Death on a High Floor (40 page)

I could feel Oscar grumbling, although he didn’t actually grumble out loud. Instead he just said, “Who’s the witness they’ve scheduled after the coroner?”

“It’s Susan Apacha,” I said. “The building security manager. The one Spritz let onto the eighty-fifth floor. But I’m not sure how we can exploit that.”

Jenna had finished her sandwich and was beginning to fold and refold her napkin. “You know,” she said, “talking about Susan Apacha reminds me of something.”

“Are you going to share it with us this time?” Oscar asked.

“Yes. I am. Before the murder, Susan Apacha had bleached blonde hair, with a greenish tint. But the day I cleaned my office out, I saw her at a distance, and her hair had become dark brown.”

“Aha,” I said. “One of the women Boone saw from the back had bleached blonde hair.”

Oscar was not impressed. “The woman Boone
says
he saw
supposedly
had bleached blonde hair. Besides, there are a hell of a lot of women in Los Angeles with bleached blonde hair. And probably even more women who look like that in Beverly Hills.”

I was about to ask what Beverly Hills had to do with it, since M&M’s offices were downtown, but I never got the chance because there was a knock on the door followed by its almost immediate opening. A herald of the judge.

Judge Gilmore stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, but there’s been a change. We’re going to go again in ten minutes, at 2:00.”

“Benitez is already finished with Boone?” Oscar said.

“Well,” Judge Gilmore said, “it seems Boone refused to talk to him.”

“Why?” Oscar asked.

She actually rolled her eyes. “According to Benitez, Boone refused to talk to him because, and I quote, ‘You haven’t gotten me out yet, Mr. Benitez.’”

None of us said a thing in response.

“See you in the courtroom,” Judge Gilmore said, and left.

“Can I borrow your cell phone, Jenna?” Oscar asked. “I need to call Christian so
we
don’t fail to get Boone out. On the off chance you guys are right and we need him. I’ll make the call from here and see you in a couple minutes.”

Jenna dug her cell phone out of her briefcase. “I have to turn it back on.” I watched her push a button and then stare at the little screen, waiting for the phone to confirm its return to cellular life.

The phone gave out a message-waiting beep. Jenna pushed a button and looked at the screen. “It’s just another text message. Nothing to do with the case.”

Then she handed Oscar the phone. “Here’s the phone, Oscar. Call Chris Ogalu.”

“Christian,” Oscar said.

“Whatever. We’ll see you back in court in a few minutes.”

As the two of us made our way back to the courtroom, Jenna said, “I think you’re right. There’s a big difference between Boone overhearing ‘they’re fake’ or ‘it’s fake.’”

“I agree,” I said. “But I can’t quite figure out what.”

“I can,” she said. “So far as we know, Simon thought
you
made only
one
fake.”

When we walked back into the courtroom, Benitez and crew were already seated at their table. I thought they looked pissed off, but maybe I just imagined it. The court reporter was already set up, and the clerk was in place. Deputy Green had also returned. The clock on the courtroom wall said 1:57.

I looked for Detective Spritz but didn’t see him. Perhaps he was one of those people who liked to make an entrance. I did spot Uncle Freddie sitting in the back row. He spotted us at the same instant, got up, and headed toward us. Jenna walked over to meet him. He handed her a large book and an inch-thick orange folder. Then he turned and walked out of the courtroom.

Jenna made her way back to our table, sat down, and began to study the contents of the folder.

I was about to ask her what was in it when, at 2:00 p.m. sharp, Judge Gilmore entered and began to speak, even before she had finished sitting down.

“We are here for the afternoon session in the matter of People of the State of California versus Robert Tarza, Number CR 29856. Mr. Benitez, are the People ready to proceed?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Ms. James?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“All right, let’s have Detective Spritz resume the stand then,” Judge Gilmore said.

“Well, Your Honor,” Benitez said, “I’m afraid Detective Spritz is not immediately available this afternoon.”

Judge Gilmore actually raised her eyebrows. “I thought you said the People were ready to go forward, Mr. Benitez.”

“We’re ready to go forward with a substitute witness.”

“What happened to Detective Spritz? Weren’t we in the middle of his cross-examination, Counsel?”

Benitez had started out the afternoon with the regained status of “Mr. Benitez” from the judge, but seemed once again to have been demoted to “Counsel.”

“Unfortunately, Your Honor, Mr. Spritz was called away on an urgent police matter.”

“To do with this case?” the judge asked.

“Well, yes, to do with this case.”

“Would you like to share with the court what that might be, exactly?”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate, Your Honor, at least not in open court.”

It was a challenge. The judge could take up his offer and find out what was going on, but only if she was willing to call everyone up to the bench and delay things even more. With the clock ticking steadily toward midafternoon.

Judge Gilmore turned to Jenna.

“I assume you object, Ms. James?”

“I certainly do. Detective Spritz is just trying to squirm out of finishing his cross-examination.”

“I agree with you,” Judge Gilmore said. “But do we want to waste time
right now
with the explanation or just get on with it? I leave the choice up to you, Ms. James.”

Now Jenna was in something of a pickle. The judge had just told Jenna, in judge-speak, “I don’t want to find out about this right now. Do
me
a favor and I’ll do you one later.”

Jenna accepted. “I’m willing to go with a new witness now, Your Honor. But I request that Mr. Benitez and his team agree that they won’t talk to Detective Spritz about his testimony until after he’s back on the stand. Whenever that might be.”

“Agreed,” Benitez said. It was almost too quick. Maybe he didn’t want to speak to Spritz. Something odd was going on.

Judge Gilmore had on her face a look that judges get when the orderly flow of courtroom life has been disrupted. “Call your next witness, Counsel.”

“The People call Stefan Eliopolous.”

A gentleman arose from the front row, went through the swinging door in the bar, and headed for the witness stand. He was not tall, or even broad, yet somehow imposing nonetheless. His head was as bald as a cue ball, and his face was crinkled, as if from a life spent at the beach without benefit of sunscreen. His most striking feature was a walrus mustache, jet black with a sprinkling of grey.

He was wearing a beautiful pearl grey wool suit of supple fit and a silk maroon tie. I remarked to myself that at some point I’d need to learn who made his suits, too. My life of late seemed to be full of guys with great tailors.

He took his seat on the witness stand as if he lived there and was sworn in as Stefan C. Eliopolous, M.D.

“Dr. Eliopolous,” Benitez began, “what is your profession?”

“I’m a deputy medical examiner for the Los Angeles County Office of the Coroner.”

“Could you tell the court, briefly, your professional background.”

“I received an MD degree from the Yale School of Medicine in 1980. I subsequently did a five-year residency in anatomical and clinical pathology at Massachusetts General Hospital. I’m currently board certified in both of those specialties as well as in forensic pathology.”

“Where did you do your initial training in forensic pathology?”

“I did a one year fellowship at the University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center. The training included performing or assisting at well over two hundred suspicious death or homicide-related autopsies.”

“Are you involved in any professional associations?”

“Yes. I’m the current president of the International Forum of Forensic Pathologists.”

I wondered why the hell someone with those credentials was working for the county in a junior position. I also wondered how a county salary paid for suits like that.

“How long have you been employed as a medical examiner for the County?”

“Since I completed my fellowship in 1985.”

“What are your duties as a deputy medical examiner?”

“I supervise other deputy medical examiners, I teach in our office’s residency program in forensic pathology, and I conduct autopsies.”

“How many autopsies have you personally conducted in your career?”

“More than three thousand.”

“How many of those have involved homicides or suspected homicides?”

“Perhaps half of them.”

“And of those, how many involved knife wounds?”

“At least a couple of hundred, although we would have to define what you mean

by knife—”

Judge Gilmore interrupted. “Counsel, I’m already persuaded of Dr. Eliopolous’ expertise in forensic pathology. Can we just get to the core of the matter, which is the autopsy in
this
homicide? Please?”

“Of course, Your Honor,” Benitez said. “Doctor, when did you become aware of the death of Simon Rafer?”

“On the morning of December 6, I was in the office very early, trying to catch up on paperwork, when we received a call from the LAPD of a possible homicide. Since we were short on staff that early in the morning, I decided to go to the scene myself. I left immediately and took two forensic technicians with me.”

“What time did you arrive on the scene?”

“At 6:40 a.m.”

“What did you observe when you arrived?”

“There were a number of police officers at the scene, as well as the defendant.” He nodded in my direction. “There was a body face down on the floor with a large, ornate knife protruding from its back. The body was surrounded by partially congealed blood to a distance of approximately three feet on the torso’s left and approximately one foot to its right.”

“What did you do at that point?”

“I asked Detective Spritz, whom I knew from prior homicide scenes, if it would be destructive of the crime scene for me to touch the body and move it slightly to help determine time of death. He said that photographs and prints had already been taken and that I could do so.”

“What did you do to determine time of death?”

“First, I touched the victim’s neck to be sure there was no pulse, although it was obvious that the victim was dead. Then I pulled the victim’s shirt up so that I could see the skin and determine the extent to which there was already postmortem lividity—discoloration of the skin as the blood settles. That is one approximate indicator of time of death.”

“Did you take any other steps to determine approximate time of death?”

“Yes. I moved the victim’s jaw, fingers, elbows, and head. Full rigor mortis—stiffening of the entire body—doesn’t set in until approximately eight hours have passed. But stiffening of smaller muscles, particularly the jaw, occurs sooner.”

“Did you take any other steps?”

“Yes. I asked one of the techs to take the temperature of the victim’s liver, which she did with a pointed thermometer inserted through a small incision under the rib cage. Liver temperature can give you an approximate time of death because it drops by approximately 1.5 degrees Fahrenheit per hour after death until it reaches the temperature of the surroundings.”

“What were the results of that measurement?”

“At 7:00 a.m., the temperature of the victim’s liver was 95.8 degrees Fahrenheit, 3.8 degrees below normal liver temperature, which is on average 99.6 degrees.”

“Different from what most of us call ‘normal?’”

“Yes. The liver’s average temperature is usually about one degree higher than the average of 98.6 degrees you get when temperature is taken by mouth.”

“From all of that information, do you have an opinion, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, as to the time of death?”

“Yes, from the state of the body’s mild livor mortis—the reddish blue discoloration of the lower portions of the body—the temperature of the liver, and the small degree of rigor mortis of the jaw, the time of death, to a reasonable degree of medical certainty, was somewhere between 4:00 and 5:00 a.m. that day. Approximately two to three hours before I got there.”

“Doctor, did you later perform an autopsy on Mr. Rafer?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Were you able to determine the cause of death to a reasonable degree of medical certainty?”

“Yes. The cause of death was a knife wound. The knife entered through the victim’s back, well below the heart and to the left of the spine. On the way through, it transected the descending aorta—sliced it horizontally. The immediate cause of death was thus heart failure caused by rapid exsanguination.”

“Can you estimate how long the victim lived after the knife wound was inflicted?”

“The size of the cut through the artery—it was almost severed—was such that death was very quick. Unconscious in seconds. Surely dead in minutes.”

“Did you prepare a written report of that autopsy?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Your Honor, the autopsy report has been pre-marked for identification as People’s Exhibit No. 4. The People will move the admission of the exhibit into evidence at the conclusion of the hearing.”

“Do I have a copy?” the judge asked.

The judge’s clerk spoke up. “It’s to your left on the bench, Judge.”

“I have no further questions,” Benitez said.