"Not until someone asked her. That's how everything worked with her.
She said she saw the earrings listed on her copy of the warrant when
the police went to the house to execute it, and she happened to have a
pair of earrings that fit the description, so she snuck into Taylor's
toolbox and put them there. We knew it was bullshit right off the bat.
First of all, the list of potential evidence in that case was long,
like it is in any homicide. The earrings were mentioned on one line
six pages back.
"Second, the only description in the warrant was for gold hoop
earrings. If Landry had planted real ones, we never would've known
they weren't Jamie's. The mom says they were identical same diameter,
same width of the metal.
"And finally, I was there when the police executed the warrant. Don't
get me wrong, here. Those MCT guys are as dim-witted as any other
Keystone Kop, but I was there and they at least know how to execute a
fucking warrant. Margaret Landry was not wandering around the house
planting evidence while we were there."
I'll never understand why some people have to temper any comment that
could possibly be construed as a compliment with an insult. I suspect
they think it makes them look knowledgeable. I think it makes them
look mean. If I was lucky, O'Donnell would never feel compelled to
rise to my defense.
"So the only way she could've known to plant those particular earrings
would be if she had seen them," I said.
"Exactly. In fact, of all the details Margaret provided that
corroborated her confession, it was the earrings that most convinced me
of her guilt. On a lot of the other facts, she tried to say at trial
that Forbes had coached her. But the earrings were such a perfect
match, she couldn't explain how Forbes could've coached her about a
pair of earrings in that kind of detail. And she admitted planting
them. I hammered on that in my closing argument, and I'm convinced
that the jury agreed there was no way for Landry to get around those
earrings."
"So what happened when you found out the earrings weren't Jamie's?" I
asked.
"That's when this whole thing changed. I made the call to send Forbes
back in to talk to her. He was a rookie, but he'd developed a good
rapport with her, and we needed to know what the hell was going on.
Forbes told her that was it we were going to stop working with her. She
started crying, saying that he had to believe her and she knew Taylor
did the girl. Forbes did a good job, actually. Stayed tough, told her
he didn't want to hear any more from her, you get the drift. So then
Margaret blurts out that she knows Taylor did it, because she saw him.
Gives the whole confession right there, so no one but Forbes was there
to hear it."
"How big of a problem was that for the case?" I asked.
O'Donnell shrugged his shoulders. "Hell, in retrospect, it was a
problem. He seemed like a kid, didn't have a lot of experience, and
held too many pieces of the investigation together. The defense made
it sound like Forbes was a climber using this case to become a star in
the bureau. Fortunately, the defense didn't realize that Officer
Forbes was none other than Charles Landon Forbes, Jr. I think the jury
figured out that a governor's son doesn't need to manipulate an
investigation to get where he wants to go in city government."
"What about physical evidence? Anything to corroborate the
confession?" I asked.
O'Donnell shook his head. "Zilch. Zimmerman was missing for months
before the body was found. No DNA, no hair, no fibers. We were lucky
to have a firm ID and cause of death. Her license was in her pocket,
and we used dental records to confirm it. ME called the strangulation
based on damage to the small bones in her neck." O'Donnell looked at
his watch. "Hey, I hope this has been helpful, but I really gotta
run."
"Shit, I was hoping you could tell me more about that confession. You
around tomorrow?"
"Nope."
Asshole didn't even pretend to explain. The big boys around here take
off on dry days for golf, and the DA pretends he doesn't know about it.
I guess I'd gotten the maximum amount of help a person can get out of
Tim O'Donnell in a day. Actually, this might be it for the month.
"Alright, I can probably get the rest from Forbes. Thanks for the
help."
As I was walking out of his office, I heard O'Donnell mutter behind me,
"Hey, you should thank me for not finishing the rest of the story. Now
you've got an excuse to be alone with Chuck Forbes after hours."
I spun around and glared at him. "What the hell is that supposed to
mean?"
"Hey, fire down, Kincaid. I thought you had a better sense of humor.
The staff up here goes nuts over the guy every time he's in here. I
was just having some fun with you thought it wouldn't hurt you to spend
some time with the guy."
I decided he was telling the truth. He didn't know anything. "That's
something I don't joke around about. I don't date people at work,
especially cops."
"Alas, Kincaid. It's our loss."
As I started to walk out of his office, I stepped back and asked, "Oh,
by the way, do they have anything yet on that letter? It would help
shut Lopez down if I could show that we got the right bad guys in the
Zimmerman case."
Looking down at his desk, he studied an open magazine. "Letter's still
at the crime lab. If we find out who sent it, I'll let you know."
I imagined myself saying, At the lab, my ass. I hear the lab got
diddly. Instead, I nodded. "I'd appreciate it."
"Now get back to your trial," he said. "Let me know how it turns out.
Bad enough that you took it to begin with. You better not crash and
burn."
I tried not to let his gloating piss me off, since he did stay past his
normal five o'clock punch-out to help me. But his help was something
of a mixed blessing. Now if my case went down in flames, he could say
he filled me in on what I needed to know about the Zimmerman case and
had warned me from the start. No pressure.
Eleven.
Lisa was giving a statement to Dan Manning outside the courthouse when
I walked out of the building. I wished I'd gotten to him first. No
doubt he was already envisioning this case as his first Pulitzer, or at
least a true-crime paperback and a made-for-TV Sunday-night movie.
While Lisa spun a story involving sex, double crosses, and justice
delayed, I was left to make a lame and predictable statement that the
defense was reaching for tall tales out of desperation and that I
trusted the jury to weigh the evidence impartially and ascertain the
truth. Not exactly headline material.
Grace met me at the door of her loft apartment in the Pearl District
with a big hug and an even bigger glass of cabernet. I had called
ahead from the office, so she knew I was in a bad way.
When she was quiet after I finished relating the events of the past few
days, I looked at her with exaggerated dis
appointment. "Grace, as my
lifelong best friend, you are under a standing obligation to feed my
outrage. Right now, for example, you should be stringing together a
litany of insulting names for my archenemy, Lisa Lopez." Nothing.
"Here, I'll get you started: Snake. Slime. Skunk. Skank. I'm only
on 5. You want to start with the t's?" Still nothing. "Grace?"
She woke up from her daze and looked me in the eye. "Before I say
anything about your case, I just want to clarify something. You're
back with Chuck?"
I rolled my eyes and did my best to voice exasperation. I sounded like
Kendra. "You don't have to say it in that tone, Grace."
"Well, Sam, it's pretty much the tone you seem to reserve for him."
"And that's usually after a couple of martinis when I'm angry at him
for breaking my heart. This time feels different, Grace. We've both
grown up a little, and he's doing more than just trying to flirt his
way into bed with me. He's really opened up to me about this trial and
the Zimmerman case, and he's great with Kendra "
She interrupted me. "What? You think because he brings CDs and Happy
Meals to your witness that you're going to have little babies together
and live happily ever after? Jesus, Sam, Chuck's a nice guy, but look
at the twits he goes for. Not to mention the fact that he makes your
life chaotic, and you hate chaos."
"Maybe some chaos would be good for me."
That made her laugh. "You're kidding, right?"
When I didn't smile at that, she rubbed my forearm, which was resting
on the table. "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry. You do what's right for you, and
I'll support whatever that is. Just be careful. I'm worried about
you."
"Yeah, me too, but I want to do this." I changed the subject. "So,
can we move on to the trashing of my nemesis now?
She smiled, but I could tell she was feeling serious. "It just seems
strange," she said.
"There's nothing strange about it, Grace. Lisa Lopez is completely
scummy slime and has absolutely no ethics. She'll do anything to win,
even for a dirtbag like Derringer."
"But you said yourself that she sat there passively through your entire
case."
I tried not to reveal my impatience. "Right," I said slowly, "but now
it turns out she was doing that so she could hide her ridiculous theory
until the last minute, when I'd be caught off guard."
"But, Sam, look at the big picture. When did she think of this? The
anonymous letter to the Oregonian wasn't printed until the middle of
your case. If she got the idea from the letter, what was her plan
before then? It seems too coincidental that she just happened to be
putting on a lame defense and then decided in the middle of the trial
to capitalize on this anonymous letter thing."
I could see where she was headed. "Right," I said. "I've thought
about that too. It explains why she seemed up to no good ever since
the start of the trial: she was planning to tie the case to the
Zimmerman murder all along, and the anonymous letter happened to come
up right before her opening."
"Which is also a major coincidence," she said.
"It's really not, Grace. Think about it: the Supreme Court announced
it was upholding Taylor's sentence right before my trial started. Lisa
heard about it and saw a convenient defense. The anonymous letter was
also a reaction to the court's decision, probably by some death penalty
opponent or someone just looking for attention. Two totally unrelated
decisions, but both pretty predictable in hindsight. Taylor's the
first real test of Oregon's death penalty; it was bound to attract some
nut jobs
Grace nodded in agreement, and I moved on to bad-mouthing Lisa Lopez as
we finished the bottle of wine. As usual when I visited Grace, I left
feeling better than when I arrived.
On the way home, my cell phone rang. The caller ID read private. Real
helpful. Maybe if I hadn't answered, I would have at least had a
recorded message to give the police.
"Long dinner, Kincaid. Were you and that hot little friend of yours
doing a little eating out up there? If I'd known, I might've followed
you up."
The voice was vaguely familiar, but too muffled to place. "Who is
this?"
He was already gone.
I spent the weekend reviewing the Zimmerman file behind locked doors.
Between checking out every sound, double-checking my alarm, and
periodically turning off the lights to look out my windows, I didn't
feel even half prepared when I headed back to court on Monday
morning.
One thing had become clear to me, though: There was no doubt that the
apparent inside knowledge. Either she had something to do with the
murder or someone had told her these details. No wonder the defense
had turned the focus to Chuck.
As furious as I was about Lopez's dirty tricks, the fact remained that
there was no evidence tying the assault on Ken-dra to the Zimmerman
murder. I also had what is known in the legal world as a butt load of
evidence against Derringer Kendra's ID, the shaved pubic hair, the
detailing of his car a day after the assault, and the fingerprint. It
would be harder work than it first appeared, but I still had a solid
case.
Also, the weekend media coverage was better than it might have been
under the circumstances. Manning's piece appeared as a sidebar to a
follow-up story on the Zimmerman case and anonymous letter. The
feature story didn't contain any new information, just a summary of the
case against Landry and Taylor and an update on their status in prison.
She was a model prisoner who counseled young women; he was a head case
who spent most of his time in solitary.
Manning's sidebar couldn't add much. Just that a defendant was
claiming during his trial that whoever killed Jamie Zimmerman had
committed the crime of which he stood accused. Seeing the assertion in
black and white, without any evidence to support it, made me see how
truly lame it was.
At 9:30 a.m. on Monday, when Lesh took us back on the record, I settled
into my chair for what promised to be a long morning.
Jake Fenninger was Lisa's next witness. Fenninger was the patrol
officer who popped Kendra last Christmas when she was working up in Old
Town. Kendra had already talked about the arrest on direct during my
case-in-chief, but Lisa's hands were tied. She couldn't get into the
Zimmerman case until she plowed through the witnesses she had included
on her defense witness list, most of whom had nothing to say other than
that Andrea Martin might be a trespasser. Compared to them, Fenninger
was riveting.
Lopez walked Fenninger through his background before he started to get
hostile. Fenninger was another New York transplant. He'd worked in
NYPD's infamous street crimes unit before joining PPB a few years ago.
Considering where he got his training and the fact that his dad was
reportedly a hard-line Irish detective from th
e throw-down school of
the NYPD, Fenninger was a pretty good cop.
I suspected he'd moved west to escape the pressures of being an old
school cop and sincerely wanted to do the right thing on his beat.
Unfortunately, I think he still bought into Giuliani's propaganda that
a "zero tolerance" approach to street crime was for the good not only
of the community but also of the suspect. It can be true in some
instances, but Fenninger had gone too far with Kendra.
Once Lopez had gone through Fenninger's background and current duties
with PPB, she turned to Kendra's Christmas arrest.
"In your role as a patrol officer in Old Town, did you have the
opportunity to encounter Kendra Martin on Christmas of last year,
Officer Fenninger?" Lisa asked.
"Yes, ma'am, I did."
Like most cops, Fenninger probably figured that using "ma'am" and "sir"
in his testimony might counter the stereotypes some people have of
police. They forget that anyone who's been stopped for speeding has
heard the same polite tone and still wound up with a whopper of a
ticket.
"And how did she come to your attention that day?"
"I was patrolling in my vehicle and noticed a girl on the corner of
Fourth and Burnside. She came to my attention because, quite honestly,
just about anyone walking around close to midnight in Old Town on
Christmas is probably up to no good, but she looked like she was only
fourteen years old or so. I figured she was probably a street kid out