Bloody Mary

“He did his job, as far as I knew. I never had any problems with him… until I had to shoot him.”

That got a chuckle from the peanut gallery.

“Tell me, Lieutenant, how a twenty-year veteran, a hero who was responsible for bringing a heinous serial killer to justice last year, failed to realize the suspect she was chasing was working side by side with her all along?”

“Officer Fuller knows police procedure. Because he knows our methods, he knew how to avoid detection.”

“And did that bother you, him avoiding capture?”

“Of course it bothered me. It’s my job to catch murderers, and he was out on the streets, murdering people.”

“Did it bother you beyond a professional capacity? Didn’t it, in fact, get personal?”

“I keep my personal and professional opinions separate.”

“Even though Barry is one of your own? You don’t hold him in particular disdain, on a personal level?”

“No, I don’t. My disdain is purely professional.”

Another chuckle.

“Lieutenant, you testified earlier that, during your visit to Barry Fuller at Cook County jail, Mr. Fuller threatened you.”

“Yes.”

“During your conversation with him on that date, do you believe that you remained calm and professional?”

“Yes.”

“Not personal?”

“No.”

“Tell me, Lieutenant, is this your voice?”

He pulled a cassette recorder out of his pocket and hit the Play button. The female voice that emanated was both high-pitched and vicious.

“Drop the act, Barry. I know you’re lying. You remember every sick little detail. I bet you jerk off to those memories every night in your lonely little cell. You make me sick. I hope they fry your ass in the chair, tumor or no tumor, you piece of shit.”

Both Noel and Libby screamed out objections, but my recorded voice could be heard above them, the murmur of the jury, and the sound of Judge Taylor banging her gavel.

“Objection, Your Honor! There’s no foundation for this tape. This wasn’t previously disclosed at the pre-trial hearing.”

“Your Honor, the State had prior knowledge of this tape, and they failed to give this to us in discovery. Full disclosure goes both ways.”

Libby made a face. “Foundation, Your Honor.”

Garcia smiled. “Witness credibility, Judge. Lt. Daniels has previously stated she clearly separates personal and professional opinion. The tape is a gentle reminder of her true opinion.”

“Privacy law, Your Honor. Lt. Daniels had no prior knowledge this tape would be used in evidence.”

“But she did have prior knowledge of the tape’s existence, Your Honor. In fact, she’s the one who created it.”

Judge Taylor turned to me. “Is that true, Lieutenant?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll allow it.”

Garcia held up the recorder.

“Tape A for identification. Authentication by Lt. Jacqueline Daniels of the Chicago Police Department. Lt. Daniels, was that indeed your voice on that tape recording, made during your visit to the Cook County jail on October twentieth of this year, while interviewing the defendant, Barry Fuller?”

I felt ready to throw up myself.

“Yes. But that was taken out of context. There’s more.”

“I’d be happy to play the tape in its entirety. Let the record show that Tape A was identified and has been entered into evidence. Proceed.”

After a brief moment of rewinding, the courtroom filled with my recorded voice.

In context, I came off even worse. Fuller’s sobbing denial, and my escalating anger and accusations, destroyed my credibility.

The tape ended with Fuller asking me if I was wearing a wire.

“What happened after the tape was turned off, Lieutenant?”

“That’s when Fuller said he really remembered everything, and would kill me when he was released.”

“Why is it I expected you to say that? Even in view of your unmitigated, and very personal, hatred of my client, a wretched victim of a personality-altering brain tumor. I’m sure when he takes the stand he’ll have a different account of what happened after the recorder was turned off. No further questions.”

“Redirect?” Judge Taylor asked.

Libby stood.

“Lt. Daniels, why were you so hostile to the defendant in that tape?”

“It’s standard police technique. I was trying to get him angry at me, so he would talk.”

“And he did talk, after the tape was turned off?”

“Yes. Why else would he have asked me to turn off the tape?”

Libby turned to the jury. “Indeed. Why would he have wanted that tape shut off, if only to say something he didn’t want recorded? No more questions.”

“You may step down, Lieutenant.”

Good recovery, Libby. But as I left the stand I noticed disgust on more than a few faces in the jury box. I was no longer the hero.

When I sat down, I glanced over at Fuller for the first time all day.

He was staring at me, and our eyes locked. His face was a study in sadness. He let out a big dramatic sigh, for the jury’s benefit. Playing it to the hilt.

The judge broke for lunch, and I kept my composure long enough to get to the bathroom and splash some water on my face.

Libby walked in, and stood next to me by the sink. The bathroom was full, so I kept my voice down.

“How’d they get the tape? You’ve got the only copy.”

“And it’s in my office safe. They didn’t get my copy.”

She gave me an accusatory stare.

I sighed, too tired to get angry. “Give me a break. They crucified me up there. I want Fuller put away more than anyone.”

“All I know is, no one has touched that tape since you gave it to me. That means it must have been copied prior to my receiving it.”

I digested this.

“Unless we weren’t the only ones taping the conversation. What if someone put a wire on Fuller?”

Libby’s eyes got Betty Boop big.

“If there’s another tape, that means there might be a record of Fuller admitting to the lies.”

“Right. But who did the taping? His legal team? The prison? And even if we do find out who did it, how do we get a copy of the uncut version?”

“I know an audio guy. I’ll get a copy of Garcia’s tape, and compare it to yours. He should be able to tell if they’re from different sources. That’ll give me enough to be able to force Garcia into telling how he got the evidence.”

A woman came over to use the sink, and Libby buttoned her lip. We left the washroom.

“How about Fuller’s past?” Libby asked. “Any luck?”

“None. Maybe we could try Rushlo again.”

“I’ve tried four times. The guy won’t budge. His attorney keeps asking for extensions.”

“Why?”

“Rushlo wants to stay in jail. He’s afraid Fuller is going to get out and come after him. Jail is the only place he feels safe. He didn’t even try to make bail.”

“What’s he being charged with?”

“Two counts of accessory. We’ve got him dead to rights. He’s going away for a long time. But I’d trade that for Fuller in a heartbeat. The problem is, we can’t find any co

I rubbed my eyes, yawned.

“How long has he owned the funeral home?”

“Six years. Worked there eight years before buying it from the original owner.”

“Before then?”

“His apprenticeship, Champaign-Urbana.”

That was south, but still two hundred miles away from Carbondale, where Fuller went to school.

“Before then?”

“Worsham College of Mortuary Science in Wheeling.”

Wheeling was even farther north.

“I’ll keep digging. Maybe something will turn up.”

“I hope so, Jack. You were my star witness, and the jury hates you. I’ve only got two more wits to call, and then it’s the defense’s ballgame. They’re bringing in some big guns.”

“How bad is it?”

Libby frowned. “If we don’t get something fast, we’re going to lose.”