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“No, she’ll have a union rep with her and Assistant District Attorney Ramon Gutierrez.” Lydia placed two pens next to the pad.
“So, I should have all three in frame?”
“No, God no, just Detective Wellesley. Her answers are the only important thing this morning. And I doubt anyone will ever look at the video.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in Elaine’s voice was palpable. She seemed to have confused the deposition with a major motion picture.
Just then, Ramon Gutierrez walked into the room. He was a short, rumpled man with black, darting eyes. He had a thick briefcase that rivaled the one Lydia had brought.
Detective Wellesley followed him. With her was a man I didn’t know; a white guy nearing sixty. He seemed almost as annoyed by the whole thing as Elaine Joy.
“Hello Ramon,” Lydia said. “Nice to see you. This is my investigator, Dom Reilly.”
Gutierrez nodded but basically ignored me. “Detective Wellesley has brought her union rep, Joseph Colson.”
“Yes, I see that.”
Colson stuck out a hand to shake, Lydia shook it but didn’t say anything to him directly.
“Well, we made it on time after all,” she said. “We should go ahead and get started. Do you have everything you need? Were you offered water? Coffee?”
“We were, thank you,” Ramon said.
“All right then,” Lydia said, then turned to Elaine. “I think we’re ready.”
Elaine pressed record.
Lydia sat down and positioned her pad directly in front of her. She picked up a pen and looked ready to start checking off the questions she’d written. I looked closer at the pad and saw that the questions were gibberish. It was all nothing more than a prop. Lydia introduced herself and me, again, then everyone else in the room.
Then, she spent almost ten minutes establishing Detective Wellesley’s credentials, her education, marital status, family history. It was information we already had, so not useful to anyone in the room except perhaps Elaine Joy.
Wellesley began to shift uncomfortably in her seat. She wanted to get on with it, which I think was what Lydia was hoping for. She segued immediately to, “Detective Wellesley, as you should be aware, you’re here to discuss three of your cases: the rapes of Cammy Wainright, Selma Martinez and Joanne Yardley. You recall those cases?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve had time to consult your reports and notes to refresh your memory?”
“Yes.”
“You’re aware that my clients Peter Linder, Alan Dinkler and Stu Whatley have all recently been proven innocent by DNA evidence?”
Wellesley sat there stone-faced for a moment, then, “I’m aware of the DNA evidence.”
Lydia paused for a moment. Then she asked, “You don’t believe DNA evidence is accurate?”
The detective inhaled as though to answer, but her union rep touched the back of her hand. She looked at him for a moment, and then said, “No.”
“You personally informed each of the victims of the DNA results?”
“Yes.”
“Did you attempt to convince them that DNA evidence is unreliable?”
“Detective Wellesley is entitled to her own opinions,” said ADA Gutierrez.
“And in the event of a new trial, sharing those opinions with these victims could be considered witness tampering.”
I could see Guitierrez’ jaw tighten. “I’m not sure a judge would see it that way.”
