“Persuade away.” Weber opened her palms, then folded her arms across her chest, and her expression grew serious. “Tell me what you got.”
“I think that Fiona Gardner was killed by her boyfriend, whose name is Tim Gage. He was a high-school boyfriend, and she broke up with him two weeks before the murder. For that reason he wasn’t invited to the party during which Fiona was killed. But when I interviewed him, he lied and said he wasn’t there. My investigator found a parking valet who remembers him and his car and can place him at the party that night.”
“At the time of the murder?”
“Yes, and he left shortly after he got there.”
“Go on.” Weber tented her slim fingers.
“I also spoke with Fiona’s best friend, Hannah Wicker, who was at the party that night and who dated Tim Gage after Fiona was killed. She said that Tim was abusive, controlling, and obsessed with Fiona, and that he told her that if he had found out that Fiona was dating somebody else after him, that he didn’t know what he would have done. The clear implication was that it would’ve been something violent.”
“What else you got?”
“Honestly, nothing more, not yet, anyway.”
“What is it you want me to do?”
Mary swallowed hard. “I want you to reopen the investigation.”
“And what is it you expect to learn, specifically?”
“Before I answer, let me back up a minute, so I understand your procedures correctly.” Mary edged forward on the seat. “When a body is found, the coroner’s office goes out with mobile crime techs and they collect trace evidence from a body, such as skin, hair, blood and the like. Is that correct?”
“Basically, that’s correct.”
“In this case, everybody was pretty sure that Stall was the killer that night, and for good reason, because of his actions in fleeing the scene. He was arrested and charged fairly quickly.”
“Yes, there what we would consider ‘emergent circumstances.’”
“Right, so then I assume that the coroner and mobile crime techs find trace evidence from Lonnie Stall, bag it, mark it, and that’s what the D.A. used to support his case.”
“Yes, that’s correct, too.” Weber’s eyes strayed to her desk clock, and Mary knew she’d better get to the point.
“I’m assuming there’s lots of trace evidence on the body that was collected but that wasn’t part of the Commonwealth investigation, and as such, wasn’t used or tested, since it didn’t relate to Lonnie Stall. You think that’s a correct assumption?”
“Yes, I do.” Weber nodded. “There would be a wealth of trace evidence that wasn’t relevant to the trial, and that evidence be would be in the evidence lock-up in City Hall or in the police warehouse on Erie Avenue.”
“But only the D.A. can get that evidence.”
“True.”
“Not even a party can get that.”
“Right.”
“So, in answer to your question, if I could get that evidence, I would specifically like to know if any of it is skin cells, hairs, saliva, DNA, or blood from Tim Gage. If so, that would contradict his story and link him to the murder. Am I right?”
“Yes, completely.”
“So what do you think?”
Weber thought a moment, cocking her head. “If this Tim Gage was the victim’s boyfriend, then she could have any of that evidence on her.”
“No, but they had broken up two weeks prior. He hadn’t seen her in two weeks. That kind of evidence doesn’t hang around that long, does it? It can’t.” Mary was thinking out loud, but she had to go with her gut. “Fiona was a teenage girl. If she was like me, she took showers all the time and would’ve changed into a nice new party dress.”
Weber arched an eyebrow. “Can you establish that she hadn’t seen Gage in two weeks?”
“Yes.” Mary could go back to Hannah Wicker to get the information, or if she had to, go to the Gardners.
“Well, that’s interesting, but it’s only a good start. It’s not enough to reopen the investigation in this case.”
“Can you tell me why?” Mary’s heart sank, but she didn’t let it show.
“You have a two-pronged problem on your hands. First prong. To reopen an investigation, you would need to show me some significant physical evidence, or some very compelling other kind of evidence. Hard evidence.”
“I can’t get the evidence, if I can’t get the record, and I don’t have the power to subpoena samples from Tim Gage.” Mary thought a minute. “What happens in all those cases where someone is trying to prove actual innocence? Those guys get the record and retest everything.”
“That’s called being granted access to the original sample, and those ‘guys,’ as you call them, have more compelling physical evidence to offer.”
“What about the fact that Gage lied about being there?”
“It’s useless. He didn’t lie at trial. I didn’t have him on the stand. It wasn’t sworn testimony, or even in an affidavit.” Weber shook her head. “If he had been called at trial, maybe, but he wasn’t. Trial counsel should’ve dug a little deeper.”
“What if you got Gage in here and talked to him?” Mary asked, though she knew the answer.
“It doesn’t work that way, we don’t reopen piecemeal. You need more on him before we can begin to talk about my bringing him in here.”
“Right now, I have an investigator looking into recent girlfriends to see if he was violent with them, or maybe even mentioned something about killing Fiona, like if he was drinking.”
“Follow up on that. I’m no social scientist, but in my experience, that kind of doer is arrogant. They love the feeling of power and superiority. Generally, that type of criminal wants people to know how smart he is. Sooner or later, they start talking and slip up.”
“What about if I could find him on surveillance tapes, getting into the building? They don’t have tapes of the murder scene, because it was a new building.”
“That would help, too, so we didn’t have to rely solely on the valet’s memory, which could be stale at this point. But wait.” Weber raised a finger. “I told you there are two prongs to your case, and you have a second problem that’s even bigger. The guilty plea. Your client pled guilty. Why?”
“He didn’t at the beginning of trial, and he didn’t take the deal that was offered, but he changed his mind later on the advice of his trial counsel, who was a nice guy but not experienced in murder cases.” Mary hadn’t mentioned to Weber that she wasn’t technically representing Stall, because the Chief probably wouldn’t have agreed to see her at all.
“So why did Stall change his mind?”
“Because he thought he was going to be found guilty and the case wasn’t going very well.”
“The guilty plea is the second problem you have to overcome.” Weber leaned back in her chair, folding her arms again. “The guilty plea matters because it is an admission by the defendant himself and evidence of his accepting responsibility for the crime. And it’s a serious crime, the most serious crime there is.”
Mary nodded.
“It also matters because of the integrity of the process. The guilty plea gives the victim’s family closure and certainty that this matter has been put to rest. That is not something that I or this office takes lightly.”
Again, Mary didn’t interrupt her to mention that she was representing a member of the victim’s family.
“I can see that you feel very strongly about this case, and you might be right about it. But I have to tell you, I hear this all the time.”
“Really?”
“All the time. From defense counsel like yourself, or friends of the defendant. Everybody and his mother has a theory about why somebody’s actually innocent. We couldn’t begin to reopen all the cases that we’ve closed, especially the ones where the defendant put himself in jail by pleading guilty. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Yes,” Mary answered, albeit reluctantly.
“I
agreed to see you today, not only because you were so persuasive on the telephone, but also because this office really does care.” Weber leaned over her desk, looking Mary directly in the eye. “Listen, I know how prosecutors look on TV and the movies, but the fact is we’re people who are really trying to do justice.”
Mary could hear the strength in her voice and it rang true.
“I care very much, as a personal matter, about the quality of justice in the Commonwealth, and on my watch, I don’t want any mistakes, not a single one. Because a single one is a person, a man’s or woman’s life, and I don’t want to make any mistakes when the cost is that high.”
“I understand.” Mary couldn’t resist a final appeal. “So I still have a chance, if I can bring you more compelling evidence and undermine his guilty plea.”
“That’s what I’m telling you. Hone in on Gage and deal with that guilty plea.”
“Thanks,” Mary rose. “I appreciate your hearing me out.”
“No sweat, and keep digging.” Weber grinned. “Bring me back a scalp, and take another shot.”
Mary thanked her and left her office, reenergized by the conversation. Her step quickened as she walked along the wall of a large room that held a warren of beige cubicles for secretaries and other staff, its perimeter ringed by offices of the assistant district attorneys. She wished she could share her excitement with Judy, but Judy still hadn’t called back. She didn’t want the rift between them to get any wider, so she slid her BlackBerry from her pocket, scrolled to the text function, and texted Judy, call me when you can, okay? She hit the escalator to the lobby and went out to the street.
Mary found herself pausing on the pavement outside the Widener Building, and lawyers hurried to and from the Court of Common Pleas, bearing thick brown accordion files. Cabs and cars rushed around the shadowy side of City Hall Plaza, but Mary wasn’t focused on them. She realized the next stop she needed to make, if she was going to bring back the scalp of Tim Gage.
She turned on her heel and started walking, then picked up her pace.
She didn’t feel ready, but she was going anyway, full steam ahead.
Chapter Thirty-nine
THE GARDNER GROUP, read the gleaming metal sign on the ultramodern company headquarters, a glass cube that reflected the stormclouds just beginning to cover the sky, and Mary hurried into the building, past two security guards in gray uniforms, and crossed a vast open space to a long, mirrored reception bank, behind which sat a middle-aged security guard and a pretty young receptionist, her blonde hair in a trendy asymmetrical cut.
“Hello,” Mary said, flashing a smile that projected more confidence then she really felt. She tried not to think about Lou’s information from his friends at Blackmore Security, that anyone from Rosato & Associates was persona non grata on Gardner Group property. “I’m Mary DiNunzio, here to see John Gardner.”
“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked, pleasantly.
“No, but it’s extremely important that I see him. If you tell him I’m here, I’m sure he’ll see me.” Mary wanted John to know that her investigation was ramping up, so she added, “And please, could you also tell him that I’ve just come from a meeting at the District Attorney’s Office?”
“Certainly, please take a seat.” The receptionist picked up the telephone at her desk and gestured across the room at some high-end microsuede sectionals the same pewter color as the carpet, grouped into a large rectangle around a mirrored coffee table.
“Thank you.” Mary went over, sat down, and caught sight of a large open stairway around the corner, across from the elevator bank. The stairway had to lead upstairs to the small conference room where Fiona had been murdered, and she realized that that there had to be a corresponding stairwell at the other end of the building, where the company kitchen must be located, and that on that side was the staircase that Lonnie Stall had used to get upstairs. She would have loved to go snooping, but she didn’t want to take the chance with security around.
The receptionist hung up the telephone, and motioned Mary over to the desk. “He’s in a meeting, but he says he’ll squeeze you in if he can. Would you like to wait?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Great, then would you mind giving Nate your photo ID, please?” The receptionist gestured to the security guard to her left, and if he recognized Mary or her name, it wasn’t apparent from his steely blue gaze, behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“May I have your photo ID, please?” the guard asked, holding out a large palm, and Mary extracted her wallet from her purse, pulled out her ID, and handed it over. The guard examined it, logged into the computer, and printed out a visitor’s badge, which he handed to her with a professional smile. “Here you are. Please take a seat.”
“Thanks.” Mary was about to go back and sit down, but wandered idly to the long lineup of building photographs mounted on the wall above the furniture, showing completed construction projects built in California, New York, Washington, Texas, and Atlanta. She was surprised to learn that the Gardner Group had a national reach. Next to the photos were an array of glistening crystal awards and prizes for various projects, then she noticed that the one at the end was for these very offices, which made the cottage in Townsend look like the kiddie table. She walked over, eyeing the pedestal that displayed the glass award, and on the wall behind it hung a framed reproduction of the blueprints for the corporate headquarters.
Mary scanned the drawings to understand the layout of the building. As she had expected, the first three floors contained the employee, staff, and accounting offices, and the fourth floor was the executive floor, with the showplace conference room and executive offices that overlooked the Delaware River. Her attention went instantly to the second floor, and she could see the stairs at either end, and in between a variety of square boxes that read offices, then the small conference room at the head of the back stairwell, where Fiona had been murdered. There were two exits on the back of the building, one which led from the employee parking lot to the reception area, and the other off the kitchen and lunchroom, which was next to a loading dock.
Mary’s thoughts raced ahead. She could assume that the parking valets would park the cars behind the building in the employee lot, and that must’ve been where Tim Gage had dropped his car. She tried to imagine how he got inside the party without checking in at the front desk, and it didn’t take long for her to figure it out. He could have dropped off his car with the valet, and once he had done that, he could easily avoid the front entrance and head for the back one, toward the loading dock. He could have entered the building, seen Fiona, and taken her up the back stairs to the second-floor conference room, knowing that all the activity would be on the ground floor and the executive floor. Perhaps they’d fought or he had made advances on her, but that was something Mary would never know until they locked him up. For now, she satisfied herself that in the hubbub of a party, Tim Gage had a way to sneak in, kill Fiona, and sneak out again.
“Miss?” said a voice, and Mary turned around, startled to see two uniformed security guards standing behind her, their expressions businesslike.
“Oh, no. Am I getting thrown out?”
“We’ll be happy to escort you upstairs to see Mr. Gardner. Step with us to the elevator, please.”
Chapter Forty
Mary was shown into a small vacant office on the third floor, and John Gardner stood behind an empty wooden desk, next to Neil Patel, who held a legal pad. The security guards closed the door behind her, and John gestured her into one of two patterned chairs across the desk.
“Please, Mary, sit down,” he said, unsmiling, as he took a seat in the desk chair, and Neil settled onto a window ledge, in the foreground of a spectacular view overlooking the Delaware River, winding its way between Pennsylvania and New Jersey like a snake.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Mary sat down. “I want to meet with you to tell you—”
“Excuse me,” John interrupted, his tone stern
. “I took this meeting only to tell you that you must cease and desist this harassment of my family and my employees or we will file a restraining order against you and your law firm.”
“Can I please just tell you—”
“I asked you to leave my family alone, yet you came to my farm yesterday, with a group of your friends who managed to injure themselves.”
Neil, who started taking rapid notes, interjected, “If Mr. Pensiera attempts to file any kind of negligence action, you can rest assured that we will file charges of criminal trespassing with the Townsend police. Mr. Pensiera’s actions in wandering around the property clearly exceeded the scope of any implied permission he was given when he was admitted to the property with you.”
Mary suppressed an eye roll. “No one’s filing any lawsuit. I’m here to tell you that—”
John cut her off. “You may have ingratiated yourself with my wife, but I’m not so easily fooled. Allegra is in an institution and she’s evidently still not safe from your influence. This is your last warning, which Neil tells me is required, though God knows why. Consider yourself warned.”
“Okay, I’m hereby warned. Can you just give me three minutes to tell you why I’m here today?”
“I know why you’re here. You’re here because Allegra has unfortunate and horrific fantasies about what happened to Fiona, and you’re both intent on setting someone you see as innocent free.”
“No,” Mary shot back, taking a different tack. “I’m here because I want justice for Fiona, and I think Tim Gage killed her.”
“That’s just what you told Richard, and he threw you out, as he should have.”
“So you spoke to him. Weren’t you surprised that Tim Gage was at the party, when he wasn’t invited? Wouldn’t you be surprised that he was abusive to Fiona? And wouldn’t you be surprised that he was abusive to her friend Hannah and told her that he didn’t know what he would do if he found out that Fiona was dating someone after him? John, doesn’t any of that make you wonder if he did it? It may not be enough yet for a court or district attorney, but isn’t it enough for a father?” Mary found herself on her feet and she couldn’t stop now, because she knew she wouldn’t get another chance. This was her closing argument, to the toughest judge ever. “I’m not here for Lonnie Stall or Allegra. I’m here for Fiona. I know you won’t talk to me about Tim Gage, and I don’t need anything from you but the surveillance tapes. I think I figured out how Tim Gage came in the back door, by the loading dock, and went upstairs through the back stair to the second-floor conference room, either with Fiona or without her, and killed her.”