something?”
“I don’t think so, dear. She would have said something, I imagine. And she was inside until right before she came to get me.”
“She still lives at home?”
“Oh goodness, no. She’s just been staying here while she finds a new apartment. It’s a shame, really. I used to love the sound in summer of children playing in their backyards and out on the street.”
“Had you seen anyone around the neighborhood who didn’t belong, Mrs. Elland, someone who might have known the victim?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I know they arrested the young man at the end of the street, but he always seemed very quiet to me. Mark was quiet when he was young, quiet and shy. But he wrote lovely poetry.”
Mrs. Elland loved to talk, and it took Cobi another twenty minutes to extract himself and beg out of the house. More door knocking proved fruitless, and he ended his rounds in front of the Sidney house.
It didn’t add up, he thought. Paul Sidney was just a weed dealer, not a gangster. Cobi knew from back home that guys like that didn’t go around shooting and robbing people; they kept a low-profile, kept to their stoner selves. And nobody was dumb enough to shoot someone, drive the body to their own neighborhood and dump it two doors up in the middle of the road.
It added up to the same thing: the cops had the wrong man.
14
Jessie considered what she’d just been told and put another spoonful of sweetener into her coffee, then walked back over from the machine to her office desk. Cobi was in the seat across, his hands in an arch as he waited for her reaction.
“So they talked at the scene about blood loss and whether he’d been moved; but none of that is in the arresting officer’s report. The tech’s report mentions massive blood loss, but doesn’t discuss where he was shot, making it sound vaguely like that was the scene,” she rehashed.
“Add that to it being Paul Sidney’s own block, and it smells pretty bad,” Cobi suggested.
Jessie smiled. “The very fact that they were discussing his possible involvement before they went to his door might make the whole search ‘fruit of the poisoned vine.’ ”
He looked uncomfortable, unfamiliar with the term.
“That’s when they break the law to gather a piece of evidence that leads to more evidence. The further evidence is considered tainted and useless.”
“So how does that apply in this case?”
“If they knew before they approached the door that they wanted to search Paul Sidney’s house, because of a tip that he might be the shooter, they should have gone and gotten a search warrant; in the eyes of the court, that would be their real reason for going inside, potentially.”
“Instead of….?”
“The arresting officer claimed they smelled pot smoke near the door and knocked, then claimed he saw something suspicious once the door was opened and went in.”
“Really?”
“Basically there’s a clause that allows them to search on reasonable suspicion of drug activity.”
“And they used that to gain entrance,” he said. “So if you get that tossed…”
“No gun, no money, no pot in evidence. Their case basically disappears.”
It was clever. She was a damn sight smarter than Buddy. “You think a judge will buy that?”
“Depends entirely on which judge we get,” Jessie attempted to explain. “And we’ll need one of the officers on the stand to admit they targeted Sidney before going to the door, establishing the need for a warrant.”
“You think they set this guy up to take a fall?” he said.
“In Edmonton? I doubt it. There’s some colorful history with the police here – they called them the Irish Mafia for several generations and some of them were as greasy as it gets. But it’s a pretty clean city these days. More likely, they took the easy arrest when it presented itself and just took a quick route to getting there; they probably didn’t even consider other possibilities.”
“What does that tell
“I don’t think so, dear. She would have said something, I imagine. And she was inside until right before she came to get me.”
“She still lives at home?”
“Oh goodness, no. She’s just been staying here while she finds a new apartment. It’s a shame, really. I used to love the sound in summer of children playing in their backyards and out on the street.”
“Had you seen anyone around the neighborhood who didn’t belong, Mrs. Elland, someone who might have known the victim?”
She shrugged. “Not really. I know they arrested the young man at the end of the street, but he always seemed very quiet to me. Mark was quiet when he was young, quiet and shy. But he wrote lovely poetry.”
Mrs. Elland loved to talk, and it took Cobi another twenty minutes to extract himself and beg out of the house. More door knocking proved fruitless, and he ended his rounds in front of the Sidney house.
It didn’t add up, he thought. Paul Sidney was just a weed dealer, not a gangster. Cobi knew from back home that guys like that didn’t go around shooting and robbing people; they kept a low-profile, kept to their stoner selves. And nobody was dumb enough to shoot someone, drive the body to their own neighborhood and dump it two doors up in the middle of the road.
It added up to the same thing: the cops had the wrong man.
14
Jessie considered what she’d just been told and put another spoonful of sweetener into her coffee, then walked back over from the machine to her office desk. Cobi was in the seat across, his hands in an arch as he waited for her reaction.
“So they talked at the scene about blood loss and whether he’d been moved; but none of that is in the arresting officer’s report. The tech’s report mentions massive blood loss, but doesn’t discuss where he was shot, making it sound vaguely like that was the scene,” she rehashed.
“Add that to it being Paul Sidney’s own block, and it smells pretty bad,” Cobi suggested.
Jessie smiled. “The very fact that they were discussing his possible involvement before they went to his door might make the whole search ‘fruit of the poisoned vine.’ ”
He looked uncomfortable, unfamiliar with the term.
“That’s when they break the law to gather a piece of evidence that leads to more evidence. The further evidence is considered tainted and useless.”
“So how does that apply in this case?”
“If they knew before they approached the door that they wanted to search Paul Sidney’s house, because of a tip that he might be the shooter, they should have gone and gotten a search warrant; in the eyes of the court, that would be their real reason for going inside, potentially.”
“Instead of….?”
“The arresting officer claimed they smelled pot smoke near the door and knocked, then claimed he saw something suspicious once the door was opened and went in.”
“Really?”
“Basically there’s a clause that allows them to search on reasonable suspicion of drug activity.”
“And they used that to gain entrance,” he said. “So if you get that tossed…”
“No gun, no money, no pot in evidence. Their case basically disappears.”
It was clever. She was a damn sight smarter than Buddy. “You think a judge will buy that?”
“Depends entirely on which judge we get,” Jessie attempted to explain. “And we’ll need one of the officers on the stand to admit they targeted Sidney before going to the door, establishing the need for a warrant.”
“You think they set this guy up to take a fall?” he said.
“In Edmonton? I doubt it. There’s some colorful history with the police here – they called them the Irish Mafia for several generations and some of them were as greasy as it gets. But it’s a pretty clean city these days. More likely, they took the easy arrest when it presented itself and just took a quick route to getting there; they probably didn’t even consider other possibilities.”
“What does that tell
Similar Books
