Patrick Ortiz presented his evidence in a smooth procession of well-prepared witnesses, finishing at five o'clock. Mason did not call anyone to testify.
Blues remained impassive throughout the long day. When Dr. Terrence Dawson, chief of the forensics lab, testified that Blues's fingerprint had been found in Cullan's study, Blues reached over to Mason's legal pad, writing bullshit, pressing hard enough with his pen to cut through to the next sheet of paper.
Judge Pistone said that he would deliberate in his chambers before announcing his decision. When he returned fifteen minutes later with renewed pep, Mason concluded that he had used the time to go the bathroom and have a cup of coffee.
The judge ordered that Blues stand trial on the charge of first-degree murder in the death of Jack Cullan and that he continue to be held without bail. He added that the case had been assigned for trial to Judge Vanessa Carter and that Judge Carter had set the case for trial beginning Monday morning, March 4.
Everyone stood while the judge made his exit. Leonard Campbell clapped Patrick Ortiz and his assistants on their backs, straightened his jacket, and left, looking for the nearest microphone. Ortiz packed his briefcase and shook Mason's hand, telling Mason that he'd done a good job. It was the standard empty praise of an adversary who'd won the day, Mason grinding his teeth as Ortiz delivered the bromide.
The three deputies surrounded Blues again while one handcuffed him. Mason pressed into their circle and tapped fists with him.
'Today was their day, man,' Mason told him. 'Tomorrow will be ours.'
Blues nodded. 'Get 'em,' he said, and left with his escort.
Mason looked around the empty courtroom. On paper, no one could have found fault with what had happened there. The state had met its burden of proof. Even he conceded that. No appellate court would overturn Judge Pistone's ruling, even though Mason was convinced the judge had decided the case before breakfast.
The system had worked, except for one thing. Mason was certain that Blues was innocent. That realization had led him to another conclusion. He would have to find justice for Blues outside the courtroom.
Now, hours later, worn with fatigue, Mason stared at the notes he'd written on the dry-erase board, replaying the few points he'd scored during cross-examination of the prosecution's witnesses, looking for leads.
Carl Zimmerman testified first. He was an experienced witness, directing his answers to the judge, who sat upright in his chair, watching Ortiz and Zimmerman play catch with softball questions. Mason wasn't surprised that Judge Pistone had abandoned his usual head-down disinterest. Murder had that effect on people.
Ortiz took Zimmerman through each step of the investigation, beginning with the call he received from the dispatcher about a hysterical woman claiming to have found her employer shot to death. The woman turned out to have been Norma Hawkins, the housekeeper. Mason started his cross-examination with that description.
'Norma Hawkins told the dispatcher that Mr. Cullan had been shot to death. Is that correct, Detective?'
'Yes, sir.'
'The body was found facedown and hadn't been moved when you arrived at the scene, correct?'
'That's right. The uniformed officers who arrived at the scene first secured the area. The housekeeper said that she hadn't touched anything in the study.'
'No gun, bullets, or shell casings were found at the scene, correct?'
'Correct.'
'In fact, when you arrived at the scene, you didn't see anything that told you Mr. Cullan had been shot. Isn't that correct, Detective?'
Zimmerman stiffened as he saw the high hard pitch coming. 'I suppose that's correct, Mr. Mason. But, there's no question that Mr. Cullan had been shot.'
'Yet, somehow, Norma Hawkins knew that Mr. Cullan had been shot. That's what she told the dispatcher. True?'
'Well,' Zimmerman said, stalling for a better answer than the one he had, 'I don't know what she told the dispatcher. I could have heard him wrong.'
'There is another explanation, isn't there, Detective?'
'What's that, Mr. Mason?'
'Norma Hawkins shot Mr. Cullan.'
'Objection!' Patrick Ortiz said. 'The question calls for speculation. There is no evidence that Norma Hawkins committed this crime. She's an innocent woman who doesn't deserve to be smeared by Mr. Mason.'
'The police and the prosecution rushed to judgment in this case,' Mason shot back. 'They picked their suspect at the beginning and disregarded any other possibilities.'
'Sustained, unless you've got better evidence than that,' Judge Pistone said. Mason didn't.
Norma Hawkins was the next witness. She was a slightly built white woman in her late thirties whose rough hands and sloped shoulders testified to the hard work she did and the hard life she led. Norma spoke slowly and softly, in the upstairs-downstairs tradition of domestic help, describing her daily routine at Jack Cullan's house. Then Ortiz asked her about finding the body.
'What happened when you came to work on Monday morning, December tenth?'
Norma leaned forward in the witness box and clutched the hem of her dress. 'Well, it was like I told the detectives. The alarm wasn't on, so I figured Mr. Cullan was still home. He usually wasn't there when I got to work, so I'd have to turn off the alarm. He gave me the code 'cause he knew he could trust me, you know. I been cleaning people's houses since I was fifteen. Everybody gives me their alarm codes. I never had any trouble till that morning.'
'What did you find when you went inside the house?'
'First thing I noticed was that it was freezing in that house. I kept my coat on, it was so cold. I went looking for Mr. Cullan to find out why the furnace wasn't working, and I found him lying facedown on the floor in his study. I turned him over and could see that he was dead. I called 911.'
'Did you know that he'd been shot?'
'I saw blood. I didn't know what else to think.'
Ortiz placed the enlarged photograph of Jack Cullan's body on an easel. Cullan was lying facedown in the photograph, a dark pool of blood seeping around his head and out into the carpet.
'Does this photograph accurately depict what you saw when you entered the study?'
Norma trembled and turned away, nodding her head. 'He was a good man, always treated me fair.'
'No further questions,' Ortiz said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mason leaned the photograph facedown and out of sight against the front of the jury box. Ortiz had used it for the press, not Norma Hawkins.
Norma had explained why she had assumed that Cullan had been shot, and Mason knew he wouldn't get anywhere chasing the slim chance she had killed him. Instead, he waited for Norma to gather herself before probing gently on cross-examination about minor matters, more for the purpose of blunting the emotional impact of the photograph than anything else.
Norma admitted that Cullan often forgot to set the alarm. It was a small thing, but Mason knew that credibility was built on a foundation of small things. The more he could chip away at it, the more likely it would crumble.
Pete Kirby, resplendent in a dark green suit and cranberry vest, described the fight in the bar. When he quoted Blues's threat to tear Cullan's head off and stuff it up his ass, a ripple of laughter cut through the audience, causing Judge Pistone's bailiff to rise and glare the offenders into silence. Kirby admitted on cross-examination that he hadn't taken Blues's threat seriously.
'Yeah, it was jive,' Kirby said. 'Except with Blues, it was real serious jive. The man was making a very heavy point.'
Dr. Terrence Dawson, the forensics examiner, was the last witness. He was a thin man with a sharply angular face who had risen through the ranks of the police laboratory over twenty years to become the director of forensic science. He explained on direct examination how he had matched Blues's blood and tissue samples to
