Chapter 8

(The Lady in Red-Suspect #2)

I made my customary informal poll of the jurors after lunch that day and found that the majority of the sitting jurors were now on the side of the prosecution. I didn’t need a law degree to understand that this was tantamount to disaster for poor Winston. At this rate of commitment, he was well on his way to a guilty verdict unless the direction of the trial changed from slow entanglement to something quite different.

The afternoon started off nicely when Sam (short for Samantha) squeezed in with me inside the public defender’s private telephone booth and lifted her pretty face for the reassurance of my heated kisses on her young tender lips. My base instincts wanted me to do something a lot more depraved, but I respected her need for acquaintance in a world of total strangers. She had the look of unrequited love about her. It was either that or some sad story of a jilted relationship with her holding the short end of the stick.

I managed in the tight quarters to innocently place my greedy paw on her fully rounded buttock and explored to my heart’s content whilst she plundered my tongue with her delicate little pointed thing inside her wildly wet mouth. I had to admit it was a change of pace for me and I was reminded of my university days when everything was measured by the mysterious depths of a female mouth and their attitude about sharing their feminine secrets.

Unfortunately, the lunch break came to a screeching halt before I was able to insert even one of my fingers under Sam’s panty line and I resigned my intentions to a “wait and see” mode for future revelations about the pretty young girl’s hidden assets.

It was obvious that the defense was chomping at the bit to start the festivities for the day from the way that the junior defense counsel was crossing and uncrossing her beautiful slender legs under the wooden table. “Tippy” was one of those female lawyers that promised you everything but only gave up one tiny nibble at a time. She was appealing enough in a cute sort of fresh and innocent way, but I discerned the hardened attitude under her façade of bubbly charm.

Something was whipping her up into an unusual early morning frenzy and watching her was like watching a killer whale driven berserk by jettisoned “chum” on the surface of placid waters. The other defense lawyers were concentrating on getting their coffees “fixed” with the exactly correct amounts of white or brown sugar and the cream of their choice to lighten the dark mixtures. She was sporadically sipping at some combination juice concoction through a silly looped straw and it made her look strangely sexy.

I was certain she was putting out for the defendant from the way he placed his hand on her shoulder or just made contact with his knee on the sly under the almost transparent table. Not that there was anything wrong with that. In a sense, it was probably why she was selected for the defense team because they needed the defendant on his toes at all times and not distracted by his physical urges that sapped his concentration. I guess bending over now and then as they went over the details of the case in the privacy of lawyer/client secrecy was not much of a hardship considering the fact that Winston was a handsome devil and was reputed to be a bit of a “player” in the upper class social circles. She was obviously no virgin and knew the score like most unmarried women doing their utmost to break the glass ceiling surrounding their sometimes futile efforts to make a change.

In a way, I was doubtless filled with envy at his good fortune because the winsome Tippy was one of those rare nymphets that made the females around her seem more like bovines in a field of grass unable to compete with her promise of fun and games with every twist of her perfect curves.

The first defense witness of the day was a beaten down detective on the cusp of retirement. It was the first time he was called to give testimony and the prosecutors were looking at him like he had been reincarnated from some old crime magazine with a lurid cover. I noticed that all of the other jurors including the alternates were paying full attention now because they all sensed the air of excitement in the atmosphere of the courtroom.

“Please state your full name and police title.”

“I am Detective Sergeant Thomas Reilly working out of the case integrity task office at central headquarters. I am assigned to murder cases to insure the prosecution is not missing key elements of the investigation.”

The prosecutors looked at each other with worried looks on their faces. It was obvious they were not aware that such a unit was in existence.

“Can you tell the court why you have entered a “biased case” report on the case of the State against Winston Sullivan and furnish documentation to support your conclusion?”

The withered middle-aged man straightened his tie and read from the report in a dull monotone. His voice was boring beyond belief, but his words were clear and concise.

“A total of six statement reports from witnesses interviewed about the case against Winston Sullivan from three separate witnesses were screened and correlated against forensic evidence and other physical evidence found at the crime scene. Several analogies were noted that all pointed to a second suspect with means, opportunity and motive to terminate the victim’s life at the time in question. This suspect is identified for our purposes as “The Lady in Red” and will be recommended for further investigation even as this trial continues. Her fingerprints and DNA are all over the crime scene just as Mister Sullivan’s and she had more than one reason for wanting to see the deceased eliminated from the picture as quickly as possible. There is no indication that Mister Sullivan or the designated suspect # 2 are acquainted or working together in this crime and it is concluded that they are not connected in any way.”