a pricey set of eight steak knives fitting those specifications. The knives, ironically enough, had been a Christmas present from Ruth, given to him before their relationship soured. Dowd argued that the FBI’s own laboratory examination showed all eight knives to be in pristine condition, free of any DNA that would’ve linked any of them to Ruth Walker’s killing. Justice Department experts, however, pointed out that a well-made knife can show no sign of wear, even after years of heavy use. As for the lack of incriminating DNA on the blades, the experts testified that Munz could’ve simply washed off any flesh or blood after fatally stabbing his victim.
There was, meanwhile, no denying the bloody Pima cotton dress shirt that was discovered inside a trash can in the alley behind Munz’s condo in San Diego’s North Park neighborhood. The monogram on the shirt’s cuff bore Munz’s initials. The blood was Ruth Walker’s. Munz insisted on the stand that the shirt had also been stolen from his health club locker, and that whoever had framed him had taken the shirt and mopped up Ruth’s blood with it.
In the end, jurors professed little interest in Munz’s version of events—not with the mosaic of circumstantial evidence laid out by prosecutor Tassio and his team. The jury deliberated less than one day before finding him guilty.
By the time I looked up from the files, it was nearly 4:30. Closing time. My butt was numb. What kind of federal government shells out $2 billion for a single Stealth bomber and not $2 for a lousy seat cushion? I massaged the circulation back into my bottom, stretched my aching lower back, and returned the file boxes to the counter.
A medium-sized man in his early forties with a sallow face, short receding hair and tortoiseshell bifocals entered the clerk’s office and approached me. The right sleeve of his conservatively cut gray suit hung limp and empty.
“Are you Mr. Logan?”
“Depends. You a bill collector?”
“Steve Tassio, Assistant U.S. Attorney. You called me.”
I shook his left hand with mine.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“The Munz file is flagged, as are all capital cases,” he said. “Anytime anyone asks to review documents in the case, the clerk’s office contacts me as a matter of routine. We like to know who’s snooping and why.”
He gestured to the wooden table and the same unpadded chairs where’d I’d just spent the last two hours. We sat.
“I’m afraid you’re spinning your wheels,” Tassio said. “I can assure you, Greg Castle was in no way involved in the death of Ruth Walker. Dorian Munz most definitely was.”
“I never implied Mr. Castle was involved. Just the opposite. Ruth’s father wants me to dredge up information that would confirm Munz was lying about Castle before you executed him.”
Tassio cleared his throat, peeved. “I didn’t execute him, Mr. Logan. The people of the United States did. You’ll have to forgive me. I assumed you were attempting to somehow have the case reopened.”
“I’m attempting to help restore the reputation of an innocent man.”
“I can certainly appreciate your efforts, but, unfortunately, I can’t be of much assistance. Anything I’d have to say is already on record and can be found in the case file.”
“Mr. Tassio, I’m sure you can appreciate how significantly Mr. Castle was victimized by Dorian Munz’s allegations. Mr. Castle is at a considerable disadvantage defending himself against those allegations because his accuser, the man you prosecuted, is now fertilizer, and the case is officially closed.”
“Make your point, Mr. Logan.”
“From what I understand, the local press had a field day with Munz’s last-minute claims. Munz was convicted nearly ten years ago. He was executed last month. The average San Diego resident is not going to come down here, request the case file, and educate himself as to the truth of what actually went down. It would be helpful if you issued a
There was, meanwhile, no denying the bloody Pima cotton dress shirt that was discovered inside a trash can in the alley behind Munz’s condo in San Diego’s North Park neighborhood. The monogram on the shirt’s cuff bore Munz’s initials. The blood was Ruth Walker’s. Munz insisted on the stand that the shirt had also been stolen from his health club locker, and that whoever had framed him had taken the shirt and mopped up Ruth’s blood with it.
In the end, jurors professed little interest in Munz’s version of events—not with the mosaic of circumstantial evidence laid out by prosecutor Tassio and his team. The jury deliberated less than one day before finding him guilty.
By the time I looked up from the files, it was nearly 4:30. Closing time. My butt was numb. What kind of federal government shells out $2 billion for a single Stealth bomber and not $2 for a lousy seat cushion? I massaged the circulation back into my bottom, stretched my aching lower back, and returned the file boxes to the counter.
A medium-sized man in his early forties with a sallow face, short receding hair and tortoiseshell bifocals entered the clerk’s office and approached me. The right sleeve of his conservatively cut gray suit hung limp and empty.
“Are you Mr. Logan?”
“Depends. You a bill collector?”
“Steve Tassio, Assistant U.S. Attorney. You called me.”
I shook his left hand with mine.
“How’d you know I was here?”
“The Munz file is flagged, as are all capital cases,” he said. “Anytime anyone asks to review documents in the case, the clerk’s office contacts me as a matter of routine. We like to know who’s snooping and why.”
He gestured to the wooden table and the same unpadded chairs where’d I’d just spent the last two hours. We sat.
“I’m afraid you’re spinning your wheels,” Tassio said. “I can assure you, Greg Castle was in no way involved in the death of Ruth Walker. Dorian Munz most definitely was.”
“I never implied Mr. Castle was involved. Just the opposite. Ruth’s father wants me to dredge up information that would confirm Munz was lying about Castle before you executed him.”
Tassio cleared his throat, peeved. “I didn’t execute him, Mr. Logan. The people of the United States did. You’ll have to forgive me. I assumed you were attempting to somehow have the case reopened.”
“I’m attempting to help restore the reputation of an innocent man.”
“I can certainly appreciate your efforts, but, unfortunately, I can’t be of much assistance. Anything I’d have to say is already on record and can be found in the case file.”
“Mr. Tassio, I’m sure you can appreciate how significantly Mr. Castle was victimized by Dorian Munz’s allegations. Mr. Castle is at a considerable disadvantage defending himself against those allegations because his accuser, the man you prosecuted, is now fertilizer, and the case is officially closed.”
“Make your point, Mr. Logan.”
“From what I understand, the local press had a field day with Munz’s last-minute claims. Munz was convicted nearly ten years ago. He was executed last month. The average San Diego resident is not going to come down here, request the case file, and educate himself as to the truth of what actually went down. It would be helpful if you issued a
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