Where Darkness Resides, page 9
“I have opinions and am sufficiently informed to be able to make opinions relative to the findings of the Maricopa County Coroner's office. I, in fact, agree with their findings.”
“And in this case were you able to determine the cause of death?”
“Yes, I was.”
“What was the cause of death?”
“The cause of death was blunt force trauma.”
Mrs. Hernandez sobbed as she visualized her husband’s lifeless body at the scene of the accident. Most of the jury turned their heads toward her when they heard the sobs. She was comforted by her two children and quickly muffled her sound so as not to disturb the trial. Doug Clarkson watched the jury and was pleased with the result. He continued once everything settled down.
“Is part of the job of a medical examiner to determine the manner of death?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Is that something you were able to determine?”
‘Yes, I was.”
“What was the manner of death?”
“Mr. Hernandez was ejected from his convertible and his head hit the ground causing a fatal head injury.”
“Thank you. Nothing further, your honor.”
The judge turned to the defense counsel’s table and said, “Ms. Robles. Your witness.”
“Good afternoon, Dr. Weimar,” Marissa said after waiting until Mr. Clarkson sat down at counsel’s table.
“Good afternoon,” the witness responded.
He was used to vigorous cross-examinations by opposing counsel having testified many times before. His demeanor became more solemn and observant. He wanted to ensure he heard everything Marissa was going to ask him to ensure his response was appropriate and concise.
“Doctor, how much money have you been paid by the plaintiffs for your involvement in this case at this time?
“Including my testimony today, it would be approximately a hundred thousand dollars.”
The jury was taken aback by the amount. Marissa knew this question painted the doctor as more of a paid witness rather than an objective one.
“When were you first involved in this case?”
“I was called by Mr. Clarkson within an hour of the accident.”
“Within an hour?!” Her eyebrows furled to display her dismay.
It was unusual for a paid consultant to be retained so quickly after an accident. She wasn’t sure how to convey this to the jury by questioning an adverse witness who would likely downplay it. As she was told many times in preparing for past trials, she needed to prove her case by questioning her own experts who would have a more favorable answer. She decided not to ask any more questions on the issue and noted on her legal pad to question her own expert about it.
“Did you go directly to the coroner’s office upon being retained?”
“No, I went to the accident scene. Mr. Hernandez’s body was still there, and I accompanied the body to the coroner’s office.”
“You testified earlier that you observed the autopsy, correct?”
“Yes, I did.”
“But you did not perform the autopsy, correct?”
“No, I did not.”
“When you perform autopsies, do you normally record the autopsy?”
“Yes, I do.”
“What percentage of the time do you record autopsies?”
“One hundred percent of the time. It’s standard procedure to record an autopsy.”
“Is that true when you merely observe the autopsy?”
“It is.”
“Do you know if Mr. Hernandez’s autopsy was recorded?”
“I…I assumed it was.”
When asked this last question, Dr. Weimar became concerned about where the line of questioning was going.
“Doctor, I will represent to you that his autopsy was not recorded. Were you aware of that?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Would you consider that a failure to meet the standard a professional medical examiner should use in performing an autopsy?”
“Yes, I do,” he reluctantly admitted.
The jury listened attentively to his response. Some of the jurors’ facial expressions showed their concerns about the revelation.
“Doctor, when you perform an autopsy, do you take photos during the examination?”
“Yes, I do. I take photos of both the external and internal examination because I want to be thorough.”
“Did you take photos during the examination of Mr. Hernandez?” Marissa asked.
“No, I did not because, as I testified, I was not performing the autopsy. I was merely observing it. It is the job of the pathologist performing the autopsy to take photos.”
“Were photos taken during the autopsy of Mr. Hernandez?”
“I seem to recall they were,” he answered confidently.
“Did you review photos taken during the autopsy for purposes of preparing your report, plaintiffs’ Exhibit Number 2, and for purposes of your testimony in court today?”
“Now that I think about it, no, I did not.”
“Doctor, I will represent to you the photos that were allegedly taken during the autopsy are missing. Were you aware of that?”
“No, I was not until you mentioned it right now.”
"Would you consider missing autopsy photos as a failure to meet the standard that a professional medical examiner should use in performing an autopsy?”
‘Yes, I do.”
Several jurors shook their heads in disapproval.
“Are you aware that the Weavers’ forensic pathologist was not able to perform an independent autopsy of Mr. Hernandez?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Can you tell the jury why the Weavers’ forensic expert was unable to perform an independent autopsy?”
“Mr. Hernandez was cremated shortly after his autopsy. I believe it was within an hour or two at the most.”
“Do you believe it’s fair to the Weavers that they are unable to independently verify the cause and manner of death which you testified about today? No body. No photos. No recording of the autopsy.”
Mr. Clarkson immediately stood up and stated, “Objection, your honor. Irrelevant. Calls for speculation. It’s also a compound question.”
“Overruled. I want to hear what he has to say. I will allow the question,” Judge Furman replied.
“No, I do not consider it fair to the Weavers to be in that position.”
“Thank you for your honesty, doctor. I have no further questions,” Marissa said as she walked back to the defense counsel’s table.
17 DELIRIUM
An Undisclosed Location in Puerto Rico
The Same Day
This pendejo is going to get us killed, the captive thought after hearing Daniel Mendoza ask his repeated questions. Who is this guy?
Thinking long and hard about his father’s foot soldiers, the captive couldn’t place the voice of the individual also in the room with him. He also thought of childhood friends, distant relatives, and even co-workers and associates who might be involved just the same. He wasn’t familiar enough with any of them to determine if they also occupied the room. One person, in particular, flashed in his mind. At first, a shadowy figure appeared, and then his face came into focus.
Nah, it can’t be Victor. Victor’s voice is nasally, he remembered.
The captive replayed his myriad interactions with Victor to double-check whether it was in fact him. He remembered the discontent Victor and the others voiced when learning of his treachery. Beyond the initial outrage, every other interaction with Victor and the other family members was not only cordial but deferential. It could have been out of deference to his father or fear of the captive’s retaliatory action should they confront him directly. The captive had no idea of the motivation for the members’ fidelity. Given his present circumstances, obviously, for some, it was all a charade until the appropriate opportunity arose to seek revenge. And that was apparently now.
If it’s not Victor, then who could it be?
At a loss, the captive suspected the other individual in the room was a plant designed to gain his favor so he would reveal the location of the stolen money.
I’m not falling for it.
But he wasn’t sure. Searching his memories again, no one else came to mind. His thoughts, however, were periodically distracted due to flashes of excruciating pain throughout his body. He started breathing slowly as he almost succumbed to unconsciousness. Wanting to stave it off, the captive moved whatever part of his body was free from the restraints. Those slight movements increased his blood pressure and the blood flowing to his brain. He hoped it would be enough to prevent him from becoming unconscious. Feeling himself recovering gave him strength and made him more resolute.
Hearing another question coming from across the room, he remained silent. He dared not respond again in case the idiot in the room with him continued to speak and make things worse. The last thing he needed was for his captors to barge into the room angry and vindictive.
Thankfully, the music is drowning out his voice. Those two goons will be busy for a while, he reassured himself.
He smiled at the thought but realized at some point they would be back for him and this time with a vengeance. They were obviously resolved in finding the money and were preoccupied with their greed. He thought about trying to escape like his companion suggested but the bindings were too tight, and his body too weakened from the repeated beatings and torture. He wondered what the other guy had in mind as an escape plan and if it would work.
He probably has no idea anyway, he chided himself when the faint hope arose. I need to focus.
“Dig a little deeper,” the older captor said to the younger as he watched.
He sipped from a bottle of Medalla Light and wiped his brow as if he was the one doing the actual hard labor. He’d been watching the whole time without lending a hand. It was a perk for his long service to the family.
“There’s nothing here,” the younger male snapped while stomping harder on the spade, so it wedged deeper into the ground. Sweat dripped down his forehead. “I’ve been digging for hours.”
Checking his watch, the older male corrected him. “It’s only been forty minutes. Keep digging.”
“We’re not going to find anything. There’s no money here. Why would he bury money in the ground? It makes no sense. That pendejo is lying to us. He wants to keep the money for himself.”
The younger male glared at the other hoping to convince him to end the useless search.
“If we don’t find that money we won’t….”
“I know.”
The younger male shoveled more dirt out of the hole and onto a large pile in the middle of the yard. Salsa music blared from the house into the backyard where the two were diligently working. It masked the noise from their activity and any attempt by their captives to call for help.
When it hit the one-hour mark, the older male tapped the younger one on the shoulder. “Follow me,” he commanded as he stormed inside.
Relieved, the younger male complied.
When the door slammed open, the two males rushed into the room. Daniel could hear them panting out of anger and exhaustion. Rushing footsteps worried him until he realized they were headed to the other side of the room. He gasped in relief but worried about what was next.
“You think we’re stupid. Don’t you? You’ve been wasting our time trying to find the money in your safe house when you lied to us about where it’s buried but we’ve got time to get it out of you. You’re not going to be rescued,” the older male confidently insisted.
What money? Daniel thought hoping more would be revealed which he could use to determine what was going on.
The captive laughed hysterically. He knew he was finally caught but couldn’t care less whether he permanently outsmarted them. The deception gave him the time to think and scheme.
“It’s not funny,” the younger male exclaimed as he punched the captive in the stomach.
The male took the punch in his stride as if he was a prized fighter. The punch gave him inner strength.
“Is that all you’ve got? I’m never telling you where that money is,” he maniacally declared.
The older male’s eyes bulged in frustration. He frantically glanced around the room looking for something to hit the captive with to break his spirit. And then he saw him - Daniel strapped to another chair looking delirious. The older male tromped over to Daniel’s chair and whaled on him repeatedly. Punch after punch after punch. Daniel cried out in despair for the beating to stop. It did not.
“You better tell me where that money is or I’m going to kill him,” the older male fumed. His rage was getting the better of him.
“I don’t know that puto!! Why would I care?!!” the captive retorted as he sat up in his chair with an air of defiance.
The older male kept pounding, punching, and slapping Daniel like an enraged wild animal. The screams continued. Nothing fazed the captive.
18 MOTION DAY
Phoenix, Arizona
The Same Day
“Why aren’t you in court today?” one of the younger associates asked Marissa as she was walking to her office wearing business casual clothes rather than a skirt suit which she typically wore when in court.
Marissa glared at the newer associate and corrected the misunderstanding.
“It’s Judge Furman’s Motion Day. She doesn’t have trials on Fridays. She spends the entire day addressing motions and other legal issues in other cases she’s assigned because she’s unable to address these issues earlier in the week because she’s in trial. Does that answer your question? Is there anything else you need?”
Marissa was obviously perturbed. When the associate looked dumbfounded and quietly left, Marissa shrugged her shoulders and continued toward her office. John saw her in the hallway and followed her inside.
“How do you think the trial is going?” he asked. “It seems like we’re connecting with the jury.”
Marissa placed her briefcase on her desk and wished she had a cup of coffee before starting her day. She needed the pick-me-up.
“It’s going to be a long day,” she said aloud rather than to herself.
“Huh,” John said.
“Never mind.” Marissa sat down and scooted closer to her computer. “We need to prepare for Monday’s trial testimony. Who’s on the witness list for that day?”
Marissa looked for the witness schedule in her briefcase but before she could find it John replied, “It’s Selinda.”
“The wife?”
“Yes. I’m surprised they didn’t put her on the stand first,” John replied. He sat down after realizing Marissa wasn’t objecting to his presence. “Probably, so the jury will have another emotional start to the second week of the trial. I’ve never seen that happen before. It’s a first for me.”
“Me too. Do you want to cross-examine her,” Marissa asked as she slumped deeper into her chair. “To be honest, I’m a little overwhelmed with all the technical issues. I can do it if you don’t have the time. I just need to have a relaxing weekend if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. It will be good for me to do it. How are you doing?”
John was concerned Marissa wasn’t fully herself. He could see it in the shallowness of her eyes and hear it in the hoarseness of her voice.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine. You looked fine yesterday when we were leaving the courthouse. Did something happen last night?”
Marissa didn’t want to admit what was really going on, but she knew if she didn’t tell John the truth or something near the truth, he would never let it go. He was relentless but in a gentle way. She also couldn’t lie to him. He knew her too well.
“Okay. It’s just last night some of my family came into town,” she finally admitted.
“That’s great. Isn’t it?”
“My mom’s pressuring me to spend time with them. I want to but I’m in the middle of a trial and can’t just focus on familial obligations. I need to be at my best. Daniel’s counting on me. The client is counting on me. I’ve explained it to them. They just don’t understand. I don’t know why they had to come this weekend.”
“I totally know what you mean. Family doesn’t understand how time-consuming trials are. Exhausting days…sleepless nights…endless worrying. But let me tell you, family is more important than working yourself to death. The job will always be here. Your family may not. It’s important to spend time with your family while you can. They can only be so understanding.”
John remembered the many times his ex-wife complained about his long hours and how his work was his mistress. His lips tightened at the thought and the feeling of regret.
“I know you’re right. I just can’t leave. Not now.”
“We’ve got this, Marissa. I promise you. You have nothing to worry about. Take the rest of the day off, visit your family, and let me handle this. If you need to take Monday off, that’ll be fine. I’ll have Carl or Robin sit in on the trial. They’ll love the opportunity to be in court again.”
John’s sincerity was too convincing.
“You’re right. You’re right.”
Marissa stood up with added enthusiasm and wiped a budding tear from her eye as she gathered her things.
“Great!!” John walked closer to her door. “I’m going to prep for Selinda’s cross-examination. Don’t let me see you around the office. If you’re still here, I’m calling security.”
Marissa laughed after a relieving, deep sigh. John’s smile as he exited gave her the comfort she needed.
Driving the short distance from her luxurious, uptown condominium to her mother’s house near downtown Phoenix, Marissa parked in front of the older, brick home she was familiar with. It was the same home she grew up in and the one she lived in while in college, even in law school. Her parents hadn’t moved in over forty years. She smiled at the thought but then became sober.
