Until the Final Verdict (19 page)

“Not tonight. Dave arranged for Emma to visit me in his lieutenant's office in the jail.”

Griffith set his briefcase on the table. “Kathryn, if the guilt phase of this trial ended today, I couldn't save you from a death sentence.”

“I have to see Emma.” Kathryn stood and extended her wrists to the bailiff, who handcuffed her, then grasped her elbow.

She turned back to her lawyer. “Roger, do you do adoptions?”

He shook his head. “It's highly specialized.”

“Do you know an attorney who does?”

“Yes, why?”

“Just wondering.”

“P
UT THESE ON.
”
Dave Granz pulled the door closed and handed Kathryn a Safeway bag.

She glanced inside. “Street clothes. Thanks.”

“Figured some normal time might be good for you and Emma.”

“As normal as possible, anyway.” She glanced around his lieutenant's office, whose windows were crisscrossed by metal bars. “Where is she?”

“Talking to Deputy Martinez at the booking desk. Her homework assignment is to interview someone in Spanish. She's asking Martinez about her hobby.”

“Which is?”

“Hang gliding. Believe me, when Martinez starts on that subject, she'll talk your ear off. I told her I'd come get Emma when we're ready.”

Kathryn pulled a pair of J.Crew jeans and a dark blue T-shirt from the bag, spread the shirt on the desk, and started smoothing the wrinkles with her hand.

“What's new on the Tucker murder investigation?” she asked.

“Nada. I'm at a dead end now that Keefe and Sanchez have been cleared.”

“Has CSI determined how the killer got into the building?”

“No, it's like he materialized out of thin air, murdered her, then vaporized without a trace. I'm gonna have to put it on the back burner unless something turns up soon.”

He pointed at the bag. “There's more in there.”

She pulled out a red bra and bikini panties.

“Better change,” he told her. “I'll close my eyes.”

“Keep them open. You haven't looked at me in a long time.” She unzipped the jumpsuit and slid it off, then unfastened her bra, dropped it to the floor, and stepped out of her panties.

“Don't tease,” he told her.

“I'm not teasing.”

“We don't have much time.”

“We don't need much time.”

She unzipped his Levi's and pulled them down, pushed him into the chair, and slid her mouth over him. After a moment, she straddled him and slowly lowered herself until she consumed him.

Dave kissed each breast. “I was hungry for you.”

“I was
starving.”
She raised and lowered her body slowly, and he arched his back to meet her.

When they were finished, Kathryn whispered, “I wish we could stay like this forever, but . . .” She freed herself from his arms, slipped on the red underwear, then her jeans and T-shirt, while he watched.

Dave stood up and dressed. “I'll get Emma.”

“H
I,
M
OM.
”

Kathryn hugged her daughter. “I'm so glad to see you.”

“Lupe said she'd take me hang gliding someday.”

“Lupe?”

“Deputy Martinez. Her name's Lupe.”

Kathryn shook her head. “That sounds pretty dangerous, sweetie.”

“Oh, Mom, you're such a sissy! We women can do dangerous things nowadays.”

“Let's talk about it later. How's school going?”

“Fine, 'cept in math we're doing polynomial equations. They're hard, and we have a test tomorrow. Dave's gonna help me when we get home.”

“Glad to hear it, I'm not very good at math.”

“I need help with English, too, Mom. I brought my book. Will you?”

Kathryn faked a sneeze so she could turn her head and wipe the tears from her eyes. “Of course, honey. Let's spread your homework out on Lieutenant Aldridge's desk.” She glanced at Dave for approval.

He nodded and winked. “I don't know an adjective from an elbow. You two work on it. I need to go to my office and make some phone calls.”

He checked to be sure Emma wasn't watching, then pointed at his watch and silently mouthed,
One hour.

Kathryn blew him a discreet kiss.

He mouthed,
I love you.

D
AVE KNOCKED
on Aldridge's door, waited a moment, then entered. Emma was just tucking her homework into her backpack.

“How'd the English go?” he asked.

Emma shrugged. “I think I can conjugate verbs pretty good now.”

“Well,” Dave corrected.

“Well what?” Emma asked.

Dave and Kathryn both laughed. “Forget it. By the way, Em, Lupe says there's something she forgot to mention. Asked that you stop by before we leave. Why don't you go see what's on her mind while I tell your mom good night. I'll be there in five minutes.”

“ 'Kay.” Emma threw her arms around Kathryn's neck and clung. “Hurry and come home.”

“I love you so much, honey.” Kathryn didn't try to hide her anguish. “But remember, Dave loves you, too.”

“And I love him, but I don't love anyone as much as you, Mom.”

Dave placed his hand gently on Emma's shoulder. She gave Kathryn a last squeeze and stood up. “Bye, Mom.”

K
ATHRYN LEANED AGAINST
D
AVE
until her sobs subsided. “If I lose control, I'll never get it back.”

“Take your time, Babe.”

“All the years I've been a prosecutor, I've been a staunch advocate of capital punishment. I didn't think it was possible to sentence an innocent person to death. I was wrong. They're going to execute me.”

“Griffith hasn't put on your defense yet.”

“What defense? Skinner stuck the needle in my arm. McCaskill just needs someone to push in the plunger on the syringe.”

“Griffith'll blast holes in her testimony big enough to sail a battleship through. You're being pessimistic.”

“I'm being realistic. I've got to face it, and—”

“Babe . . .”

“Let me finish. And so do you. I need to ask you something, but you must promise to not answer until you think it over.”

“Kate . . .”

“Please.”

“I promise.”

“Emma loves you, Dave. You're the only family she knows. When I'm convicted, I want you to adopt her, if you're willing.”

“Kate . . .”

“You promised you wouldn't say anything until you think it over.”

“There's nothing to think over, you know I'm willing. But, you're not going to be convicted.”

“Yes I am.”

“H
OW WOULD YOU DEFINE
‘
FRIEND,
'
Ms. Skinner?”

Roger Griffith leaned casually against the podium, left hand in the pants pocket of his dark brown suit, right hand on a stack of dictionaries.

“Excuse me?”

“Tell the jury how you define the word ‘friend.' ”

She contemplated. “I'm not sure.”

Griffith lifted his hands, palms up. “That's obvious from your testimony about my client.”

“Objection!” McCaskill said. “Argumentative.”

Keefe shot Griffith a dirty look. “Sustained.”

“Let's see if I can help.” Griffith flipped the
American Heritage Dictionary
open to a page marked with a yellow Post-it. “ ‘A person whom one knows, likes, and trusts.' Is that how you'd describe a friend?”

“I suppose.”

He opened the
Cambridge International.
“If you're not sure, how about this one: ‘Someone who is not an enemy, and whom you can trust'? Or
Merriam-Webster's
definition: ‘One that is not hostile'?”

“Are you planning to make a point in the not-too-distant future, Mr. Griffith?” Keefe asked.

“If the Court will give me some latitude.”

Keefe sighed. “Answer the question, Ms. Skinner.”

Skinner had on a suit almost identical to the one she had worn the previous day. She shifted in her chair and absently tugged at her dark blue skirt as she considered her answer. “I suppose I agree with those definitions of ‘friend.' ”

“Please share with the jury the argument you had with Kathryn Mackay.”

“What argument?”

“The argument that ended your friendship.”

“We didn't have an argument.”

“A serious difference of professional opinion?”

“We rarely disagreed on professional matters.”

“Then you still consider Kathryn Mackay a friend?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting. Then, you must agree with Oscar Wilde that ‘A true friend stabs you in the front.' ”

McCaskill jumped up. Before he could object, Griffith said, “Withdrawn.”

“Ms. Skinner, you testified that my client once said she feared she'd never be District Attorney because her boss, Harold Benton, was so young.”

“Yes.”

“When did she say that?”

“I don't recall, exactly.”

“Approximately's close enough.”

“I don't recall.”

“Where were you when she shared this intimate personal thought with you?”

“I don't recall.”

“Uh-huh. You don't remember
when
she said it, or
where
she said it, you just remember she said it, right?”

“Yes.”

Griffith pursed his lips and shook his head sadly, then looked at the jury.

“Mr. McCaskill did prepare you for yesterday and today's testimony, right?”

“Yes.”

“More than once?”

“Yes.”

“More than five times?”

“Your Honor!” McCaskill objected.

“The Court gets the point, Mr. Griffith. Move on.”

“And it was Mr. McCaskill who suggested to you that Kathryn said she'd never be DA because of Harold Benton's age, right?”

“I don't remember.”

“So it's possible my client
never
made that statement at all, but that Mr. McCaskill told you to say she did?”

“No, I'm sure she said it.” Skinner's voice rose, as if asking a question rather than making a statement.

“Since, as you testified, you rarely disagreed with Kathryn on professional matters, it's accurate to say
you agreed with her that DA Benton died of a digitalis overdose administered immediately before his apparent heart attack?”

“Doctor Nelson rendered that opinion, not Kathryn.”

Griffith held up a piece of paper. “The same Doctor Nelson who appears on Mr. McCaskill's witness list as an expert on forensic pathology and toxicology?”

“Yes.”

“Whose forensic opinion was that ex-DA Benton was administered enough digitalis to—” he picked up another document and read from it, ‘stop his heart almost instantly.' ”

“Yes.”

“The Sheriff's investigation showed Doctor Simmons was with the District Attorney when he had the apparent heart attack and that, in fact, Kathryn was with Doctor Nelson at the morgue when it occurred, right?”

“Doctor Nelson's her best friend.”

“Didn't you testify that you're her best friend?”

“I said I'm her
close
friend.”

“As close as either of you had, right?” He paused. “Are you saying Mr. McCaskill's expert witness might lie?”

Skinner tugged absently at the hem of her skirt, then clasped her hands in her lap. “I didn't say that.”

“Good. Did you tell Kathryn that in your professional opinion, Doctor Simmons didn't murder ex-DABenton?”

“No.”

“That you thought she should waive the death penalty against Robert Simmons?”

“No.”

“That she shouldn't make a deal with Doctor Berroa, whose crimes were less serious, to allow Berroa to testify before the Grand Jury?”

“No.”

Griffith continued. “You were Chief Deputy when Kathryn charged Doctor Berroa with involuntary manslaughter, and you and she discussed the fact that involuntary manslaughter carries only a two- to four-year sentence. Did you tell Kathryn you thought it was a bad idea?”

“No.”

“As Chief Deputy District Attorney, is it your professional opinion today, that it was a bad idea?”

“I'm not sure.”

“Did you tell Kathryn you didn't think she should personally extradite Robert Simmons from Costa Rica?”

“No, but as I testified, we were investigating a series of infant kidnappings at the time.”

“In fact, that investigation hadn't been turned over by the Sheriff to the District Attorney's office at the time Kathryn traveled to Costa Rica, isn't that correct?”

“Yes, that's correct.”

“Who was Chief Deputy before my client elevated you to that position?”

“Neal McCaskill.”

Griffith pointed to the prosecution table.
“This
Neal McCaskill, who is now your boss?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to McCaskill when you replaced him?”

“Kathryn assigned him to misdemeanors, and later fired him.”

“For what?”

“Insubordination.”

“That's all?”

Skinner implored McCaskill with her eyes, but he didn't look at her.

“Should I repeat the question?” Griffith insisted.

“Insubordination and violating office policy against politicking on county time. Did you agree with Kathryn's decision to fire McCaskill?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Was McCaskill aware of that?”

“Yes.”

Griffith puckered his lips and whistled softly. “That must've pissed—excuse me, that must've made him angry at both of you!”

Before McCaskill could react, he said, “Withdrawn. The Chief Deputy position you hold is at-will, that is, you don't enjoy civil service protection, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“When Mr. McCaskill was appointed Interim DA pending Kathryn's exoneration, did you think he might retaliate against you?”

“I considered the possibility.”

“But, you're still Chief Deputy, right?”

“That's right.”

“Because McCaskill promised you'd remain his
Chief Deputy if you testified against my client, and if you didn't, you wouldn't, right?”

“I—”

McCaskill's face turned red and he leaped from his chair. “Sidebar, Your Honor!”

Keefe wiggled his fingers. “Counsel may approach.”

“Judge,” McCaskill protested, “the defense has no right to delve into irrelevant private conversations I had with one of my employees.”

“There's no such thing as employer-employee privilege, and McCaskill wasn't her lawyer, so there's no attorney-client privilege,” Griffith said. “If Skinner was coerced, it bears on her credibility as a witness, and I have a right to cross-examine her on it.”

Keefe thought for a moment. “I'm afraid Mr. Griffith's right. I'm going to allow him to pursue this line of questioning. Now, step back.”

After the court reporter read back the question, Skinner said, “He didn't say it in so many words, but he implied that I might be disciplined.”

“Disciplined how?”

“Demoted or fired.”

“So, to protect your job, you agreed to lie if necessary to convict Kathryn of murder?”

“I never promised to lie.”

“To your knowledge, as Kathryn's close friend, did my client drink to excess?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Use illegal drugs?”

“No.”

“Abuse prescription drugs?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Suffer from depression?”

McCaskill stood. “The witness isn't a doctor and can't opine on the defendant's emotional condition.”