A Death In Beverly Hills, page 35
Thinking about it he had no clue which, if any of those reasons, were right.
Chapter Fifty-Five
On Tuesday morning Judge Burris called the court to order and looked expectantly at Greg Markham.
"Your Honor, the People and the Defense have a stipulation."
"Proceed."
"The parties stipulate as follows:
"That Mr. Travis's dirt bike's dimensions are such that it could be fitted into the back of Marian Travis's SUV;
"That the paint inside Marian Travis's vehicle matches the paint on Thomas Travis's dirt bike;
"That there is a corresponding scratch on the bike's fender;
"That if called as a witness, Thomas Travis would testify that to the best of his knowledge the dirt bike was never placed in Marian Travis's SUV and that he never placed it in her vehicle;
"That no fingerprints were found on the controls of the bike;
"That the bike is started with the use of a key;
"And that there are no scratches or other indications that the ignition lock of the bike was picked or that it was hot-wired or started in any other way except with a key."
"Mr. Hamilton," the Judge asked, turning to the Prosecutor, "is that correct?"
"That is the stipulation, Your Honor."
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury. You may accept what Mr. Markham has just told you as agreed facts to be considered by you in your deliberations to the extent you think them relevant. . . . Mr. Markham, call your next witness."
"The Defense calls Lucas Toomey."
Hamilton flipped through Markham's witness list looking for yet another unrecognized name. Toomey was sworn in and Markham quickly established his residence and occupation. Lucas Toomey was a locksmith.
"Did you install the locks and security system at the Travis home?"
"My company did, yes sir."
"What kind of locks are these?"
"Top-of-the-line deadbolts. The keys are all registered and numbered and cannot be duplicated except through an authorized manufacturer's representative, such as myself."
"So not just anybody can make a copy?"
"Impossible. These are special keys and no one has the blanks other than a small number of licensed dealers."
"You are one of those licensed dealers?"
"I am."
"And if I came to you with such a key, would you copy it for me?"
"No sir, not unless I personally knew you or you could prove to me that you were the owner of the house where the locks were installed. The company keeps careful records of the name and address where every lock is installed. We take the security of these locks very seriously."
"Yes, I can see you do. But tell me this, couldn't you just pick the lock?"
"Could I pick it?"
"Yes?"
Toomey sat quietly for several seconds considering the question. "Perhaps," he said finally.
"How long do you think it would take you?"
"If I wasn't disturbed, five or ten minutes, if I could to it at all. And the more I think about it, the more I think that I could not pick it."
"Assuming for the sake of argument that you as a master locksmith could pick this lock, could you pick it without leaving any evidence that you had done so, scratches and the like?"
Toomey laughed. "Impossible. No way."
"Impossible. I see. Well, did Mr. Travis ever have you make a new set of keys for his locks?"
"Mr. Travis? No. . . . But his wife did." Hamilton's head shot up and Markham smiled. What was that? Did someone on the Titanic just mention icebergs?
"When did you copy the keys?"
Toomey opened a notebook and flipped to a page. "I have my order book here. It was a year ago December, on the 28th."
"That's three days before Marian Travis went missing?"
"Yes, sir."
I've got your attention now, Ted, don't I? Markham thought.
"How were the new keys ordered?"
"Like I said, the owner has to appear in person."
"Mrs. Marian Travis personally came to your store?"
"Yes, sir. On the 28th. She had called on the phone and I explained that it was our policy that the owner had to appear in person, that it was for her own protection. So, she came."
"Did Mrs. Travis tell you why she wanted another set of keys?"
"Yes, sir. She said the maid lost hers."
"What was her attitude?"
"Friendly, happy. She was a very nice lady." Toomey paused for a moment. "She did ask that I not tell Mr. Travis."
"Did she say why?"
"She said that she didn't want him to get angry at the maid. She asked me to keep it our little secret."
"Did you?"
Toomey licked his lips and shifted uneasily. "Yes, I did."
"I see. Do you have a list of the keys you copied for Mrs. Travis?"
"Well, let's see." Toomey put on his reading glasses and peered at the invoice. "One house key. That's the deadbolt lock. We also use the same key for the gate and the front and back doors. Okay, one key for Mr. Travis's Humvee. That was a special order from the manufacturer. One key for Mrs. Travis's Escalade, another special order," Toomey said apologetically. "And one key to a 120 CC Kawasaki motorcycle."
"A dirt bike?"
Toomey studied the form. "Yes. I had to get the blank from the Kawasaki dealer's parts department so I needed the model number." Toomey read it off.
"Your Honor, I would ask the people to stipulate that the model number Mr. Toomey has just indicated is identical to the model number of the yellow dirt bike we examined yesterday afternoon."
"So stipulated," Hamilton muttered without looking up.
"Were you able to copy the house key right away?"
"Yes, I had the blanks for that and Mrs. Travis took it with her. The others had to be ordered from the auto manufacturers."
"Do you know why the maid had keys to Mr. and Mrs. Travis's vehicles and to Mr. Travis's dirt bike?"
"That's how Mr. Travis wanted it. He wanted a complete set of keys for himself, for his wife and for the maid. That way, if anyone lost their keys, there'd be two other sets. I think that he figured he might lose his keys and he wanted to be able to take the maid's for himself if that happened."
"When were you able to deliver these new keys?"
Toomey checked the invoice. "As I said, I made the maid a new house key right away. I had to wait for the others from the auto manufacturers. They have a microchip in them that's keyed to the car based on a code number I give them from the original keys. The maid picked up the other three keys on . . . January 6th."
"Mr. Toomey, did you ever tell the police that a set of keys to the Travis house was missing on the day of the murder?"
"No," Toomey said quietly.
"Why not?"
"They never asked me."
"Thank you, Mr. Toomey." Markham tried to hide his smile from the jury as he watched Ted Hamilton approach the witness.
He's like the captain of the Titanic, Markham thought. The radioman has just told him there are icebergs in the vicinity and now a lookout has spotted one in the distance. He's thinking they're a danger, sure, but nothing the Titanic can't handle. The Titanic is unsinkable. But he's starting to worry.
"Mr. Toomey," Hamilton began, "do you know of your own knowledge that the maid actually lost her keys?"
"No sir."
"And if she lost her keys, do you know of your own knowledge what happened to them?"
"No sir."
"For all you know Mr. Travis could have taken her keys himself, correct?"
"Why would he do that?"
"To--"
"Objection. Is there a question pending from the District Attorney?"
"Ask a question, Mr. Hamilton."
The Prosecutor took a deep breath, paused, then turned away. "No further questions, Your Honor."
"Mr. Markham?"
"The Defense calls Detective John Furley."
Completely lost, Hamilton stared quizzically at Furley who merely shrugged.
"Detective Furley, you are one of the primary homicide detectives on this case, correct?"
"Yes."
"Your partner is Detective Katz who was on the stand yesterday?"
"Yes sir."
"Before this trial, were you acquainted with the defendant, Tom Travis?"
Hamilton gave Furley a sharp look which the detective chose to ignore.
"Yes sir."
Hamilton couldn't hide his displeasure.
Oh, Furley didn't tell you about that, did he, Ted?
"You used to go to clubs with Mr. Travis while you were still in uniform?"
"Yes sir," Furley said stoically, staring straight ahead and ignoring the D.A.'s growing rage.
"We've heard testimony in this case from a man named Barry McGee. Did you meet Barry McGee at any time before this trial?"
"Yes sir," Furley said stoically as if assuring the emergency room doc that he could take the pain.
"In fact, you had arrested Barry McGee hadn't you?"
Hamilton came out of his chair, eyes blazing. "Objection. There's no foundation for this."
"I give the court my word of honor that I will absolutely show relevance," Markham said, turning to the judge, a pleading look in his eyes. Burris paused for five full seconds.
"See that you do. Overruled."
"Yes, I arrested him."
"Was your arrest based on a tip you received?"
"Yes."
"From whom?"
"From the defendant, Tom Travis."
Markham shot the judge a quick glance as if to say, I told you I was going someplace with this.
"Please recount the circumstances of that incident."
Hamilton started to rise, got a look at the judge's stern expression, and sat back down.
"Mr. Travis called me because he knew me personally. He said that someone on his movie set was selling drugs. He said he that the movie included lots of stunts, car chases, gun fights, explosions, that sort of thing, and that if any of the crew were messed up on drugs that someone could be hurt or killed. He said he was worried about the safety of the other people on the set. He identified the individual selling the drugs as Barry McGee."
"Why didn't he just call the studio and report Mr. McGee?"
"He said he didn't want to be known as a snitch but he couldn't ignore the risk to innocent people."
"So he asked you to investigate?"
"Yes."
"Did you go out to the movie set to check this out?"
"Yes with a Sheriff's Department Investigator, Robert Chiappari. We observed Mr. McGee's behavior and believed that he was distributing narcotics. We arrested Mr. McGee and discovered a substantial quantity of methamphetamine on his person and in his gym bag."
"When you arrested Mr. McGee, did he say anything that indicated that he knew who had turned him in?"
"He started shouting that Tom Travis had turned him in, that Mr. Travis was the one who was behind his arrest."
"What was his tone when he said this, calm, sad, upset . . . ?"
"He was screaming at the top of his lungs that it was all Travis's fault."
"Would the word 'angry' be an understatement?"
"Yes, I would say so."
"As one of the arresting officers, did you follow up on the case?"
"Yes."
"Did Mr. McGee end up pleading guilty to something?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Offering methamphetamine to a minor."
"Is that charge a 'strike' for the purposes of the three strikes law?"
"Yes, it is."
"Did you determine if Mr. McGee had any other strikes?"
"Objection. Relevance."
"I think Your Honor sees the relevance," Markham said, silently praying.
"Overruled," Burris snapped. Markham glanced at the bench and saw something in the Judge's face he had not expected, curiosity, interest, perhaps even suspicion. The Old Man was hooked. He wanted to find out what really had happened. Who would have thought?
"Yes, he did."
"What for?"
"Arson."
"Arson? Where was this?"
"In Colorado."
"So, with this drug conviction, Mr. McGee had two strikes?"
"Yes."
"If Mr. McGee were to have one more conviction for any serious charge, a third strike, a burglary, for example," Markham said, loudly emphasizing the word, "what would have happened to him?"
Furley paused, waiting for Hamilton to object but the D.A. knew that that horse was already out that barn.
"A third strike would get him a minimum of twenty-five years in prison," Furley said finally.
"Twenty-five years," Markham repeated looking at the jury. "What was Mr. McGee's sentence on the drug charge?"
"One year in the county jail."
"When did he get out?"
"October or November over a year ago."
"Only a month or two before Marian Travis disappeared?"
"Yes."
That iceberg's getting bigger, isn't it, Ted, Markham thought to himself.
"No more questions."
"Detective," Hamilton began, "is it common for people to be upset when they're arrested?"
"Yes sir."
"Is it common that they shout and say all sorts of wild things?"
"Yes sir."
"And do they usually calm down after a day or two?"
"Yes sir."
"Did you take anything Mr. McGee said at the time of his arrest seriously?"
"No sir. Like you said, that sort of thing is common."
"You heard Mr. McGee's testimony?"
"Yes sir."
"Did it appear to you that he had gotten over his irritation with Mr. Travis?"
"Objection. Speculation."
"Sustained," the judge said, giving Hamilton a 'you know better than that' look.
"No further questions."
Burris looked at the clock, a little after eleven. "Mr. Markham, would you like a recess before you call your next witness?"
"No, Your Honor. I'd like to keep going."
Burris gave Markham a long deep stare. What a difference a day makes. "Very well. Call your next witness."
"The Defense calls Eleanor Roberts."
Who the Hell is she and where the Hell are these people coming from? Hamilton asked himself.
Wearing a Harry Winston diamond necklace and a blue silk dress chosen to match her Bentley, Eleanor Roberts marched regally to the stand.
She quickly gave her name and address and listed her occupation as philanthropist which got a raised eyebrow from the D.A..
"Your house is almost across the street from Mr. Travis's home?"
"Yes, across and three houses down."
"Is he a good neighbor?"
"A lovely man." Eleanor favored Travis with a warm smile.
"Do you raise flowers in your front yard?"
"Yes, I do."
"Do you spend a fair amount of time in your front yard, attending to your plants?"
"They take a lot of care."
"Turning your attention to the day we believe Marian Travis was killed, December 31sta year ago, were you in your front yard that morning around eleven a.m.?"
"Yes, I was."
"Did you see any strange vehicles on your street that morning?"
"Yes, a black van. It had a plastic sign on the side that said Sunshine Pools."
"Did you tell this to the police?"
"Yes, I did."
"Your honor, I have here a copy of the Field Interview Report of Detective Hutchenson memorializing his interview with Mrs. Roberts. I would ask that it be admitted into evidence."
"I'm sure the People have no objection, do they, Mr. Hamilton?"
Technically it was hearsay but the way things were going Hamilton didn't know what Hutchinson was going to say if Markham put him on the stand so maybe it was safer to just stick with the written report. He could always call the Detective as a rebuttal witness if he needed to.
"No, Your Honor."
"Ms. Roberts, did you observe anything else about this black van?"
"Yes, it had a dent in the front bumper on the driver's side."
"Did you tell this to Detective Hutchenson?"
"No. He didn't ask me what else I saw. He seemed to be in a hurry and, quite frankly, he didn't seem to think much of me."
"In what way?"
"He treated me like I was a senile old busybody who was wasting his time."
"Clearly, he was wrong," Markham said, looking at the jury. "How's your eyesight?"
"I can see things far away perfectly. Up close, I need glasses. Do you want to hold up a sign at the back of the court room and have me read it for you?"
"That won't be necessary." Markham walked to the defense table and accepted two manila envelopes from his assistant. One he handed to Ted Hamilton. The contents of the second one he handed to the clerk. "Please mark these for identification only." A moment later she handed them back, numbered, and he slowly approached the witness. Hamilton shook out his own set of four 8 X 10 color photos.
Here's your iceberg, Ted.
"I am handing you Defense's eighteen through twenty-one for identification. They appear to be photographs of a black van. Will you look at them please." Markham handed her the pictures.
"Your Honor . . . ." Hamilton began, rising to his feet.
"All in good time, Mr. Hamilton."
Markham ignored the interruption. "Ms. Roberts," Markham said, his voice slowly rising, "I ask you, do you recognize the black van depicted in these photographs?"
"Yes, I do."
"Why do you recognize it?"
"That is the same black van I saw on my street on the day that Mrs. Travis went missing."
"The same van," Markham said, staring at the jury. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. There's the dent in the front bumper, just like I testified."
"What about the sign?"
"Obviously, it's been removed. It was only one of those stick-on plastic signs. You see them on trucks all the time."
"Thank you, Ms. Roberts. No further questions."
That shudder you just felt, Ted, was your case hitting the iceberg, Markham thought to himself. In the audience Simon Katz's face went bone white. He too had felt the collision.
