Black Water Rising

“The ‘condition of the body’?” the prosecutor asks.

“The man’s pants were undone. He was parked in an out-of­ the-way place, you know. Seemed like a lovers’ lane type deal.”

“Which leads us to Ms. Linsey and the search of her town house on Oakwood Glen,” the prosecutor says. “Would you explain to the court why you and your partner believed Ms. Lin­ sey’s shoes to be relevant to the case?”

“Well, it was kind of a credibility issue, ma’am,” the cop says. “I mean, here she is saying she wasn’t at the crime scene, and we got a ladies’ footprint size six and a half, and it turns out Ms. Linsey is a six and a half.”

“Did you believe the defendant was lying about being at the crime scene?”

“Well, she’d already admitted to being on a date with the man.”

“Yes or no, Detective?”

“Yes, I thought she was lying,” he says. “I mean, we found him with his pants down, a woman’s footprints all around the scene of the crime, same exact shoe size as Elise Linsey . . . ,” he says. “It just all added up.”

Charlie is on his feet in seconds. “Objection, Your Honor.”

“I have nothing further.” The prosecutor resumes her seat.

“Fine,” Judge Vroland says.

Charlie returns to the podium, jumping right in.

“Detective Stone, do you know if the deceased was a homo­ sexual?”

“Pardon?”

As soon as Charlie’s back is turned, Elise picks up the slip of paper in her lap. She glances at the note, but never once turns to look for its sender.

“Do you know if Mr. Sweeney was a homosexual?”

“Uh, no,” he says.

“Do you know if Mr. Sweeney had any medical issues with his prostate or his urinary tract? What might make him pull off the road from time to time to relieve himself?”

The cop purses his lips, answering in one terse syllable. “No.”

“Then you couldn’t know for sure why that man’s pants were down, isn’t that right, sir?”

“Oh, I think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”

“You can’t be sure, can you, Detective Stone?”

“No.”

“The county coroner put the time of death for Mr. Sweeney at around midnight, is that correct?” Charlie asks.

“Yes.”

“And your officers arrived on the scene the next day, was it?”

“August second, Sunday, yes. It was sometime after ten in the morning.”

“So between midnight and ten a.m., how many people were at the crime scene?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“So, in theory, anybody could have walked all up and down that crime scene, thrown a party out there, between the time Mr. Sweeney was shot and when the police showed up the next day, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“So those footprints that you took such care to photograph, they could belong to anyone, is that it?”

Detective Stone answers with a smile. “Any woman wearing a size six and a half.”

“Or any person in possession of a woman’s size six and a half shoe.”

The prosecutor raises her hand. “Is he making a statement or asking a question, Your Honor?”

“That’s all right, Judge,” Charlie says. “I’m done.”

He resumes his seat next to Elise. She turns and whispers something in his ear. Out of the corner of her eye, she glances back at Jay for the first time. There is no outward reaction or acknowledgment of any kind. When the prosecutor returns to the podium, Elise lets her eyes fall away, as if she had been looking at only a stone or a tree, a thing with no meaning for her. It’s so convincing that Jay almost believes she never saw him at all.

The only other witness is Detective Pete Smalls, Stone’s part­ ner, who essentially repeats the same exact information as the first witness. The whole thing is over in another fifteen minutes, Charlie taking a pass on cross.

It’s nearly four o’clock when the judge calls for closing state­ ments.

Charlie’s argument is simple: if the cops had wanted every shoe in his client’s closet, then they should have asked for it in the warrant, repeating, as many times as he can, what the police officers did not find—no gun, no bloody clothing, and no shoes that match the footprints at the crime scene.

The prosecution is left with a shouldn’t-we-all-trust-the­ instincts-of-law-enforcement argument, citing the