We sit down at the defense table, after which Jeremy is brought out. He takes his seat next to Calvin and within about two seconds asks if there is anything new with his case. If he is like my previous defendants, this is the first of five thousand times he will ask that question. What he’s really asking is if there has been a stunning development that will immediately cause his release, and he’s disappointed when he finds out there isn’t.
Laurie is sitting near the front of the room, though she will not be testifying. She was not on duty the night of the murders, and Cliff Parsons handled the investigation. I assume he will testify, since he’s on Lester’s list, and I plan to rough him up some.
Judge Morrison starts the hearing at precisely nine o’clock and begins by informing the packed gallery that if they are the cause of any disruptions, they will rue the day. I have a feeling there’s not going to be any ruing this particular day; I think the judge’s warnings will have the desired effect. To the nonmedia people in this room, this is the World Series, the biggest public event that Findlay is likely to experience. At least until the trial.
Lester calls as his first witness Dr. Clement Peters, the county medical examiner, who Laurie and everybody else refers to as Clem. He is here to discuss the results of his autopsy to determine the cause of death, as well as to report on the results of tests taken to identify the bloodstains on the front seat of Jeremy’s truck.
If left to his own devices, Dr. Peters could say in about thirty seconds that the deaths were due to multiple stab wounds and that the blood on the front passenger seat belonged to both victims. In Lester’s publicity-hungry hands it takes just under an hour; he’s never played to a media-packed house before, and he does not want to step back out of the spotlight.
Finally, reluctantly, he turns the witness over to me. “Dr. Peters, about how much blood was there in the front of the car?” I ask.
“In layman’s terms, maybe ten or twelve specks.”
“But it could be seen with the naked eye?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“How did it get there?”
He seems surprised by the question and takes a moment before saying, “I really don’t know.”
“Do you think it’s likely that the victims were both in that front seat bleeding?”
He considers this. “Well, it’s a small area… I doubt if both of them were there, but it’s possible.”
“If they were cramped into the seat like that, bleeding from the stab wounds, would you expect to see more blood?”
“Absolutely.”
As prosecution witnesses go, this is an outstanding one for the defense, mainly because he seems to be open and not partial to either side. He doesn’t bring an agenda to this hearing, as Lester and I both do.
“But if they hadn’t been stabbed yet, and were cramped into that same seat, they wouldn’t each have left blood specks, would they?”
“Not unless they both had other wounds of some sort.”
I accept that and move on to a discussion of the bodies, which Dr. Peters had said had at least ten stab wounds each and had bled profusely. “In your considered opinion is it possible that the person who committed these murders was able to avoid getting blood on himself or herself?”
“I’m not an expert in blood spatter, but I would say no. In the case of Elizabeth Barlow the carotid artery was cut, and that would have created a spurt of blood. And other wounds on both women would have done the same.”
I let him off the stand; he’s not the guy whose credibility I need to damage. Lester, seemingly pleased with how well this has started, quickly calls Dwayne O’Neal, a patron at the Crows Nest bar on the night of the murder.
O’Neal, in his mid-twenties himself, seems relaxed and delighted to be here as the center of attention. He testifies that he saw Jeremy and Elizabeth arguing in the parking lot that night and that Jeremy was yelling at her. He was a good fifty feet away but had no trouble hearing them.
“What could you hear them saying?” Lester asks.
“He was yelling, ‘How can you say that? How can you say that?’ And she said that she was leaving, and he said, ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ ”
This is damaging testimony, and Lester takes another half hour to milk it, before turning the witness over to me.
“Now, Mr. O’Neal,” I say, “you’ve testified that you saw the defendant in the parking lot. Were you arriving at the bar or leaving at the time?”
“I was leaving. It was past twelve o’clock.”
“Did you have friends with you that heard the argument as well?”
He shakes his head. “No, I was there alone.”
“So your friends were inside?”
Another shake of the head. “No, I knew a couple of people there, but I was by myself. I like to go there sometimes to relax, you know, unwind.”
“Does drinking help you unwind?”
“Sure, a little bit.”
“How much unwinding did you do that night?” I ask.
“What do you mean?” he asks, now a little wary.
“How much did you drink?”
“I don’t know… not much. A drink or two.”
I introduce as evidence a credit card receipt from that night, showing that O’Neal spent fifty-two dollars for eight drinks. I then get him to admit that the receipt is in fact his.
“So since you didn’t have any friends in the bar, can we assume you weren’t buying rounds of drinks for everyone? Can we assume that you were doing a lot of unwinding that night?”
O’Neal’s attitude switches to sullen and worried. “I don’t remember… but I wasn’t drunk.”
I nod as if that makes perfect sense. “Fine. So you spent fifty-two dollars on drinks, after which you and your blood alcohol level head to your car for a pleasant ride home. By the way, do you find that driving drunk helps you unwind as well?”
Lester objects and the judge sustains, but my point is made: This is not a model citizen. I continue. “So when you got near your car, you heard the defendant and Elizabeth Barlow arguing?”
“Right.”
“Was it violent?”
“No.”
“Did you intervene?” Dwayne doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking, so I spell it out. “Did you walk over, break up the argument, because you were afraid someone would get hurt?”
“No, but I thought about it. I guess I should have, seeing as how she died and all.”
“Did the defendant and Ms. Barlow leave together?” I ask.
“I don’t know for sure; I left before them.”