“Then we ask for a mistrial. A mistrial based on misconduct on the part of the defense so that jeopardy does not attach and we can try this sucker again.”
The judge turned to me. “Mr. Carl?”
“If the question of the trial is who killed Hailey Prouix, then I could hardly imagine any testimony more relevant, Your Honor.”
“Testimony about abuse of the victim a decade and a half ago at the hands of this witness?” said Jefferson.
“Yes.”
“Testimony about the death of that boy in that quarry?” said Jefferson.
“Absolutely.”
“It all seems rather distant, Mr. Carl,” said the judge.
“Exactly, Your Honor,” said Jefferson.
“Still, Mr. Jefferson, the question of relevancy is solely a question of whether the evidence makes some fact of consequence more or less likely to have occurred. Do you think that the testimony of Mr. Cutlip has no bearing on the question of whether it was the defendant who killed Miss Prouix?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Really. The testimony raised no doubts?”
“Not reasonable doubts, Judge. And as to the question of prejudice-”
“The question is not prejudice, Mr. Jefferson, but unfair prejudice. My guess, Mr. Carl, is that your new theory is that Mr. Cutlip, out of fear of Mr. Forrest’s complaints regarding the money, and with the added spur of jealousy, sent… Bobo, is it?”
“Yes, Judge.”
“Sent Bobo to kill Guy Forrest and that Bobo, by mistake, because of the low light and the comforter covering the whole of the victim’s body, killed Hailey Prouix instead. Will that be your theory in closing?”
“Yes, Judge.”
“What about the mysterious lover?” sneered Jefferson.
“A minor detail wrong,” I said.
“I find there is sufficient evidence to support that argument,” said the judge. “I also find the testimony of Mr. Cutlip relevant to the new defense theory and, though certainly prejudicial to your case against the defendant, not unfairly prejudicial in any way. I also find that a sufficient foundation was laid for the introduction of the letters read into testimony, foundation based on the testimony of the prosecution’s own witness. My only question, Mr. Jefferson, is why aren’t you bringing this Bobo in for questioning right now?”
“We’re looking for him, Judge,” said Detective Breger. “He has apparently disappeared from his home in Henderson. The Nevada police have put an APB out on his car.”
“The white Camaro.”
“Yes, Judge. The white Camaro.”
“If you want a warrant to bring him in, I’ll sign it.”
Just then there was a knock on the door, and the judge’s secretary poked her head into the office. “There’s a phone call for Miss Derringer.”
“Excuse me,” said Beth as she stood. We all watched as she left the office.
“Telemarketers,” I said. A soft spurt of nervous laughter died at the judge’s impatience.
“Mr. Jefferson, my expectation is that you will immediately put this witness into police custody and inform the proper officials from the state of West Virginia of what happened in court today. At the same time I will have an attorney appointed for his benefit. I will not, however, put this witness back on the stand simply to plead his Fifth Amendment privilege. That would be unfairly prejudicial. I suppose we’ll have to wait to see exactly what his new lawyer advises before continuing. Now, Mr. Jefferson, one more question.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Do you really think, after hearing what they heard, the jury will convict Mr. Forrest of murder?”
“The evidence against Mr. Forrest remains very strong.”
“You think so, do you?”
“He was the only one in the house, it was his gun, his fingerprints are on the gun, there is a strong monetary motive-”
“Yes, yes, yes, but what about Mr. Cutlip’s admissions?”
“I believe that Mr. Carl is a skilled attorney, practiced in the arts of deception and trickery, who was able to badger and twist an old man to say pretty much anything he wanted the man to say.”
“Thank you,” I said, “I think.”
“Maybe your opinion of Mr. Carl’s skills is higher than mine,” said the judge, “but I don’t think that old man said anything he didn’t want to say. You haven’t yet closed, your case is still not complete, and Mr. Carl here can always screw things up, I have no doubt, but you understand that a certain threshold has to be met before I can even allow a case to go to the jury.”
“I understand the law, Your Honor. We believe we have already met that threshold.”
“I suppose you’ll find out for certain when the defense makes its motion at the close of your case.”
The door opened, and Beth came back into the chambers, but instead of returning to her chair, she stood at the door. “Can I see you for a moment, Victor?” she said.
Judge Tifaro nodded. I stood and walked to her and leaned over, letting her whisper in my ear as all watched.
“Judge,” I said, “could you excuse us? Something has turned up to which we need to immediately attend. Mr. Jefferson and the detectives will want to come along, too. It might be better if we just recess everything until tomorrow morning.”
“What is it, Counselor? What have you found?”
“Bobo.”
52
THE SEABRIGHT Motel squatted on a desolate commercial section of Route 1 leading to the Delaware shore, surrounded by outlet centers and strip malls. The exhaust and sound from six lanes of traffic covered the two-story cement block like a fulsome blanket. The only sign of the bright sea still twenty miles away was the aqua painting above the lit neon VACANCY. It was a weekday and summer was over and most of the spaces in front of the building were empty. Those cars still parked were battered and old, their shocks sagging from the weight of sad, rambling stories. Except for the white Camaro in the corner, the white Camaro with the silver Nevada plates and the right side dented in all to hell.
Bobo had fallen back into motel land, and he had fallen back hard.
We came down in a caravan: a black unmarked van, carrying Beth and me, Jefferson, one of his assistants, Breger and Stone, followed by two Delaware State Police cars we had teamed up with in Dover, their lights off and their sirens silent.
Slowly we passed the motel and then parked in the lot of a huge discount store next door to the SeaBright. The six of us, along with four uniformed state troopers, congregated at the edge of the high chain-link fence separating the two properties. Two of the troopers held shotguns at the ready.
“So what do we do now?” said Troy Jefferson. “Has the Delaware judge signed that warrant?”
“Not yet,” said one of the troopers. “They’ll radio us when he does.”
“You want us to go in anyway?” said another of the troopers. “We can knock and ask if he wants to talk.”
“He’s probably jumpy as it is,” said Breger. “I don’t think the sight of four uniforms is going to calm him any.”
“Let me wander over and see if he’s still there,” I said. “He spots me, I’m just a guy in a suit. My man’s waiting for me on the other side of the fence. Once we know the situation, we’ll be better able to figure something out.”
“Just find out where he is,” said Jefferson, “and where we can all stand unobserved, and then come right back.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t be a cowboy,” said Stone.
“No threat of that,” I said. “I’m too smarmy to try anything brave.” I winked at her before I skulked around the fence to the corner of the motel’s lot.
In the shadow of a large sign advertising a mini-golf just a bit farther down the strip, I found Skink waiting for me. He was wearing his brown suit and fedora, leaning against the sign pole, tossing something up and down in his hand, looking every inch the insouciant private dick out of a different era.