committed such a horrendous act.
Kevin and I do some quick preparation for Dylan's next witness. It's the head of the police lab, Phyllis Daniels, who will be testifying to the DNA typing. She is our key to establishing doubt that the DNA evidence is reliable, and I think we've got a shot to do just that. Marcus, with some off-the-record help from Pete Stanton, has come up with some good information on lab practices to help me in that effort.
Twenty years ago, Phyllis Daniels was a police lab technician, not particularly accomplished, who had the foresight to recognize the incredible implications the infant science of DNA would have in forensics. She successfully set out to make herself an expert, thereby putting herself on the fast track, or at least the fastest track a scientist in the Paterson Police Department can be on.
I have come up against Phyllis on cases before. She can be long-winded and proud to show off her expertise, but her basic knowledge and honesty come through. In Dylan's hands she is an outstanding witness, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that the DNA from the body absolutely matched the blood labeled as Dorsey's in the police lab. This testimony comes as no surprise, nor do I have any intention of challenging it.
"Ms. Daniels, you testified that Lieutenant Dorsey's blood sample was in room 21 of the police lab. How is that room guarded?"
"There is always a person sitting at a reception desk at the entrance to the room. Twenty-four hours a day."
"Is that person armed?"
"No, it is a civilian job. But everyone entering must sign in."
"If you know, is the evidence room entrance handled the same way?"
"No," she says. "The evidence room has an armed officer assigned to it."
"So an armed officer is considered more effective than a civilian sign-in monitor?"
"I would say so, yes."
"Who is allowed to enter room 21, after signing in?"
"Police officers who need to access material in the room."
"Thank you," I say. "Now, you testified that the DNA in the blood listed as Lieutenant Dorsey's matched that of the body in this case. Correct?"
"Yes."
"Allow me to present a hypothetical. If the blood in the lab had been changed or incorrectly marked--and in fact wasn't Lieutenant Dorsey's?--then the body also could not be his. Correct?"
"That's certainly correct. But I saw the vial myself when I ran the test."
I introduce a sign-in list from the lab into evidence and ask her to read a specific part of it. It shows that Alex Dorsey had entered the lab twice in the three weeks before his disappearance.
"It is not unusual for him to have been there," she says. "Officers enter all the time."
"If he entered for the purpose of substituting a different vial of blood for the one in his file, could he have done so?"
"I guess it's possible" is her grudging response.
"Reasonable to assume he could have?" I ask. It's a loaded word, since if I can establish reasonable doubt that the blood was Dorsey's, we're home free. How can Dylan prove Laurie murdered Dorsey if he can't even prove beyond a reasonable doubt that Dorsey's dead?
"I'm not sure I know the answer to that" is the closest she will come to a concession.
"What if you were to hear Lieutenant Dorsey's wife testify that he planned to fake his own death? Would that make it reasonable to believe he could have changed the blood?"
"I suppose that it would."
"Thank you. And just so we're clear: If that blood were changed, if it were not Dorsey's blood, then that would mean that the body was not Dorsey? Correct?" I'm repeating myself for effect.
"Yes."
I let her off the stand while barely stifling my desire to yell out "Game, set, and match." We have had a hugely successful day, and the evidence of that is etched on Dylan's face.
I stop outside long enough to conduct a mini-press conference, during which I allow myself some gloating. The questions demonstrate just how successful a day we have had, as the reporters want to know if I believe Hatchet will dismiss the charges once the prosecution rests. I don't believe that he will, but I certainly do nothing to discourage the speculation.
We have our evening meeting as usual, and I try my best to temper the group enthusiasm. Laurie and Kevin completely understand intellectually that we won a battle today but that victory in the war can only be declared by the jury. Nevertheless, we have become so used to depressing news that