Page 132 of Precise Justice

“Wow, that’s great stuff. Thanks, Maddy…”

FORTY-NINE

Dear DiaryMay 14

Yesterday was the first day of testimony. First up was Claudia Shepherd, Dear Mother’s executive assistant.

She became worried when Mom did not show up at the office. She called me and we met at Mom’s house with a police officer.

Her testimony went pretty well with just a couple of bad moments. She told the jury about how I acted when I identified Mom’s body. Expressionless was how she put it. Unemotional was what the prosecutor wanted her to say. Marc objected and the judge agreed with Marc.

The next thing that came up was really bad for me. Claudia must have told the cops or the prosecutor what I said, or more accurately, what I asked Claudia. When we were leaving, I jokingly asked her if she wanted to go celebrate. That sounded really bad. Much worse than I meant it. When she said it, almost all of the jurors looked at me. None of them were smiling.

Later Marc explained that it opened the door for us. He got Claudia to admit she answered by saying, “It’s a little too soon.” Marc used that to get Claudia to admit that just about everyone at Crystal Cosmetics hated my mother and that there were dozens of complaints with H.R. about her treatment of employees. Marc even made her read a few and admit she had seen them because they came across Claudia’s desk. The prosecutor, Hughes tried to object but Judge Foster shot him down. “You opened the door.”

When Claudia got off the witness stand, as she was leaving, she told me she was sorry. Claudia said it loud enough for the jury to hear her.

The next to testify was the police officer who met us, Claudia and me, at Mom’s house when we found the body. He testified about what he did. This amounted to finding Mom’s body and calling it in.

Most of the afternoon was taken up by the crime scene guy. A lieutenant somebody. I don’t remember. And then after him, Lucy Compton testified. She tried to claim that no one really believed Mom’s death was the result of a burglary gone bad. Marc went after her pretty hard with Claudia’s complaint letters. He got her to admit they did not know about them so, of course, they didn’t investigate them.

Lucy had said the only common thread for all of these murders was me. Marc repeated that then drilled her by asking, “How would youknow if you did not bother to look.” One for our side.

It was 9:15 and the normally punctual Judge Foster was not on the bench. The county attorneys were at their table. Their first witness, a man Marc and Jennifer both knew well, was seated behind the prosecutors in the first row.

Marc spun around to look over the fully occupied courtroom. In the front row, in his usual spot behind the defense table, was Philo Anson, the Star Tribune reporter.

“Hey, Philo. I see you got your usual spot. Do you have to bribe a guard every day for it?” Marc said loud enough for half the courtroom to hear him.

Philo, a nervous look on his face, shifted his eyes about and said, “What? What are you talking about? That would at least be unethical if not, illegal.”

Marc laughed and said, “That would make you the one and only honest and ethical journalist in America.”

“All rise,” Marc heard the bailiff say saving Philo from more embarrassment.

When the jury was seated, Foster told the prosecutors to call the next witness.

Celia Raines stood and said, in a clear, loud voice, “If it please the court, the state calls Doctor Buraid Shambhani.”

Buraid––Benny––Shambhani was a third generation doctor. Much to his father’s disappointment, Benny became a pathologist right out of Yale University Medical School. Dad wanted Benny to join him in private practice at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. The acrimony was so bad Benny fled to flyover country and a job at Hennepin County. It took several years, but they finally reconciled. Good thing too. Dad died of pancreatic cancer less than six months later.

Benny loved testifying. It was his favorite part of the job. Often a murder case would be won or lost by the state based on Benny’s forensic analysis. Benny had grown to love the attention. He was practically salivating at the prospect of testifying for a couple of the claw hammer murders. Those would come later. Today was Priscilla.

Benny testified for two hours, autopsy photos and all. He also testified about the irrefutable result–––Marc’s pathologist agreed–––Priscilla died from being smothered by a pillow; a pillow that was photographed lying on the floor next to Priscilla’s dead body in her bed. There were tiny cotton fibers that matched the pillow case in Priscilla’s mouth, trachea and lungs. No more than a dozen but enough to establish she tried breathing with the pillow covering her face.

What Benny could not help with was the who-done-it part. There was no physical evidence from anyone else on or around the pillow, the bed, the body. Yes, Robbie’s prints and DNA were all over the house where it could be expected. Robbie’s prints were even found in Priscilla’s bathroom. But not in the bedroom.

Marc went over this thoroughly until Judge Foster stopped him after an objection by Hughes.

Time for the lunch break.

Once again, the protestors were circling the two city blocks where the Government Center stood. Only this time––collecting easy overtime––there was a sufficient police presence. These protesters, both for and against Robbie, were primarily suburban people and college kids. People who generally did not want to tangle with the police.

Because of this, Maddy went ahead through the skyway, across Fourth Avenue to get a table at Peterson’s for a real, cooked lunch and not plastic wrapped sandwiches.

The afternoon session began at 1:30 with the punctual Judge Foster allowing the state to call its next witness.

Celia Raines stood and said, “The state calls Sandra Harding.”

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