Hard Evidence (47 page)

*     *     *     *     *

Hardy was surprised at the sound of Owen Nash’s voice —somehow less authoritarian than Hardy had imagined —raspy but consciously softened, Hardy thought, as though he were speaking to a child.

‘I know you’re unhappy with me,’ he said, ‘but don’t hang up, please.’

A longish pause. The digital sound reproduction was superb — Hardy could hear Celine’s breathing become more rapid.

‘All right,’ she said evenly, ‘I won’t hang up.’

‘We have to see each other,’ Nash said. ‘We need to talk about this.’

‘No. I don’t want to see you about this. I want you back —’

‘It’s happening, Celine. It’s going to happen.’

A breathy silence.

‘It
can’t
, Daddy, it just can’t. What about me?’

‘You’ll be fine, honey. I still love you.’

‘You don’t.’

Now it was Owen’s turn to take a beat. ‘I’ll always love you, honey. We just can’t go on… the way we have. I’ve changed. It’s different —’

‘Because of her.’

‘No, not just her. Because of me. Maybe she’s made me see it, but the change is mine, it’s my decision —’

‘I won’t let you make it.’

‘Celine…’

‘I won’t, Daddy, she can’t do this, she can’t have you —’

‘It’s
not
her,’ he repeated, ‘it’s me. And I have made the decision.’

‘I’ll change your mind. I know I can.’ Suddenly there was a deeper, insinuating tone. It was unusual enough that Simpson turned around to look at Hardy. ‘
You
know I can.’

Nash did not answer immediately. When he did, his voice was a whisper, as though wrung from the depths of him. ‘No, you can’t anymore, Celine. That’s done. That’s over. It’s come terribly close to ruining both of our lives. It can’t go on —’

A strident laugh. ‘I suppose you won’t see me, your own daughter.’

‘I’ll always see you, Celine. Whenever you want. Just not, not that way…’

‘I want one chance, Daddy.’

‘Hon —’

Almost screaming now, somehow without raising her voice. Then the throbbing voice again. ‘Please. Please, Daddy, I just need to see you.’

‘It won’t —’ Nash began.

‘If it doesn’t, I’ll leave it. I promise.’

Resigned. ‘When?’

‘Whenever you want. Wherever you want.’

A final pause, then Nash’s voice, thick. ‘I’ll call you.’

*     *     *     *     *

Jeff Elliot’s call was on Hardy’s answering machine at his office at home. Celine may have been in Santa Cruz at some point during the weekend, but neither Len nor Karl nor his mother could verify she’d been there on Saturday, since regardless of what they had told or implied to Glitsky, they hadn’t been home themselves.

The assistant district attorney in charge of sexual crimes was a woman named Alyson Skrwlewski. Hardy had barely known her, though he guessed that by now she’d have heard of him.

‘I just have a quick general question if you don’t mind.’

She considered a moment. Like most of the D.A.‘s staff, she wasn’t disposed to do any favors that would hurt a prosecution case. And even if she was inclined to be helpful, the situation — Hardy calling her this way on a Sunday afternoon — made her uncomfortable. ’Let’s hear the question first,‘ she said, ’then I’ll tell you whether I can answer it.‘

‘I guess I want to know is what are the most common manifestations of father-daughter incest?’

‘Well, I guess that’s general enough. I can talk about that. What do you want to know?’

‘Everything I can, but specifically, when the victim grows up, is she likely to do anything differently than other women who haven’t had that experience?’

‘Not when,
if she
grows up, you mean. Suicide would be high on the list.’ Hardy let her think. ‘Her relationships are going to stink, probably. She’ll be an enabler, maybe let her husband abuse her own daughter. That’s if she wants a husband.’

‘They don’t marry often?’

‘Oh, no, not that so much. I mean, this is almost too general. Every case is different. It’s just such an all-encompassing, terrible situation — they might marry five times, finding the so-called right mix of somebody who abuses them and babies them. It sucks.’

Hardy agreed, but she wasn’t telling him anything that might help him. ‘What about backgrounds?’

‘What about them?’

‘Anything you might expect to see more than in someone else?’

‘You mean with the victim, or the father?’

‘Both, I guess.’

‘Well, there’s some evidence that if the father didn’t interact immediately, normally, with the victim in the first years of her life, he’s
more
likely to be sexually attracted to her. If he never changed a diaper, never burped her, and so forth, the incest taboo doesn’t kick in.’ She sounded apologetic. ‘Hey, that’s a fairly new theory and pretty unprovable. With the women, at least there’s more data.’

‘What do they do?’

‘Well, a surprising number of them try to burn down their houses. No one really seems to know why, besides some obvious symbolic stuff, but arson is often in the profile.’

Hardy felt the hairs rise on his arms.

Skrwlewski continued. ‘And then, of course, there’s the prostitution, but everyone knows that.’

They all go into prostitution?‘

‘No, no. Not so much go into that life — although, of course, many do — but more have some isolated experiences. Their self-image is so low, they don’t feel attractive, you know. Yet they know men want them, daddy did, and they can take out their hostility by making them pay. It all gets pretty twisted around.’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘I guess some people don’t react as badly. But you’ll almost always get the manipulation, using sex for something else, the love substitute.’

*     *     *     *     *

Hardy’s stomach was a knot. He sat at his desk with his arms folded across his chest. Outside his window, the wind had died down and there were a few breaks in the clouds.

He had all the proof he needed for himself. But there was the same problem that had dogged the murder of Owen Nash from the outset — the lack of physical evidence.

Celine’s conversation with her father, provocative and revealing as it had been, never named a date, didn’t so much as mention the
Eloise
. It also hadn’t mentioned May, but Celine could argue with absolute credibility that she had simply been mistaken as to the day when she’d talked with her father about him meeting May on the boat. She had the one talk with him at his office, then another one later in the week — he said he’d call her, didn’t he? — and she’d gotten the two mixed up.

The Santa Cruz people being away didn’t necessarily mean she
hadn’t
been there. It meant her alibi was weaker — almost undoubtedly false — but by itself it still didn’t put her on the
Eloise
on Saturday.

Other hints came back to him. He remembered Celine telling him she’d only been a member of Hardbodies! for six months — in other words, from about the time she’d stopped working out on the
Eloise
when Owen had started seeing May regularly. Surely the headbands on the boat —never claimed by May — had been Celine’s. So had the lifting gloves, one pair of which she’d no doubt worn when she had fired May’s Beretta.

As with Andy Fowler and May Shinn before him, there was no apparent physical link tying Celine Nash to the murder of her father.

He had been right, though he took little satisfaction from it — Owen Nash had been killed by a jealous woman. But the woman had been his own daughter. And if he had been sexually abusing his own daughter since — he supposed — their trip around the world together when she’d been six years old, or even earlier, he certainly deserved whatever punishment she could give him. He knew she had done it, and now he knew why. More accurately, he knew she had done it
because
he knew why.

He thought of his own adopted baby girl, then tried to imagine the immense physical and psychological damage Owen Hash’s abuse had visited on his own daughter, and suddenly he found he had lost any desire to see Celine punished — she had been punished enough, hadn’t she? She’d never get out from under the private stigma, never away from the pain.

Deep down, he didn’t even blame her.

But, though punishment might not be his motive, he still had to prove it to clear Andy Fowler, and Celine was nobody to underestimate. Earlier in the morning he had sent Frannie and Rebecca away, deriding himself for considering that Celine might be dangerous. Now he was glad that he had.

She had shot and killed her father. She hadn’t blinked at, and had in fact done her best to bring about, the false accusation of May Shinn. From the gallery she had daily watched the slow skewering of Andy Fowler, his once-distinguished career in ruins. She had clearly been prepared to take Hardy’s marriage down with her to get him off her scent.

Hardy still had Andy Fowler to defend.

The trial would have to go on. Pullios couldn’t let it go now and without a smoking gun, Hardy’s accusations of Celine at this stage would come across as rank courtroom shenanigans — it might at last get him the long-promised contempt citation from Chomorro.

*     *     *     *     *

‘The key is my only hope, Abe. She’s got to have the key.’ Glitsky had listened patiently, for him. He interrupted only about every ten seconds, tired of Hardy’s meddling, not liking to hear that Celine’s alibi — the one
he
had provided — was suspect.

‘Now it’s Celine?’ he asked at last. ‘Too bad Nash didn’t have a dog. After Celine’s trial we could indict the dog.’

‘Come on, Abe, I’ve run it all down for you. We need a warrant. If she’s got the key, if it’s at her house…’

Glitsky stopped him. ‘Big deal.’

‘It proves she could have gone to the
Eloise
on Thursday morning.’

‘Proves she
could have
. Please, this one time, give me a break, Diz. It doesn’t prove anything. It’s just another theory. You know that’s how they’re going to see it.’

‘That’s why we need the physical evidence. The key. With my testimony —’

‘
If
anybody believes you.’

‘Why wouldn’t they?’

‘Because, my friend, it is in your own best interests to make up something like this. Like the gun not having been there when you looked on Wednesday night.’

‘It wasn’t there, Abe.’

‘I’m not saying it was. The issue here, as always, is proof. And I’m telling you how it’s going to look. Can you think of any judge in the city who would issue a search warrant on this?’

Hardy was silent.

‘Okay, how about in all of America?’

‘All right, all right, I understand, Abe. But I’m telling you, Celine did it. I’m telling you why. What am I supposed to do about that? There’s no way Andy Fowler’s going down for this.’

‘I hate to tell you this, ol’ buddy, but you want my opinion — he is unless you get him off.‘

62

Coming in a little after nine, the size of the crowd in the gallery was daunting. Hardy wondered if someone had leaked the news that his witnesses might not be appearing, that they’d be moving right along to Andy’s testimony, then closing arguments and jury instructions. The verdict might even come in today, and the media wanted to be there.

His witnesses had been subpoenaed, though, and they were on hand: Glitsky in a coat and tie; Glitsky’s lieutenant, Frank Batiste; Ron Reynolds, his polygraph expert; Art Drysdale sitting next to Chris Locke himself. Hardy wasn’t too surprised to see David Freeman, down for the show. Celine was sitting in her usual spot by the aisle.

Abe, he realized, had been right. His job had never varied. He had to convince the jury that the evidence did not warrant a conviction. He had come up with an idea to get to Celine if he had to — he might have to prove that she was guilty in order to get Andy off— but he didn’t want to confuse the two issues.

Andy, in a dark blue suit, entered with Jane. Still hurt and angry at Hardy for the grilling he’d given her on Saturday about her relationship with Owen Nash, she didn’t come through the rail as she usually did.

Fowler, however, seemed to have forgotten Hardy’s outburst at him on Friday about his stance, the transparency of his attachment to May — and sat down calmly at the defense table.

From his vantage now, certain that his client had not killed anyone, Hardy was more equable about the judge’s attitude and appearance, much of which was, he decided, a brave front. This was an innocent man. He could seem to remain above it all if he wanted, if it made him feel better.

Hardy was also beginning to understand a little of what was behind Andy’s apparent sangfroid. The man had, after all, spent thirty years on the bench, and it was in his blood to believe in the jury system — there would not be a miscarriage of justice here, he didn’t kill Owen Nash, the jury would come up with the right decision. If he didn’t believe that, what had he been doing presiding over the system for three decades?

If Hardy wanted the jury to believe that Andy was more of a regular Joe, it was because he thought it would make him appear more sympathetic. Now he was realizing that the jury’s empathy with Andy wasn’t the issue either. In reality, there was only one issue: did the evidence prove he had killed Owen Nash?

*     *     *     *     *

The judge entered and everyone stood. Hardy went to the center of the courtroom and nodded at the members of the jury, then at the judge. Chomorro had given fair enough notice. ‘The defense calls Inspector Sergeant Abraham Glitsky.’

He turned to watch Abe come forward, catching a raised eye from Pullios at the prosecution table. Well, object all day, Betsy, he thought to himself. This is relevant and I’m going to bring it up.

Glitsky was sworn in, and Hardy, after establishing Abe’s credentials as an experienced homicide investigator, began.

‘For the jury’s benefit, Sergeant, would you tell us how an inspector such as yourself gets assigned to a homicide investigation?’

Glitsky sat comfortably in the witness chair, having been there many times. Forthcoming, competent, with nothing to hide, he looked directly from Hardy to the jury. ‘It’s more or less random,’ he said. There are twelve inspectors and typically we each handle between three and six cases, rotating them as they come in. If it gets a little unbalanced, Lieutenant Batiste might shuffle one or two around.‘

‘All right. Now in this random manner, did you happen to get the Owen Nash homicide?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘In that capacity, what was your role in collecting evidence?’

Glitsky gave it a minute’s thought. ‘I am in charge of coordinating all the physical evidence that we eventually turn over to the district attorney’s office if the matter is going to be charged. I also check on the alibis of suspects, potential motives. We look into paper records, bank accounts, telephone logs, anything we feel relates to the homicide. In this case I also supervised the forensics team that went aboard the
Eloise
, Mr Nash’s boat.’

Glitsky and Hardy had been over all this many times.

‘Did you go aboard the
Eloise
yourself?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘And what did you find there?’

Glitsky went over the inventory — the bloodstains, the slug in the baseboard, the exercise equipment, the murder weapon.

‘When you got to the
Eloise
, was it locked up?’

‘Yes, the attendant there had to open the cabin for us.’

‘This was Thursday afternoon, June twenty-fifth, is that right?’

‘Right.’

‘Now, Sergeant, as your investigation proceeded, did it eventually center on one suspect?’

‘Yes, it did.’

‘Because of the physical evidence?’

‘To some extent. There were fingerprints on the murder weapon, a lack of an alibi, an apparent motive.’

Hardy had decided he might be able to introduce all of this testimony if he avoided having Glitsky draw any conclusions and if he kept May Shinn’s name out of it. So far, he was talking about the formal police investigation into the murder of Owen Nash — relevant testimony.

‘And based on that evidence, those suspicions, did you make an arrest?’

‘No, not right then. There wasn’t enough to justify it.’

‘But eventually you did make an arrest. Did you find more evidence?’

‘No more physical evidence, but I came to the conclusion that the suspect was about to flee.’

Hardy turned to the jury. ‘In other words, your suspect was exhibiting consciousness-of-guilt, and you felt justified making an arrest because of that.’

‘That’s correct.’

Hardy turned back to Glitsky. ‘Sergeant, this person with fingerprints on the gun, no alibi, no apparent motive, the one acting so guilty — was that suspect Andy Fowler?’

‘No, it was not.’

Hardy nodded and turned to Pullios. He had gotten through it without an objection. ‘Your witness.’

*     *     *     *     *

‘Sergeant Glitsky, when you did make the initial arrest in his case, the one Mr Hardy has just referred to, were you coerced in any way by any member of your department or by the district attorney’s staff?’

Hardy couldn’t believe it — Pullios was inadvertently introducing the very argument he had been trying to avoid because of Chomorro’s decision.

‘No. At that time it was a fairly standard investigation. Although we do try to move quickly.’ He looked at the jury. The trail of a homicide gets cold in a hurry.‘

‘Before making your arrest, did you wait for the complete fingerprint analysis on the murder weapon, People’s Exhibit One?’

‘Yes.’

‘And didn’t Mr Fowler’s prints turn up?’

‘Well, at the time, they were unidentified.’

‘You don’t deny that Mr Fowler’s fingerprints were on the gun, do you?’

‘No.’

‘But before you knew whose they were, you arrested another person? You told Mr Hardy your suspect had an “apparent” motive and alibi. Did you get an opportunity — before the arrest — to check that alibi?’

‘No, but —’

‘And isn’t it true that, in fact, your suspect had two eyewitnesses to where she was on the day of the murder —eyewitnesses you failed to locate?’

‘I wouldn’t characterize it as —’

‘Please just answer the question, Sergeant. It’s very straightforward.’

Glitsky looked down for the first time. Hardy thought it wasn’t a good sign. ‘Yes, that’s true. I didn’t locate them.’

Pullios walked back to her table, took a sip of water and read some notes, shifting gears. ‘Now, Sergeant,’ she began again, ‘how many homicides were you handling at this time, back in June?’

Hardy stood up, objecting. ‘The sergeant’s caseload isn’t relevant here.’

‘On the contrary,’ Pullios said, ‘Mr Hardy went to some lengths to establish Sergeant Glitsky’s professional routine under normal conditions. If these were not normal conditions, if the sergeant was under unusual stress, for example, the rigor of his investigations might suffer for it.’

Glitsky’s lips were tight. ‘The suspect was leaving the country,’ he said.

Chomorro tapped his gavel. ‘Please confine yourself to answering the questions, Sergeant. Ms Pullios, I’m going to sustain Mr Hardy here. No one is questioning the sergeant’s handling of his case.’

But, of course, Pullios had done just that: trying to discredit a prosecution witness who consorted with the defense.

As soon as Glitsky stepped down, Chomorro asked to see counsel in his chambers and called a ten-minute recess.

He stood in front of his desk. ‘Now look,’ he began as soon as Pullios and Hardy were inside, ‘I’ve warned you both about opening this can of worms and I’m not going to have it. This isn’t a conspiracy case on either side. Mr Hardy, that was some pretty nice navigating through some difficult shoals, but we’re not going on in this direction. I notice you’ve got Lieutenant Batiste up soon. Do I take it he’s going to say Sergeant Glitsky is a good cop who always follows established procedures?’

‘More or less.’

Chomorro shook his head. ‘Well, he’s not going to. I’ve also got some real concerns about how you intend to handle Art Drysdale. I think it’s all getting pretty irrelevant here.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m not trying to cramp your style, Mr Hardy, but unless you’ve got something a little more substantive I think you might reconsider your direction. I know you’ll have the defendant up there half the day. I’ll let you summarize your procedure questions in the closing argument — up to a point. But I’m not inclined to let this thing degenerate into character assassinations of everyone in this building. Clear?’

‘Yes, Your Honor. But in that case, I do have a request. I’d like to add a witness.’

‘At this point?’ Pullios asked.

‘You’ve just asked me to cut out half of my witnesses. It doesn’t seem unreasonable to take another tack. It’s a small point anyway.’

‘Judge—’

Chomorro cut Pullios off. ‘Who is it?’

‘Celine Nash, the victim’s daughter.’

‘You’re calling her for the
defense
?

Hardy shrugged. ‘I’m calling her to get at the truth, Your Honor. The substance of her testimony will be access to the
Eloise
, Nash’s habits on board.’

‘How is that relevant to Andy Fowler?’ Pullios asked.

‘Come on, Elizabeth, I don’t want to give everything away. I’ll get to it when she’s on the stand.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but it was a small enough point, and Chomorro, having taken away, ought to give him one back.

‘All right,’ the judge said. ‘All right, Elizabeth?’

Pullios thought about it, then nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘why not?’

*     *     *     *     *

Testimony before lunch was taken up by Ron Reynolds, the polygraph expert. Hardy kept him on the stand longer than he thought really necessary, since the only important point he had to make was that Andy had
volunteered
to take the lie detector test. If Andy Fowler had been guilty, or even acting with a consciousness-of-guilt, he would not have done that, was Hardy’s point.

Of course, polygraph evidence of this sort was only admissible by stipulation. But Pullios had agreed to the testimony, provided she could make the point that Fowler hadn’t actually passed the test. Hardy didn’t need Reynolds’s point, but Pullios couldn’t do much with hers, either, and Hardy needed Reynolds to take up most of the rest of the morning on the stand — he had to take the good with the bad.

So he ran Reynolds around with how the polygraph worked in general, why people did well or poorly on it, margin for error and so on. On cross, Pullios, as expected, leaned on the fact that Fowler, with his vast experience, would conceivably know how to beat the test and therefore could have volunteered to take it knowing he could throw off the results.

But for Hardy, it accomplished his ultimate goal. He did not want to call Celine Nash before lunch. Suddenly, after the recess in Chomorro’s office, the course of the trial lay clearly charted before him. He would take Celine, the witness, baiting the trap, after lunch. Afterward, Fowler would testify on his own behalf, then perhaps Hardy would get to his closing argument.

Tomorrow, Chomorro would give the jury their instructions and leave it in their hands.

But today, after she testified, Celine would remain in the courtroom, as she had every day, until that day’s business was done. He was counting on the fact that she would not risk altering her routine, not when she was so close to winning.

*     *     *     *     *

‘Celine Nash.’

She reacted almost as though she’d been hit, turning in her seat abruptly to look around her. Recovering her composure, she stood in the gallery and walked up through the railing, looking questioningly at Hardy.

She settled herself into the witness box. She wore charcoal pinstripes over a magenta silk blouse, the effect of which was, somehow, both severe and demure. Her hair was pulled back, accenting the chiseled face, the aristocratic lines. Hardy steeled himself and moved to his spot as she was being sworn in.

‘Ms Nash, I’ve just a few questions, if you feel up to them.’

She nodded, wary, looking to the jury, then to Pullios. When she came back to Hardy she seemed to relax, getting into the role. ‘Go ahead, Mr Hardy, I’m fine.’

‘Thank you. You and your father, Owen Nash, were very close, were you not?’

‘Yes, we were.’

‘And you spoke often, saw each other often?’

‘Yes. At least once a week, often more.’

‘Going sailing, having dinner, that type of thing?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now in the last few weeks of your father’s life, did this pattern continue?’

‘Well, yes. I know I talked to him the week —’ she lowered her eyes — ‘the week he died, for example. It had been normal.’

‘And did you talk about any particular subject most of the time?’

‘No, not really. We talked about a lot of things. We were very close, like old friends.’

‘I see. You talked about a lot of things — business associates, sports, gossip, personal matters?’