For myself, I have mixed emotions with the way things are going. The good news is that I’ve made points with this witness, at least partially discredited his testimony, and made him look bad. The bad news is that I’ve done this now, rather than at trial, which is when it will be important.
Judge Morrison is not going to throw out the case today; he is going to schedule it for trial. Lester will be able to use this experience to better prepare Dwayne for his trial testimony, and in that sense what I accomplished will have been counterproductive. The reason I did it is the media coverage; it is crucial I get the public to understand that this case is not a slam dunk and that there is another side to the story, our side.
Lester calls Cliff Parsons, the officer who investigated the case, discovered the bodies, and arrested Jeremy. Lester slowly takes him through his life story, literally beginning with his time as an all-state football player at good old Findlay High. By the time he’s halfway through his heroics as an Army Ranger, I can’t take any more.
“I object, Your Honor. The witness’s life story, while thrilling and the stuff of which TV movies are made, is not relevant here.”
“Your Honor, Lieutenant Parsons’s exemplary record is important towards supporting his credibility,” Lester says.
“How about if we wait until cross-examination to see just how credible he is?” I say, throwing down the gauntlet. I want this witness worried about what I’m going to do to him.
Judge Morrison asks Lester to speed things up, and after a few more questions they move into testimony having to do with the case at hand. Lester takes him through his story step by step, beginning with the missing persons report called in by both Liz’s mother and Sheryl’s father. Parsons took twenty-four hours to determine that they were in fact missing under suspicious circumstances, and then started an investigation to learn their whereabouts.
Parsons comes off as an experienced witness. He speaks slowly and carefully, answering the questions completely but not volunteering more than is necessary. He and Lester have obviously spent some time together preparing, since the story comes out easily and coherently.
Once Parsons determined that the young women’s disappearance was indeed suspicious, he learned from Dwayne O’Neal of the argument between Liz and Jeremy outside the bar. He further learned that Liz had recently broken up with Jeremy and that Jeremy was unhappy about it.
As Parsons relates it, he went out to Jeremy’s the next night to discuss all this with him. Jeremy’s truck was parked in front of the house, and Parsons looked in the window as he walked by. He saw what seemed to be bloodstains on the front seat and called for backup help.
Before the help arrived, Parsons rang the bell, and there was no answer. Jeremy was in the guesthouse, asleep, but Parsons said he had no way of knowing that. Parsons then pried open the door and commenced a search. Backup arrived, and one of the other officers found the bodies, the fresh dirt and leaves having caused him to notice the shallow grave. Jeremy heard noises, came into the main house, and was read his rights, arrested, and taken into custody.
Calvin and I have discussed the dilemma of how hard to hit these witnesses in the preliminary hearing, and as I get up to cross-examine Parsons, Calvin whispers to me, “You gonna leave any bullets in the gun?”
“What do you think?” I ask, although I’ve already made my decision.
“Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat” is the machine-gun sound he makes, a sentiment I fully agree with.
I steal a quick glance at Laurie as I walk toward Parsons. He works for her, and she will not be happy if I damage his credibility. But it’s something I have to do; it’s why they’re paying me the little bucks.
The only issue that holds any real promise for our defense is that Parsons failed to get a search warrant before checking out the truck and house. If it could be determined that he acted improperly, then all evidence discovered in those searches would be thrown out. It won’t happen, but it’s all we have to shoot for.
Lester has already had Parsons explain why he did not get a search warrant, but I plan to take him through it again. “Lieutenant, you testified that when you arrived at Mr. Davidson’s house, the truck parked in front attracted your attention.”
“Yes, it was parked at a strange angle, as if it had been left quickly.”
“I’m not from around here, but is ‘quick parking’ a felony in Wisconsin?”
Lester objects and Judge Morrison sustains, casting a warning stare in my direction.
“So you thought this was suspicious enough to look into the truck?”
He nods. “I did. Two young women were missing.”
“And had been missing for twenty-four hours.” I point this out in an effort to show that if Jeremy had indeed been worried about how he quickly parked, or about bloodstains on the seat, he would have had plenty of time to remedy the situation. The truth is, I questioned Jeremy on this, and he said he had not used the vehicle in those previous twenty-four hours.
Parsons has a ready answer. “That doesn’t mean the truck was there that long. For all I knew, it could have just gotten back to the house.”
“Which window did you look through?” I ask. “The driver’s side or passenger side?”
“Passenger side.”
I show him a picture of the car parked in front of the house. The driver’s side is toward the driveway entrance, and the passenger side is facing the house.
“So you pulled up, saw this suspiciously parked truck, but didn’t look in the window closest to you. Instead you walked around to the other side? Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What were you looking for?”
“Anything relevant to my investigation,” he says.
“You mean like a clue or something? Do quickly parked trucks usually contain clues?”
“I was looking for anything relevant to my investigation,” he repeats.
“And you saw what looked like blood to you,” I say.
“It was blood,” he says with the confidence of twenty-twenty hindsight.
“Dr. Peters characterized the blood on the seat as ‘specks.’ Would you agree with that?”
He shrugs. “It was enough for me to know what it was.”
“You know blood when you see it?”
“I do. I unfortunately see a lot of it in my line of work.”
I nod and walk over to the defense table. Calvin hands me a sixteen-by-twenty-four-inch manila envelope. I ask if we can approach the bench, and when Lester and I are out of earshot of the witness and everyone else, I take out a small poster board and tell the judge what it represents. I further state that Dr. Peters prepared this for us yesterday and gave us a document swearing that it is as represented.
Lester objects to my using the exhibit, but the judge correctly overrules him and allows me to show it to the jury and then Parsons. “Lieutenant Parsons, as you can see, there are four red stains, identified as A through D, on this board. I’m sure you’ll agree that they are all larger than specks.”
Parsons doesn’t say anything, which is fine, since I haven’t asked a question. “As an expert in blood identification, perhaps you can tell us which of these are bloodstains.”
Lester objects again, but the judge again overrules him. Parsons seems disconcerted by the exercise and looks upward, complaining that “this isn’t the best lighting.”
I nod. “You mean compared to a dark driveway at ten o’clock at night, looking through a quickly parked car window? Those are better conditions?”
Finally, reluctantly, he points to C. “That appears to be a bloodstain.”
I nod and hand a document to Parsons. “You’ve chosen the stain labeled ‘C.’ Please read from Dr. Peters’s sworn statement and tell the jury what C actually is.”
Parsons looks at the document and says softly, “It’s melted red licorice scraped on the surface.” There are a few snickers in the gallery, and Judge Morrison gavels them away, but they heighten the effect.
I wasn’t worried that Parsons would correctly identify a bloodstain, because none of them were blood. To Parsons I say, “I take it you’re not also an expert on licorice identification? You haven’t unfortunately seen a lot of licorice in your line of work?”
Lester objects and Judge Morrison strongly admonishes me. He’s coming to the unhappy realization that Hatchet’s characterization of me as a wiseass was all too accurate.