As far as Detective Krone could determine, no one had seen Pete Duffy racing from one course to the next in an effort to hurry home. No one saw him return to the North Nine after the time of his wife’s death. No one had been seen entering or leaving the Duffy home. No neighbor reported a strange vehicle near the house, but, then, privacy was expected at Waverly Creek. They lived behind gates “out there,” and the neighbors were not accustomed to watching the streets. All in all, it had been a perfectly quiet morning with nothing unusual reported, until, of course, Emily Green showed up.
Detective Krone testified that he and his team were in the house for almost ten hours. He was there when Pete Duffy arrived in a rush around two thirty and saw his wife still on the floor. He appeared stunned and distraught.
Like all good prosecutors, Jack Hogan was slow and methodical, but he began repeating questions that sought the same answers. After two hours, Clifford Nance began to object, but Judge Gantry was in no hurry. When Hogan finally said, “No further questions,” the judge announced a fifteen-minute recess.
Theo hated to admit it, but he was getting bored. It was almost four p.m., and school was out. He wanted to find Julio and make sure Bobby was okay, but knew that wouldn’t happen. Bobby was being guarded and Julio had little contact with him.
Ike said, “I think I’ve had enough for one day. Are you staying?”
Ike, of course, had the luxury of watching the entire trial. Theo’s time was limited. He replied, “I guess so. Who’s the next witness?”
“Well, first Clifford Nance gets a crack at Detective Krone. Not sure he’ll get much, but he’ll try and beat him up.”
“Might be fun. I’ll stick around. See you tomorrow.”
Ike tapped him slightly on the knee and left. Theo wanted to pull out his phone and text Mr. Mount, but didn’t dare. In Judge Gantry’s courtroom, anyone caught using a cell phone was escorted out, banned from coming back, and fined a hundred dollars. Not even Theo could talk his way out of such a jam. The phone stayed in his pocket.
Clifford Nance began his cross-examination of Detective Krone with a few simple questions. He established that Myra Duffy stood five feet, seven inches, and weighed 131 pounds at the time of her death. She was forty-six years old, fit and healthy, and had no physical limitations, as far as Krone knew. She played a lot of tennis, jogged occasionally, and was really into yoga. Pete Duffy was three years older, four inches taller, and weighed 175 pounds. According to his own statement, he exercised little and smoked two packs a day. In other words, she was not a small woman; he was not a large man. She was in better shape than him.
Was it reasonable to believe Pete Duffy could grab his wife, get his hands around her neck, and strangle her to death without the slightest evidence of a struggle? She had no broken fingernails to indicate she resisted. He had no scratches on his hands, arms, or face to indicate a desperate fight.
Yes, it was reasonable, the detective explained. First of all, she knew and trusted him. Thus, he was able to get close to her without alarming her. If he stood behind her, and grabbed her with both hands around the neck, and applied intense pressure for only a few seconds, she would become unconscious. Keeping the pressure on, she would die in about four minutes.
Manual strangulation was a common form of murder in domestic matters, Krone said.
Nance bristled at this, and asked Krone how many similar murders he had investigated. When Krone couldn’t think of another, Nance attacked him as an unreliable witness who said too much. The cross-examination quickly spiraled downward, with both men getting angry and interrupting the other. Judge Gantry barked at both and tried to calm things, but the fight was on.
As Nance hammered away, Krone admitted he was no doctor and had no medical training, not even classes for homicide detectives. Krone admitted he wasn’t sure how the murderer grabbed and strangled the victim. He admitted Pete Duffy was not thoroughly examined for scratch and claw marks. He said he knew that Duffy was wearing two golf gloves, and said perhaps this protected his hands from her efforts to free herself.
“Perhaps!” Nance roared. “Maybe this! Perhaps that! What if this! Suppose that! Are you certain of anything, Detective?”
The longer they argued the worse the detective looked, and Nance was scoring points by pecking away at his testimony. After an hour of brutal questioning, Nance said he was finished. Judge Gantry quickly adjourned for the day. Everyone needed a break.
Chapter 18
Late Monday afternoon Theo was in his office, trying to concentrate on his homework, with his dog snoozing at his feet and his troubled mind wandering in many directions. His main thoughts, though, were of Bobby Escobar and the nightmare awaiting the poor kid when he stepped into the courtroom. Clifford Nance would pounce on him like a rabid dog and probably make him cry. He would call him names. He would accuse him of cutting a crooked deal with the prosecution so he could remain in the country. He would tell the jury that Bobby would say anything to save his own skin. There was no way to prepare Bobby for what was coming.
And it was all Theo’s fault. If not for Theo, Bobby would have never been identified as a witness. If not for Theo, Pete Duffy would be hiding in South America and none of this mess would be troubling him.
He felt perfectly miserable and wished he’d never seen a courtroom. For the first time he could remember, the law made him sick. Maybe he’d become an architect instead.
He was jolted from his misery by a knock on his rear door. Judge jumped up and offered a weak growl, but only to show Theo that he was awake and doing a proper job of guarding the place. Judge really wasn’t that brave and preferred to avoid trouble.
It was Julio, frightened and unsure of what he was doing. He’d been there once before, but the thought of going to a downtown law office made him uneasy. He sat in the only other chair in the room and seemed overwhelmed.
“What’s up, Julio?” Theo asked.
“Well, how is the trial going?” When they first met at the homeless shelter, he spoke with a thick accent. Now, though, the accent was barely noticeable, and Theo was amazed at how quickly Julio was learning English.
“Okay, I guess,” Theo said. “They let me skip school today and watch everything. How’s Bobby?”
“They got him in a motel in another town, wouldn’t tell me where because the police warned him not to tell anybody. But he’s really scared, Theo.” Julio paused and looked nervously around the room. It was obvious he had much more to say and wasn’t sure if he should do so. But he gritted his teeth and plowed ahead. “You see, Theo, Bobby has a friend, a guy he works with, an American, and this guy was off today. He went to the courtroom, sat up in the balcony, and watched the trial. He told Bobby that things are real bad, said the lawyers called him a criminal and a liar and all sorts of bad stuff. This friend told Bobby he’d be crazy to walk into that courtroom. Said the lawyers will jump on him and make him look stupid. Said that the jury is already convinced that Bobby is just another lying illegal worker who’ll say anything to help get a green card. Is this true, Theo?”