police did not want a defense expert taking a close look at it.”
“But there was no defense expert,” he says.
“Of course not. It was an indigent defense case with a court-appointed lawyer. The judge refused to provide funds for an opposing expert. The cops probably anticipated this, but decided not to take a chance. They figured they could find a guy like Norwood who would be happy to analyze and speculate using only the photos.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
“We’re just guessing here, Dr. Benderschmidt. It’s all we can do at this point. And maybe those little specks of blood belong to someone else.”
“Precisely,” he says with a smile, as if he’s already figured out something. He takes an enlarged color photo of the two-inch flashlight lens. “We’ve examined this with all sorts of image enhancers. Me and some of my colleagues. I’m not even sure these specks are human blood, or blood at all.”
“If they’re not blood, then what are they?”
“It’s impossible to tell. What is so troubling about this is that the flashlight was not recovered from the crime scene. We don’t know where it came from or how the blood, if it’s blood, made it to the surface of the lens. There is such a small sample to work with, it’s impossible to determine anything.”
“If it’s back spatter, wouldn’t the shotgun and even the killer be covered as well?”
“More than likely but we’ll never know. Neither the shotgun nor the killer’s clothing were recovered. But, we know it was a shotgun because of the buckshot. Two blasts in such a confined area will produce an enormous amount of blood. I guess the photos prove that. What is surprising is that there were no bloody footprints made by the killer as he left.”
“There is no record of any.”
“Then I’d say the killer went to great lengths to avoid detection. No fingerprints, so he probably wore gloves. No shoe or boot prints, so he probably had some type of covering on the soles of his feet. Sounds like a pretty sophisticated killer.”
“It could’ve been a gang killing, by a professional.”
“Well, that’s your business. I can’t go there.”
“Is it possible to fire a shotgun with one hand while holding the flashlight with the other?” I ask, though the answer is fairly obvious.
“Highly unlikely. But it’s a small flashlight with a two-inch lens. It would be possible to hold the flashlight in one hand and use that same hand to steady the forestock of the shotgun. That’s assuming you buy into the prosecution’s theory. But I doubt seriously that the flashlight was at the scene.”
“But Norwood testified that this is blood on the flashlight and it is back spatter.”
“Norwood was wrong again. He should be locked up himself.”
“So your paths have crossed?”
“Oh yes. Twice. I’ve debunked two of his convictions, though both men are still in prison. Norwood was well-known in the business back in his heyday, just one of many. Mercifully he quit, but there are plenty of these guys still out there, still at it. It makes me sick.”
Benderschmidt has been vociferous in his criticism of the one-week seminars in which police officers, investigators, anyone, really, with enough money for the tuition, can be trained quickly, get a graduation certificate, and declare themselves experts.
He continues, “It was grossly irresponsible for him to tell the jury that these specks are blood that came from Russo’s body.” He shakes his head in disbelief and disgust. “There is simply no scientific way to prove it.”
Norwood told the jury that back spatter cannot travel more than forty-eight inches through the air, a common belief back then. Therefore, the barrel was close to the victim. Not so, says Benderschmidt. The distance blood travels varies greatly with each shooting, and for Norwood to be so precise was flat out wrong. “There are just far too many variables involved here to give opinions.”
“So what’s your opinion?”
“That there is no scientific basis for what Norwood told the jury. That there is no way to know if the flashlight was even at the scene. That there is an even chance that these specks of blood are not even blood. Lots of opinions, Mr. Post. I’ll dress ’em all up in beautiful language that leaves no doubt.”
He looks at his watch and says he needs to take a call. He asks if I mind. Of course not. While he’s gone, I pull out some notes, some questions that I cannot answer. Neither can he, but I value