Autopsy Of A Mind - Chapter 146

“I was the on-call personnel the evening she was murdered. I was called in to assist patrol when a passerby reported a dispute in the victim’s house. At that point, we didn’t think much of it and entered the house and found the victim on her bed with a stab wound. She was bleeding out from the wound and placed on her side.” My explanation was to the point like Nash had taught me before coming here.

“And why did the nature of the investigation change?” Well, why do you think? I wanted to ask. But this was a courtroom and everything needed to be spelled out for the world to hear.

“Well, we found out that the victim was stabbed and there was no sign of forced entry. The weapon was missing and the victim’s son had witnessed the crime taking place.” Ah, all the facts laid out.

“Objection your honor!” the defending lawyer chimed. I turned to look at him and wondered why he was interrupting. “The witness is very young, your honor, and not presented to the court.”

The judge looked blandly at the lawyer and then nodded.

“Continue,” he sighed.

The prosecutor resumed. He turned to me with another question, “And what did you do then?”

“I notified my mentor, Detective Nash and we brought in additional resources to solve the case quickly. It went from our department initially to the whole agency,” I admitted. The case was big and the pressure from higher authorities had been great because of the media exposure.

“So, you were the first person to interview Mr. McCain, is that correct? Can you tell us how he came off to you?” I recalled his charming but nonchalant attitude.

“He seemed nonchalant in the beginning. He wanted to know why he was there, he wanted to help in any way that he could. He basically didn’t know much. He tried to charm everyone he came across and smiled at me for most of the meeting until he felt like I suspected him.”

The prosecutor nodded. “And you took his DNA and footprint to match with the evidence you had acquired?”

“Yes, according to the protocol, we took the necessary samples.”

“Your honor, we have submitted them as evidence…” and he prattled on about the article and what not and I gazed between the judge and the prosecutor. From the corner of my eye, I could see McCain leaning against his chair. He looked too calm. Like he thought he would get away with everything. I didn’t like the feeling one bit.

“Did you take samples from everyone else who had been in the house, as well?”

“Yes. According to the procedure, we took the prints from all the officers present, Maya’s son, and her parents.” Again, the documents were handed over.

“Can you tell us what made you think Mr. McCain was the perpetrator?” Ah, to the main question!

“Firstly, Maya’s son told us that Mr. McCain had been in the house and there was an argument. Secondly, the shoe print found on the backyard was from a distinctive limited-edition shoe which costs upwards of a hundred thousand dollars.” My explanation was concise. I saw the defense lawyer scribble something down and made note of this at the back of my head. This would be a point of question later on.

“And what did this imply to you?” the prosecutor quirked his brow.

“Objection your honor. Leading question!” the lawyer interrupted.

“Sustained,” the judge spoke. He looked reluctant though.

“Let me rephrase that. Why was the shoe important in you becoming suspicious?” he said, offering me a small smile.

“It implied that the perpetrator had a huge amount of money that they could spend on collecting luxury items.”

“But why did this point towards the defendant?” the prosecutor questioned, dubiously. He played the sarcastic and stupid role very well in that case.

“We matched the list of buyers from the company involved, and Mr. McCain was on the list. Adding the testimony from his son into the mix, we suspected that he was responsible.” Dust it off. We had done everything according to the procedure because of Collin and his slimy ways. We had left no stone unturned.

“And you called him in for a second interview. Seth Nash sat in on the interrogation. Is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“Can you tell us what his demeanor was then?” I found myself smiling.

“As the interview progressed, there were clear indicators of stress on him and we could tell that he had realized we had reason to believe he had something to do with Maya’s murder,” I spoke softly but firmly. I leaned into the microphone so that my voice was easily heard by everyone.

“During the interview, you were pressing him. At what point did you know he did it?”

Another interruption.

“Rephrasing the question: why did you believe Mr. McCain killed Maya?”

I thought about the answer for a second before speaking. “I had a strong feeling that he had done it when we found the restraining order Maya had filed against him and that he had tried to break it. We knew he owned the same pair of boots. We also found security footage which showed that he had gone to her house that evening when he said that he had remained in his house all day.”

The prosecutor shuffled.

“Your honor, please look at—” More courtroom jargon ensued, but I could see the spark of interest in the judge’s eyes. I then realized that he had believed the prosecution wouldn’t be able to pin the crime down on McCain. This was a game-changer.

The video of him getting out of his house, the clothes he was wearing, and how they matched up was laid in front of the courtroom for all to see.

“And how did you bring him to admit that he had indeed gone to see her?”

“We gave him an out during the interview and made it clear to him with bits of information that only he would know. We saw his movement through traffic cameras and the like. That kind of questions let him know that we had video evidence against him.”

“And what was his response?” This was critical. I had to frame it properly.

“He was asking for more information. We knew when he came in that he was fishing for information to see how far he could get.” This was the truth. He acted all high and mighty like he was the one in power. And we had put him in his place.

“Did you know that he was searching for updates on the case on the internet?” the prosecutor asked. I blinked in confusion.

“No, we did not. I assumed that he was kept informed, though,” I said truthfully. I didn’t think my implication was caught by anyone but the police officers who sat at the foot of the courtroom with looks of delight.

It seemed that the department had taken time to come see her first courtroom interview.

“Would you have used it against him?”

“It might have been helpful, but we were focused on setting up the story. We wanted to set up a timeline that he couldn’t dispute.” Nash had told me that explaining causes for interrogative methods gave us more points and led to fewer questions, so I went in that direction.

“And did you get any incriminating information from him?”

“He admitted to going to her house and leaving in a few minutes, but we had video evidence that he had stayed over an hour. We also saw him discard the murder weapon in a residential area,” I admitted. “We had footage that he was not in his house like he had claimed, either. But met with these, he refused to go along with the questioning and left.”

That was the truth.

Now, that was incriminating.

“And you believe, beyond doubt that Mr. McCain killed Maya?”

“Yes, Mr. McCain killed the victim.”

Silence prevailed.

“Defence can now cross-examine.”

The lawyer shuffled to his feet and approached Ellis.

“Miss Lewis, you spoke about your credentials at the beginning of your testimony. May I ask why you migrated from Language studies to crime-solving and detective work?”

Strange line of questioning, but I was prepared for it. They would try to rip apart my credibility. And no objection from the prosecutor would stop it.

“As I mentioned, my studies were one interactive language and pain studies. I believed my talents for languages and expression would be a critical tool in solving crimes,” I admitted.

“But what brought the idea to you?”

“I have always wanted to be in the police force. I took another route, but ended up in the same place.” I shrugged.

“And why did you want to be in the police?” I pressed my lips together. So, this was where they wanted it to head.

“My father was a detective and I grew up under his tutelage.”

“Your father was Charlie Lewis, correct?”

“Correct,” I said without hesitation.

“Yes, he solved hundreds of cases and was held in high regard. I believe he was killed by Alicia Williams, the serial killer.” I didn’t answer because he hadn’t asked me a question. He waited for something and then recognized where he had gone wrong. “Were you kidnapped and kept captive by Alicia Williams?”

“Objection. Not related to the case!” the prosecutor interjected.

“Sustained.” But the information was already out. Not that I cared.

“Apologies for bringing back bad memories. Miss Lewis, you survived a terrible trauma. How has that impacted your life, both personal and professional?”