A Death In Beverly Hills (38 page)

"Objection!"

"I don't know anything about something like that."

"Sustained."

"Did you enter the Travis house on December 31
st
with the plan to steal what you could carry off and then burn the house down to get even with Tom Travis for how he'd mistreated you?"

"No way."

"Objection!"

"Sustained. Put your props away and move on, Mr. Markham."

"What kind of car did you drive when Ms. Travis disappeared?"

"A red '92 Camaro."

"A classic car."

"I like it."

"Did you ever own a van?"

"Never," McGee sneered.

"At the time Marian Travis disappeared did any of your friends or relatives own a van?"

"Not as far as I know," McGee said in a more restrained voice.

"I believe you said your father was dead. What was his name?"

"Walter."

"What's your mother's name?"

McGee paused. "Sheila," he said uneasily as if admitting a sin.

"Hmmm," Markham mumbled as if confused, and picked up a sheet of papers from the defense table.

"According to the Department of Motor Vehicles on the date Marian Travis disappeared Sheila McGee owned a Ford Windstar van," Markham said, handing McGee a certified copy of the DMV registration report.

That shudder you just felt, Ted, was your case beginning to capsize.

McGee's eyes went wide and Markham moved toward the jury so that they could see the witness's expression. In the audience Simon Katz felt as if someone had twisted a knife in his guts. He could guess who Sheila McGee was and her connection to the black van in the photographs. He tried to sit up straight and felt as if he had lost the ability to breathe.

"What color was your mother's van?"

"I don't remember?"

"You don't remember the color of your own mother's vehicle? Try."

"Black or blue," McGee admitted after rubbing his temples in a theatrical attempt to prod his memory.

"Did you ever drive her van around the time that Ms. Travis disappeared?"

"I had my Camaro. I didn't need her van."

"So she was the only one driving it?"

"As far as I know."

"How's your mother's health?"

"Not good. She had a stroke."

"Serious?"

"Pretty bad."

"When?"

"I don't remember."

"Hmmmm. Most sons would remember when their mother had a stroke. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that she had her stroke in September, about three months before Ms. Travis disappeared?"

"I suppose."

"She wasn't driving her black van right after a serious stroke, was she?"

"I don't know."

"You had a set of keys to the van, didn't you?"

"I don't remember."

"What happened to her van?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know. Do you remember putting a want-ad to sell her van in the
LA Times
in January, right after Marian Travis disappeared?"

"I don't remember."

Markham handed McGee and the Prosecutor a sheaf of papers. "Mr. McGee, I'm handing you a copy of the business records subpoenaed from the
Los Angeles Times
showing that
you
placed an ad to sell that van on January 12
th
and that you paid by personal check. Does that refresh your memory?"

McGee made a show of leafing through the pages. "Yeah, I guess I helped my mom out. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing at all. You found a buyer for the van, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"That would be a . . ." Markham consulted his pad, "Lorraine Goodwin?"

"That sounds right."

"In fact, she paid you by certified check." Markham handed McGee a copy of the check before he could answer.

"Yeah," McGee said sourly.

"Is that a copy of the check?"

McGee made a show of examining the page. "Yeah."

"That check is made payable directly to you?"

"Yes."

A moment later it went into evidence.

"Before Ms. Goodwin bought the van, she drove it didn't she?"

"I guess."

"And when she paid you, you must have given her the keys."

"Sure."

"So you had a set of keys to the van, right?"

"I guess so."

"Please take a look at the DMV record form, specifically the license number of your mother's van." Markham handed the page back to McGee. "Now, please take a look at this photograph, Defense twenty for identification." Markham handed McGee one of the photos of the van. "Does the license number on the DMV record for your mother's van match the license place in this photograph?"

McGee stared back and forth at the two documents for fifteen or twenty seconds. "I guess so," he finally admitted.

"So, based on the matching license numbers, the black van in this picture is your mother's van?"

"Sure, so what?"

Markham ignored the question. "Did you ever have a sign made that said 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Did you?"

"Hell no."

"Think carefully. Are you absolutely sure?"

"It's not the sort of thing you'd forget."

"No, it isn't," Markham said, glancing at the jury, then he nodded to one of his assistants who hurried from the room. "Your Honor, if the Court would indulge me for a moment." The doors and opened every eye fastened on Everett Yelley's portly form. Brian marched Yelley up to the bar separating the spectators from the attorneys.

"Mr. McGee that gentleman is Mr. Everett Yelley. He operates Alfred's All Needs Signs. Do you recognize him?"

"No!" McGee almost shouted.

"Do you see that notebook in Mr. Yelley's hand?"

"Yes."

"Those are his business records for the months immediately before Marian Travis disappeared. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that Mr. Yelley has identified you as the person who purchased a plastic stick-on sign bearing the name 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" McGee snapped.

"In due time Mr. Yelley will give his own testimony." Markham nodded and Brian led a confused Everett Yelley from the room.

"Mr. McGee, it's undisputed that your mother owed a black van. It's undisputed that you had the keys to the van. It's undisputed that your mother's van was seen on Tom Travis's street the morning his wife disappeared. It's undisputed that the van had a Sunshine Pool Service sign on it. Mr. Yelley will testify that you purchased such a sign. Look around you, Mr. McGee. Look at the jury. Look at the judge. Even the D.A. knows you were driving that van that day."

McGee's head swiveled like a cornered rat searching for a way out. Sweat began to trickle down his back. After a quick look at the Prosecutor's frowning gaze his shoulders slumped. "All right," McGee said in a whisper.

"All right what?"

"All right, I was in the van, okay? I drove by Tom's house in the van. I was going to rob the place, okay? He owed me!" McGee shouted, looking at Travis.

"So, you--"

"But I chickened out."

"What?"

"I did everything you said but when I got there I chickened out. I saw some old bitty watching me and I didn't have the remote thing to get past the gate. I figured that if I just parked there and fooled with the lock she'd be able to identify me, so I just drove on by and went home." McGee gave Markham and the jury an embarrassed look but Greg caught a feral glint in the stuntman's eyes.
Son of a bitch!

"You never drove your van through the gate?" Markham asked.

"Like I said, I didn't have the remote thing."

"What remote thing?"

"The one that operates the gate."

"How do you know there was such a thing?"

"How else would the people who live there get in and out?"

"Where were you . . . ." Markham began, then paused at the sound of the courtroom doors opening behind him. He glanced back and saw Janson approaching the defense table with an envelope in his hand. "Your Honor, may I have a moment to consult with my associate?"

"A very short moment, Mr. Markham."

Without a word Steve spilled out a set of color pages covered with tables and graphs.

"What the hell does all this say?" Markham whispered.

"Nothing on Marian," Steve said calmly, "but," Steve tapped the second set, "this one's a match to Sarah," he said unable to conceal a wide smile. "Her hair puts her in McGee's van!" Markham made sure that his body screened Steve's joyful expression.

When asked later to describe what he felt at that instant Markham was lost for words. The most recognizable emotion, he decided, was the absence of an emotion, fear. In that one moment the terror that he might see an innocent client convicted slipped away. Taking an extra second or two to compose himself he finally turned back to McGee.

"I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. McGee. Was that December 31
st
the only time you drove your mother's van anywhere around the Travis house?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And on that one occasion, you just drove on by the house?"

"Yes."

"You didn't so much as enter the driveway?"

"That's what I said."

"So Marian Travis was never in your mother's van?"

"No."

"And Sarah, Marian's daughter, she was never in your mother's van?"

"No," Travis said with a little snort.

"Do you know what DNA is?" Markham asked in a suddenly challenging tone.

Ted Hamilton's head snapped up and in Markham' imagination the judge's eyes seemed to emit a peculiar glow.

McGee paused then muttered, "Something that's used to identify people."

"Yes. Did you know that a person's DNA can be identified from only a single strand of hair?"

"Whatever you say."

"I hold in my hand," Markham said, raising the gaily colored pages, "a DNA report on a strand of hair recovered from your mother's van."

Every eye in the room was instantly riveted on the pages, straining to read their secrets.

"What's that got to do with me? That Goodwin lady's had the thing for more than a year."

"I will tell you what it has to do with you, Mr. McGee," Markham said in a ringing voice, then he paused for several seconds to let the suspense build. "This strand of hair found in your black van," he almost shouted, "belongs to Sarah Travis!"

An involuntary gasp echoed through the courtroom and in the first row, a young woman began to cry. Simon Katz sat back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.

"It--"

"Don't speak! I know everything."

"I just--"

"I know everything!" Markham shouted. The forensic team had also found blue fibers in the van.

"You couldn't bring yourself to kill Sarah so you bound her with silver duct tape and wrapped her in a blue blanket. Do you remember the blue blanket?"

"I don't know--"

"Stop lying!" Markham ordered. "I know everything." Mentally crossing his fingers and praying that Janson's psychic wasn't a raving lunatic, Markham glanced at Steve, took a deep breath, then leaned forward on railing in front of the witness stand.

"I know that you wrapped up Sarah in a blue blanket and put in the back of your van. I know that you drove her down to Mexico. You were terrified when you crossed the border that someone would find her, but they never searched the van. I know," Markham began, mentally crossing his fingers and toes, "about Jorge!"

McGee looked as if he had been slapped in the face.

"I know everything! I know how you sold little Sarah to Jorge," Markham screamed in McGee's face.

McGee flinched and his eyes had the look of a hunted animal.

"How do you suppose I know all this? How could I know?" Markham demanded.

McGee stared dumbly.

"There's only one way I could know. Think! We know because we found Jorge, and he told us everything!"

Markham struggled to remember everything Steve had reported about his interview with the psychic.

McGee seemed to collapse in on himself and wedged himself into the back of the witness chair.

"Jorge gave you up. He told us everything. Do you remember that Jorge asked you if she was healthy and you said that she was perfect, that you guaranteed it? Do you remember what Jorge said to you next? Do you? How he looked at little Sarah and then he looked at you and then he said . . ." Markham raised his pad and in a loud, clear voice pretended to read: "'I don't take no broken merchandise.'"