17th October, 2015 (Twelve Days after the Murder).

06:30 PM.

“Detective McNeil,” Ian called out as he picked up his ringing phone.

“Come outside,” a man said rudely from the other end of the line.

“Who the hell is this?” Ian asked.

“It’s Bob.”

“How the fuck did you get my number?” he asked.

“Alyson gave it to me. You said I should come for a few questions? Well, I’m right outside the precinct. Come out and meet me,” Bob said as he hung up.

Ian took the phone away from his ear and looked at it in disbelief. He wondered if the cherubic looking motherfucker had just hung up on him. He should have let it slide, but his competitive nature took over. He dialed Bob’s number.

“Hello?” Bob said.

“I’ll be right out,” Ian said, and hung up rudely.

He smiled satisfactorily as he walked out of his office. Hanging up on Bob was obviously a petty thing to do, but one had to appreciate the little wins in life. As he stepped outside the station, he admired how beautiful Atwood was at dusk. It was getting dark as the sun began to set. The sky was a deep blue tinged with orange, and Ian could hear the sound of crickets in the air.

His smile died on his face as he saw Bob leaning beside a parked vehicle. He looked even more ridiculous than the last time Ian saw him, with a dirty yellow jumpsuit and brown sandals. He wondered how a chubby, cartoonish looking man could affect his mood so badly without even trying.

Bob saw Ian walking towards him and straightened. The act did not help much, as Ian was still a head taller.

“Why not just come into the station?” Ian asked distastefully.

“PTSD from a bad arrest. We can just talk here. After all, I'm not even obligated to answer anything.”

Ian noted that Bob was definitely a lot smarter than he looked, “What were you arrested for?”

“It’s none of your damn business,” Bob replied.

Ian wanted to point out that it would take him at most two minutes to dig out his sordid criminal history, but he took a deep breath and continued, “Fair enough. What can you tell me about Bethany?”

“I really didn’t know her that well.”

“But you’ve been with her sister for years,” Ian pointed out.

“Her sister, not her. Geez, aren’t you supposed to be smart to be a detective or something?” Bob asked and Ian mentally counted how many witnesses there would be if he murdered Bob right in front of the station.

“They lived in the same house. I call bull on you saying you did not know her well,” Ian said.

“Bethany was rarely in the house. Alyson gave her a certain degree of freedom, so she could come and go as she liked, she only needed to tell her what time she’d be back,” Bob explained.

“From what you observed, what can you tell me about her personality?”

“She flirted a lot, and I don’t think she was completely loyal to the mayor’s kid. She kissed me once as well,” Bob said.

“What?” Ian asked, stunned.

‘She did that because she wanted to feel powerful, to take what was her sister’s, not for any other reason.”

“Clearly,” Ian stated, but Bob did not reply the obvious insult.

“Did anything further happen between you?” Ian asked.

“Nah.”

“Bullshit.”

“I didn’t need to tell you about the kiss but I did. Nothing else happened between us while she was alive,” Bob said.

Was that why she died? Ian wondered, but kept his question to himself.

“Did Alyson ever find out about it?” he asked instead.

“I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. As a matter of fact, that was also what I wanted to talk to you about. I heard when Bethany’s body was found, she was completely hysterical and you had to hold her back.”

“Yeah. So?”

“I know her. More than you ever have, probably ever will, and I can tell you that was incredibly out of character for her. Crying and screaming Bethany’s name? That’s not Alyson,” Bob said.

“What do you mean?”

“She is usually so detached. She doesn’t care about a lot of people, especially not her sister. She was acting.”

“Are you implying she knows more than she let on?” Ian asked.

“I am saying she’s an actress,” was Bob’s reply.

“And you sound like a bitter ex with a vendetta. Alyson has been through a lot. Losing her sister after spending years in this shitty town because of her must have been a hard pill to swallow. You know that as well as I do. Where were you at the time of Bethany’s murder?”

“I was working overnight at my place of work. I do security at GFO Pharmaceuticals.”

“I would be sure to check it out.”

“You do that. If that will be all Detective, I have things to do,” he said and got into his rickety old Prius.

He gave a short salute as he drove out of the station. Bob seemed enlightened of course, but he could not give much importance to what he said about Alyson. He clearly did not know her as much as he claimed. But had Alyson known about Bob’s kiss with Bethany? Even if she did was that enough reason to kill her only sister? He had seen people kill for less, but he knew Alyson, and he could bet his badge on the fact that she wasn’t a killer.

Even if Bob had slept with Bethany, Ian was sure he never would have admitted it since Bethany was below the age of consent. He would ensure to thoroughly check out Bob’s alibi for that night. He disliked loose ends.

*****

7th January, 2020 (Five Years after the Murder).

02:15 PM.

The first week of the trial was nearly over, and so far, it was not leaning either way. The prosecution had already interviewed many expert witnesses, including their star witness, and were halfway through their case.

Attorney Bill was painting a picture of an egotistic narcissist, who murdered the victim in cold blood without hesitating, while Vivian Glade was impressively trying to paint the defendant as the victim in the story, a person who was only guilty of having a mental illness, who should be cuddled and not prosecuted.

William approached the next witness unhurriedly, so his limp would not be too obvious. His leg had pained him for years, but he had gotten used to it.

“Can you kindly tell the court your name?” he asked.

“Zoe Brown.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I am a forensic podiatrist.”

“Pardon me, I’m not very familiar with the title. Can you tell us what that means?” William asked with apparent embarrassment.

“Of course. It simply means I analyze shoe prints found at crime scenes,” she obliged with a kind smile.

“Were you present at the scene when the body was found?”

“Yes, I was. I conducted the test on the shoe prints found at the scene.”

“After your investigations, what did you find?” he asked.

“From the analysis, we discovered that the shoeprints found were a match for male shoes of size 13.”

“The owner had really large feet then,” he stated comically.

“Exactly.”

“What else were you able to get from the results of your analysis?”

“We looked at the heel indent which was consistent with the individual carrying something heavy. The gait was also awkward, like the shoes did not really belong to the individual, and they had a hard time with the body.”

“Look at the defendant. Can you say the defendant wears size 13 male shoes on a regular basis?” William asked.

“Of course not.” She smiled.

“So why were male shoe prints of size 13 found at the crime scene?”

“The defendant had been wearing shoes not theirs,” she said.

“Would you say the defendant was trying to set someone else up?” he asked.

“Objection,” Attorney Glade yelled.

“I’ll rephrase. From your experience as a forensic podiatrist, have you seen cases where people intentionally wear footwear not theirs to sabotage a crime scene?”

“I have.”

“Is it rare?” he asked.

“On the contrary, it is actually very common,” she replied.

“So it is possible that wearing another person’s shoes could be a well thought out plan, and not a spur in the moment decision when it came to what happened on that lake?”

“Based on my expert opinion, yes.”

There was an audible excitement in the courtroom and the jurors wrote feverishly. William could tell that the tide was slowly shifting.

“Your witness,” he announced.

Attorney Glade approached the witness in a dissimilar way from William. She walked briskly and with confidence, which was impressive, considering she wore six inch pointed heels.

“Mrs. Brown tell the court how long you have been a forensic podiatrist?”

“About fifteen years,” she responded proudly.

“Wow. You must have a lot of experience then.”

“Yes, I have seen a good number of cases.”

“Impressive. I can count on your expertise then. I won’t take much of your time, I just want to ask you one question and I hope you can answer as clearly as you can.”

“I will.”

“Good. From your countless experiences, is it possible that the defendant could have worn those shoes in a haste because of confusion and not deliberation?” Attorney Glade asked.

The courtroom was so silent, that if someone had dropped a pin at that moment, it may have been heard.

Mrs. Brown thought for a moment and reluctantly replied, “Yes, it is possible.”

The noise in the court was deafening.

The next witness was introduced.

“What is your name?” Attorney Bill asked.

“Dr. Ali Ambrose.”

“What is your profession?”

“I am a medical examiner,” he replied good-naturedly.

“For how long?”

“About twenty-six years.”

“Did you examine Ms. Bethany Cooper’s body?”

“I did.”

“What were your findings?”

“Well she was brutalized pretty badly. It was a bad assault, and she struggled with her attacker. She had bruises on her left eye and the side of her mouth, her nose was broken. She also had bruises on her stomach, breasts, legs and neck. Her left ulna was broken in two, probably because she tried to protect her face,” he paused as he caught his breath.

“On her neck, there was a thin line, which was consistent with being strangled with a shoe lace,” he continued.

“The shoe lace that was later found?” William asked.

“Yes.”

“Did she lose consciousness at any point? Sustain any head injuries?”

“No, she did not… She was conscious throughout the assault,” Dr. Ambrose replied, and William saw that a few jurors shook their heads with pity.

“And in a brutal beating like that, was it normal?”

“On the contrary, it was rather unusual. The assaulter was taking care to cause as much pain as possible without spilling much blood.”

“Did the injuries imply the assault was done in a fit of rage?”

“No, because there would have been a lot more blood, and her injuries would have been more intensive. Also, if the defendant had been angry, she would have been strangled with hands, and the assailant would not have had the patience to remove a shoe lace to strangle her with.”

“A final question. Did she suffer?” William asked, putting as much emotion in his voice as he could.

“She did,” Dr. Ambrose replied.

William made an exaggerated show of sadness as he addressed the court, “No one deserved to die like that,” he concluded, and watched the jury turn to the defendant with disgust. He knew he had done a good job, but was still anxious to see what surprises the bitter bitch would pull.

Vivian Glade stood in front of the witness.

“Could you easily identify an injury that took place before, during and after one’s death?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“is there a defining factor to show a particular injury was gotten a few minutes before one’s death?”

“The injuries appear similar once they are of a particular time range.”

“So you’re saying it is possible Bethany could have sustained some of those injuries after her death?”

“It is possible bu-,” he started, but was cut off as Vivian continued.

“Dr. Ambrose, is it possible she could have sustained some of those injuries after her death, considering she had been in the water for a few hours?”

“A few of them, yes.”

“So in conclusion, she may not have suffered all those injuries from her encounter with the defendant?”

Dr. Ambrose sighed, “Yes.”

The trial continued.

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