"The Last Innocent Man" - читать интересную книгу автора (Margolin : Phillip)

2

Afog bank drifted across the sand, obscuring the terrain of the endless beach. Monica stopped, terrified and alone. She turned slowly, looking for a landmark, but the fog had made subtle changes and she felt lost.

The fog lifted for a moment, and a figure, half-shrouded by the mist, floated away from her. She ran after it, lifting her legs high to avoid the sand that clutched at her ankles. She must not fall or the sand would suck her down.

The fog was drifting back and her quarry was slipping into the shadows. She ran faster, the pounding of her heart drowning out the cadence of the incoming tide. Faster. She was losing ground. Faster. She was falling, screaming, flailing helplessly as she hurtled downward into darkness.

Then the beach was gone, and the only part of her dream that remained was the beating of her heart.

Monica looked around the room. It was her bedroom and she was sitting up in her bed, drenched in sweat. The clock read sixA.M. She could try to sleep for another half hour, but she was too wound up.

Monica turned on the light and went into the bathroom. The face she saw in the mirror was pale and had bags under the eyes. Not good, she thought, but it would not get better if she did not get a decent night’s sleep.

She had been exhausted during jury selection, and her opening statement lacked the punch of David’s emotional declaration of his client’s innocence. Monica had watched the jurors as she outlined the evidence she would produce at trial. They had listened attentively, and she was convinced that they were responsible people who would convict Larry Stafford if they believed he was guilty. But would they believe that, or would David fool them?

Fool them. That was an odd way to describe the function of the defense bar, but Monica felt it was an accurate description. When they had lived together, David often talked of himself, self-deprecatingly, as a magician whose job it was to make people see what was not there and to conceal what was there. Monica believed that Larry Stafford killed Darlene Hersch, and she was afraid that David would make her evidence disappear with a wave of his verbal wand.

Monica opened the refrigerator and took out a container of orange juice. She put a kettle of water on the stove and tried to decide between cold cereal and frozen waffles. She settled for two pieces of whole-wheat toast.

Judge Rosenthal had been chosen to preside at the trial, and David did not object, even though Rosenthal had issued the search warrant. Jury selection had taken longer than expected because of the difficulty in finding twelve Portland residents who had not formed an opinion about the “Policewoman Murder.” Monica and David had agreed on a jury shortly before noon on the second day of trial. They had concluded opening statements after lunch, and she had presented the testimony of Dr. Francis R. Beauchamp, the medical examiner, before Judge Rosenthal had called a halt to the proceedings for the day.

The coffee was bitter and Monica grimaced as it went down, but she needed the caffeine. The toast was burned, too. Shit! She felt like smashing something. Not a good way to begin the most important day of the State’s case. She tried to calm down.

Monica was always tense when she was in trial, but it was worse when she tried a case against David. She was a highly competitive woman who enjoyed winning. When Monica tried cases against other attorneys, she thought of them strictly in business terms. She could never think of David that way. Even after all these years she was still a little in love with him, and she knew it, so she overcompensated whenever they were matched against each other, and ended up pushing herself harder than she had to, out of fear that her feelings for him would influence her performance.

There was an added reason for her anxiety this morning: Ortiz and his surprise witness. Last night, after court recessed, she had been making notes on Beauchamp’s testimony when Ortiz and Crosby came into her office. She was in a foul mood and wanted to leave, but the two policemen seemed excited.

“Beauchamp was pretty convincing, I hear,” Crosby said, settling into a chair. Dr. Beauchamp was a frustrated actor with a knack for describing fatal wounds that made them appear more revolting than a color photograph ever could.

“All Beauchamp established was that Darlene Hersch was struck in the abdomen and neck, then had her throat slit. He didn’t establish who did it,” Monica replied testily.

“I don’t think pinning this on Stafford is going to be a problem anymore,” Ortiz said with a confident smile.

“I’m glad to hear that, Bert. I thought we had problems.”

Ortiz’s face clouded over. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“The case is flimsy. No offense, Bert, but all we have is your ID based on a few seconds’ observation after you had been struck on the head hard enough to require hospitalization. I’m beginning to think we may have moved too fast on this one.”

“You can stop worrying, because I’ve got the man who is going to do it to Mr. Stafford.”

Monica put her pen down and waited for Ortiz to continue. Ortiz had a tendency to be dramatic, and he paused to heighten the tension.

“Remember Ron called you when Stafford was arraigned and asked you to oppose bail?”

“Yes,” she said, turning toward Crosby. “You said that another officer was certain that Stafford had beaten up a prostitute and was going to try to find the police reports. I also recall being put off by you every time I’ve asked you about that report,” she added angrily. “I put myself on the line at the bail hearing because of your assurances.”

“You have every right to be angry, Monica,” Crosby said sheepishly. “Tracking down our witness just took longer than we thought.”

“You have a witness who saw Larry Stafford beat up a prostitute?”

“Exactly,” Ortiz said.

“Who is it?” Monica asked.

“Cyrus Johnson.”

“Cyrus-Jesus, Bert. I’m not going to vouch for the credibility of a known pimp and dope dealer.”

“Who else would be able to testify about Stafford’s sex habits? It’s the fact that he’s a pimp that makes him credible.”

“Bert, you’ve seen David operate. Do you know what he’d do to Johnson? The man sells dope to schoolchildren, for Christ’s sake.”

“If you’re afraid of Nash, you shouldn’t be trying this case,” Ortiz said, suddenly very angry.

Monica jumped to her feet. “Get out of my office,” she shouted. “I’m not going to take that shit.”

Crosby put his hand on Ortiz’s elbow and Ortiz was immediately contrite.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I think you’re a hell of a good lawyer. It’s just…well, the case means a lot to me and I want to make sure Stafford doesn’t get away.”

Monica sat down and leaned back in her chair. The outburst had taken a lot out of her.

“Apology accepted. The case is getting to me, too.”

“Will you at least talk to Johnson and read this police report?” Crosby asked, placing the report in front of her.

“Yeah. I didn’t really want to go home, anyway. But you two are going to stand me dinner. I’m starving.”

THE INTERVIEW WITHJohnson created more problems than it solved. The man was smooth, and she could not determine if he was telling the truth. True, the story he told her was the same story he had told the police two years ago, but he had reason to lie to the police then, and he was in trouble, and obviously anxious to deal now. Monica wanted to convict Stafford, but she would not put on testimony she believed might be perjured.

Even if the story was true, she did not know if she could get Johnson’s testimony into evidence. Johnson would be testifying that Stafford had committed a prior criminal act, and the rules of evidence forbade the introduction of that type of evidence, with only a few narrowly defined exceptions. Monica was not convinced that Johnson’s evidence fell under any of them. David was an expert on the rules of evidence, and she would have to research the question of admissibility thoroughly, because she knew how hard David would fight when he learned about Johnson.

Monica finished combing her hair and put on her coat. Her key witnesses, Grimes and Ortiz, were scheduled to testify today. If they survived David’s cross-examination, she might not have to put on Johnson.

“AND WHAT HAPPENEDthen, Mr. Grimes?” Monica asked. The motel clerk had just taken the stand and had been preceded by several laboratory technicians, a supervisor from the Motor Vehicles Division who established Stafford’s ownership of the Mercedes, and Detective Crosby, who testified about the search of Stafford’s house.

“I gave her the key and she left. I went back to readin’, and the next thing I know, I hear these screams.”

David leaned forward and began making notes about Grimes’s testimony on a yellow legal pad. Larry Stafford sat beside him at counsel table, looking businesslike in a conservative dark-blue three-piece suit. David had intentionally dressed more casually than his client to give the jury an initial visual impression that Stafford, not he, was the defense attorney.

“Where were the screams coming from?” Monica asked. David heard Stafford shift nervously in his seat. He glanced at his client and caught him looking over his shoulder at the crowded courtroom. Stafford was looking for his wife, and David felt a slight pang of conscience that momentarily dampened his otherwise expansive mood. David knew where Jenny was and why she was late for court this morning. They had spent the night together, and she had returned home to change while he dressed for court.

“Did you notice Jenny this morning?” Stafford whispered, as if reading David’s thoughts. There was an edge to Larry’s voice, and an air of tension around him that David had noticed since the start of the trial. David expected a person on trial for murder to be nervous, but he sensed that there was something else eating at his client and that it concerned Jenny.

“She’ll be along,” David whispered back. “And don’t look so down in the mouth. Take notes and concentrate on the witnesses, like I told you. I don’t want the jury to see your interest lag for one second.”

“I couldn’t tell who was screamin’ at first,” Grimes continued, “so I went outside in the lot. The motel rooms are behind the office, and I had to go around the corner of the building. That’s when I seen this guy come bustin’ out of twenty-two.”

“Did you get a good look at the person you saw running away?”

“No, ma’am, I didn’t. He was runnin’ too fast and there’s a lot of shadow up there.”

“Go on.”

“Well, by now the screamin’ had stopped, and I looked up at twenty-two to see if anyone’d come after the one that run out. I seen the door was wide-open, but no one was comin’, so I started across the lot to see what’s what. Just then this car came from the rear parking lot. It was the same one the girl’d come in, but she wasn’t in it.”

“Who did you see in that car?”

“It was a man drivin’, but I didn’t get a clear look at him.”

Monica stood up and walked across to the witness box. “Mr. Grimes, I hand you what has been marked as State’s exhibit number five, and I ask you if you recognize the car in that picture.”

Grimes took the color photograph of Stafford’s Mercedes and studied it carefully.

“I can’t say for sure, but it’s like the car that girl came in.”

“Thank you,” Monica said, returning the exhibit to the bailiff. “After the car left the lot, what did you do?”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t too anxious to find out why there’d been all that screamin’, but I got to thinkin’ that someone might be hurt up there, so I went up to the room. That’s when I seen ’em.”

“Who was that?”

“Well, the lights were out, so I didn’t see her at first. The man was lyin’ with his head against the bed. He was bleedin’ and I thought he might be dead. Then I seen he was breathin’, so I went to use the phone. That’s when I saw her. You see a lot workin’ in the hotel business, but that was terrible. I ran outa there and called the cops from my office.”

“And did the police come?”

“A few minutes later. An ambulance came too.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grimes. I have no further questions.”

“Mr. Nash,” Judge Rosenthal said, nodding in David’s direction.

David took a final look at the report Detective Crosby had made of his interview with Grimes, and Terry Conklin’s report of their interview. It was quiet in the courtroom, and David could hear a juror shifting in his seat and the nervous drumming of Stafford’s fingers on the wooden table.

“Just a few questions, Mr. Grimes. As I understand your testimony, you did not get a good look at the man who was driving the Mercedes while Darlene Hersch was registering.”

“That’s right.”

“And you did not get a good look at him when he ran out of the room where the murder was committed?”

Grimes nodded.

“Did you get a look at him as he drove out of the parking lot, after the murder?”

“Like I said, not a clear look.”

“Did you see his hair well enough to describe it to the jury?”

Monica had been going over her notes and listening to David’s examination with half an ear. Now she lowered her pen and concentrated. She could tell from David’s tone that something was up.

“Yeah, I seen his hair,” Grimes answered. “Just for a second, but I seen it.”

“Did the driver of the Mercedes have blond curly hair like Mr. Stafford?”

Grimes leaned forward and studied Larry Stafford.

“Could he turn around?” Grimes asked, turning toward the judge. “I only seen him from the back.”

“That’s up to Mr. Nash,” Rosenthal replied.

“Certainly,” David said, and Larry stood up and turned his back to the witness stand.

“I don’t remember it lookin’ like that,” Grimes said decisively.

“How would you describe the driver’s hair?”

“Well, like I said, I only seen it for a second, but it looked brown-colored to me, and he had one of them cuts that came down a ways.”

“Thank you. I have nothing further.”

Monica reread the police report on Grimes rapidly. There was nothing about hair color in the report. She turned to the third page and saw why. The son of a bitch was going back on his statement to the police. This was bad, because Grimes had the appearance of an honest witness. His testimony about the hair color could be crucial in a close case.

“Mr. Grimes,” Monica asked, “how well lit is the parking lot at the Raleigh?”

Grimes tilted his head back and furrowed his brow. “Not too good over by the side near Tacoma Street, but there’s plenty of light from that McDonald’s. Bothers some of the customers sometimes.”

Monica felt her stomach tighten. Damn, she’d just made it worse. She hated surprises in trial, and this was a bad one. She decided to back off on the lighting.

“Was the murderer’s car moving fast when it left the lot?”

“I’ll say. It just come whippin’ around that corner. He screeched his tires when he did that, and that’s why I looked over.”

“So you just had a brief view of him?”

“Right. Like I said, I wasn’t concentratin’ on him much. I was lookin’ up at the room.”

“Do you remember being interviewed by Ronald Crosby, a Portland police detective, on the evening of the murder?”

“Was that the fella that bought me coffee?”

“I wouldn’t know, Mr. Grimes.”

“Nice fella. He even sprung for a doughnut. Not as tight as some a them cops I know.”

Someone laughed in the back of the courtroom, and the judge rapped his gavel. Monica waited for the jury’s attention to return to the witness stand.

“You never told Detective Crosby that the man had long brown hair, did you?”

“He never asked.”

“But he did ask you if there was anything about the man you could remember, did he not?”

“I don’t recollect the whole conversation.”

“Do you remember saying that the man did not make much of an impression on you and Detective Crosby asking you if you remembered his hair, eyes, or anything else about him and your answering ‘No’?”

“That sounds right. Only I was talkin’ about when the girl come in. He never asked about when the fella drove off.”

Monica looked as if she were going to ask another question, then thought better of it.

“Nothing further,” she said.

Judge Rosenthal looked at David, who merely smiled and shook his head.

“Nice going,” Larry whispered.

“That’s what you pay me for. If I do as well with the next witness, we’ll be in good shape.”

“Who’s the next witness?” Stafford asked David.

“The State calls Bertram Ortiz,” Monica said.

DIRECT EXAMINATION WASeasy for Ortiz. The questions were almost identical to the direct examination during the bail hearing, and he had gone over his answers with Monica several times. First he described the stakeout and the beige Mercedes. Then he recounted his surveillance during the drive to the motel. He told the hushed courtroom of his violent encounter with the man who had murdered Darlene Hersch, his reaction when he saw Larry Stafford in the courthouse corridor, and the results of the search at Stafford’s house. Then, as the jurors leaned forward, caught up in the tension of the moment, Ortiz turned toward the defense table and pointed his finger at the defendant. Direct examination was over, and Monica nodded to David.

Ortiz turned toward the defense table and waited for cross-examination to begin. His hand had been steady, and there had been no tremor in his voice when he identified Larry Stafford, because he had learned from dozens of experiences on the witness stand to control his nerves, but the fear of what David might do to him was there.

David did not rush his questions. He smiled at Ortiz and leaned back in his chair. He wanted Ortiz to wait, and he wanted to build on the tension that already permeated the courtroom.

“Officer Ortiz,” he asked finally, “what day was Darlene Hersch killed?”

“June sixteenth,” Ortiz answered tersely. He was determined to answer only what he was asked and to volunteer nothing. The less he said, the less information Nash would have to work with.

“Thank you,” David said politely. “And when did you see Mr. Stafford in the courthouse hallway?”

“Early September.”

“Some three months after the murder?”

“Yes.”

David stood up and walked to an easel that the clerk had placed between the witness stand and the jury box. David flipped the cover page from a large drawing pad over the top of the easel and revealed the diagram of the motel room that Ortiz had drawn at the bail hearing.

“During a prior hearing in this case, I asked you to draw this sketch and to indicate your position and the killer’s position at the moment you saw his face, did I not?”

“Yes.”

“And is this an accurate representation of those positions?”

Ortiz studied the drawing for a moment, then nodded.

“I believe at the hearing you stated that, at the moment you saw the killer’s face, his left arm and leg were inside the room a bit and his body was at a slight angle, with the right arm and leg outside the door?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, you were struck immediately upon entering the motel room, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“The lights in the room were out?”

“Yes.”

“You fell, twisted, and your head struck the bed?”

“Yes.”

“How long would you say you had a good view of the killer’s face?”

“A few seconds.”

“Five to ten?”

“A little more than that.”

David picked up the transcript of the bail hearing, consulted an index card, and flipped to a page.

“At a prior hearing in this case, did you not testify as follows:

“’Q: So you saw him for a few seconds?

“’A: Yes.

“’Q: Less than a minute?

“‘A: Maybe five, ten seconds. But I saw him.’”

“I think that’s right.”

“So the only time you saw the killer’s face was for five or ten seconds after you had been struck on the head and before you lost consciousness?”

“Yes, but I saw him clearly. It was Stafford,” Ortiz blurted out. Monica expected David to object to the unresponsive answer, but David merely smiled.

“You are certain of that?” David asked. Monica was puzzled. Why was David giving Ortiz a chance to repeat so damaging a statement?

“Positive.”

“Yes. I believe, at the prior hearing, I asked you, ‘You are certain?’ and you replied, ‘I will never forget that face.’”

“Yes, I said that,” Ortiz answered nervously. He had forgotten that he had given that answer at the bail hearing.

“But the impossible happened, did it not?”

“What do you mean?”

David strolled over to the far end of the counsel table and picked up a stack of papers.

“Were you hospitalized after the blow to your head?”

“Yes.”

“Was Dr. Arthur Stewart your treating physician?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you in the hospital, Officer Ortiz?”

“About a week.”

“How long did you continue to see Dr. Stewart for problems relating to the blow to your head?”

Ortiz could feel the sweat forming on his brow. Why didn’t the bastard ask the question Ortiz knew he would ask?

“I stopped two weeks ago.”

“Mid-October? Is that when he released you?”

“Yes.”

“You had a concussion, did you not?”

“Yes.”

David paused and the smile disappeared. “And you could remember nothing about what happened inside that motel room from June sixteenth until September? Isn’t that true?”

“I remembered parts of what happened. It was-”

“Mr. Ortiz…Pardon me. Officer Ortiz,” David said, his voice cutting like a knife, “I have here copies of your medical records from Good Samaritan Hospital. On September third, did you visit Dr. Stewart?”

“Uh, I…It could have been that date. I had an appointment in early September.”

“You don’t remember?” David asked with a smirk.

Ortiz felt his body tighten. He wanted to strike out at David. He felt like a butterfly pinioned on a board, waiting for dissection.

“Objection,” Monica said, standing. “Mr. Nash is arguing with the witness.”

She could see the danger signs and had to give Ortiz a chance to collect his thoughts.

“Yes, Mr. Nash,” the judge said, “just ask your questions.”

“Very well, Your Honor. Officer Ortiz, did you not tell Dr. Stewart during your September visit, a few short days before you arrested Larry Stafford, that you could not remember what happened inside the motel room and that you could not remember what the killer looked like?”

Ortiz did not answer immediately. He stared at David and at Stafford. Stafford stared back.

“Well, Officer?” David asked sharply.

“Yes.”

“You had amnesia, did you not?”

“Yes, if that’s what you call it.”

“What do you call it?”

“I mean…”

Ortiz stopped. David waited a moment, watching the jury.

“Officer, if I understand your testimony, you first saw the Mercedes from a distance of one city block?”

“Yes,” Ortiz answered quickly, grateful that the subject had been changed.

“Then you followed it from a distance of approximately two city blocks?”

“Yes.”

“And, finally, you saw it briefly as you drove by the motel lot?”

“Yes.”

“Those were the only times you saw the car that evening?”

“Yes.”

“And you did not know what model and year the car was until you checked with the Motor Vehicle Division?”

“I…It’s the car I saw,” Ortiz answered weakly.

David picked up three color photographs from his table and walked over to the witness stand. Monica drummed the tip of her pen on her desk. Ortiz was in trouble, and she did not know how much longer he would be able to stand up under David’s questioning. She had Dr. Stewart on call to testify that Ortiz, and others with amnesia caused by a concussion, could recall with complete accuracy events they had forgotten. But for the jury to believe in Ortiz’s recall, they had to believe in Ortiz.

“Will you study these three photographs, please?” David asked Ortiz. The policeman shuffled the photos until he had viewed all three.

“Would you tell the jury what they are?”

“They appear to be a beige Mercedes-Benz.”

“Same type that Mr. Stafford drives?”

“Yes.”

David smiled at Ortiz and took back the pictures.

“I have no further questions.”

Monica could not believe it. She had seen David tear witnesses apart and she knew his technique. He always softened them up, as he had Ortiz, with questions that would shake their confidence. Then he progressed from point to point, ending with a series of questions that involved a major point in their testimony. The questions about Ortiz’s amnesia had been expected, but she also expected more. Ortiz had been touched by David, but not badly shaken. She wanted him off the stand quickly, while he was still basically intact.

“No further questions,” Monica said.

“Call your next witness.”

“Dr. Arthur Stewart, Your Honor.”

ORTIZ WANTED TOdiscuss the case as soon as she left the courtroom, but she told him to wait until they got to her office. Dr. Stewart had been excellent and David had not scored many points. She had rested the State’s case at the end of his testimony without calling Cyrus Johnson.

“But why?” Ortiz demanded when he and Monica and Crosby were alone.

“Because it wasn’t necessary and I did not want to risk it.”

“You haven’t shown any motive. Johnson can establish that this guy is an S-M freak.”

“Or make it look like we’re trying to railroad him with perjured testimony. Look, Bert, we already have a motive. He is a member of a big law firm, but not a partner. He is married to a wealthy woman. If he is arrested for prostitution, his career and marriage could be over. What more do we need? Besides, you were terrific.”

Ortiz shook his head. “I don’t know. That business with the amnesia. Don’t you think…?”

“I was in the courtroom, Bert,” Crosby said. “You came off just great, and that doctor cleared that whole business up. I was surprised how easy Nash went on you.”

“Yeah. That has me worried, too. Why do you think he let up?”

“I don’t know,” Monica said, “but let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“If it was a gift,” Ortiz said. “That son of a bitch has something he’s not telling you about. I can feel it.”

Monica shrugged. “I’m not going to worry about it now.”

“And you can still use T.V. in rebuttal, right?” Ortiz asked.

“Bert, I don’t trust him. He’ll do anything to get out of this dope charge.”

“I don’t think so,” Ortiz said, shaking his head vigorously. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“Well, if the case goes as well as it has so far, it will all be academic.”

“MR. STAFFORD CALLSPatrick Walsh, Your Honor,” David said, and the clerk left the courtroom to summon the witness. David took the opportunity to collect the exhibits he would use and to review his notes on Walsh’s testimony.

The defense was going well. David had started by calling several of Larry’s friends and business associates, who testified to his good character. They had painted a picture of a newly wed, young professional who possessed a sense of humor and a dedication to his work. Monica, through cross-examination, brought out the fact that Larry had been passed over for partner by his firm, but Charlie Holt, the witness, had handled that line of questioning well. David thought this revelation had provoked sympathy from the jurors.

David used Barry Dietrich, the partner with whom Larry had met on the evening of the murder, to bridge the gap between the character witnesses and those witnesses who would establish Stafford’s defense. Dietrich was not enthusiastic about testifying. With the exception of Charlie Holt, the partners at Price, Winward had been reluctant to get involved in the case. However, once on the stand, Dietrich had done well.

The courtroom door opened, and a tall, angular redheaded man with a slight limp walked to the stand. David looked back toward him and noticed Jenny seated on the aisle at the rear of the courtroom. They had been together often during the last month, treating each moment alone as if it might be their last. David loved Jenny. He knew that now. Often, when they were lying together, David wondered what would happen to them when the trial ended. If Larry was free, would Jenny go back to him? David was weak and vulnerable at such moments. He would hold Jenny, afraid of what might happen if he let her go.

“Mr. Walsh, how are you employed?” David asked once the witness had been sworn.

“I’m a zone distribution manager for Mercedes-Benz of North America.”

“What does a zone distribution manager do?”

“For sales purposes Mercedes has divided the United States into zones and subzones, and I’m in charge of sales in the San Francisco zone, which covers the Pacific Northwest and Northern California. I order all the cars for the zone and distribute them to the dealers in the subzones.”

David picked up the photograph of Larry’s Mercedes and handed it to the witness.

“How long have you been with Mercedes-Benz, Mr. Walsh?”

“It will be twenty-two years this April.”

“I’ve just handed you a photograph which has been marked as State’s exhibit five, and I ask you if you can identify that car for the jury.”

“Certainly. This is our model 300SEL, 1991. It is beige in color.”

“What does 300SEL mean?”

“The 300SEL is a four-door sedan with a gas engine. Three hundred is the engine size. S means the car is one of our super-class models, the largest sedan we sell. E means the car has fuel injection. L stands for a long wheel base.”

“Do you also sell a 300SE model?”

“Yes, we do. That model looks identical, but it’s four inches shorter.”

“Thank you. Now I am handing you three other photographs,” David said, handing Walsh the pictures he had shown to Ortiz on the preceding day. “Can you identify the cars in those pictures?”

Walsh studied the photographs, then stacked them and turned toward the jury as David had instructed him to do at their pretrial meeting. He held up the top photograph.

“This photograph, which is marked defendant’s exhibit seven, is a beige Mercedes-Benz.”

“Is it a 1991, 300SEL?”

“It is not. It is a 1981, 300SD.”

Several of the jurors leaned forward, and Monica cocked her head to one side, focusing her attention on the witness.

“And exhibit eight?”

Walsh held up a picture of another beige Mercedes.

“This is a 1985, 300SE model.”

There was a stir in the courtroom.

“And the final car?”

“Exhibit nine is a 1987, 420SEL.”

“If I told you that a person who had viewed those photographs had described all three cars as being the same type as the defendant’s 1991, 300SEL, would you be surprised?”

“Not in the least. From 1981 to 1991 Mercedes-Benz made several models in that basic body style that were, with minor differences, very similar. From 1981 to 1983 there was a model 300SEL, a four-door long-wheel-base sedan. From 1981 to 1985 there was the model 300SD. In 1984 and 1985 there was a 500SEL and the 380SE. From 1986 through 1991 we had a model 560SEL, which was similar in appearance to the 300SEL and the 420SEL. And we had a diesel engine car in 1986 and 1987 with the same body. In 1990 and 1991 we had diesel models 350SD and