The Pink Pony Page 7

  Just like you practiced.

  “About midnight or so, Mr. Lyons came up to the bar with a tree, a little one. It was nailed to some boards, and he put it on top of the bar. Then he wrapped a string of lights around it, the big, old-fashioned lights. He plugged them in and they lit up. Christmas in July.” She smiled.

  Karpinen looked at Murdo, then Burr. Finally, he said, “Were there any other Christmas lights?”

  “There was another string. Mr. Lyons had them around his neck,” she said. Karpinen nodded at her.

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Burr said. “It is patently obvious that the prosecutor has coached the witness and has gone so far as to tell her what to say.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Miss Vander Voort, please tell us what happened next. In your own words, of course.”

  Of course.

  “A little while later, Mrs. Halverson came up to the tree. She took off her bra and put it on the tree.”

  “She what?” Judge Maki said, almost falling out of his chair.

  “She took off her bra from under her blouse and put it on the tree,” Karen Vander Voort said again.

  “Then what happened?” Judge Maki said, clearly aroused.

  “Then a bunch of the women did the same thing,” she said.

  “Did what?” Judge Maki said.

  “They took their bras off and put them on the tree. There must have been two dozen.”

  “Then what happened?” There were beads of sweat on Maki’s forehead.

  This has to stop.

  Burr stood. “Respectfully, Your Honor, I believe it is the prosecutor who is supposed to be the one asking the questions.”

  The judge gave Burr a withering look.

  “Continue, Mr. Karpinen,” he said.

  “Miss Vander Voort,” Karpinen said, “did Mrs. Halverson put anything else on the tree?”

  “A little later, she came back up to the tree. She took off her panties and put them on the tree.”

  “My heavens.” The judge took off his glasses, wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his robe, then put his glasses back on.

  Burr thought there was a decent chance that Maki might keel over on the spot.

  This is an unmitigated disaster.

  Burr stood. “I object, Your Honor.”

  Judge Maki wiped the sweat off his forehead again. “Mr. Karpinen, no more of this. Please.”

  Karpinen smiled knowingly at the judge, then turned to the witness. “Miss Vander Voort, were you able to see what went on at Mr. Lyons’ table?”

  “At first, they were having a good time. Then Mr. Lyons’ wife got mad and left.”

  Burr jumped to his feet. “I object, Your Honor. The witness has no way of knowing if the other woman was Mr. Lyons’ wife.”

  “I can clear that up,” Karpinen said.

  I’m sure you can.

  “Proceed.”

  “Miss Vander Voort, what made you think the other woman was Mr. Lyons’ wife?”

  “She had a wedding ring on, and Mr. Halverson said something about her getting half his money.”

  Burr jumped again. “Your Honor, not only is this speculation, it’s hearsay.”

  Judge Maki took off his glasses and glared at Burr. “Counsel, I don’t think it matters a hoot right now who the other woman was. Overruled.” He turned to Karpinen. “Continue.”

  “Do you know why the other woman was mad?”

  “I think she was mad at Mrs. Halverson.”

  “Why was she mad?”

  “Because she was flirting with Mr. Lyons. It looked to me like she was jealous.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. The witness doesn’t know what the other woman was thinking. And it hasn’t even been established that the other woman was Mrs. Lyons.”

  “Your Honor, she is testifying about what she saw, not what Mrs. Lyons thought,” Karpinen said. He turned to Burr and grinned, stiff neck and all.

  “Overruled,” Judge Maki said. “Mr. Lafayette, you surely know the rules of evidence better than that.”

  The old fool is letting Karpinen get away with murder.

  “Was Mr. Halverson angry with Mr. Lyons?” Karpinen said. “No. Let me rephrase the question.” Karpinen cleared his throat, then he coughed.

  I hope he swallows his bridge.

  “In your opinion, did it look like Mr. Halverson was angry with Mr. Lyons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Miss Vander Voort. I have no further questions.”

  “Now we have a motive,” the judge said, mostly to himself.

  “I hardly think so,” Burr said, not to himself.

  “What’s that?” the judge said.

  “Nothing, Your Honor,” Burr said.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  Burr walked up to the comely witness. “Miss Vander Voort, you said you were bartending that night and you were the closer. What does the closer do?”

  “The closer makes sure the bar is pretty well cleaned up, makes sure there’s no one left in the bar or the kitchen and makes sure all the doors are locked.”

  “And was all this as it should have been?”

  “Yes.”

  “Miss Vander Voort, back to your bartending that night. What were the four of them drinking that night?”

  “Drinking?”

  “Yes, drinking. The Halversons and the Lyonses.” Burr put his hands in his pockets.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What color shirt was Mr. Lyons wearing?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “And Mr. Halverson?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Mrs. Halverson?”

  The comely witness was coming slightly undone.

  “Miss Vander Voort, isn’t it possible, perhaps likely, that Mr. Halverson was up at the bar and dropped his glasses there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really remember.”

  “You remember the color of Mrs. Halverson’s panties, but you don’t remember anything about Mr. Halverson’s glasses. Your memory is somewhat selective, isn’t it?”

  Karpinen struggled to his feet. “Counsel is badgering the witness.”

  I like it when he has to stand up.

  “On the contrary, Your Honor. The Pink Pony was nothing if not a mob scene that night. I am merely trying to find out what the witness remembers, which seems to be only what Mr. Karpinen has coached her to remember.”

  “That’s quite enough, Mr. Lafayette.” He wagged his gavel at Burr. “You may continue. Without the commentary.”

  “Miss Vander Voort, did you see Mr. Halverson strike Mr. Lyons?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see him push him?” Burr said.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “She already said she didn’t remember,” Karpinen said.

  He didn’t stand up this time.

  “Did you see Mr. Halverson even touch Mr. Lyons?”

  “I did hear Mr. Lyons tell Mr. Halverson to calm down.”

  “That wasn’t my question,” Burr said in his most paternal voice, not that paternal was his strong suit. “You don’t really remember very much, do you?”

  “Objection,” Karpinen said, standing.

  That got him up.

  “Stop it, Mr. Lafayette. Stop it right there,” Judge Maki said.

  “I remember that Mrs. Halverson had a lacy white bra and lacy white panties. She took them off and hung them on the Christmas tree. Then she sat on Mr. Lyons’ lap.”

  Judge Maki’s glasses fell off his face. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your Honor, that is a nonresponsive answer. I move that it be stricken from the record.”

  “On the contrary, Mr. L
afayette.” Judge Maki fumbled with his glasses and put them back on. “I think this shows that Miss Vander Voort had a very good idea of what was going on at Mr. Lyons’ table.”

  Just when I had her.

  “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” Burr walked back to the defense table and sat.

  “Your next witness, Mr. Karpinen,” Judge Maki said.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. The state calls Patrick Gurvin.”

  A tan, young man in his twenties made his way to the witness stand. He had a full head of brown hair, brown eyes to go with it, a square jaw and a Roman nose, also peeling. A good-looking young man, Burr thought.

  The bailiff swore in the witness.

  “Mr. Gurvin, can you tell us where you were during the early morning hours of July 18th?”

  “I was on the beach behind the Chippewa.”

  Burr knew exactly where he meant, a strip of beach next to the Arnold ferry docks. Where Zeke had watched the mallard.

  “Do you remember what time it was?”

  “Sometime after two in the morning.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I had been at the bar at the Murray and it closed at two. I went over to the beach after that.”

  “What did you see while you were on the beach?” Karpinen said.

  As if he doesn’t know.

  “There’s a door in the back of the hotel, on the beach side.” He shifted in his chair. “Anyway, I saw the door being opened.”

  Here it comes.

  “Then I saw a man’s head peek out, like he was sneaking.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Burr said.

  “Nonsense,” Judge Maki said. “Continue,” he said to Gurvin.

  I didn’t know that ‘nonsense’ was a legal term.

  “Where was I?” Gurvin said. “Oh yeah, I saw this guy’s head peek out the door and look around. Then he came out. He looked around again. Then he snuck along the side of the building and disappeared around the corner.”

  “Do you see him in the courtroom today?”

  “Yes,” Gurvin said.

  “And who is it?”

  “Him,” Patrick Gurvin said, pointing at Murdo.

  “Your Honor, for the record, please have the court take notice that Mr. Gurvin has identified the defendant, Murdoch Halverson.”

  “So noted,” Judge Maki said.

  “How do you know it was him?”

  “There was a light on in the kitchen when he opened the door. His hair kind of fell over his forehead. And he took hand and pushed it out of his eyes. Like that,” he said pointing at Murdo, who had unfortunately chosen that particular moment to do just that.

  “Damn it all,” Burr said.

  “What’s that?” Judge Maki said.

  “Nothing, Your Honor.” Whatever his shortcomings, Judge Maki was not hard of hearing.

  “Are you sure it was Mr. Halverson that you saw?” Karpinen said.

  “Yes,” Patrick Gurvin said.

  “No further questions, Your Honor.”

  It was Burr’s turn. “Mr. Gurvin, did you have anything alcoholic to drink at the Murray on the night in question?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would that be.”

  “Beer.”

  “What kind of beer?

  “Stroh’s,” the young man said.

  “How many did you have?”

  “I don’t know,” Gurvin said.

  “Why don’t you know?”

  “We were drinking pitchers.”

  “Pitchers,” Burr said.

  This could be promising.

  “How many pitchers?”

  “Seven or eight. I don’t really remember.”

  “And how many of you were there?”

  “Five for a while. Then three.”

  “Seven or eight pitchers. That’s a lot of beer.”

  “We were there for a long time.”

  “How old are you, Mr. Gurvin?”

  “Twenty-one,” he said.

  He doesn’t seem too sure of himself.

  “May I see your driver’s license, Mr. Gurvin?”

  Karpinen staggered to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Irrelevant.”

  “I will show the relevance, Your Honor,” Burr said.

  “Proceed, Mr. Lafayette. I’m getting hungry.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Burr said, who didn’t care whether Maki was hungry or not. Gurvin handed Burr his driver’s license, reluctantly. Burr made a show of studying it. “Mr. Gurvin, it says here that you were born on July 24th. Is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And today is August 3rd. So that would make you twenty-one.”

  “Yes.”

  “But on the day in question, July 18th, you were twenty.” Burr looked down at the driver’s license, then up at Patrick Gurvin. “Isn’t that right?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “How can you possibly not remember how old you were two weeks ago? You were twenty, for God’s sake.”

  “Don’t talk like that in my courtroom,” Judge Maki said.

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Burr said.

  “I object. Mr. Gurvin’s age is totally irrelevant,” Karpinen said.

  “I’m about to show the relevance, Your Honor.”

  “Be quick about it.”

  “Mr. Gurvin, you testified that you were drinking Stroh’s at the Murray on the night of July 17th.”

  “Yes.”

  “And at the time you were underage.”

  “I was almost twenty-one.”

  Burr ignored him.

  “Mr. Gurvin, you testified that between three and five of you drank seven or eight pictures of beer at a time when you were not of drinking age. You were quite likely drunk, and yet you remember precisely what you saw.”

  “We were at the Murray a long time.”

  Karpinen stood. “Your Honor, this is about murder, not underage drinking. If we’re here to try minors in possession, the line of defendants would stretch to the ferry docks.”

  “My point, Your Honor, is that the witness’ testimony is unreliable. Not only was he quite possibly drunk, his character is in question.”

  “So noted,” Judge Maki said. “Anything else?”

  Burr thought Judge Maki was starting to look hungry.

  Maybe I should finish.

  “Mr. Gurvin, were you with anyone that night or during the early morning hours of the next day on the beach?”

  “Yes,” he said, smiling.

  “Who was it?”

  “A girl,” Gurvin said.

  “A girl,” Burr said.

  “Yes.”

  “Did she see anything?”

  “Objection.”

  “Do you think she saw anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why is that Mr. Gurvin?”

  “Well, she was on her back.”

  “Which way was she looking?”

  “I think mostly her eyes were closed.”

  Burr moved in for the kill. “Were you on top?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have your pants on?”

  “Yes.”

  Burr gave the boy a scathing look.

  “Technically. They were around my ankles.”

  Judge Maki slammed down his gavel. “That’s quite enough, Mr. Lafayette. Mr. Gurvin, you are excused.”

  Patrick Gurvin loped off. Burr sat down.

  If this is all Karpinen has, I just might get this dismissed.

  Until Karpinen called his last witness.

  “The people call Emil C
onti,” Karpinen said. A short, slight man in his fifties walked to the witness stand. He had longish hair, brown with a little gray, combed straight back. It didn’t do much to cover his bald spot, but it curled at his collar and made him look younger than he was.

  He had big yellow teeth, coffee-colored eyes with bushy eyebrows. He wore a brown suit, beige shirt and a tan tie with a floral print. But it was Emil Conti’s nose that fascinated Burr. Big and brown with giant nostrils. All in all, Burr thought, he looked like a rodent. A handsome rodent.

  “Mr. Conti, please tell us your occupation.”

  “I am a detective with the Mackinac County Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Do you have any special duties?”

  “Homicide.”

  “Did you investigate the homicide at The Pink Pony?”

  “Objection,” Burr said.

  “I withdraw the question, Your Honor.” Karpinen gave Burr an annoyed look.

  “You’re playing a man short,” Burr said under his breath.

  “Detective Conti, did you investigate the death of Mr. Lyons?”

  “I did.”

  “Please tell us what you did and what you found.”

  Emil Conti, the handsome rat, talked with his hands – pointing, wringing, waving. “First, I sealed off the area, the entire inside of The Pink Pony. Then I examined Mr. Lyons. He appeared to have been strangled with Christmas tree lights. They were wrapped around his neck, tight, and then wrapped around the Labatt tap and plugged in.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “A name tag, the paper kind with a sticky back, was on Mr. Lyons’ shirt. Right here. It said Murdo.” Conti pointed to the breast pocket of his jacket. “And underneath the body, a pair of tortoise-shell reading glasses that belonged to the defendant.”

  “Did you find anything else?”

  “There was a stubby Christmas tree on the bar with ladies’…”

  “Never mind that,” Judge Maki said.

  “The lab found the defendant’s fingerprints on the lights.” He touched his fingertips together.

  “Did you find anything else?”

  Here it comes.

  “I interviewed a number of people who knew Jimmy Lyons. They all said he was having an affair with Mrs. Halverson.”

  That should just about do it. I may as well object.

  “Objection,” Burr said.

  “Stop it, counselor,” Judge Maki said. “At this rate I’ll never have lunch.”

  Burr had a reply but thought it best to keep his thoughts to himself. For once.