The Divine Appointment (11 page)

It seemed that every reporter on staff was in the newsroom. They were trying to get an above-the-fold story together before the 10:45 p.m. deadline for the early city edition. The cacophony made it difficult for him to hear the woman on the other end of the phone. It was
her
, he finally realized.

“Don’t even try to trace the call,” she instructed. “I told you so.”

Holland rolled his eyes. He didn’t like being shown up. And he was still kicking himself for missing an opportunity to scoop everyone in town on the Shelton nomination. He took another swig of Diet Coke and swallowed hard. “That you did.”

“Why didn’t you run the story?”

“My editor wouldn’t let me without corroboration, and I couldn’t get any.”

“At least now you realize that I’m telling the truth. Are you going to keep your end of the bargain?”

He remembered her threat. If she knew the nominee before it was announced, then she certainly had the resources to follow through on her threat against him. “I gave you my word, and I’m going to stick to it.”

“That’s good to hear, Mr. Fletcher. And you won’t be sorry. The Caldwell murder will be a bigger story than Dunbar Shelton.”

Bigger
. He liked the thought of that. He set his feet on his desk and chewed on the end of his pen. “Are you going to give me your name now?”

“No. Not now. Maybe never.”

“How am I going to contact you?”

“I’ll give you my wireless number, but that’s it. No home number. No address. You call, and I’ll decide whether I want to answer or not.”

He didn’t like it, but they were her rules. If he was going to play the game, he had to play by her rules. He scribbled the number on a scrap of paper and stuffed it in his wallet. “I’ll do it, but if I don’t find something in a week, I’m giving up.”

“If you’re as good as you act like you are, you’ll find something.”

With that the line went dead, and Holland was left seething at the challenge.

The Metropolitan Nashville-Davidson County Courthouse, Nashville, Tennessee

“There will probably be reporters waiting for us,” Eli said as he, Jill Baker, Tag, and Anna walked along a sidewalk in downtown Nashville. All four were dressed in business attire. They had parked two blocks from the courthouse and were on their way to Tag’s preliminary hearing on the first Thursday of June.

“If anybody says anything to them, it’ll be me,” Eli instructed. “But I doubt that I will allow interviews today. The trial hasn’t even been set yet, and any potential jurors will forget what I say today by the time the trial begins.”

Fifteen large granite columns greeted Eli as he and the others climbed the concrete steps that led to the criminal trial courts. The Metropolitan Nashville-Davidson County Courthouse was five stories tall and rectangular in shape, with entry points at each corner. Inside, a wide hallway ran along the outer part of the building, trapping the courtrooms—twenty in all—within its perimeter.

Eli and the others were stormed by the members of the print, television, and talk-radio media that littered the area outside courtroom 7. Eli ushered the Grissoms and Jill past the unrelenting demands for answers, through the bright lights from the television cameras and constant clicking from the photographers’ cameras, and into the courtroom without providing comments or sound bites for the evening news.

The courtroom was small by most standards, but very ornate. Rich wood paneling, a high ceiling, and thick carpeting gave the room an elegant feel. The gallery area was only eight rows deep, and many of the reporters who had previously been in the hallway clamored for one of the few available seats. The entrance was in the rear of the courtroom, and Eli saw the judge’s bench directly ahead as they entered. Although elevated, it wasn’t as lofty as others Eli had seen.

Standing near the table on the right-hand side of the courtroom was the lead prosecutor, called the district attorney general in Tennessee jurisprudence. In common parlance he was simply called the General. The General, Randall Dickerson, was a slender man of medium height. Eli knew that Randy was well connected politically. A man didn’t get elected as district attorney general in Davidson County without knowing the right people.

“Randy, good to see you again,” Eli said as the two shook hands.

“You, too, Eli. I’m a little surprised to see you over here on this case.”

“Long story, but I’m sure you don’t mind an out-of-town adversary every once in a while, do you?”

“Always glad to have a law school classmate across the table from me.” Randy wore engraved gold cuff links, a dark gray suit, and black leather shoes that had recently been polished.

“I see you don’t wear glasses anymore,” Eli commented. “Contacts?”

“Lasik. Two thousand dollars per eye, but worth every penny.”

“Since when does the district attorney handle preliminary hearings?” Eli asked.

“It’s too important a case to allow for any mistakes. The victim was the daughter of one of the mayor’s closest friends.” Randy nodded toward a distinguished older couple sitting in the courtroom.

Eli hadn’t noticed them before now but realized they must be the parents of Jessica Caldwell.
Jordan and Heddy Caldwell
. The names came to his mind from reading them in Jill’s report. Eli’s eyes met Jordan’s, and Eli could sense the pain and the anger that Jessica’s parents must be experiencing. He returned his gaze to Randy.

“I’ll be lead on this case,” Randy continued. “I can’t delegate responsibility for it to one of my assistants.”

“All rise,” the slightly overweight bailiff in the Metro Nashville PD uniform commanded as she entered the courtroom from a door, to the right of the judge’s bench, that led to the judge’s chambers. There was no doubt she was to be obeyed. Everyone in the courtroom who wasn’t already standing leaped to their feet.

The bailiff was closely followed by Judge Russell Blackwood, who bounded to his position on the bench. He was of average height and weight, with a freshly starched shirt and an orange-and-white-
striped necktie under his black robe. His hair was brown with a hint of red, and his face was clean shaven. He settled into his leather chair behind the bench and nodded at the bailiff.

“Please be seated,” she said.

Eli and Randy separated, each to his respective table, and sat down—Randy to the table on the right facing the judge and Eli to the one on the left. Tag sat between Eli and Jill. Eli had yet to talk to Tag about his arrogant appearance, but there was still time to work on that before the trial. Anna sat in the first row of the gallery behind the bar. She looked sympathetic—just like Eli wanted. Everyone was in their respective places as the preliminary hearing in the case of the
State of Tennessee v. Todd Allen Grissom
began.

Sometimes lawyers waived the requirement of a preliminary hearing and moved to the next stage of the case. But Eli knew that he could use the preliminary hearing as an opportunity to discover some things about Randy’s case against Tag to which he might not otherwise have access.

“Mr. Faulkner,” Judge Blackwood began, “do you waive the preliminary hearing?”

“No, sir,” Eli responded, partially rising from his seat and then sitting back down.

“All right, then. General Dickerson, are you ready to proceed?”

“We are, Your Honor.” Randy stood from his chair, buttoned the top two buttons of his coat, and strode to the podium between the two tables.

“Call your first witness.”

“The state calls Lieutenant Mike Brantley.”

The bailiff opened a side door to the courtroom and Lieutenant Brantley entered—blue blazer, dark red tie, and khaki pants. After being placed under oath, Lieutenant Brantley sat in the witness chair that was located to the right of Judge Blackwood and slightly lower.

“Lieutenant Brantley,” Randy began. “For the record, will you please tell us your name and your occupation?”

Randy opened a three-ring notebook and placed it on the podium. He checked off each question as he went. The process was methodical and uneventful. He had used this script hundreds of times, Eli knew. Lieutenant Brantley was also comfortable in his seat. He angled toward the microphone in front of him without being instructed to do so.

“My name is Mike Brantley, and I am a lieutenant in the homicide division of the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department.”

“Lieutenant Brantley, in your capacity as a lieutenant in the homicide division, have you had the opportunity to investigate the death of a woman named Jessica Caldwell?”

“I have. I was the lead detective.”

“And what did your investigation determine?”

“We determined that the decedent, Jessica Caldwell, was murdered by strangulation.”

Randy backed away from the podium a couple of steps and rested against the rail that separated the actors—the lawyers, judge, defendant, and witnesses—from the audience. He spoke clearly and loudly so the members of the media in the gallery could hear.

Eli watched the act and smiled.

“Lieutenant Brantley, tell us how you arrived at the conclusion that Dr. Grissom was the perpetrator of this crime.”

Lieutenant Brantley spent the better part of five minutes reciting how the police officers had discovered Jessica’s body, the condition of the body, and the other physical evidence at the scene of the crime. His mannerisms weren’t as smooth as Randy Dickerson’s, but he was effective. Eli could hear paper from the reporters’ notepads ruffling behind him. Lieutenant Brantley then described the discovery of Tag’s fingerprints in Jessica’s town house, the revelation of a relationship between Tag and Jessica Caldwell, and the skin under Jessica’s fingernail.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Brantley,” Randy said when Lieutenant Brantley finished his answer. Randy turned toward Judge Blackwood. “I’ll pass the witness to Mr. Faulkner.” He unbuttoned his coat and sat down.

“Mr. Faulkner, any questions?” Judge Blackwood inquired.

“Just a few, Your Honor.” Eli rose from his chair. He buttoned the top two buttons of his gray pin-striped three-button suit coat and moved to the podium between the two tables. “Lieutenant Brantley, I’m Eli Faulkner, and I represent Dr. Grissom.” Eli gestured toward Tag, sitting behind the table. “Were Dr. Grissom’s fingerprints the only fingerprints you found in Ms. Caldwell’s town house?”

“No,” Lieutenant Brantley admitted. His body language and his voice indicated that he did so reluctantly.

“Who else’s fingerprints did you find?”

“Obviously the decedent’s fingerprints were there, and there was another set of prints that we were unable to identify.”

Eli’s eyebrows rose at Lieutenant Brantley’s response, and he glanced over his shoulder to make sure Jill was taking notes. He could hear Randy shifting position in his chair. That was a good sign. He would later request the full transcript of the hearing from the court reporter.

“Where were those prints located?”

“We found them in two locations. One was on the inside of the doorknob and the second was on a glass table near the couch in the den.”

“And you ran those prints through the NCIC and FBI databases?”

“We ran them through all the databases, and no matches.”

“One last question, Lieutenant Brantley. Was there any sign of forced entry?”

“No. There wasn’t any forced entry.”

Eli looked at Judge Blackwood. “Those are all the questions I have for Lieutenant Brantley.”

“Lieutenant Brantley,” Judge Blackwood said, “we thank you for your time today. You may step down.”

Lieutenant Brantley stepped down from the witness chair and the bailiff led him out the same side door he’d entered earlier.

“Call your next witness, General,” Judge Blackwood told Randy.

Randy stood again, walked to the podium, and began act two. His part in the play was second nature. “The state calls Dr. Morris Stephenson.”

Soon Dr. Stephenson emerged from the same side door Lieutenant Brantley had recently exited. Eli noticed a limp as Dr. Stephenson ambled across the courtroom. After being placed under oath, he sat down in the witness chair to the right of Judge Blackwood. Dr. Stephenson filled more of the witness chair than Lieutenant Brantley had. Eli also noticed that the doctor’s brown tweed jacket with leather elbow patches was about one-half size too small for him, and he wore an out-of-date brown knit necktie.

“Dr. Stephenson,” Randy began, “you are the medical examiner for the Metropolitan Government of Nashville and Davidson County—is that right?”

“That’s right. I am.” Dr. Stephenson spoke in a matter-of-fact fashion and primarily out of the right side of his mouth.

“And in that capacity, have you had the opportunity to examine the body of Jessica Caldwell?”

“I did,” Dr. Stephenson replied unemotionally. Eli assumed that Dr. Stephenson had testified at preliminary hearings and trials hundreds of times. He was very comfortable.

“As a result of your examination, did you prepare a report of your findings?”

“I did.”

“State’s exhibit number one, Your Honor,” Randy said as he approached the court reporter to have Dr. Stephenson’s report labeled as the first documentary evidence in the preliminary hearing. As he walked toward the court reporter, Randy gave a copy of the report to Eli.

Eli thumbed through the several pages in the report, then handed it to Tag. “Glance through this,” he whispered. “You’re probably more familiar with some of the terminology than I am. When you’re finished, pass it to Jill for the file.”

After the court reporter labeled the report, the bailiff handed it to Dr. Stephenson.

Randy returned to his position behind the podium. “Dr. Stephenson, what was the cause of death?”

Dr. Stephenson removed his reading glasses from his inside coat pocket and put them on. They were half lenses and rested near the tip of his nose.

“Asphyxia from neck compression,” Dr. Stephenson read from the report. He then looked over the top of his glasses at Randy. “She was strangled to death.”

While Randy continued questioning Dr. Stephenson, Tag nudged Eli on the arm. Eli looked over at Tag, and he pointed at something in the report.

“Ask him about this,” Tag whispered. “What is it?”

“It shows that there was HCG in her blood.”

“What’s that?”

“Just ask him,” Tag directed, almost in a commanding tone.

Eli moved a little closer to Tag and whispered in his ear. He was more forceful than usual. “I’m not asking a question I don’t know the answer to. What’s HCG?”

“It means she was pregnant,” Tag said.

Eli moved away from Tag and searched his face. All he saw was the same insolence he’d noticed during their earlier meeting.

“And I can’t be the father.”

Tag seemed so sure, but how could he be? Eli wondered.

“Those are all the questions I have for Dr. Stephenson,” Eli heard Randy say.

Randy’s voice disrupted Eli’s focus on Tag’s expression. Eli faced the front of the courtroom and stood. Randy sat down.

“I have a few questions for Dr. Stephenson, Your Honor,” Eli said.