A Death In Beverly Hills, page 37
"After you got your drink you chatted about Marian and his marital problems?"
"Like I said last week."
"Did you talk about anything else? Did he brag about his new dune buggy?"
"Tom liked his toys."
"Did he invite you to go with him when he broke it in?"
"No."
"He sat there, bragging about his new dune buggy, told you he was going to take her out for her maiden run, and then he didn't even ask you if you'd like to come along?"
"It seemed like once I asked him to loan me money, that was the end of us," McGee said sourly.
"Considering everything you did for Tom and everything he did to you, did you ever think about, you know, finding some way to get compensated for what he owed you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, with all that jewelry and his fancy watches and paintings and stuff in his house, did you ever think about maybe coming back some day and taking something to cover the year of your life he took away when he got you sent to jail?"
"I'm no thief."
"I'm not talking about stealing. I'm talking about getting what you deserved."
"How the heck was I supposed to do that?"
"All you'd need was to get in there when no one was at home. Right?"
"Tom always locked his doors."
"What about the maid's keys? They were right there in the lock in the kitchen back door. You pour yourself a drink, slip the keys in your pocket, who would know?"
"I didn't steal no keys."
"You're not a thief?"
"That's right."
"Except for that drug thing that you've already explained, you've been a law abiding person?"
"My daddy raised me right."
Markham nodded and backed away. "Okay. Let's talk about that. Last week you said you left home in Colorado so that you could get into the movies, correct?"
"That's what I said."
"Didn't you leave your parents home because of a terrible tragedy?"
"I don't like to talk about that."
"Your parents home burned down, didn't it? Is that how your father died?"
"What do you have to bring that up for?"
"I agree. Objection, relevance."
"If Your Honor would give me just a little latitude."
"Overruled, but subject to a motion to strike. Connect this up and get on with it."
"Mr. McGee, the Judge is right. Let's move on. It is true, isn't it, that after your house burned down you stayed in Colorado for almost five years, correct?"
"I was just a kid when the fire happened."
"While you were still in Colorado, did you get into a dispute with the manager of the auto parts store where you worked?"
"He was cheatin' us on our overtime and I called him on it."
"He filed a criminal complaint with the police, didn't he?"
"Your Honor, I have to object. This is not proper impeachment."
"I'm not asking for the purpose of impeachment."
"You're right on the edge, Mr. Markham. . . . Overruled, for now."
"Mr. McGee?"
"He made that stuff up to get even with me. They dropped the case. It was nothin'."
"Didn't they drop the case when a mysterious fire burned up all the store's records concerning the missing merchandise?"
"The whole thing was bogus."
"Moving on," Markham said, glancing at the Judge, "you had another problem with the police in Colorado, didn't you?"
"They had it in for me."
"Did you plead guilty to burning up the car of a man who claimed you beat him up?"
"That was put up job."
"But you did plead guilty to arson, correct?"
"The lawyer told me that was the fastest way to get the whole thing over with. I did nine months in county and got the hell out of Colorado."
"So when you said last week that you left Colorado to fulfill your dream get into the movies, that wasn't completely true was it? You left Colorado after at least two criminal charges and a conviction for arson."
"I always wanted to be in the movies."
"Let's see, your parents' house burns down. Then the evidence of theft against you burns up. Then the car of the man who accused you of beating him with a baseball bat burns up. I'm sensing a pattern here."
"Objection, Your Honor."
"You've made your point, Mr. Markham. Sustained. Move on."
Markham walked to the defense table and Brian handed him a report. After giving the D.A. a copy and having it marked, he approached the witness.
"Mr. McGee, let me turn your attention to page four of the forensic report on the investigation of Tom Travis's living room. The place where I've marked in yellow. Please read that aloud."
McGee stared at the page, frowned, then haltingly read: "Hydrocarbon residue found on living-room carpet at the location marked J on illustration 14 in a narrow line 10.4 inches long." McGee looked up in confusion and handed the paper back. "What's that mean?"
Markham retrieved a duffle bag from beneath the defense table and removed a red and yellow one gallon gas can and a ruler.
"Mr. McGee, it turns out that the edge of this gas can is exactly ten and a half inches long and if any gas had dripped down the side of a can like this and that can was placed on a rug, it would leave a thin line of gasoline about ten and a half inches long on the rug, just like the line of gasoline the police found on Tom Travis's living room rug."
"Objection!"
"I don't know anything about something like that."
"Sustained."
"Did you enter the Travis house on December 31stwith the plan to steal what you could carry off and then burn the house down to get even with Tom Travis for how he'd mistreated you?"
"No way."
"Objection!"
"Sustained. Put your props away and move on, Mr. Markham."
"What kind of car did you drive when Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"A red '92 Camaro."
"A classic car."
"I like it."
"Did you ever own a van?"
"Never," McGee sneered.
"At the time Marian Travis disappeared did any of your friends or relatives own a van?"
"Not as far as I know," McGee said in a more restrained voice.
"I believe you said your father was dead. What was his name?"
"Walter."
"What's your mother's name?"
McGee paused. "Sheila," he said uneasily as if admitting a sin.
"Hmmm," Markham mumbled as if confused, and picked up a sheet of papers from the defense table.
"According to the Department of Motor Vehicles on the date Marian Travis disappeared Sheila McGee owned a Ford Windstar van," Markham said, handing McGee a certified copy of the DMV registration report.
That shudder you just felt, Ted, was your case beginning to capsize.
McGee's eyes went wide and Markham moved toward the jury so that they could see the witness's expression. In the audience Simon Katz felt as if someone had twisted a knife in his guts. He could guess who Sheila McGee was and her connection to the black van in the photographs. He tried to sit up straight and felt as if he had lost the ability to breathe.
"What color was your mother's van?"
"I don't remember?"
"You don't remember the color of your own mother's vehicle? Try."
"Black or blue," McGee admitted after rubbing his temples in a theatrical attempt to prod his memory.
"Did you ever drive her van around the time that Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"I had my Camaro. I didn't need her van."
"So she was the only one driving it?"
"As far as I know."
"How's your mother's health?"
"Not good. She had a stroke."
"Serious?"
"Pretty bad."
"When?"
"I don't remember."
"Hmmmm. Most sons would remember when their mother had a stroke. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that she had her stroke in September, about three months before Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"I suppose."
"She wasn't driving her black van right after a serious stroke, was she?"
"I don't know."
"You had a set of keys to the van, didn't you?"
"I don't remember."
"What happened to her van?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know. Do you remember putting a want-ad to sell her van in the LA Times in January, right after Marian Travis disappeared?"
"I don't remember."
Markham handed McGee and the Prosecutor a sheaf of papers. "Mr. McGee, I'm handing you a copy of the business records subpoenaed from the Los Angeles Times showing that you placed an ad to sell that van on January 12thand that you paid by personal check. Does that refresh your memory?"
McGee made a show of leafing through the pages. "Yeah, I guess I helped my mom out. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing at all. You found a buyer for the van, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"That would be a . . ." Markham consulted his pad, "Lorraine Goodwin?"
"That sounds right."
"In fact, she paid you by certified check." Markham handed McGee a copy of the check before he could answer.
"Yeah," McGee said sourly.
"Is that a copy of the check?"
McGee made a show of examining the page. "Yeah."
"That check is made payable directly to you?"
"Yes."
A moment later it went into evidence.
"Before Ms. Goodwin bought the van, she drove it didn't she?"
"I guess."
"And when she paid you, you must have given her the keys."
"Sure."
"So you had a set of keys to the van, right?"
"I guess so."
"Please take a look at the DMV record form, specifically the license number of your mother's van." Markham handed the page back to McGee. "Now, please take a look at this photograph, Defense twenty for identification." Markham handed McGee one of the photos of the van. "Does the license number on the DMV record for your mother's van match the license place in this photograph?"
McGee stared back and forth at the two documents for fifteen or twenty seconds. "I guess so," he finally admitted.
"So, based on the matching license numbers, the black van in this picture is your mother's van?"
"Sure, so what?"
Markham ignored the question. "Did you ever have a sign made that said 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Did you?"
"Hell no."
"Think carefully. Are you absolutely sure?"
"It's not the sort of thing you'd forget."
"No, it isn't," Markham said, glancing at the jury, then he nodded to one of his assistants who hurried from the room. "Your Honor, if the Court would indulge me for a moment." The doors and opened every eye fastened on Everett Yelley's portly form. Brian marched Yelley up to the bar separating the spectators from the attorneys.
"Mr. McGee that gentleman is Mr. Everett Yelley. He operates Alfred's All Needs Signs. Do you recognize him?"
"No!" McGee almost shouted.
"Do you see that notebook in Mr. Yelley's hand?"
"Yes."
"Those are his business records for the months immediately before Marian Travis disappeared. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that Mr. Yelley has identified you as the person who purchased a plastic stick-on sign bearing the name 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" McGee snapped.
"In due time Mr. Yelley will give his own testimony." Markham nodded and Brian led a confused Everett Yelley from the room.
"Mr. McGee, it's undisputed that your mother owed a black van. It's undisputed that you had the keys to the van. It's undisputed that your mother's van was seen on Tom Travis's street the morning his wife disappeared. It's undisputed that the van had a Sunshine Pool Service sign on it. Mr. Yelley will testify that you purchased such a sign. Look around you, Mr. McGee. Look at the jury. Look at the judge. Even the D.A. knows you were driving that van that day."
McGee's head swiveled like a cornered rat searching for a way out. Sweat began to trickle down his back. After a quick look at the Prosecutor's frowning gaze his shoulders slumped. "All right," McGee said in a whisper.
"All right what?"
"All right, I was in the van, okay? I drove by Tom's house in the van. I was going to rob the place, okay? He owed me!" McGee shouted, looking at Travis.
"So, you--"
"But I chickened out."
"What?"
"I did everything you said but when I got there I chickened out. I saw some old bitty watching me and I didn't have the remote thing to get past the gate. I figured that if I just parked there and fooled with the lock she'd be able to identify me, so I just drove on by and went home." McGee gave Markham and the jury an embarrassed look but Greg caught a feral glint in the stuntman's eyes. Son of a bitch!
"You never drove your van through the gate?" Markham asked.
"Like I said, I didn't have the remote thing."
"What remote thing?"
"The one that operates the gate."
"How do you know there was such a thing?"
"How else would the people who live there get in and out?"
"Where were you . . . ." Markham began, then paused at the sound of the courtroom doors opening behind him. He glanced back and saw Janson approaching the defense table with an envelope in his hand. "Your Honor, may I have a moment to consult with my associate?"
"A very short moment, Mr. Markham."
Without a word Steve spilled out a set of color pages covered with tables and graphs.
"What the hell does all this say?" Markham whispered.
"Nothing on Marian," Steve said calmly, "but," Steve tapped the second set, "this one's a match to Sarah," he said unable to conceal a wide smile. "Her hair puts her in McGee's van!" Markham made sure that his body screened Steve's joyful expression.
When asked later to describe what he felt at that instant Markham was lost for words. The most recognizable emotion, he decided, was the absence of an emotion, fear. In that one moment the terror that he might see an innocent client convicted slipped away. Taking an extra second or two to compose himself he finally turned back to McGee.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. McGee. Was that December 31stthe only time you drove your mother's van anywhere around the Travis house?"
"Yeah, sure."
"And on that one occasion, you just drove on by the house?"
"Yes."
"You didn't so much as enter the driveway?"
"That's what I said."
"So Marian Travis was never in your mother's van?"
"No."
"And Sarah, Marian's daughter, she was never in your mother's van?"
"No," Travis said with a little snort.
"Do you know what DNA is?" Markham asked in a suddenly challenging tone.
Ted Hamilton's head snapped up and in Markham' imagination the judge's eyes seemed to emit a peculiar glow.
McGee paused then muttered, "Something that's used to identify people."
"Yes. Did you know that a person's DNA can be identified from only a single strand of hair?"
"Whatever you say."
"I hold in my hand," Markham said, raising the gaily colored pages, "a DNA report on a strand of hair recovered from your mother's van."
Every eye in the room was instantly riveted on the pages, straining to read their secrets.
"What's that got to do with me? That Goodwin lady's had the thing for more than a year."
"I will tell you what it has to do with you, Mr. McGee," Markham said in a ringing voice, then he paused for several seconds to let the suspense build. "This strand of hair found in your black van," he almost shouted, "belongs to Sarah Travis!"
An involuntary gasp echoed through the courtroom and in the first row, a young woman began to cry. Simon Katz sat back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
"It--"
"Don't speak! I know everything."
"I just--"
"I know everything!" Markham shouted. The forensic team had also found blue fibers in the van.
"You couldn't bring yourself to kill Sarah so you bound her with silver duct tape and wrapped her in a blue blanket. Do you remember the blue blanket?"
"I don't know--"
"Stop lying!" Markham ordered. "I know everything." Mentally crossing his fingers and praying that Janson's psychic wasn't a raving lunatic, Markham glanced at Steve, took a deep breath, then leaned forward on railing in front of the witness stand.
"I know that you wrapped up Sarah in a blue blanket and put in the back of your van. I know that you drove her down to Mexico. You were terrified when you crossed the border that someone would find her, but they never searched the van. I know," Markham began, mentally crossing his fingers and toes, "about Jorge!"
McGee looked as if he had been slapped in the face.
"I know everything! I know how you sold little Sarah to Jorge," Markham screamed in McGee's face.
McGee flinched and his eyes had the look of a hunted animal.
"How do you suppose I know all this? How could I know?" Markham demanded.
McGee stared dumbly.
"There's only one way I could know. Think! We know because we found Jorge, and he told us everything!"
Markham struggled to remember everything Steve had reported about his interview with the psychic.
McGee seemed to collapse in on himself and wedged himself into the back of the witness chair.
"Jorge gave you up. He told us everything. Do you remember that Jorge asked you if she was healthy and you said that she was perfect, that you guaranteed it? Do you remember what Jorge said to you next? Do you? How he looked at little Sarah and then he looked at you and then he said . . ." Markham raised his pad and in a loud, clear voice pretended to read: "'I don't take no broken merchandise.'"
A gasp swept through the courtroom.
Hiding his face, McGee bent over and huddled in the chair and feared that he would cry.
"You didn't mean to kill Marian, did you?" Markham suggested. "You're not a monster. You're not a cold blooded killer. How did it happen? It was an accident, wasn't it?" Markham insisted. "Wasn't it?" He turned to face the jury, afraid that he would not be able to hide the fear and desperation welling up inside him.
"Like I said last week."
"Did you talk about anything else? Did he brag about his new dune buggy?"
"Tom liked his toys."
"Did he invite you to go with him when he broke it in?"
"No."
"He sat there, bragging about his new dune buggy, told you he was going to take her out for her maiden run, and then he didn't even ask you if you'd like to come along?"
"It seemed like once I asked him to loan me money, that was the end of us," McGee said sourly.
"Considering everything you did for Tom and everything he did to you, did you ever think about, you know, finding some way to get compensated for what he owed you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, with all that jewelry and his fancy watches and paintings and stuff in his house, did you ever think about maybe coming back some day and taking something to cover the year of your life he took away when he got you sent to jail?"
"I'm no thief."
"I'm not talking about stealing. I'm talking about getting what you deserved."
"How the heck was I supposed to do that?"
"All you'd need was to get in there when no one was at home. Right?"
"Tom always locked his doors."
"What about the maid's keys? They were right there in the lock in the kitchen back door. You pour yourself a drink, slip the keys in your pocket, who would know?"
"I didn't steal no keys."
"You're not a thief?"
"That's right."
"Except for that drug thing that you've already explained, you've been a law abiding person?"
"My daddy raised me right."
Markham nodded and backed away. "Okay. Let's talk about that. Last week you said you left home in Colorado so that you could get into the movies, correct?"
"That's what I said."
"Didn't you leave your parents home because of a terrible tragedy?"
"I don't like to talk about that."
"Your parents home burned down, didn't it? Is that how your father died?"
"What do you have to bring that up for?"
"I agree. Objection, relevance."
"If Your Honor would give me just a little latitude."
"Overruled, but subject to a motion to strike. Connect this up and get on with it."
"Mr. McGee, the Judge is right. Let's move on. It is true, isn't it, that after your house burned down you stayed in Colorado for almost five years, correct?"
"I was just a kid when the fire happened."
"While you were still in Colorado, did you get into a dispute with the manager of the auto parts store where you worked?"
"He was cheatin' us on our overtime and I called him on it."
"He filed a criminal complaint with the police, didn't he?"
"Your Honor, I have to object. This is not proper impeachment."
"I'm not asking for the purpose of impeachment."
"You're right on the edge, Mr. Markham. . . . Overruled, for now."
"Mr. McGee?"
"He made that stuff up to get even with me. They dropped the case. It was nothin'."
"Didn't they drop the case when a mysterious fire burned up all the store's records concerning the missing merchandise?"
"The whole thing was bogus."
"Moving on," Markham said, glancing at the Judge, "you had another problem with the police in Colorado, didn't you?"
"They had it in for me."
"Did you plead guilty to burning up the car of a man who claimed you beat him up?"
"That was put up job."
"But you did plead guilty to arson, correct?"
"The lawyer told me that was the fastest way to get the whole thing over with. I did nine months in county and got the hell out of Colorado."
"So when you said last week that you left Colorado to fulfill your dream get into the movies, that wasn't completely true was it? You left Colorado after at least two criminal charges and a conviction for arson."
"I always wanted to be in the movies."
"Let's see, your parents' house burns down. Then the evidence of theft against you burns up. Then the car of the man who accused you of beating him with a baseball bat burns up. I'm sensing a pattern here."
"Objection, Your Honor."
"You've made your point, Mr. Markham. Sustained. Move on."
Markham walked to the defense table and Brian handed him a report. After giving the D.A. a copy and having it marked, he approached the witness.
"Mr. McGee, let me turn your attention to page four of the forensic report on the investigation of Tom Travis's living room. The place where I've marked in yellow. Please read that aloud."
McGee stared at the page, frowned, then haltingly read: "Hydrocarbon residue found on living-room carpet at the location marked J on illustration 14 in a narrow line 10.4 inches long." McGee looked up in confusion and handed the paper back. "What's that mean?"
Markham retrieved a duffle bag from beneath the defense table and removed a red and yellow one gallon gas can and a ruler.
"Mr. McGee, it turns out that the edge of this gas can is exactly ten and a half inches long and if any gas had dripped down the side of a can like this and that can was placed on a rug, it would leave a thin line of gasoline about ten and a half inches long on the rug, just like the line of gasoline the police found on Tom Travis's living room rug."
"Objection!"
"I don't know anything about something like that."
"Sustained."
"Did you enter the Travis house on December 31stwith the plan to steal what you could carry off and then burn the house down to get even with Tom Travis for how he'd mistreated you?"
"No way."
"Objection!"
"Sustained. Put your props away and move on, Mr. Markham."
"What kind of car did you drive when Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"A red '92 Camaro."
"A classic car."
"I like it."
"Did you ever own a van?"
"Never," McGee sneered.
"At the time Marian Travis disappeared did any of your friends or relatives own a van?"
"Not as far as I know," McGee said in a more restrained voice.
"I believe you said your father was dead. What was his name?"
"Walter."
"What's your mother's name?"
McGee paused. "Sheila," he said uneasily as if admitting a sin.
"Hmmm," Markham mumbled as if confused, and picked up a sheet of papers from the defense table.
"According to the Department of Motor Vehicles on the date Marian Travis disappeared Sheila McGee owned a Ford Windstar van," Markham said, handing McGee a certified copy of the DMV registration report.
That shudder you just felt, Ted, was your case beginning to capsize.
McGee's eyes went wide and Markham moved toward the jury so that they could see the witness's expression. In the audience Simon Katz felt as if someone had twisted a knife in his guts. He could guess who Sheila McGee was and her connection to the black van in the photographs. He tried to sit up straight and felt as if he had lost the ability to breathe.
"What color was your mother's van?"
"I don't remember?"
"You don't remember the color of your own mother's vehicle? Try."
"Black or blue," McGee admitted after rubbing his temples in a theatrical attempt to prod his memory.
"Did you ever drive her van around the time that Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"I had my Camaro. I didn't need her van."
"So she was the only one driving it?"
"As far as I know."
"How's your mother's health?"
"Not good. She had a stroke."
"Serious?"
"Pretty bad."
"When?"
"I don't remember."
"Hmmmm. Most sons would remember when their mother had a stroke. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that she had her stroke in September, about three months before Ms. Travis disappeared?"
"I suppose."
"She wasn't driving her black van right after a serious stroke, was she?"
"I don't know."
"You had a set of keys to the van, didn't you?"
"I don't remember."
"What happened to her van?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know. Do you remember putting a want-ad to sell her van in the LA Times in January, right after Marian Travis disappeared?"
"I don't remember."
Markham handed McGee and the Prosecutor a sheaf of papers. "Mr. McGee, I'm handing you a copy of the business records subpoenaed from the Los Angeles Times showing that you placed an ad to sell that van on January 12thand that you paid by personal check. Does that refresh your memory?"
McGee made a show of leafing through the pages. "Yeah, I guess I helped my mom out. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing at all. You found a buyer for the van, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"That would be a . . ." Markham consulted his pad, "Lorraine Goodwin?"
"That sounds right."
"In fact, she paid you by certified check." Markham handed McGee a copy of the check before he could answer.
"Yeah," McGee said sourly.
"Is that a copy of the check?"
McGee made a show of examining the page. "Yeah."
"That check is made payable directly to you?"
"Yes."
A moment later it went into evidence.
"Before Ms. Goodwin bought the van, she drove it didn't she?"
"I guess."
"And when she paid you, you must have given her the keys."
"Sure."
"So you had a set of keys to the van, right?"
"I guess so."
"Please take a look at the DMV record form, specifically the license number of your mother's van." Markham handed the page back to McGee. "Now, please take a look at this photograph, Defense twenty for identification." Markham handed McGee one of the photos of the van. "Does the license number on the DMV record for your mother's van match the license place in this photograph?"
McGee stared back and forth at the two documents for fifteen or twenty seconds. "I guess so," he finally admitted.
"So, based on the matching license numbers, the black van in this picture is your mother's van?"
"Sure, so what?"
Markham ignored the question. "Did you ever have a sign made that said 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Did you?"
"Hell no."
"Think carefully. Are you absolutely sure?"
"It's not the sort of thing you'd forget."
"No, it isn't," Markham said, glancing at the jury, then he nodded to one of his assistants who hurried from the room. "Your Honor, if the Court would indulge me for a moment." The doors and opened every eye fastened on Everett Yelley's portly form. Brian marched Yelley up to the bar separating the spectators from the attorneys.
"Mr. McGee that gentleman is Mr. Everett Yelley. He operates Alfred's All Needs Signs. Do you recognize him?"
"No!" McGee almost shouted.
"Do you see that notebook in Mr. Yelley's hand?"
"Yes."
"Those are his business records for the months immediately before Marian Travis disappeared. Would it refresh your memory if I told you that Mr. Yelley has identified you as the person who purchased a plastic stick-on sign bearing the name 'Sunshine Pool Service'?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" McGee snapped.
"In due time Mr. Yelley will give his own testimony." Markham nodded and Brian led a confused Everett Yelley from the room.
"Mr. McGee, it's undisputed that your mother owed a black van. It's undisputed that you had the keys to the van. It's undisputed that your mother's van was seen on Tom Travis's street the morning his wife disappeared. It's undisputed that the van had a Sunshine Pool Service sign on it. Mr. Yelley will testify that you purchased such a sign. Look around you, Mr. McGee. Look at the jury. Look at the judge. Even the D.A. knows you were driving that van that day."
McGee's head swiveled like a cornered rat searching for a way out. Sweat began to trickle down his back. After a quick look at the Prosecutor's frowning gaze his shoulders slumped. "All right," McGee said in a whisper.
"All right what?"
"All right, I was in the van, okay? I drove by Tom's house in the van. I was going to rob the place, okay? He owed me!" McGee shouted, looking at Travis.
"So, you--"
"But I chickened out."
"What?"
"I did everything you said but when I got there I chickened out. I saw some old bitty watching me and I didn't have the remote thing to get past the gate. I figured that if I just parked there and fooled with the lock she'd be able to identify me, so I just drove on by and went home." McGee gave Markham and the jury an embarrassed look but Greg caught a feral glint in the stuntman's eyes. Son of a bitch!
"You never drove your van through the gate?" Markham asked.
"Like I said, I didn't have the remote thing."
"What remote thing?"
"The one that operates the gate."
"How do you know there was such a thing?"
"How else would the people who live there get in and out?"
"Where were you . . . ." Markham began, then paused at the sound of the courtroom doors opening behind him. He glanced back and saw Janson approaching the defense table with an envelope in his hand. "Your Honor, may I have a moment to consult with my associate?"
"A very short moment, Mr. Markham."
Without a word Steve spilled out a set of color pages covered with tables and graphs.
"What the hell does all this say?" Markham whispered.
"Nothing on Marian," Steve said calmly, "but," Steve tapped the second set, "this one's a match to Sarah," he said unable to conceal a wide smile. "Her hair puts her in McGee's van!" Markham made sure that his body screened Steve's joyful expression.
When asked later to describe what he felt at that instant Markham was lost for words. The most recognizable emotion, he decided, was the absence of an emotion, fear. In that one moment the terror that he might see an innocent client convicted slipped away. Taking an extra second or two to compose himself he finally turned back to McGee.
"I'm sorry for the interruption, Mr. McGee. Was that December 31stthe only time you drove your mother's van anywhere around the Travis house?"
"Yeah, sure."
"And on that one occasion, you just drove on by the house?"
"Yes."
"You didn't so much as enter the driveway?"
"That's what I said."
"So Marian Travis was never in your mother's van?"
"No."
"And Sarah, Marian's daughter, she was never in your mother's van?"
"No," Travis said with a little snort.
"Do you know what DNA is?" Markham asked in a suddenly challenging tone.
Ted Hamilton's head snapped up and in Markham' imagination the judge's eyes seemed to emit a peculiar glow.
McGee paused then muttered, "Something that's used to identify people."
"Yes. Did you know that a person's DNA can be identified from only a single strand of hair?"
"Whatever you say."
"I hold in my hand," Markham said, raising the gaily colored pages, "a DNA report on a strand of hair recovered from your mother's van."
Every eye in the room was instantly riveted on the pages, straining to read their secrets.
"What's that got to do with me? That Goodwin lady's had the thing for more than a year."
"I will tell you what it has to do with you, Mr. McGee," Markham said in a ringing voice, then he paused for several seconds to let the suspense build. "This strand of hair found in your black van," he almost shouted, "belongs to Sarah Travis!"
An involuntary gasp echoed through the courtroom and in the first row, a young woman began to cry. Simon Katz sat back in his seat and covered his face with his hands.
"It--"
"Don't speak! I know everything."
"I just--"
"I know everything!" Markham shouted. The forensic team had also found blue fibers in the van.
"You couldn't bring yourself to kill Sarah so you bound her with silver duct tape and wrapped her in a blue blanket. Do you remember the blue blanket?"
"I don't know--"
"Stop lying!" Markham ordered. "I know everything." Mentally crossing his fingers and praying that Janson's psychic wasn't a raving lunatic, Markham glanced at Steve, took a deep breath, then leaned forward on railing in front of the witness stand.
"I know that you wrapped up Sarah in a blue blanket and put in the back of your van. I know that you drove her down to Mexico. You were terrified when you crossed the border that someone would find her, but they never searched the van. I know," Markham began, mentally crossing his fingers and toes, "about Jorge!"
McGee looked as if he had been slapped in the face.
"I know everything! I know how you sold little Sarah to Jorge," Markham screamed in McGee's face.
McGee flinched and his eyes had the look of a hunted animal.
"How do you suppose I know all this? How could I know?" Markham demanded.
McGee stared dumbly.
"There's only one way I could know. Think! We know because we found Jorge, and he told us everything!"
Markham struggled to remember everything Steve had reported about his interview with the psychic.
McGee seemed to collapse in on himself and wedged himself into the back of the witness chair.
"Jorge gave you up. He told us everything. Do you remember that Jorge asked you if she was healthy and you said that she was perfect, that you guaranteed it? Do you remember what Jorge said to you next? Do you? How he looked at little Sarah and then he looked at you and then he said . . ." Markham raised his pad and in a loud, clear voice pretended to read: "'I don't take no broken merchandise.'"
A gasp swept through the courtroom.
Hiding his face, McGee bent over and huddled in the chair and feared that he would cry.
"You didn't mean to kill Marian, did you?" Markham suggested. "You're not a monster. You're not a cold blooded killer. How did it happen? It was an accident, wasn't it?" Markham insisted. "Wasn't it?" He turned to face the jury, afraid that he would not be able to hide the fear and desperation welling up inside him.
