Open and Shut - By David Rosenfelt Page 0,61

to leave. “The truth is I loved my husband.” She says that with a sadness, an understanding that her love did not prove to be enough.

She walks away and out of the diner. I guess I'll pay the check.

The next day is devoted to DNA, and Wallace puts on Dr. Hillary D'Antoni, a scientist from the laboratory where the tests were done. She goes through a detailed but concise definition of the process, and then on to the results of the tests done on the skin and blood under Denise's fingernails.

“Dr. D'Antoni,” Wallace asks, “what is the mathematical likelihood that the skin under the victim's fingernails was that of the defendant, William Miller?”

“There is a one in five and a half billion chance that it was not.”

“And what is the mathematical likelihood that the blood under the victim's fingernails was that of the defendant, William Miller?”

“There is a one in six and one quarter billion chance that it was not.”

My cross-examination focuses mostly on not the science but the collection methods. I get Dr. D'Antoni to agree with the “garbage in, garbage out” concept. In other words, the results her lab can achieve are only as good as the samples they are sent. My problem is I have no legitimate basis on which to challenge the samples, and if the jury has one brain among them they will know it. Besides, I'm going to challenge the physical evidence later, in a different context.

“Dr. D'Antoni,” I say, “you raised some very impressive odds concerning the source of the material under the defendant's fingernails. In the area of one in six billion.”

“Yes.”

“You are positive that the blood and skin actually belonged to the defendant, are you not?”

“I am. The tests are quite conclusive.”

“Is there anything in those tests that leads you to believe the defendant was not framed?”

“I don't understand the question.”

“I'm sorry. If I gave you a hypothetical that the defendant was framed, and that the material you tested was in fact planted before it was sent to you, is there anything about your testing which would prove me wrong?”

“No. We test the material we are given.”

“Thank you.”

Wallace's next witness is Lieutenant Pete Stanton. This is not something I look forward to. Pete is an experienced, excellent witness, and what he is going to say will be very negative for Willie. It will be my job to try and rip him apart, something I don't relish doing to a friend. The only thing worse would be not to rip him apart.

Wallace takes Pete through the basics, starting off with Pete's status in the department at the time of the murder. His goal is to show his rapid rise, lending credibility to his abilities.

“I was a detective, grade two.”

“And you've been promoted since then?”

Pete nods. “Three times. First came detective three, then four, and then I made lieutenant two years ago.”

“Congratulations,” Wallace says.

“Objection,” I say. “Did Mr. Wallace bring in a cake so we can blow out the candles and celebrate the witness's promotions? Maybe we can sing ‘For he's a jolly good detective.’ ”

“Lieutenant Stanton's career path is relevant to his credibility,” Wallace says.

I shake my head. “He is not here interviewing for a job. He's presenting evidence of his investigation.”

“Sustained,” says Hatchet. “Let's move along.”

Wallace soon gets to the meat of his testimony, which involves the murder weapon.

“Where was the knife recovered, Lieutenant Stanton?”

“From a trash can about three blocks away from the bar. It was in an alley behind Richie's restaurant on Market Street,” Pete answers.

“Do you know whose knife it was?”

Pete nods. “It was one of a set from the bar where the murder took place, and which was subsequently reported missing by the bartender.”

“Now this knife … what was found on it?”

“Blood from the victim, Denise McGregor. And a clear fingerprint match with the defendant, Willie Miller.”

Wallace asks him some more questions, but the damage has been done. If I can't repair it, nothing that follows is going to make any difference. I stand up to face Pete, who digs in as if he were making a goal line stand.

“Good morning, Lieutenant Stanton.”

“Good morning, Mr. Carpenter.”

Thus ends the pleasantries of this particular cross-examination. From now on it's no-holds-barred.

“How did you happen to focus on Willie Miller as a suspect?”

“He was identified by an eyewitness, who saw him standing over the body before he ran off. Her name is Cathy Pearl.”

“This eyewitness, Cathy Pearl, did she say to you, ‘I saw Willie Miller'?”

“No. She was not familiar with