Guilty as Sin (62 page)

"Did he say why?"

"He said they had a present for me, that they wanted to win 'the game.' "

"And you went to the park as instructed?"

"Not as instructed. I immediately sent an unmarked car with two officers to the southeast entrance of the park, another to the southwest, and came into the park myself on foot from the west."

"Where the park adjoins the Lakeside neighborhood?"

"Yes. I waited in the cover of the trees. At nine-oh-five a late-model GMC four-by-four truck entered the park, drove some distance along the road, and stopped. The driver got out, went to the passenger side and let the passenger out, then marched her approximately thirty feet back to the south."

Megan, limping heavily, unquestionably badly injured. The fury he had felt then burned again like a coal.

"A struggle ensued between them," he stated flatly. "I ran out from the woods with my weapon drawn, announced myself as a police officer, and ordered them to freeze."

"At this point, did you recognize either person?"

"Yes. I recognized Agent O'Malley. The assailant was wearing a ski mask."

"Was he armed?"

"Yes. He had a nine-millimeter semiautomatic handgun."

"And was he threatening Agent O'Malley?"

"Yes. At one point he had the gun pressed to her temple." And Mitch had known a wrong move, a wrong decision, and she would be dead right there and then, before his eyes.

"I ordered him to drop the weapon, informed him he was under arrest," he went on. "Agent O'Malley knocked him off balance. He pushed her at me, fired several rounds, and jumped back into the truck, which was still running. I jumped into the back of the truck, fired a shot through the back window in order to break the glass, ordered him to stop the truck."

"Did he?"

"No. He returned fire, then lost control of the vehicle."

The truck roared off the path and into space, landed bucking, skidded sideways, sending up a spray of snow.

"I was thrown clear. The truck slammed into a tree."

"You then pursued the suspect on foot?"

"Yes. He ran west, into the woods and up the hill toward Lakeside, occasionally stopping to fire at me."

"Were you hit?"

"One shot cut through the sleeve of my coat and grazed my arm."

"But you continued pursuit?"

"Yes. At one point he discarded his ski mask. I found it lying on the ground along the trail."

"What did you do with it?"

"Left it where it was. The crime-scene unit later photographed it in place, then bagged it as evidence and sent it to the BCA lab to be processed."

"Your Honor," Ellen addressed Grabko as Cameron rose and presented several photographs to the clerk. "The ski mask itself is still at the BCA lab, but the State would like to introduce the crime-scene photographs in its stead for the purpose of this hearing."

"Mr. Costello?" Grabko asked, arching a brow.

"No objections, Your Honor."

Grabko nodded to his clerk. "Receive the photographs into evidence."

"Where did the suspect appear to be headed?" Ellen asked, turning back to Mitch.

"The Lakeside subdivision," Mitch said. "He ran up through the backyards of the houses on Lakeshore Drive."

Running along the cross-country ski trail, darting in and out between the snow-frosted spruce trees. The cold air like razors in his lungs. Thinking how insane it was to be chasing a college professor who drove a Saab and worked with juvenile offenders.

"I pursued the suspect through the yards, heading north. I saw him let himself into a garage through the back door, followed him in, took him down, and arrested him."

"And is that man sitting in the courtroom?"

"Yes, he is." He glared at the man whose game had shredded the fabric of life in Deer Lake irreparably. "Dr. Garrett Wright, the defendant."

"Thank you, Chief Holt," Ellen said with a nod. "No further questions."

Mitch watched Costello rise, wondering if he would play the same game he had played with Megan—moving closer and closer into her space until she lashed out at him. He would have liked the chance to lash out at Costello, himself. Preferably in a dark alley with no witnesses. It had killed him to sit impassively in the gallery watching Megan unravel. A female bailiff had escorted her from the stand into the jury room after her final burst. He wanted only one thing more than he wanted to go to her, I that was to nail the lid on Garrett Wright's coffin.

"Chief Holt," Costello began, standing at ease behind the defense le. "You testify the suspect was wearing a ski mask when you first encountered him in the park. You did not see his face at that time?"

"No."

"Did he speak to you?"

"No."

"The truck he was driving was registered to whom?"

"Roy Stranberg, who was in Arizona at the time. The truck was stolen."

"And were Dr. Wright's fingerprints found in this truck?"

"No."

"And when you were pursuing the suspect through the woods, did you see him discard the ski mask? Did you see his face?"

"No."

"That's a fairly dense woods, isn't it, Chief Holt? A lot of trees?"

"That would be the definition of a woods, yes," Mitch said dryly.

"You didn't have a clear and constant view of the suspect, did you?"

"Not constant, no, but the gunfire kept me apprised of his where-abouts."

Another snicker ran through the gallery, but Costello jumped onto opportunity.

"And when you apprehended Dr. Wright, was he in possession of a weapon?"

"No."

"According to the statements, Dr. Wright's hands were later tested for gunpowder residue and the tests were negative—isn't that right?"

"Yes."

Costello steepled his fingers and arranged his features in a contemplative mien. "So you're running through the woods. It's dark. It's snowing. You're dodging gunfire, dodging trees. You lost sight of your suspect more than once, didn't you?"

"I saw him just fine when he went into that garage."

"But you had lost sight of him prior to that?"

"For no more than seconds."

"How many seconds?"

"I didn't time the instances."

"Five seconds? Ten? Twenty?"

"Less than twenty. Less than fifteen."

"But you have no way of knowing for certain?"

"No."

"So it could be possible that the man you saw going into that garage wasn't your suspect at all, isn't that right?"

"That would be unlikely."

"But possible?"

"Remotely."

"Prior to making the actual arrest, did you have any reason to believe the suspect you were chasing was Dr. Wright?"

"Agent O'Malley had told me it was Dr. Wright."

"I see," Costello said with an exaggerated nod. He turned sideways, cocking a hip against the table, absently twirling a pencil in his hands. "Chief Holt, when you received that phone call from Agent O'Malley and heard that she was in distress, in danger, what did that make you feel?"

Mitch squinted at him, suspicious. "I don't follow."

"Were you in fear for her life?"

"Of course."

"And when you saw her in Quarry Hills Park and she was obviously badly wounded, did that make you angry?"

"Objection," Ellen said, looking askance at Costello. "Is there a point to this?"

"A very sharp one, Your Honor."

Grabko nodded. "Proceed. Answer the question, Chief Holt."

"Yes."

"It made you angry. You were frightened for her. You wanted to get the person responsible. You wanted that badly."

"That's my job."

"But your feelings went beyond a professional concern, didn't they? Isn't it true you and Agent O'Malley are involved—"

"Objection!" Ellen surged to her feet. "This is absolutely outside the scope of this hearing! We're here to review facts and evidence, not the personal lives of police officers!"

Grabko smacked his new gavel. "I don't want to hear another lecture from you, Ms. North," he snapped. "Mr. Costello, perhaps you'd better state your point for the court."

Ellen tossed her pencil down and crossed her arms.

"Do you have a problem with my suggestion, Ms. North?" Grabko ked coolly.

"Yes, I do, Your Honor. It gives Mr. Costello the opportunity to present his case to the press, which is very likely the reason he went down this road in the first place."

Grabko stuck his lower lip out like a pouting child. "The outcome of this hearing will not be based on the opinions of the press, Ms. North, the decision is mine and mine alone, to be made on the basis of the evidence presented. And so it is for me to decide the relevance of Mr. Costello's line of questioning. If I feel it bears merit, I'll allow it. If not, it will be disregarded."

"And will it be disregarded by every potential juror who reads the Pioneer Press or watches KARE-Eleven News?" Ellen argued. "We may not have a jury seated, Your Honor, but we have a gallery who will act as jury and judge. If Mr. Costello has to make this lame argument, please let him do it in sidebar."

The judge's eyes scanned the eager faces in the gallery, every last one of them salivating at the idea of hearing something someone didn't want them to hear.

"Sidebar," he declared unhappily.

They arrayed themselves at the side of the bench, Costello and Ellen shoulder to shoulder, flanked by their associates.

"Now, by all means, Mr. Costello," Ellen said under her breath with sharp-edged sweetness, "enlighten us as to your big-city legal brilliance."

Costello smiled. "You'll have to forgive Ms. North, Your Honor. It's iderstandable she wouldn't want this particular subject raised—the effect of personal relationships on motivation."

The subtext cut to the quick. Ellen was stunned that even he would skate so close to such a dangerous edge. Turning back to the judge, she shifted her body just slightly and planted the heel of her pump on Costello's handmade Italian oxford, grinding down on his little toe.

"Your Honor, Chief Holt and Agent O'Malley were acting in their capacity as law-enforcement officers. They are here today testifying in that capacity," Costello said through his teeth as he tried to surreptitiously wrench his foot out from under hers. "But as Ms. North well knows, Your Honor, emotions spill over from our personal lives into our professional, particularly in a highly charged situation—which this obviously was. If those emotions affected Chief Holt's judgment, I think the court should know about it."

"Will it make your client any less guilty?" Ellen asked.

"My client is an innocent man, victimized by circumstance and Agent O'Malley's desperate attempt to cling to her own professional life."

Ellen narrowed her eyes at him. "Your Honor, may I suggest the only 'desperate attempts' we're looking at here are Mr. Costello's attempts to introduce a wholly inappropriate line of questioning."

"No, you may not," Grabko said. "You will kindly stop trying to make my decisions for me, Ms. North, and remember your place here in this courtroom."

"My place?"

Cameron nudged her back a step in warning. "Your Honor, I don't have as much experience in this type of proceeding as Ms. North or Mr. Costello," he said, his freckled face shining with humility, "but I thought the defense, if they are to present a case at all, are to bring hard evidence that is clearly exculpatory in nature, rather than speculative theory. Am I wrong about that?"

Grabko's expression softened somewhat at the opportunity to play law professor, and the tension diffused. "You're correct, Mr. Reed. However, statements can be exculpatory, can they not?"