“I know. But still, I-I-” He wiped his hand across his brow. “Oh, hell. I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Ben smiled reassuringly, then crumpled his coffee cup and tossed it into the trash can. “Come on, Ray. We’ve got work to do.”
Ben suspected that the testimony from Detective Sergeant Murphy, the man who headed the investigation into the Faulkner family slayings, would be more damning. And he was right.
“Did you have any leads?” Bullock asked him, after several preliminary questions establishing his credentials and describing his examination of the crime scene.
“We were working on the presumption that the motive was money, and that the killer was either a psychopath or someone who knew Frank Faulkner personally. Or both. As you know, Faulkner was relatively wealthy, and there were signs that a robbery had taken place either before or after the murders. A safe in Faulkner’s bedroom had been jimmied open and everything inside had been removed.”
“So how did you proceed?”
“Given the familiarity the killer seemed to have with Faulkner’s home and schedule, I started by trying to learn who might’ve been at the victims’ home recently.”
“Were you able to do so?”
“Yes. I found a Filofax-that’s a pocket calendar-organizer-on Faulkner’s dresser. Inside, I found the names of three men who had been to his home during the previous week. One was a banker with whom he was negotiating a loan to buy a piece of real estate in south Tulsa. One was an insurance salesman who came out to investigate some hail damage to their chimney. And one was a fellow chemist he knew from his place of work.” He paused and glanced in the direction of the defense table. “That was Ray Goldman.”
“And did you then investigate the defendant?”
“I investigated all three of them. Goldman was the one that paid off.”
“How so?”
“I found the defendant walking home from work. Apparently he lived about a mile from the plant, and it was his habit to walk to and from. I stopped him, searched him. That was when I found-”
“Objection, your honor. I renew my pretrial motion to suppress.” If Ben could prevent the jury from learning the officer found a handgun when he searched Ray, it would be a big break for the defense. Of course his motion was denied, but when his turn came, Ben made that the main focus of his cross.
“Did you have a warrant to conduct a personal search?” Ben asked.
“You know I didn’t.” In the short time it took Ben to approach the stand, Murphy’s demeanor had been transformed. Where once had sat the compliant, terse, unemotional witness, now was the antagonistic, argumentative paladin for truth, justice, and the American way. “Probable cause for the search was based on his violation of Oklahoma ’s laws on open containers. Misdemeanor in my presence. Clear basis for arrest, then search.”
Ben knew the story, having reviewed the officer’s statement so many times he could recite it from memory, but he wanted to make sure the jury was with him before he proceeded. “Would you explain that, please?”
“As I drove past the witness, I saw that he was drinking a beer. Out of a can. A Bud Light, to be specific.”
“You saw the can?”
“I saw the top part of it. It was wrapped up in a paper bag. Common practice for people drinking in violation of the liquor laws.”
“But you could see enough to tell it was an alcoholic beverage?”
“Definitely. And as you know, counselor, you can’t walk down the streets carrying an open container with an alcoholic beverage. That’s against the law. So I parked my car and ran after him.”
“And when you caught up to him, was he in fact carrying a beer?”
“No, not then. He must’ve ditched it somewhere. Probably saw me coming and tossed it over a fence or down a gutter.”
“But you searched him anyway.”
“Of course. The man broke the law. Standard procedure.”
“Were there any other witnesses to this alleged offense?”
“No, I was working alone.”
“Did you ever find the alleged beer can?”
“I can’t say that I ever looked. After the search, I had better things to do.”
No doubt. Ironically, unlike carrying an open beer can, carrying a concealed weapon was not illegal in Oklahoma, so long as the gun was registered. And since all of the Faulkners were killed by a knife, the gun did not immediately link Goldman to the crime. But the assailant had used a gun to corral and control the family, and Frank Faulkner had a wound on his head that could have been caused by the butt of a gun. It was hardly proof positive, but it was the best piece of physical evidence the prosecution had. If Ben could get Judge Kearns to suppress it, it could dramatically alter the course of the trial.
“Pardon me for saying so, Officer Murphy,” Ben continued, “but I’m having a hard time understanding how you could see a man on the street from a distance, while in a moving car, at the end of the day after the sun has begun to set, see only the top part of the can, and still know immediately that it was a beer.”
“Chalk it up to experience. I’ve been on the police force for almost twenty years.”
“Which is what inclines me to think that perhaps you followed my client, searched him illegally, then concocted this story about the beer to justify the search.”
“Your honor, I protest!” DA Bullock shot to his feet, a look of outrage plastered across his face. “Counsel is desperately trying to create some impropriety where none exists. I find this grossly offensive. And I deeply resent the suggestion that this state’s sworn and trusted law enforcement officers might engage in improper practices.”
“If that’s an objection,” Judge Kearns said, “it’s sustained.” Ben suspected that Kearns, being an African-American in his sixties living in the Southwest, was probably less outraged than Bullock by the suggestion that a law enforcement officer might do something improper.
“Tell me,” Ben said, taking a step closer, “how far away from my client were you when you first spotted the beer?”
Murphy shrugged. “About twenty feet. Maybe a little more.”
“And you had no problem identifying the can he held as a beer?”
“None at all.”
“Fine.” Ben reached into the pocket of his suit coat and withdrew a large tape measure. “Twenty feet it is.” Good thing they were in the large courtroom. Ben hooked the tape measure to the rail in front of the witness stand and started reeling the tape backward.
Murphy watched, a small crease appearing between his eyebrows. “What’s that for?”
“Sorry,” Ben said. “I’m the one who gets to ask the questions.” He continued pulling the tape backward, taking his own sweet time about it. Let Murphy sweat awhile, Ben thought. Let the jury get interested. They’ve been sitting in those chairs all day. They must be ready for something a little more lively.