had recently handled that scarf, or a garment just like it. But most likely that one.”
“Why do you say that?” Tucker asks.
“Because the fibers on his clothing had blood on them. Linda Padilla’s blood.”
Tucker turns the witness over to me, and every head in the courtroom swivels toward me, challenging me to deal with this disaster.
“Detective Prescott, was my client standing, sitting, or lying down when he touched this scarf?”
“I have no way of knowing that,” he answers truthfully.
“Was he conscious or unconscious?”
“Again, I can’t really answer that.”
I nod. “Could Ms. Padilla have already been dead when he touched it?”
“I suppose it’s possible. It’s not within the scope of my examination,” he concedes.
“Does the scope of your examination allow you to tell whether anyone else besides my client and the victim touched the scarf on the day of the murder?”
“No, it does not,” he answers.
“So if I can present a hypothetical, based on the scope of your examination and your testimony here today, it’s possible that Mr. Cummings was lying down, unconscious, with Ms. Padilla already dead, when a third party rubbed the scarf on him?”
Prescott’s expression is pained; he knows that Tucker will have him for lunch if he agrees to this. “I have seen nothing to substantiate that. Absolutely nothing.”
“Do you have anything that would eliminate it as a possibility?”
“Logic,” he says, a comeback so good I would like to wrap the scarf around his neck.
“Detective Prescott, I based the hypothetical on your testimony. Would you like to go back over that testimony so you can adjust your answers? Or were you testifying accurately and truthfully the first time?”
He looks at me with undisguised disdain, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet and controlled. “Scientifically, the hypothetical you present is possible. Not in any way likely, but possible.”
“Thank you,” I say with a small sigh, conveying to the jury that it took a lot of effort, but the truth finally came out. “Detective Prescott,” I say, “are you familiar with the name Dominic Petrone?”
The mere mention of Petrone’s name sends a shock wave through the gallery, and that jolt sends Tucker leaping out of his chair. “Objection, Your Honor! This is cross- examination, and the subject of Mr. Petrone never came up in direct.”
Tucker is right, of course, and Calvin sustains the objection. It’s just as well, since I really didn’t have a question to ask about Petrone. I simply wanted to introduce his name as a way to shake things up. Judging by the buzz in the gallery and the suddenly alert faces on the jury, I seem to have accomplished that quite well.
I let Prescott off the stand, and Calvin adjourns court for the day in deference to a juror’s doctor appointment. I briefly have a flash of hope that the doctor will determine the juror cannot continue in his role, thereby forcing a mistrial. Unfortunately, there are six alternate jurors waiting to take his place. If I’m going to get help from the world of medicine, it’s going to take something on the order of bubonic plague.
Because of the early adjournment, we’re able to move our team evening meeting to late afternoon. It’s short and uneventful, and the progress report is especially brief, mainly because we’re not making any. We’re taking Tucker’s roundhouse punches and responding with light jabs, not a recipe for judicial success.
Kevin leaves at about seven o’clock, and Laurie and I decide to go to Charlie’s for dinner. Before we leave, I take Tara for a walk, since she hasn’t been out for quite a while.
We’re about a block from the house when Tara pulls me over toward the grass next to the curb, where a car is parked. It’s dark out, so I can’t see what it is she’s moving toward.
I lean down to get a closer look when suddenly the rear passenger door to the car opens. Something gets out of the car, either an enormous man or an average-sized gorilla, and grabs my arm. Almost simultaneous with that, Tara snarls and lunges for the gorilla’s leg.
Gorilla yells in pain and pulls his leg away from Tara. As he does so, a blur flashes across my eyes, and the next thing I know Gorilla is thrown—actually, it’s more like launched—over the car, bouncing off the trunk and landing with a thud on the ground.
I’m still frozen in the same spot, displaying my characteristic inability to react physically to an emergency. My eyes are functioning, though, and in another brief