“He was devoted to Zack,” Larry replied. “Simon was about six years younger, so they didn’t exactly share a childhood. But Zack was kind of a hero to him. You know, the cool older brother. Though with Simon, it seemed to be more than the usual.”
“Because?” I asked.
Larry paused for a moment. “You’ll probably get a better sense of this from the parents, but I got the impression that Simon had been a timid kid, probably got pushed around some in school. From what people told me, Zack was a lot tougher and much more social. He’d protect Simon when he could, though what with the age difference and all, he wasn’t around a whole lot.”
“What can you tell me about Lilah?” I asked.
Larry’s expression, soft while reminiscing about Simon, suddenly hardened, deepening the lines in his face and giving his eyes a flat, dead look. “Lilah was a real looker and no dummy. Put herself through law school, eventually got hired in one of those big corporate law firms.”
“A partner?” I asked.
“Nah, too young,” he replied, shaking his head. “She was just a new junior associate when she killed Zack. Though, from what I heard, she was on the partner fast track.”
I paused, struck by Larry’s reaction to Lilah. Whenever her name came up, everything in his demeanor changed-his voice, his features, his posture-the hostility, even rage, still burned through his pores. I’d expected him to be bitter. No prosecutor likes to lose. But Larry’s attitude didn’t strike me as the typical anger we all feel when a guilty defendant walks out the door. It was much deeper, much more personal. Now, I admit that I’ve occasionally run into defendants who made me want to run them over with a bus…repeatedly. But once the case was over, I let it go-win or lose-as we all do. Larry’s fury, both in its magnitude and persistence, was unusual…and troublesome. “What was your take on Zack?” I asked.
Larry shrugged. “An ambitious guy on his way up. Popular with the troops, smart, good-looking.” He turned and pulled out the murder book. He opened it to a page, put the book in front of us, and pointed to a photograph.
Zack was in uniform, and the photo looked like the kind taken to commemorate a formal event. Judging by how young he seemed, my guess was that it was taken when he graduated from the police academy. An open smile on a pleasant, even-featured face, warm brown eyes, regulation-length brown hair, a nose that might’ve been broken in the past and never set properly-not quite rugged, but fairly handsome.
“Was he a good cop?” I asked.
“Good, but from what I hear, more into the politics than the police work,” Larry said.
“Think we’ll have any problems getting his friends to talk to us?” Bailey asked.
A not-guilty verdict can make friends and family a little less than cordial toward the prosecution.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Larry replied. With a bitter note, he added, “Unlike some in this office, they understood it was a softheaded jury.”
I nodded sympathetically, though since we hadn’t heard the evidence, I wasn’t ready to commit to the “crazy jury” theory yet. It was time to find out what kind of case Larry’d had against Lilah.
28
“So how did this go down?” I asked. “Did the defense try to claim this was a burglary gone bad?”
“No,” Larry replied. “They couldn’t. There was no evidence of ransacking at all.” He turned and pulled another binder out of the cabinet behind his desk. “Check out the crime scene photos.”
He flipped to the section and turned the binder around so we could have a look. The house was as neat as a pin.
“I’ll get you a copy of the murder books so you can see it all for yourself,” Larry said.
“But if it wasn’t a burglary, then the defense had to have claimed that someone targeted Zack,” I said.
“Sort of,” Larry replied. “You didn’t read the news articles?”
“I figured I’d get a straighter story from you,” I admitted.
That elicited a tiny smile. “Wise of you.” Larry stared over my shoulder, collecting his thoughts, then he began.
“Lilah claimed they had breakfast together and he was still in the kitchen when she left for the office. It was Zack’s day off. We know he went down to the basement to work on one of his projects. He was an amateur carpenter, and he’d set up a workbench down there. Lilah claimed that as she was pulling out of the garage, she noticed a new gardener at the house across the street, someone she hadn’t seen before.”
“You verify that?” I asked.
“Didn’t pan out,” Larry replied. “Neighbors all denied having hired someone new, but gardeners sometimes bring in temporary help, so we had all the gardeners haul in all their workers, and we took photos. Either one neighbor or another recognized all of them.” Larry narrowed his eyes, concentrating. “I think you have those photos in the murder books.”
“You showed them to Lilah?” Bailey asked.
“Of course. Said none of ’em looked like the guy she’d seen.”
Of course she did. If Lilah was the killer, it’d be pretty dumb to identify her straw man-what if he had an alibi?
Larry continued, “Lilah said that after she got to work, she realized she’d left a file she needed at home. She went to lunch, and when she came back for the file, she found the body.” He paused, his eyebrows drawn together. “As I recall, Rick-the IO-nailed her on an inconsistent statement about that, but you’ll have to ask him for the details. Anyway, she said when she saw it, she threw up.” Larry’s tone was sardonic. “It was a pretty grisly scene-if someone just stumbled on it without warning, that’d be a natural reaction.” He nodded toward the murder book. “Check out the photos.”
Of all the crime scenes I’d ever seen-and I’d seen plenty-this was one of the worst. The body lay on the basement floor in the middle of a sea of blood. The head was severed from the spine, the arms and legs had been chopped off at the joints, and the body was hacked up as well, leaving gaping mouths through which intestines extruded.
A wife throwing up at the sight of her husband’s mutilated body tended to show she’d been shocked by the sight-an implicit indication that she wasn’t the killer. She certainly could’ve thrown up after seeing what she’d done. But someone who has the stones to commit an ax murder doesn’t strike me as the squeamish type. Or she could’ve made herself throw up to create the impression that she was innocent-but it would’ve been pretty sophisticated to even think of, let alone have the presence of mind to do.
“What did the crime scene analyst say?” I said.
“Crime scene analyst confirmed there was emesis on the floor that probably came from Lilah, and the coroner confirmed that they’d both eaten the same breakfast.”
“Where’d the murder weapon come from?” I said, tapping the ax shown next to the body in the crime scene photograph.
“Their garage,” Larry replied. “Which was usually kept locked. And, no, there were no signs of forced entry into the garage.”
“Score another point for the good guys,” I said.
“Just a half point,” Larry said. “A neighbor-one who didn’t particularly care for Lilah-said Zack sometimes left it outside in the backyard. The ax did have some rust and weathering, so that much was true.”
“Did you get anyone to blow up her timeline for when she left for work, got to work, left work?” Bailey asked.
“That unfortunately came up equivocal.” Larry sighed. “One neighbor swore she saw Lilah pulling out later than usual, at ten a.m., which would’ve been right after the murder. But another one was fairly sure she saw Lilah driving down the street at nine fifteen a.m.”
“She could’ve driven out earlier, come back in time to do the murder, then left again,” I pointed out.
“Sure, and I argued that to the jury, but the coworkers’ testimony muddied the waters,” Larry replied. He paused and stared at the wall behind me as he recounted the statements in impressive detail. “She was normally due at work by eight thirty a.m. Some of the staff swore she wasn’t there until after ten a.m., but others were sure they’d seen her by nine at the latest.” Larry tilted his head. “The testimony wasn’t particularly helpful, but it didn’t kill me either.”