The Pact (41 page)

BARR1E DELANEY STOOD UP and faced the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “My name is Barrie Delaney, and I'm here to represent the State of New Hampshire. I want to thank each one of you for taking on a very important job. The twelve of you are here to make sure that justice is done in this courtroom. And in this case, justice means that you will find that man”-she raised a finger and pointed-"Christopher Harte, guilty of murder.

“Yes, murder. It does sound shocking, and it's probably even more shocking to you that I'm pointing at a good-looking young man. I bet you're even thinking, 'He doesn't look like a murderer.' ” She turned to examine Chris with the other members of the jury. “He looks like . . . well, a prep-school kid. He doesn't fit the Hollywood image of a murderer. But ladies and gentleman, this isn't Hollywood. This is real life, and in real life, Christopher Harte killed Emily Gold. Before this trial is over, you will know the defendant for what he really is, beneath that fancy jacket and that nice blue tie-a cold-blooded murderer.”

She flicked a glance toward Jordan. “The defense is going to try to play on your emotions, and tell you that this was a botched double suicide. That's not what happened. Let me tell you what did.” She turned around, her hands spread on the rail of the jury box, directing her attention at an elderly blue-haired woman in a flowered cotton dress. “On the night of November seventh, at six P.M., Christopher Harte went into the locked gun chest in the basement of his house and took out a Colt .45 revolver. He put it in his coat pocket and picked up his girlfriend, Emily. He took her to the carousel on Tidewater Road. The defendant also brought liquor. He and Emily drank, had sex, and then, while the defendant still had Emily in his arms, he took out the gun. After a brief struggle, Christopher Harte put the barrel of that revolver up to Emily's right temple and shot her.” She paused, letting that sink in. "Ladies and gentleman, you'll hear from Detective Anne-Marie Marrone. She will tell you that we have the gun, with the defendant's fingerprints all over it. You'll hear the county medical examiner say that the angle of the wound would make it virtually impossible for Emily to have pulled the trigger herself. You'll hear from a jeweler in town that Emily had bought a five-hundred-dollar watch to give to Chris for his birthday, which was the month after she died. And both a friend of Emily's and her own mother will tell you that Emily was not suicidal.

“You'll also hear Christopher Harte's motive: Why on earth he would have shot his girlfriend. You see, ladies and gentlemen, Emily was eleven weeks pregnant.” At the quiet gasp of a juror, Barrie hid a smile. “This young man had big plans for his future, and didn't need a baby or a high-school sweetheart ruining them, so he decided to-quite literally-get rid of the problem.” She stepped back from the jury box. “The defendant is charged with murder in the first degree. A person is guilty of first-degree murder when he purposely causes the death of another, and when his actions toward that end are premeditated and deliberate. Did Christopher Harte kill Emily Gold on purpose? Absolutely. Were his actions that night premeditated and deliberate? Absolutely.” She turned on her heel, her cold green eyes pinning Chris's. “In the Bible, ladies and gentlemen, the Devil comes in many disguises. Don't let his latest one fool you.”

“Nice SPEECH. Ms. Delaney did a fine job, didn't she?” Jordan stood and sauntered toward the jury. “Unfortunately, she was right about only one thing: the fact that Emily Gold... is dead.” He spread his hands. "That is a tragedy. And I'm here to make sure that you don't allow another tragedy to occur-that you don't let this young man get put away for a crime he did not commit.

“Imagine for a moment the terrible pain of losing a loved one. It's happened to you,” Jordan said, looking at the same blue-haired lady Delaney had singled out. “And you,” he said to a dairy farmer, with a face so creased it seemed again smooth. "We've all lost someone. And recently, Chris did too. Think of how you felt when it happened to you-the pain, the rawness of it-and then imagine the horror of being charged with that same person's murder.

"The State says that Christopher Harte committed murder, but that's not what happened. He almost committed suicide. He watched his girlfriend do it, then he fainted before he could do it himself.

"All of the evidence the State was talking about is consistent with a double suicide. I'm not going to bore you with contradictions. I'm just going to ask you, now, to listen very carefully to all the witnesses, and look very carefully at all the evidence ... because everything the State is using as proof of murder has been twisted.

“Ladies and gentlemen-in order to find Chris Harte guilty of murder, you have to be convinced beyond a reasonable doubt that the scene Ms. Delaney painted for you was the real one. But that's all the State has-a painted scene.” He walked back to the defense table and placed his hand on his client's shoulder. “When this trial is finished, you'll have more than a reasonable doubt-and you'll know that this isn't about murder. Emily Gold wanted to kill herself, and Chris decided to join her. He loved Emily so much that life wasn't worth living without her.” Jordan shook his head and turned toward Chris. “That's not a crime, ladies and gentlemen. That's a tragedy.”

“THE PROSECUTION CALLS Detective Anne-Marie Marrone to the stand.” There was a slight buzz as the first witness was sworn in. She settled down with the ease of someone who's played a particular house before, her gaze level on the jury. Anne-Marie Marrone was wearing a simple black suit; her hair was twisted up in a knot at the back of her head. With the exception of the holster peeking out from beneath her jacket, it was easy to forget she was a policewoman.

Barrie Delaney crossed in front of the witness stand. “Please state your name and address for the court.” The detective complied, and Barrie nodded. “Could you tell us in what capacity you're employed?”

“I'm a detective-sergeant with the Bainbridge police.”

“How long have you worked there?”

“Ten years.” She smiled. “This June.”

There was a brief exchange about her training, her work at the police academy, and her experience within the police force. Then Barrie stopped pacing, her hand on the railing of the witness stand.

“Who was in charge of the investigation surrounding the death of Emily Gold?”

“I was,” the detective said.

“Did you determine the cause of death?”

“Yes. A gunshot wound to the head.”

“So there was a weapon involved in this case.”

“A Colt .45.”

“And were you able to retrieve the weapon?”

Anne-Marie nodded. “It was at the scene of the crime,” she said. “Lying on a carousel. We took the gun and ran a variety of ballistics tests on it.”

“Is this the gun you retrieved from the scene of the crime?” Barrie asked, holding up the Colt .45.

“That's it,” Detective Marrone said.

“Your Honor,” Barrie said, “I'd like to enter this as Exhibit A.” She went through the customary procedure, showing the gun to Jordan, who dismis-sively waved it away. Then she turned back to the detective. “Did you determine where the gun came from?”

“Yes. It was traced back to its owner, James Harte.”

James, behind the defense table, started at the sound of his name. “James Harte,” the prosecutor said. “Is that any relation to the defendant?”

“Objection,” Jordan called out. “Relevance?”

“I'll allow it,” the judge said.

The detective looked from the judge to Barrie Delaney. “It's his father.”

“Did you have a chance to interview James Harte?”

“Yes. He said that the gun was a collector's item, but still used for target practice. His also said his son was familiar with the gun, had access to it, and used it as well for target shooting.”

“Can you tell us about the tests you ran on the weapon?”

Detective Marrone shifted in her chair. “Well, we determined that there was one bullet fired, which went into the victim's temple, exited the victim's head, and lodged in the wood of the carousel. We found the casing from that bullet still in the chamber of the gun, as well as a second bullet that had not been fired. Christopher Harte's fingerprints were on both of those bullets.” Barrie pointed. “By Christopher Harte, you mean the defendant.”

“Yes,” Detective Marrone said.

“Hmm.” Barrie turned to the jury, as if she was deliberating over this tidbit for the first time. “So his fingerprints were on both bullets. Did you find anybody else's fingerprints on the bullets?”

“No.”

“And what, in your expert opinion, does that suggest?”

“He was the only one who handled the bullets.”

“I see,” Barrie said. “Were there any other tests done on the weapon?”

“Yes, a standard ballistics test checked for fingerprints on the gun itself. We found both Christopher Harte's and Emily Gold's fingerprints on the gun. However, Mr. Harte's fingerprints were all over it. The victim's fingerprints were only on the barrel of the gun.”

“Can you show us what you mean?” Barrie asked, picking up the Colt, with its new exhibit tag. The detective easily palmed the gun. “Mr. Harte's fingerprints were here, here, and here,” she said, pointing. “Emily Gold's fingerprints were only in this region.” She scraped her fingernail along the blunt steel barrel.

“But to shoot this gun, Detective Marrone, you would have to have your hand where?” She waited for Anne-Marie to indicate the butt of the gun. “And Emily's fingerprints were not there.”

“No.”

“Yet Mr. Harte's were.”

“Objection,” Jordan said lazily. “Asked and answered.”

“Sustained,” Puckett said.

Barrie turned her back on Jordan. “Was any other testing done at the crime scene?”

“Yes. We did a Luminol test, a fluorescent spray that detects blood spatter patterns. Based on that, as well as the angle of the bullet that eventually lodged in the carousel, we deduced that Emily Gold was standing up when the bullet was fired, and that someone else was standing very close and slightly in front of her. We also know that she lay on her back and bleeding for several minutes before she was moved into the position in which officers first found her when arriving at the scene of the crime.”

“Which was?”

“Bleeding profusely with her head in the defendant's lap.”

“And did the Luminol pick up anything else?”

“Yes. A large stain not tied to the spatter pattern of the bullet wound, where the defendant supposedly struck his head.”

“Objection.” Jordan gestured at Chris. “Would you like to see the scar?” Puckett gave Jordan a measured glance. “Continue, Ms. Delaney,” he said.

“From that stain, is it possible to determine how or why the defendant fell down?” Barrie asked.

“No,” the detective said. “It only shows that he lay still there for about five minutes, bleeding.”

“I see. Any other tests?”

“There was gunpowder residue found on both the victim's and the defendant's clothing. We also tested the corpse of the victim for gunpowder residue on the fingers.”

“And what did you find?”

“There was no gunpowder residue on Emily Gold's fingers.”

“In a suicide, with a victim holding the gun in her hand when she shot herself, would you normally find gunpowder residue on the hands?”

“Definitely. That's why I started to think Emily Gold did not kill herself.” Barrie was silent for a moment, assessing the faces of her jury. And they were hers now. Every single one of the twelve sat on the edge of his or her seat; several were taking careful notes on the provided pads of paper. “Was there anything else you found at the scene of the crime?”

“We found a bottle of Canadian Club. Liquor.”

“Ah . . . underage drinking,” Barrie said, smiling.

The detective grinned, too. “It wasn't my biggest concern at the time.” At this, Jordan objected. “Your Honor,” he said, “if there was a question somewhere in there, I missed it.”

Puckett rolled an almond about on his tongue, neatly tucking it into the pouch of his cheek. “Watch yourself, counselor,” he warned Barrie.

“Was there anything that stood out in the autopsy report?”

Anne-Marie nodded. “The victim was eleven weeks pregnant.”

The prosecutor walked the detective through the interviews she'd done with the friends of Emily Gold, her neighbors-with one glaring exception, her parents, her teachers. “Detective Marrone, did you also have a chance to speak to the defendant?” Barrie made sure to catch Anne-Marie's eye. The detective was good, a professional, but she'd been forewarned to not mention the conversation she'd had with Chris at the hospital. Ruled inadmissible, even its mention could be cause for a mistrial.

“Yes, I did. He came down to the police station on November eleventh. I read him his rights, and he waived them.”

“Is this the police report transcribing the conversation on November eleventh?” The prosecutor held up a file, emblazoned with the logo of the Bainbridge police.

“It is,” the detective said.

“How soon, Detective, after your meeting with Christopher Harte, did you write this report?”

“Immediately after he left.”

“What was the gist of that conversation?”

“Mr. Harte basically told me he brought the gun to the scene of the crime, went to the scene of the crime, and watched Emily Gold shoot herself.”

“Did that add up to the evidence you'd seen?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Detective Marrone cocked her head, staring at Chris. He felt his cheeks redden, and forced himself to keep his gaze steady and direct. “If it was just one of those things, instead of all of them ... if it was only that the bullet traveled through the victim's head at a weird angle-”

“Objection!”

“Or if there were bruises on her wrist, but everything else seemed consistent with suicide-”

“Objection!”

“-or if even one person described her as troubled. But too much just didn't add up.”

“Objection, Your Honor!”

The judge narrowed his eyes at Jordan. “Overruled,” he said.

Barrie's heart was pounding. “So it wasn't a suicide, in your expert opinion, in spite of what the defendant told you. From what you had seen of the evidence-the fingerprints, the blood spatter patterns, the gunpowder residue, the liquor bottle, the interviews-did you form an alternative theory of what happened?”