Misty River, page 11
“I suppose so.”
“There’s no need to suppose. It’s a simple question. You are known as Buck because you always carry a buck knife. Yes, or no?”
“Yes, since you put it that way.”
“Just where were you at seven in the morning on March 2, 1985?”
“I was at home sleeping with my girlfriend, Valerie Fleming. I wasn’t anywhere near Amoia’s bakery if that is what you’re getting at.”
“You claim that you were not at Amoia’s bakery when Mr. Amoia’s throat was slashed with a Buck hunting knife. Here’s the problem: So how is it you are seen entering his bakery at seven in the morning on March 2, 1985?”
Owens’s arrogant confidence evaporated, and he rose from the chair. “That’s bullshit!” he yelled. “Someone’s trying to frame me!”
The guard standing behind Owens instructed him to sit down.
Owens took a deep breath. “I’m being framed,” he said more calmly. “Valerie and I were home when that man was killed.”
Blake leaned forward in his chair and looked into Owens’s eyes. “That’s interesting. Valerie Fleming told the sheriff you were not with her when Amoia was killed.
“Additionally, she told the sheriff you had blood stains on your clothes and two hundred blood-stained dollars in your pocket. She provided the sheriff with a detailed description.”
Owens pounded the metal table. “The woman is a fucking liar! She even told the sheriff she lied!
“I hadn’t planned on telling you this, but Valerie has a twenty-year-old son named Joey Fleming who worked at Amoia’s bakery.
“I’ve known Joey for a long time, and he was always up to no good,” Owens said. “During his high school years, he was injured and got addicted to painkillers. He consumed them like candy. The more pain pills he ate, the meaner he got. And it was expensive. He was constantly conniving ways to make a fast dollar.”
“Did you know Joey Fleming worked for old man Amoia? Joey told me that while he was at the bakery, he caught Amoia hiding thousands of dollars wrapped with currency straps. At first, I thought he was bullshitting me. I didn’t know you could make that kind of money selling cookies.
“The kid stayed with us sometimes. The morning Amoia was killed, my Buck knife came up missing. I figured Joey took it.”
“I’ll look into it,” Blake said.
“Look, Moretti, as God is my witness, I did not kill Amoia.”
Blake didn’t mention hearing the same story from Detective Massey. It seemed odd that Joey Fleming would steal only a couple hundred dollars from Frank’s pocket when he could have taken fifty thousand dollars hidden in the crockpot.
“Yeah. You do that, Moretti. You’ll discover I’m telling the truth. Joey Fleming should be in jail, not me.”
Owens was getting under Blake’s skin, not because of what he said, but because he knew he was lying. The more Owens talked, the more pieces of the puzzle began to fit. Valerie Fleming had fingered Owens as the killer. Then Owens fingered her son, Joey Fleming. The police fingered Owens but didn’t eliminate Joey.
“Look, Buck,” he said quietly, “You’ve got a bigger problem than Valerie. We have a witness who saw you enter the bakery the morning of the murder. Within ten minutes, the witness observed you run from the bakery toward the house where you were arrested for the Olivia Spencer rape. That witness appears to have confirmed what Ms. Fleming told Detective Massey you were wearing before she recanted. The reason she recanted is because you threatened her.”
Owens leaned into Blake, who moved forward so they were within an arm’s length of one another.
“Look, I was never at the bakery. Did you ever think maybe your so-called witness murdered the baker and fingered me to save his own ass?”
Blake reached into his briefcase, took out a folder, and passed it to Sweeney, who skimmed it and then returned it. Then Blake slid it to Owens. The defendant’s confident demeanor wavered momentarily before he regained his composure.
“I’m here to prove my innocence,” he replied defiantly. Blake leaned forward, placing a folder on the table between them. “You may want to reconsider that stance,” he said cryptically. Curiosity and unease mingled in the air as the defendant hesitated before opening the folder. His eyes scanned over the pages, and with each passing moment, his expression transformed from defiance to shock. “This is the eyewitness’s handwritten statement. His physical description of the perpetrator matches you, and he described a leather jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. You’ll see that he also noticed a scar above the man’s right eye.
“The clothing he described matches Ms. Fleming’s description of the bloody garments you wore when you returned home the morning Amoia was killed. If Valerie Fleming and the eyewitness were in the same room, they would not know each other. By the way, how did you get the scar above your right eye?”
“Fuck you, Moretti.”
“Buck, I started this conversation by asking you to be honest. I can’t help you unless you tell me the whole truth. Ralph and I know you tell a lie every time you open your mouth. I know you were in the bakery the morning of the murder. Now you know how I know.”
Owens rested his head on the table long enough to invent his next lie. “Okay, this is what happened. When I opened the bathroom door, I saw him lying on his back on the floor. He was already dead. So, without moving him, I reached into his pocket and took a wad of cash. But I never killed him. I closed the restroom door when I left him.”
Owens felt a sense of relief wash over him. He believed he had successfully covered his tracks and left no evidence behind. Little did Owens know the crime scene video would capture the one clue that proved he committed the murder. Only Blake had caught it. Now the most significant puzzle piece was in place. Blake knew everything Owens said was a lie. Blake had proof that Billy “Buck” Owens had murdered Frank Amoia.
Owens had trapped himself with his own words. He’d established an opportunity to commit the murder and a motive ‒ greed. Blake had everything he needed; the crime scene video would be the nail in Owens’s coffin.
Before he was led away, Owens asked, “Moretti, did you get what you needed to make things right?”
Blake looked at Owens and smiled. “Yes. Thanks to you, Mr. Owens, I did. If you hadn’t talked so much, I don’t know what I would have done.”
“Oh, good to know. I told you, Sweeney. I was right to insist on this meeting.”
“Right,” Sweeney replied, looking down at his hands.
Ralph said, “Can you believe that guy? He thinks we bought his bullshit.”
Blake took his eyes off the road and glanced at his investigator. “Yeah, he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. It’s a good thing most murderers aren’t geniuses. Otherwise, murders would never be solved.”
CHAPTER 20
Deal Or No Deal
April 6, 1987, Monday morning
“Look, Moretti,” Sweeney said, “My client upheld his end of the bargain. Not only did he answer all your loaded questions, but he also solved the Frank Amoia murder case. Just because you didn’t like his answers doesn’t give you the right to withdraw your offer to dismiss all criminal charges in exchange for the interview. Granted, he admitted to stealing a couple hundred dollars from the dead guy after discovering the body. But that’s only a misdemeanor. If all charges are dismissed, my client is willing to plead guilty to theft. So, what are you inclined to do?”
Blake sat quietly at his desk. Ralph was sitting behind Sweeney, serving as a witness to the settlement conference. Blake looked at him over Sweeney’s shoulder and raised his eyebrows, silently asking Ralph if he’d gotten all that drivel. The detective nodded.
Blake had defense attorney Sweeney figured out. In law school, defense attorneys are taught to blow smoke when they don’t have both the law and the facts on their side.
“Sweeney, I heard everything you said. Please don’t interpret my silence to mean I agree to your offer because I don’t. I’m not buying a word of it. I’ll get back to you after I finish my review of the case file.”
“When will I hear from you?”
“Soon.”
“By the way, Moretti, I reviewed the discovery regarding the two hundred thousand dollars Sonny Calo stashed at Frank Amoia’s bakery. That tidbit of evidence will likely delight the jury. Should you decide not to accept my offer, I’ll be forced to present evidence that Joey Fleming murdered Amoia so he could steal two hundred thousand dollars that Amoia laundered for the Calo crime family and hid in his bakery.
“There’s no doubt in my mind that the jury will find my client not guilty based on Joey Fleming’s knowledge of the stash.”
After Sweeney left, Ralph and Blake looked at each other, their eyes wide.
Blake said, “We have one item of business to take care of before I respond.”
“Tell me you’re not contemplating his offer.”
“You know me better than that. Hell no. Sweeney can go fuck himself.”
“Are you concerned about the laundered money? What will you do when Sweeney reveals Joey Fleming’s financial motive for killing Mr. Amoia?”
“I’m not concerned. In fact, I would be thrilled to see Sweeney bring the issue up.”
“Are you fucking serious?”
“Yes, I’m serious. You must know me by now, Ralph. I’ll turn that issue around and drive it up Sweeney’s ass sideways. Sweeney’s threat is toothless. He’s trying to frighten me into giving away the courthouse.”
“Why do you believe that?”
“Because if Joey Fleming murdered Frank Amoia to steal two hundred thousand dollars, why doesn’t he have it? Sweeney won’t bring the issue up. And should he decide to make that move, I’ll have a sur-prise for him that will haunt him the rest of his legal career.”
“But Blake, the sheriff doesn’t have the two hundred thousand dollars either.”
Blake smiled and said, “Ralph, you’re finally catching on; you just don’t know it.”
The following day, Sweeney came to Blake’s office to discuss resolving the two cases.
“Morning, gentlemen. Have you thought about my offer?”
Blake leaned back in his desk chair. “I have no intention of doing a damned thing for your client. I found your offer insulting.”
Sweeney was nonplussed. “I arranged for my client to speak with a psychologist, Dr. Eugene Berry. He discovered that Mr. Owens’s past is a treasure trove of mitigating evidence, and I respectfully request that you consider that information before rejecting my offer. You may find the cases difficult to prosecute when the jury learns the extent of the abuse he endured as a child.”
“I’m game,” Blake said. “Have at it.”
“Dr. Berry reported that Mr. Owens was fatherless, his birth the result of a one-night stand. His childhood was replete with problems and dysfunction. His mother was an alcoholic and a drug addict who began to abuse him sexually when he was just five years old. When he turned twelve, she convinced him to sell drugs to his friends at school and rewarded him with oral sex. He feared offending his mother and wanted her to be proud of him, so he did everything she told him to do. By the time my client was twenty, he was not only dabbling in drug dealing but also cheating people and was accused of making unwanted sexual advances towards women multiple times. Dr. Berry will testify that because of his mother’s sexual abuse, my client developed a hatred for women and was aggressively violent in relationships. What do you think, Moretti? Can you cut my client some slack?”
Like a straight man, Blake asked Ralph, “Gee, what do you think?”
“I suspect Owens’s father would have only made things worse. Living with Broome Hilda was enough.”
“Have a heart,” Sweeney said. “Didn’t you hear me say his mother compelled my client to deal drugs in exchange for blow jobs?”
“Ralph replied, “Your client most likely turned out to be the salesman of the year.”
“Excuse me, but I fail to see the humor in Mr. Owens’ dysfunctional childhood,” Sweeney said. “I came here to discuss the cases pending against him in good faith, and your response resembles a Martin and Lewis comedy routine.”
“With all due respect,” Blake said, “it’s hard to imagine that Mr. Amoia would have felt more comfortable while his head was almost cut off if he’d known your client had a dysfunctional childhood. Owens isn’t skating on some Mickey Mouse misdemeanor theft charge. Sweeney, your client is a regular Norman Bates!
“Then there is Ms. Spencer? Would she have felt better being sexually assaulted by your client while he held a gun to her head had she known his mother engaged in an incestuous relationship with her son? Perhaps your client should have directed his anger toward his mother and not some stranger who never caused him harm.”
For the first time in his career, Sweeney had no response. He sat silently for a moment, then stood up to leave. “I guess I’ll see you in court,” he said.
“Have a good day.” And the door closed behind him. “Ralph, what do you think about Sweeney’s defense?”
“Well, I don’t know what F. Lee Yahoo’s defense is, but it sounds dysfunctional.”
CHAPTER 21
Calm Before The Storm
July 6, 1987, Monday morning
The Leigh County grand jury indicted Owens on two counts of rape, kidnapping, and robbery with a deadly weapon. The People vs. Billy Owens, a.k.a. Buck Owens, would begin in seven days. Blake had decided to prosecute the rape case first for strategic reasons. From an evidentiary perspective, he believed it was the stronger case. There was no doubt in his mind that a jury would convict Owens on every charge. If Owens chose to testify in the murder case, Blake could present the rape convictions as evidence. He would bet the farm Owens would never keep his mouth shut and would testify despite his attorney’s advice. The court would issue a jury instruction that the defendant’s previous convictions could not be considered evidence. Still, Blake knew the rape, a crime of violence, would be impossible to ignore.
When he arrived at the courthouse with Ralph Morgan and Detective Barnes, the judge was already on the bench. Mary Croghan was the first female judge in Leigh County. Her father, Michael Croghan, former general counsel of Niagara Electric and Gas Company, just so happened to be a close friend of the governor who appointed her. She was an attractive older woman who wore her brown hair in a stylish bob. And she still had the solid, muscular physique that had helped her achieve fame as a member of the rowing team at Oxbridge University.
Judge Croghan didn’t mince words. She knew the rules of criminal procedure and evidence like the back of her hand, couldn’t stand make-believe legal arguments, and hated continuances. Her philosophy was that if you had a case, bring it on. Otherwise, stay out of her courtroom.
That Friday, she summoned the lawyers to her chambers to discuss the pretrial motions.
“Gentlemen, good morning. To keep this trial moving, I set this meeting to hear arguments on any pretrial motions you may have. As you know, the trial begins on Monday morning at eight-thirty. At seven-thirty, the jury panel will meet to watch everyone’s favorite video, Jury Duty. What to Expect.
“Before I address the pending pretrial motions, may I ask if you attempted to resolve this case as well as the murder case?”
Sweeney replied, “Your Honor, despite my best efforts, Mr. Moretti has rejected my offer to settle this case.”
Judge Croghan said, “I’ve worked with Blake Moretti for several years and have never found him unreasonable. However, I suspect that we will see who is being unreasonable in due time. I see that the defense and the state have both submitted pretrial motions. Therefore, I intend to rule without argument.
“The state has requested that the jury view the alleged scene of the rape. That request is granted. A bus will be provided to transport jurors and lawyers following jury selection. If the defendant wishes to view the scene, he will be transported in a marked cruiser. However, he cannot leave the patrol car.”
Sweeney said, “Your Honor, the defense objects.”
“Of course you do. The jurors would be prejudiced by visualizing how terrifying it would have been to be hunted down in a secluded place where no one could hear her cries for help. Is that your argument, Mr. Sweeney?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Very good. It’s what I expected. Overruled.”
“But, Your Honor, the prejudice outweighs relevance in this case.”
“Mr. Sweeney, I suspect Mr. Moretti’s words are prejudicial every time he opens his mouth. Moretti, would that be your response? How’d I do?”
“As usual, you nailed it.”
“Great. Mr. Sweeney, your objection is once again overruled. You also requested that Dr. Berry testify about your client’s dysfunctional upbringing. Do I have that right?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Mr. Moretti, since the defendant has raised neither an insanity defense nor a competency issue, would you object if I allowed him to present that evidence?”
“Yes and no, Your Honor. The defendant has not claimed insanity, and competency has not been raised. However, I have no objection to Sweeney shooting himself in the foot by calling Dr. Berry to testify to the defendant’s adventurous childhood. Anticipating your next question, the State will not call an expert witness to counter Dr. Berry.”
“Well done, Mr. Moretti. All remaining motions from the defense are summarily overruled. I will issue a written order and cause it to be filed before Monday morning. I will allow time for either party to raise any further issues and rule on them before the court’s business begins at eight-thirty.”
Blake, Jennifer, and Ralph gathered in Blake’s office to review the game plan before the start of the trial. Jennifer would be responsible for contacting the witnesses and coordinating their scheduled appearances. Ralph would locate and transport any less-than-cooperative witnesses to the court in a timely fashion.
