relevance will be clear if the young Mrs. Ryerson can be patient.”

“Good. Overruled,” Justice Millan said, and Ryerson flounced into her chair like Scarlett O’Hara. Fiddle-dee-dee.

I cleared my throat. “Do you recall that the sky became very dark as the storm came up, Mrs. Mateer?”

“Yes. It got quite dark. It was the tail end of that tropical storm. Wind was gusting, trees were knocked over. Conestoga Road was blocked for some time, by a branch, in fact.” Her gold bangles jingled as she folded her hands on her lap.

“Mrs. Mateer, wasn’t it raining hard when you saw this person?”

“Yes.”

“It was a driving rain, was it not?”

“A drenching rain, I would say. I was pleased to see it, as a gardener.”

I thought of asking her about the garden club but dismissed it. With what was to come next, it would sound like I was bringing Kate into it. “Did the person you saw have the hat down over his or her eyes?”

“Only partly.”

“Do you remember if they held the brim of the hat, as if to shield themselves from the rain?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m not sure.” Mrs. Mateer closed her eyes, trying to remember, and her eyelids fluttered slightly. “Maybe, I don’t know,” she said, nodding, and Ryerson made a note.

“Did you notice any jewelry on his or her hand as they held the hat brim?”

She paused. “No. He may have been wearing gloves, I don’t recall for sure.”

“Did the person have the collar of the raincoat up around their face?”

“I don’t recall.”

Ryerson made another note.

“And you testified the person was rushing, too, so you only saw him or her for a short time?”

Justice Millan harrumphed from the dais. “Do we have to say ‘his or her’ every time, counselor? It sounds so politically correct.”

The reporters laughed. Justice Millan gave good copy.

“Your Honor, this witness’s identification of the defendant is sketchy at best. I can’t concede it was even a man that she saw.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Millan said. “But dump the ‘his or her.’ I’ll remember you have a continuing objection. I’m a woman judge, if you haven’t noticed.”

The gallery chuckled.

“Mrs. Mateer, you testified that you saw this person rush to a black Jaguar?”

“Not exactly. I testified that I saw Judge Hamilton rush to the Jaguar.”

Ouch. “And he got into the car and reversed out the driveway?” I tried to picture it in my mind.

“Yes.”

And the car was backward. “He didn’t turn around in the driveway and drive out with the front of the car facing you?”

“No, there’s not enough room, one has to reverse out. It’s quite inconvenient.”

I paused a minute and the courtroom fell silent. A reporter coughed in the back, and there was whispering. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was nagging at me as I pictured Fiske running to his car and jumping in.

“Mrs. Mateer,” I asked, “did this person enter the car from its left side or its right?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“When the person got in the car, did he enter on the right side or the left?”

She blinked. “I don’t recall. The driver’s side, of course.”

I was building on something, but didn’t know exactly what. I got the same sort of hunch at the poker table, and followed it every time. “You say the driver’s side, Mrs. Mateer, but was it the left or the right side of the car?”