The Last Innocent Man

“Not really. I had a look at him when Officer Hersch got into the car, but he was too far away. It was the same when he was letting her off at the motel office.”

“Go on.”

“Well, Officer Hersch was new. She didn’t have much street experience. I started to worry about her being alone with the, uh, the subject.”

Ortiz paused again. He wanted to look for Crosby but was afraid. Would the older man condemn him for letting things go as far as they had? He had been wrong. He should never have let Darlene go into that room alone. Even if it meant losing the collar, he should have stopped it as soon as he reached the motel. Should have parked in the motel lot and gone straight up to the room.

Ortiz looked over to the defense table. They had dressed Stafford in a suit. Very Ivy League. He looked more the lawyer than Nash. Their eyes met, and Stafford’s face, for a brief instant, reflected contempt. There was no fear in his eyes, only ice. Humorless, emotionless, unlike Ortiz’s own, which wavered with confusion and self-doubt. Ortiz looked away, defeated. And in that moment he felt the sick feeling in his stomach turning to hate for the man who had taken Darlene Hersch’s life. He wanted that man. Wanted him more than he had ever wanted any other man he had hunted.

“I saw the subject walk along the second-floor landing and enter the room Officer Hersch had entered.”

“What did the man look like?”

“He was tall. About six feet. Athletic build. I would say he was in his late twenties or early thirties. I didn’t see his face, but he had curly blond hair, and he was wearing tan slacks and a flowered shirt.”

“What happened after the man entered the motel room?”

“I…I crossed over to the motel lot and started up the stairs. When I was halfway up, I heard a scream. I broke down the door, and then I was struck several times. I remember crashing into the bed. I must have hit the metal leg, because I passed out.”

“Before you lost consciousness, did you get a look at your assailant?”

“I did.”

“Do you see that man in this courtroom?”

Ortiz pointed toward Stafford. This time his hatred made him strong and he did not waver. David watched his client. If the identification upset him, he did not show it.

“The man I saw in the motel room is sitting beside counsel at that table,” Ortiz said.

“Officer Ortiz, if you know, what type of car does Mr. Stafford drive?”

“Mr. Stafford drives a beige 1991 Mercedes-Benz, model 300 SEL.”

“Is this the same car that you saw at the corner of Park and Morrison and later at the Raleigh Motel?”

“Yes.”

“At a later point in time, did you have an opportunity to search the defendant’s home?”

“On September fifth we obtained a search warrant for Mr. Stafford’s home. Detective Crosby, myself, and several other policemen arrested Mr. Stafford and conducted a search for clothing.”

“What did you find?”

“A shirt identical to that worn by the person I saw at the Raleigh Motel, and tan slacks that were very similar to those worn by the killer.”

“I have no further questions,” Monica said.

“Officer Ortiz,” David asked, “you were a full city block away from the Mercedes when you first saw it, were you not?”

“Yes.”

“As I understand your testimony, Officer Hersch was supposed to lead a person back to you if she was propositioned and you would then arrest him in the lot?”

“Yes.”

“And you were watching Officer Hersch from your car?”

“Yes.”

“Was the engine on?”

“In the police car?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“And you were surprised when Officer Hersch got into the Mercedes?”

“Yes.”

“Park is one-way going south, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Where was Officer Hersch when she got into the Mercedes?”

“At the corner of Park and Morrison.”

“Did the Mercedes turn up Park?”

“No. It proceeded down Morrison.”

“In order to follow it, wouldn’t you have to go up Park to Taylor, then back down Tenth?”

“No, sir, I went down Park the wrong way.”

“Then turned on Morrison?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How far away from the Mercedes were you when you spotted it again?”

“Two blocks, about.”

“And did you maintain that distance?”

“Yes.”

“You were too far back to read the license plate?”

“Yes.”

“Where was the Mercedes when you reached the motel?”

“I believe it had just stopped in front of the motel office.”

“Why didn’t you get the license number then?”

“At that point I didn’t realize it would be important. Besides, I was going too fast.”

“When did you next see the Mercedes that night?”

“I didn’t. It was gone by the time I parked.”

“Let me see if I have this straight. You first saw the car from a distance of one city block, then you followed it from a distance of approximately two city blocks, and, finally, you saw it briefly as you passed by the motel lot?”

“Yes.”

“Now, you testified that the car you saw was a beige 1991 Mercedes-Benz, model 300 SEL, did you not?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know that?”

Ortiz looked perplexed.

“How do I know…?”

“The model and year and color?”

“That’s the car Mr. Stafford drives.”

“Yes. But did you know the year and model and color on the night of the murder?”

“I…The color was beige. I could see that.”

“And the year and model?”