Chapter 35
Katy panicked when I walked into the courtroom. It wasn’t seeing me that upset her. It was that I walked in alone.
“I just want to be clear,” Jeanie said. She stood with her back to me at the lectern. In the witness box, Lissa Daughtry looked expensive. Someone had outfitted her with a tailored crème suit, salon-styled dark hair, and freshly manicured nails.
“You’re not here only out of some sense of justice, are you, Ms. Daughtry?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lissa responded. “I told the truth. You people asked me what Katy said to me. I told you what I remember.”
“You people,” Jeanie repeated. “You mean Mr. Quick, don’t you?”
“Mr. Quick. The police. That podcaster lady. And now you.”
That “podcaster lady” sat in the back row. Tallon raised a brow and smirked as she saw me. I made my way quietly up to the defense table and took a seat next to Katy.
“Where is he? Where’s Eric?” she whispered.
The judge shot both of us a look.
“Let’s talk about Mr. Quick then, since you brought it up,” Jeanie said. “Tell me again what you were charged with? Why were you in jail?”
“Solicitation,” she said. “But it was a misunderstanding and I’m sorting it out.”
“Sorting it out. Let’s talk about that. You’re sorting it out with the prosecutor, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you mean?”
“Fine,” she said, displaying the level of frustration I would have. “Isn’t it true that as of this morning, all charges against you have been dropped in exchange for your testimony here today?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m lying!”
“Thank you,” Jeanie said. “I have no further questions.”
She was right to stop there. But it was ten o’clock in the morning. When Quick stood, he said the five words that would quickly cause me a strategic problem.
“Your Honor, the defense rests.”
“You may step down, Ms. Daughtry,” Judge Castro said. “All right. I’m going to give the jury a ten-minute recess to stretch their legs. Counsel, stay put. Let’s see if we can handle some housekeeping business and get this case to the jury by early afternoon.”
I looked behind me. It had only been a few minutes, but I had a glimmer of hope that Eric would walk in at that exact moment with the answers everyone needed.
But that didn’t happen.
A moment later, the jury was gone. “All right,” Castor said. “Let’s get our jury instructions under control.”
“Your Honor,” I said. “I’d like to file a motion to reopen the defense for the purpose of calling two, possibly three, remaining witnesses.”
Hell quietly broke loose. I could hear notes being scribbled behind me. Tallon Shipley, no doubt, along with three other members of the media.
I rose to my feet. “New evidence has come to light as of last night,” I said. “Evidence that could not have reasonably been discovered by the defense prior.”
“Who are your witnesses?” Judge Castor said.
“What evidence?” Quick spat.
I laid out my case. I had photographs of the loose brick and hidden key that Eric could authenticate. I asked for permission to recall Jenna Rodney for the limited purpose of questioning her about the key box.
“This is ludicrous,” Quick said as I knew he would.
“The prejudice is clearly outweighed by any probative value. Counsel cannot prove that this so-called loose brick or key box ever contained anything. She admits she has no idea how long it’s been there.
Is your client planning to testify that she knew about it? ”
“My client is exercising her constitutional right not to testify,” I said. “And it isn’t the defense’s job to prove how long the key box was there. It was actually law enforcement’s job. I’d also like the right to recall Detective DePaul as well.”
“Let me get this straight,” Quick said. “She expects the court to grant permission so her boyfriend can take the stand and testify about how he just happened to find a hidden and empty key box near the crime scene at the literal eleventh hour. That’s about as self-serving as it gets.”
“And counsel is free to make that argument during his closing argument. The jury is free to weigh the credibility of former Detective Wray as they see fit. The fact remains: Sharon DePaul missed it. And I believe Jenna Rodney has relevant testimony directly pertaining to it.”
“Your Honor …”
“Enough out of both of you,” Castor said. “This feels like a stunt, Ms. Leary.”
“With due respect,” I said. “As I just stated, the state is free to make that argument to the jury as it sees fit. I’m not making this up. I was there when Eric found it. If you’d rather I take the stand and explain that, I certainly can.”
I heard the courtroom doors open behind me. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. Still no Eric. But Deputy Jeff Steuben walked in with Jenna Rodney, looking utterly confused. I woke him out of my sister’s bed this morning.
“Is Mr. Wray ready to testify?” the judge asked.
“Your Honor, I have an objection on the record.”
“You do,” Castor said.
“Your Honor, if you’ll allow me to recall Jenna Rodney,” I said. “She’s already under oath. I’d like permission to continue to treat her as a hostile witness.”
“Fine,” he said. He instructed the bailiff to show the jury back in. “But your re-cross is confined to a limited scope, counsel. You can ask her about this key box. That’s it.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I took my position at the lectern. Jenna Rodney was shown to the witness box. Right now, nobody outside this courtroom but Eric knew about that metal box. Except, hopefully, the woman right in front of me.
“I’ll remind you you’re still under oath, Ms. Rodney,” the judge instructed her.
“Thank you for coming back on such short notice,” I said. “Ms. Rodney, it’s been a few days since you testified, so I just want to remind the jury of a couple of facts. You said you worked for Tom Loomis for over four years, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“So two years before Katy married him.”
“Yes.”
“And the nature of your relationship with him was the same. You were his housekeeper?”
“Yes.”
“You came on Friday mornings for all that time.”
“Yes.”
“It was your habit, or rather Mr. Loomis’s habit, and lately Mrs. Loomis’s habit, to leave the house for the majority of the time you were cleaning, correct?”
“Yes.”
I paused. Get here, Eric. Just get here.
“So you well knew Mr. Loomis’s schedule. When he left for work. When he would be out of the house.”
“Your Honor,” Quick objected. “Counsel was given a very limited scope for this questioning. I’ve yet to hear a single question within the parameters of it.”
“Get on with it, Ms. Leary,” Castor said. “But the witness may answer.”
“Yes,” Jenna said. “I knew his work schedule. I wouldn’t say I always knew when he would be out of the house.”
“Fine,” I said. “Thank you for clarifying that. Ms. Rodney, I’d like to show you a photograph. Could you tell me if you recognize what it depicts?”
I handed her a picture of the brick siding behind Tom Loomis’s grill on the patio. She shrugged and handed it back to me.
“It looks like a section of Mr. Loomis’s back patio.”
I admitted the photo into evidence. “Do you recognize what’s shown in this photo?” I handed her a close-up of the fake brick after it had been removed from the side of the house.
“It just looks like somebody moved a brick from the wall,” she said. “But I’ve not seen that before.”
“What about what’s depicted in this photo?” I said. I handed her a photo of the key box.
She stayed cool. If the photo caused her distress, she didn’t let her expression change. Was I wrong? I couldn’t be. I knew it.
“I’ve never seen that before,” she said.
It was my turn to stay cool. Step one: commit her to the lie.
“You’ve never seen that before,” I said. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she said. “What is it?”
“Ms. Rodney, you testified under oath last week that you were never given alternative access to Tom Loomis’s house other than his garage code. But that’s not true, is it?”
“Objection!” Quick said.
“She can answer the question,” Judge Castor said.
“I told the truth,” she said. “I resent your accusing me otherwise.”
“You told the truth,” I said. “You’re saying you were never given alternate access. You’re saying you never knew about a hidden spare key behind a brick off the patio.”
“Objection!” Quick said. “Now counsel is testifying and offering facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained,” Judge Castor said, his temper rising.
“Ms. Rodney,” I said. “You’re in a romantic relationship with a man named Aaron Dover, isn’t that right?”
“Your Honor!”
“Approach,” Castor instructed. I expected this.
“Judge,” I started. “You granted me permission to explore whether this witness knows about a hidden key at the Loomis house. She stated that she didn’t. Her credibility is at issue. I believe she’s lying and I believe I can prove it.”
“She’s fishing,” Quick said.
Castor sighed. “She’s right; she can explore credibility issues. But get there, Ms. Leary.”
“Of course.” We stepped back. When I got back to the lectern, I thought I saw a subtle change in Jenna Rodney’s posture. She sat straighter.
“Aaron Dover,” I said. “Are you in a romantic relationship with him?”
“He is my boyfriend, yes. But he’s got nothing to do with any of this.”
“I didn’t ask if he did,” I said. “But thank you for clearing that up.” I could hear the second hand on the wall clock. Each tick felt like a doomsday countdown.
“Did you tell Aaron Dover about your employment with Tom Loomis? He knew you were working for him?”
“Sure,” she said.
“Jenna, did you tell Aaron Dover about a spare key hidden near the patio at the Loomis house?”
“No,” she said with conviction.
“How well do you know Aaron Dover?” I asked.
“What? I just told you.”
“Do you know his family?”
“His family? You mean his mom and dad? Yes. Of course I know them.”
“What’s his grandfather’s name?”
“Objection, relevance,” Quick said.
“Sustained.”
“Ms. Rodney, you testified that you saw the knife the defendant was holding, right?”
“Yes, I saw a knife in her hand.”
“This knife,” I said, walking to the evidence table. I picked up the buck knife and held it in the air.
“Yes,” she said.
“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you what was written on the handle of the knife?”
“What?”
“When you were on the stand a few days ago. I specifically asked you to describe what was on the handle of the knife. Do you recall that?”
“I guess. You asked me a lot of things.”
“That’s right,” I said, glancing back at the courtroom doors. Come on, Eric! “Do you remember how you answered that question?”
“About the knife?”
I went to my notes. Emma had printed out one page from the trial transcript last week. “When asked to describe what was on the knife, what did you say? Your exact words.”
“I have no idea what my exact words were,” she said. “But the knife has letters on it.”
“Letters,” I said. “That isn’t what you said. Would you please read the transcript of your earlier testimony? I’ve highlighted the relevant portion. May I approach?”
Scowling, Judge Castor motioned me forward.
Jenna took the paper from me; her hands were shaking almost uncontrollably. She read it.
“I said initials,” she answered.
“Initials. Not letters. You said they were initials.”
“Your Honor,” Quick stood up. “I’ve had about enough of this.”
At that point, the courtroom doors opened. Eric couldn’t have timed it better. I kept my back to Jenna. I brandished the knife so that the jury could see it. So Eric’s companion could see it. Eric gave me a quick nod. Then he shoved A.C. Dover sideways, forcing him into a seat.
Realization spread over A.C.’s face as he saw the knife. I turned to Jenna. Her eyes were locked on A.C.
“What are the initials on that knife, Ms. Rodney?”
“X. Y. Z.,” she said, her voice cracking.
“X. Y. Z.,” I repeated. “So again. Please tell me if you know Mr. Dover’s grandfather’s name.”
“I don’t … I don’t know.”
“You don’t know,” I said. “Have you ever seen this before?”
I placed a copy of Xavier Zeller’s obituary on Quick’s table. I brought another copy for Jenna.
She read it. I saw her tears.
“You’ve met Mr. Dover’s family?” I asked.
“Some of them, yes,” she said.
“His siblings?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“His mother?” I asked.
“Are there names listed on that paper in front of you? His siblings. His mother.”
“Yes,” she said.
“What are you looking at, Ms. Rodney?”
“An obituary,” she said. Then she looked up at A.C. “What were you thinking? You’re so stupid! You promised me. You promised this wasn’t going to happen!”
A.C. vaulted to his feet, realizing what she was about to do. To her credit, Jenna understood the position he’d now put her in.
“Your Honor!” Quick shouted. He’d read the obituary too. He seemed to be having the same reaction I did when I read it last night.
Xavier Yancey Zeller. X. Y. Z. There weren’t random letters on that old buck knife.
The kind that had been used for generations.
If I had to guess, Xavier Zeller had carved his initials into the hilt maybe fifty years ago.
It was a good knife with a solid, well-worn handle and a sturdy blade that would last for generations.
That could be sharpened to a lethal edge.
The kind that would slice through Tom Loomis’s neck like butter.