Frattini’s clenched jaw relaxed. “Fine.” He pushed away from his desk, moved behind it, and lowered into his chair. “You’re right. Mr. Imperatore will object on the grounds of hearsay. I’ll counter by citing an exception that you’ll be offering testimony from a previous trial.”
“That’ll work?”
“Probably not. Mr. Imperatore will then object, citing the Confrontation Clause of the Sixth Amendment which states the defendant has the right to confront his accuser.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“I’ll then quote from Crawford versus Washington. The evidence you’re offering will be non-testimonial.”
“Non…” She tried and failed to grasp the legalese. “You lost me.”
“Which is why I’m the attorney and you’re not.”
She looked at him. Was he patronizing her? From the hint of a twinkle in his dark eyes, she had a feeling he was more amused than condescending.
“Seriously, Ms. Chambers, I’ll make sure you’re prepared well ahead of time. The last thing I want is to have you appear anything less than an expert witness once you’re on the stand. Which is why I want you to focus on the forensics of the case. Not personal opinions. And certainly not the legal arguments about admissibility.”
“Fair enough.”
“Good. I want you to go over the autopsy reports. Learn them inside and out. I want you to be able to recite the specifics in your sleep. Do you understand?”
“What about the trial transcripts of Franklin’s testimony? If I’m supposed to sit there in his place, shouldn’t I know what he said?”
Frattini’s expression soured. “I’d rather not taint your own interpretation of the facts.”
“Interpretation of the facts?” Zoe had the same feeling as when someone tried to bluff her in their Saturday night poker game. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Mr. Marshall had some unsubstantiated opinions on the case. The defense attorney in the first trial played them up.”
“And you don’t think Anthony Imperatore will do the same?”
“Not if you don’t give him the material to work with. All you need to do is tell the jury that Elizabeth Landis died of a single gunshot wound to the head, the location of the entrance and exit wounds, and the caliber of the bullet. None of that has ever been in question, and the judge should overrule any objection that it be admitted into evidence. In other words, simply read the official report your late boss wrote nine years ago.”
Zoe sank back into the chair. What was DA Frattini trying to keep under wraps? Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to tell her. But he didn’t need to. He might not be willing to turn over the transcripts, and Franklin might not be around to ask, but she knew one man—intimately—who’d been involved in this case from the very beginning.
Baronick remained silent, thoughtful, for several long moments, scowling at the file in front of him. “Landis had more than just those two girlfriends over the years.”
“I was able to track down three who were willing to cooperate. There was a fourth woman, but she was married and denied everything. She had a rock-solid alibi for the night in question, and the affair had ended years earlier,” Pete said. “I couldn’t find any trigger to explain why she’d want Landis dead after all that time.”
Baronick continued to frown at the list of names as if trying to make sense of them.
“Something wrong?”
Baronick looked up. “What about the most recent one?”
Pete didn’t need his notes to remember Landis’ mistresses, especially the last one. “Not tall or athletic, and no way would she be mistaken for a man. Her alibi checked out too. All the women’s alibis did.”
Baronick drained his coffee and shifted forward in his chair. “I’m going to track down a few of these ladies and get their take on our bad boy. What’s your next move?”
Before Pete could respond, his phone rang. He gestured for the detective to wait and answered.
“This is Special Agent Felicia Graley. I’m on my way to Vance Township to speak with your eyewitness.” There was a pause and a rustling sound as Pete imagined her checking her notes. “Cheryl Vranjes. Would you be interested in joining me?”
The invitation startled him into silence.
“You’re the one who pointed out we’re supposed to cooperate,” she said, correctly interpreting the reason behind his hesitation.
“Yes, I did.”
“Besides, having you along will ensure I don’t get lost out in the backcountry you call home.”
And there it was. The real reason.
Pete eyed Baronick, who continued to perch on the edge of his chair. “Think you can find the Vance Township Police Station? We’re on Main Street in Dillard.”
“Is the street paved?” Her tone oozed sarcasm.
“Barely.”
“I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
Pete ended the call and met Baronick’s curious gaze. “Special Agent Graley is on her way to interview Cheryl Vranjes and has invited me to provide guide service. Want to come along?”
He broke into his patented over-white smile. “You couldn’t keep me away.”
“She’s still forty-five minutes out.”
“How about we grab some lunch at Walden’s?”
“You go. I have some business here to take care of.”
“Suit yourself.” Baronick climbed to his feet and deposited the mug on the table next to the Mr. Coffee.
“Hey,” Pete said as the detective headed for the door.
He turned.
Pete pointed at the cup. “Wash that out.”
Baronick grumbled but retraced his steps and snatched the mug from where he’d left it. “You need to work on your social skills. Making guests wash their own dishes is just plain rude.”
“You’re not a guest.”
Baronick flashed the smile again. “Aw. Does that mean you consider me family?”
“More like an annoying neighbor. One who keeps dropping by. Uninvited.”
Chuckling, the detective disappeared into the hallway.
“And bring me back a Reuben sandwich,” Pete called after him.
Once Baronick had left the building, Pete picked up his phone and keyed in Abby’s number.
Her voice sounded less sleepy than the last time. “What’s up, Chief?”
“How’d you like yesterday’s day shift?”
“It was great.”
“How
