The Undertaker's Widow (25 page)

“Jablonski comes into the bedroom. He moves to the middle of the bed and to the left of the armoire and raises the gun to shoot Hoyt.”

Baylor bent over the side of the chair to his right.

“I'm going for the gun that is under the bed. See how my back is suddenly facing my husband? The fabric is stretched out. If you shoot while I'm bent like this and Hoyt is hit at a certain angle, the spray will cover my back, not my front. Then, when I straighten up, the fabric will rumple a little, making it look like the nightgown was tossed on its front on the bed.”

Baylor straightened up.

“So Crease could have been telling the truth about wearing the nightgown,” Quinn said slowly, more to himself than to Baylor. “If she was, she would have had to bend over the west-facing side of the bed for the spatter pattern on the nightgown to look like that? She couldn't have been in the bathroom.”

“Yes. But Gary's explanation could also be correct.”

“What about the blood on the armoire?”

“That gets trickier, but there is a way that the spray could have gotten on the armoire with Crease shooting from her side of the bed.

“Let's keep Jablonski on his feet on the west side of the armoire, exactly where Gary placed him. He shoots Hoyt as Crease goes for her gun. Crease's movements distract Jablonski. He turns his head toward the window but does not turn his body. Now Jablonski's right temple is facing Crease's side of the bed. Go on, turn your head.”

Quinn did as he was told.

“Now, the next part gets tricky.” Baylor raised his hand and pretended to fire a gun. “Bam. Crease's first
shot enters the right temple, high-velocity spatter sprays from the wound, but the spray would go forward, in front of Jablonski's body and onto the floor, and it would not travel far, since the amount of spray is small and high-velocity spray is atomized. When Jablonski collapses after the body shot, he would fall on top of the high-velocity spray and obliterate it.”

“If the high-velocity spray from the head shot landed on the floor, what caused the blood spatter pattern on the side of the armoire?”

“Aspirated blood from Jablonski's lungs. A shot to the body frequently causes people to cough up blood. If Jablonski turned his head toward the armoire after he was shot in the body, he could have coughed blood on the armoire before collapsing onto the high-velocity spatter from the head wound. Aspirated blood can resemble high-velocity spray.”

A thought occurred to Quinn. “Is there a difference between blood that is sprayed from a head wound and aspirated blood from the lungs?”

“You mean, could we test the blood on the armoire to see if it is aspirated blood?”

“Exactly.”

“Not anymore. If the blood on the armoire was tested shortly after the crime, it's possible that amylase, an enzyme from saliva, could have been detected. Amalyse could have been caught up in the blood when Jablonski coughed. But amalyse breaks down and becomes undetectable in a week or two, depending on the temperature and humidity in a room. Additionally, amalyse is not always found in aspirated blood, or it may go undetected because it's below the detection limit of the test that's used. Even if Gary had tested the blood on the armoire as soon as he caught on to its possible significance, I doubt that it would have told him anything.”

“So there's no way to tell if the blood on the side of the armoire is aspirated blood or high-velocity spatter.”

“Correct.”

“And there's no way to say for certain where Ellen Crease was when she shot Martin Jablonski.”

“Also correct.”

Quinn's shoulders sagged. He was hoping that Baylor would debunk Yoshida's analysis. All he had done was confuse the situation.

Quinn's head was pounding by the time he arrived at his chambers. If Baylor had told him that the blood spatter evidence proved that Ellen Crease was a liar, Quinn would have let the trial run its course. But Baylor could not say that the shooting of Martin Jablonski had not occurred exactly as Crease described it.

Quinn gave the exhibits to Fran Stuart and instructed her to hold all of his calls. He reviewed the memos on the law of search and seizure and the rules of evidence filed by the parties. From what he could determine, the blood spatter evidence was the key to the State's case. If Quinn granted all of Garrett's motions, the only evidence left in the case would be Jablonski's history as a burglar who resorted to violence and the indisputable fact that Jablonski had broken into the Hoyt mansion and shot Lamar Hoyt. If this was the way that the evidence stood when the State rested, any judge would have to grant a motion for judgment of acquittal to the defense.

Quinn rested his head in his hands. He had slept little the night before and he was exhausted and not thinking clearly. He needed to rest, he wanted time to
think out his course of action, but court was scheduled to convene in five minutes.

When Quinn looked up, he saw Lincoln's framed quote on his wall. Lincoln's counsel to do one's best while trying to do what was right had helped him reach his decision to impose a prison sentence on Frederick Gideon when everyone expected him to grant the judge probation. Doing the right thing was the centerpiece of Quinn's personal philosophy. It was something you did regardless of the consequences. Sometimes doing the right thing required courage. Quinn had not been courageous on St. Jerome. He did not report Andrea's murder to the authorities for selfish reasons. While his cowardice protected him, it helped Andrea's killer get away with murder. Now he wanted Quinn to help him destroy another life. Quinn decided that he was not going to do that. This afternoon he would act with the courage he had not shown on St. Jerome.

“Before I rule on these motions, I want to thank counsel on both sides for their excellent briefs and oral argument. They have been of great assistance to me in framing and resolving some difficult issues.”

Quinn paused. Cedric Riker leaned back, looking as if he did not have a care in the world. He was so self-centered that he could not conceive of losing a motion. When he did lose, he always found someone else to blame. Mary Garrett shifted nervously on her chair. She was self-confident, but she had none of Riker's egomania to blind her to the fact that the questions were close. Ellen Crease watched Quinn with cool detachment.

“I'll start with the most complex question. Did the search of the defendant's bedroom violate the Oregon and United States Constitutions? The burden is on the State to prove that the search was legal because the
search was conducted without a warrant. Warrantless searches are presumed to be illegal, unless the State can show the existence of an exception to the warrant requirements of the Oregon and United States Constitutions.

“Mr. Riker has argued that exigent circumstances excused Detective Anthony and Officer Yoshida from obtaining a warrant. I do not find this argument convincing. Officer Yoshida gave no scientific opinion as to why waiting a few hours while a warrant was obtained would make it any more likely that the blood spatter would be degraded or destroyed. After all, it had been over a week since the crime scene was created. True, the cleaners would have destroyed the evidence, but they were not scheduled to appear until the next day. Additionally, Detective Anthony and Officer Yoshida did not know that the cleaners were coming until after the decision was made to go to the estate without a warrant.”

Garrett leaned forward, hanging on Quinn's every word.

“The State argues that James Allen gave a valid consent to the police to enter the bedroom. I find that Mr. Allen did not have real authority to do that. He and the police were both aware that Senator Crease had specifically instructed Allen to keep everyone except the cleaning crew out of the bedroom.

“However, I do find that James Allen did have apparent authority to open the locked bedroom for the police. He was the housekeeper. He had the keys to the room. Detective Anthony could reasonably assume that the person left in charge of the house by Senator Crease could let him and Officer Yoshida into the bedroom if he wished to let them in and there was a valid reason to do so.”

Garrett's shoulders sagged and Riker smiled.

“Despite my finding that James Allen had the apparent
authority to consent to a search of Senator Crease's bedroom, I must still suppress the evidence obtained during the search.”

Riker shot up in his chair. He looked stunned. Garrett looked like she could not believe what she was hearing.

“I find that Detective Anthony intentionally coerced Mr. Allen into opening the bedroom after he had been told unequivocally by Mr. Allen that he was under instructions from his employer to keep everyone but the cleaning crew out of the bedroom. I hold that Detective Anthony was not credible when he testified that he did not intentionally coerce Mr. Allen into giving consent.”

Riker was on his feet. “Your Honor,” he started, but Quinn cut him off.

“The time for argument is over, Mr. Riker. Please sit down.”

Riker collapsed onto his chair.

“As to the other motions, I have read the briefs submitted by the parties and I have examined the affidavits submitted by the State detailing what Conchita Jablonski and Karen Fargo would testify to if called as witnesses. I will not allow Conchita Jablonski to testify to anything her husband told her concerning how he came by the money that was found in the Jablonski apartment. That is pure hearsay.

“Similarly, I am excluding any statements that Lamar Hoyt may have made to Karen Fargo about the state of his marriage and his desire to leave his wife for her on the grounds that they, too, are hearsay.”

Riker could only gape at the judge. His case against Ellen Crease was being destroyed beyond repair.

“Finally, I will allow the defense to introduce evidence concerning Mr. Jablonski's criminal background to support its position that he was acting as a burglar on the evening of the shooting.

“I'll prepare the order,” Quinn said as he stood. “Mr. Riker, you have thirty days to decide if you want to appeal my order to the court of appeals. Court is adjourned.”

As soon as Quinn left the bench, Cedric Riker streaked out of the courtroom with his assistants in tow and Ryan Clark headed down the hall to the pay phones to let Benjamin Gage in on the bad news. James Allen stayed seated. He watched Mary Garrett and Ellen Crease discuss the outcome of the case at their table. Allen looked grim and undecided. After a moment's more thought he mixed with the spectators and left the room.

“What does this mean?” Ellen Crease asked her lawyer.

“It means we won everything,” Garrett told her as the enormity of Quinn's ruling dawned on her. “He suppressed everything Riker can use to convict you. He left him with nothing.”

Garrett hoisted her attaché case and they headed out of the courtroom.

“You sound surprised.”

“To tell the truth, I am. I had some hope of winning the motion to keep out the hearsay, but the blood spatter motion was a real long shot.”

“Does this mean that the case is over? That I'm free?”

“Technically, the charges still exist. But Riker's choice is to appeal or dismiss and …”

Garrett stopped. Bearing down on them was Lamar Hoyt, Jr.

“This isn't over, bitch!” he screamed in Crease's face. “I'm contesting the will and I'm gonna sue you civilly for wrongful death.”

“Get away from my client,” Garrett commanded.

“Shut up, you …”

Suddenly, Junior was up on his toes with his left
arm cranked behind his back in a hammerlock. Applying the pressure was a tall man with a swimmer's wide shoulders and narrow waist. Long black hair swept across his forehead. His blue eyes looked sleepy and his thick black mustache was shaggy. The man did not look angry and he sounded unexcited when he said, “Come on, Junior. Let's calm down here.”

“Ah, ah,” Junior managed as the man pressed his arm toward his shoulder blade and beyond.

“I don't want to hurt you,” the man said, “but I can't have you threatening the senator and Ms. Garrett.”

“Let go! Ah!” Junior gasped. His face was cramped with pain and Garrett thought he was going to cry.

“If I let go, will you behave?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” the man said as he released some of the pressure on Junior's arm. “Now, I'm taking you at your word and I'm going to let you go. When I do, I want you to head out of here as fast as your fat legs will carry you. If you're lying to me, I'll break both your arms. We on the same wavelength?”

“Yeah! Yeah! Let me go.”

The man released Junior and took a step back. Junior grabbed his shoulder and bent forward.

“On your way. Let's not dawdle,” the man said.

Junior glared, but kept his mouth shut and headed for the elevators.

“Thank you, Jack,” Ellen Crease said calmly. She had not blinked during the encounter with Junior.

“My pleasure,” the man said, flashing her a boyish smile.

Mary Garrett had noticed the man sitting in the back of the courtroom throughout the hearing. She had assumed that he was a policeman.

“Mary, this is Jack Brademas,” Crease said. “He's the head of security at Hoyt Industries. Jack's been protecting
me since I learned about the money that was paid to Martin Jablonski.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Brademas.”

“Jack, please. Especially after that coup you just pulled off in court. Was Judge Quinn's ruling as good for the senator as it seemed?”

“Better,” Garrett answered. “For all intents and purposes, this case is over.”

“Ced, this is Lou Anthony. I just got back to my desk and there was a note to call you. What happened at the hearing?”

“Quinn fucked us, Lou.”

“How?”

“He suppressed everything. The blood spatter evidence, Fargo's statements about what Hoyt told her. Everything.”