by Angela Hunt
“Can you tell the jury where these hair samples were discovered?”
“Objection.” Bystrowski stands and removes his reading glasses. “The witness had nothing to do with the gathering of this evidence.”
“Objection sustained.” Trask looks at Briley. “Please confine your questions to areas of the witness’s direct knowledge.”
Briley draws a deep breath. “Mr. Thomsen, do you recognize the term chain of custody?”
“I do.”
“Can you define it for us?”
He nods. “Because we never know what will be needed in a trial, it’s important to prove the legal integrity of all evidence. So we go to great lengths to keep an accurate written record to track the collection, possession, handling, and location of evidence taken from a crime scene. Few people are allowed to handle the items, and they are never transferred without chain-of-custody forms.”
“The hair samples you tested—were they stored with the appropriate chain-of-custody forms?”
“They were.”
“Did you notate on this document—” she points to the lab report in his hand “—where the samples were originally found as reported on the chain-of-custody forms?”
“I did.”
“Will you please tell the jury what those forms told you.”
He lifts the report and begins to read: “Sample A—dark brown hair found on bedsheet, adjacent to the victim’s body. Sample B—blond hair found on suspect’s pillow. Sample C—light brown hair found on bedsheet, adjacent to victim’s body.”
“Can you identify these hairs visually? For instance, can we assume that the dark brown hair belonged to Jeffrey Tomassi?”
“Not necessarily. Individual hairs differ in color and texture, depending on where they originate on the body. So color and length are not reliable markers. We prefer to match hair DNA with a saliva swab.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomsen. Now, can you read what you wrote at the bottom corner of the page?”
The technician reads aloud: “Analysis—these three specimens come from three different individuals, two of whom share VNTRs, indicating shared parentage.”
Briley smiles. “For those of us who aren’t geneticists, what does VNTR stand for?”
“Variable number of tandem repeats.”
“And what does medical science tell us we can assume about two samples that share VNTRs?”
He lifts the paper in his hand. “As it says here, shared VNTRs indicate shared parentage.”
“So—and you’ll have to excuse me for recapping, but I want to be sure this is clear—apparently two of these three individuals were siblings?”
“That’s what the evidence indicates, yes.”
“Thank you. Do you know if the defendant, Erin Tomassi, has siblings?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“That’s all right. Do you know if Jeffrey Tomassi has brothers or sisters?”
“I wouldn’t know that, either.”
Louis may not know, but the jury does. They know that Erin’s only brother lives in a supervised adult home, but Jeffrey’s five siblings are present. Every head in the jury box swivels toward the gallery, where Jason Tomassi and his four sisters sit with their father.
Bystrowski leaps up. “Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness.”
Briley turns to face the judge. “I’m asking about facts the witness might know. The Tomassi children are frequently in the public eye.”
Judge Trask leans into his microphone. “Ms. Lester, I’m not sure where you’re headed with this, but I’ll give you a little latitude.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” Briley takes the lab report from the witness. “Mr. Thomsen, wouldn’t you agree that the DNA evidence from the Tomassi crime scene indicates three different people were present in that bedroom at some point between the housekeeper’s last visit and Erin Tomassi’s 911 call?”
Louis grins. “I don’t know anything about the housekeeper, but I agree that when the samples were gathered, hair from three different people was found at the locations described in my report.”
“And you would agree that one of those three people had to be a sibling to Erin or Jeffrey Tomassi?”
“Objection!” Bystrowski stands again. “The Tomassi children are not on trial here.”
“Your Honor,” Briley says, “I am simply attempting to verify a biological relationship between the people in that room.”
The judge looks at the prosecutor and tugs irritably at his collar. “Objection overruled.”
“Mr. Thomsen,” Briley repeats, “please answer the question. Does the official report from the Cook County crime lab reveal that three different people, two of them siblings, were present in that bedroom and near Jeffrey Tomassi’s deathbed?”
A sly smile plays at the corner of Louis’s mouth. At the sight of it, Briley prays he doesn’t reveal too much. “Yes.”
She gives him a look of relief and thanks, which he acknowledges with a barely perceptible nod. “I have only a few more questions, sir. At the crime lab, do you also work with fingerprints?”
“Yes.”
“You lift them from objects and identify them?”
“Very often, yes.”
“Do you recall reading the police report pertaining to this case?”
Louis’s brows flicker. “I don’t have it memorized, but I read it.”
“Would it be helpful if I produced a copy?”
Briley walks to the court clerk, hand outstretched, and waits while the woman pulls the document from the file. She waits for Bystrowski to manufacture some kind of objection, but he remains silent, doubtless aware that he has already stipulated to the accuracy of this report.
She returns to the witness stand and delivers the report to the lab technician. Without glancing behind her, she stares directly into Louis Thomsen’s eyes. “Sir, from where you’re sitting, can you see the defendant, Erin Tomassi?”
The man’s gaze flicks away, then returns to Briley’s face. “Yes.”
“Is she writing on a legal pad?”
Again, the man’s gaze darts away. “She is.”
“Is the defendant right-handed?”
A flash of curiosity fills his eyes, and his tone is bemused when he answers. “Apparently she is.”
“Would you look at the police report, sir, and read the section about fingerprints aloud. You’ll find it midway down the second page, under dactylography.”
Louis’s gaze drops to the paper. “A routine dusting of the syringe revealed a partial print matching the suspect’s left thumb on the plunger. Full prints matching the suspect’s left index finger and thumb were discovered on the barrel.”
“Interesting. Let me make sure I understand…. Does the report specify that the lab found prints from my client’s left hand?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. Are you right-handed, Mr. Thomsen?”
“I am.”
“Have you ever handled a syringe?”
“Actually, I have.”
“As a right-handed technician, would you ever handle a syringe with your left hand?”
Louis grins, giving Briley a quick, admiring look before transferring his gaze to the jury. “I would not.”
“Mr. Thomsen, have you seen crime-scene photos of the victim’s body?”
“I have.”
“Did Mr. Tomassi sleep on the left or right side of the bed?”
“The left—if you’re talking about a foot-of-the-bed perspective.”
“Thank you, I am. So if Mr. Tomassi slept on the left, Mrs. Tomassi must have slept on…?”
“The right.”
“Objection.” Bystrowski stands, glowering like a thundercloud. “Counsel is again leading the witness.”
“Sustained.” Trask shoots Briley a warning look.
“I’ll rephrase.” She turns to Louis again. “If Mrs. Tomassi was sleeping in that bed—and she wasn’t sleeping where Mr. Tomassi was sleeping—which of her arms, ri
ght or left, was closest to the edge of the bed?”
Louis’s brow lowers, then he relaxes. “Her left arm…unless she was sleeping on her stomach.”
Briley turns and smiles at a woman in the jury box. “What woman—with breasts—sleeps on her stomach?”
The females on the jury twitter while Bystrowski roars another objection.
“I’ll withdraw the question.” Briley turns back to the lab technician. “If Erin is like most women and sleeps either on her side or her back, if an intruder wanted to manipulate her hand, which would be the easiest to reach?”
“The left, I suppose.”
Bystrowski objects again, but Briley steps away from the witness stand. “Withdrawn. Thank you, sir. I have no further questions for this witness, Your Honor.”
A sibilant buzzing rises from the gallery as Briley walks to the defense table, but she can’t tear her gaze from Bystrowski’s stunned face.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Through the storm of whispers, Antonio breathes one word: “No.” He gives the defense attorney a sidelong glance of utter disbelief and clenches his fist.
The jury may not be sharp enough to understand what that woman is doing, but he has grasped the full picture. All that business with the hair samples is an attempt to point the finger at one of his children! None of them was anywhere near Jeff’s house that night, but they were all together at the fundraiser. Which can only mean that Jeffrey picked up a stray hair on his clothing and somehow transferred it to the bed linens…or someone fabricated this evidence.
That must be the answer. Someone felt sorry for Erin and recently planted those hairs down at the police department. That’s why they didn’t surface until today. That’s why the defense attorney was able to spring new evidence on the prosecutor. That’s why she went through that song and dance about the chain of custody and the police report—
That’s why Antonio wasn’t warned about this bombshell.
As the judge calls for order, Antonio stares at the defense attorney’s pale profile. Briley Lester knew she was losing, so she must have called in a favor from someone with ties to the police department. She and Erin have grown close; hasn’t everyone noticed the way she frequently pats Erin’s shoulder or touches her arm? Joseph Franklin assured him this woman was inexperienced; he promised she wouldn’t be tenacious.
Yet Briley Lester has one of the leading state’s attorneys on the run. Bystrowski is now huddling with his associate, nodding and jotting notes on a legal pad.
At Antonio’s left, Jason’s breathing has quickened. “What is she doing?” He gives the defense attorney a black look. “What is she thinking?”
“She’s desperate.” Antonio lowers his voice as the judge demands order. “This is a last-minute attempt to cast suspicion on someone else.”
But on the off chance that the situation might spin out of control, he pulls his phone from his pocket and taps out a text message.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Briley adopts a deadpan expression as Bystrowski confers with his associate, then stands. “Your Honor,” he asks, “may I request a sidebar?”
The judge gestures for both lawyers to step forward.
When Briley and Bystrowski stand at the front of the judge’s bench, the prosecutor vents his frustration. “Your Honor,” he says, his voice a low rumble, “the defense is required to disclose all evidence they intend to offer at trial. Reciprocal discovery requirements have not been met in this case, and the state has had no time to investigate this latest evidence. Before we commence the cross-examination of this witness, we would like to request a recess to conduct our own investigation.”
Briley straightens her spine, stretching her height to better see the judge. “I beg to differ, Your Honor. The defense did provide the state with a list of all evidence, plus the names and addresses of all witnesses we planned to call. We intended full cooperation, and we provided it. The evidence we introduced today has been in the state’s custody and available to the prosecutor. We should not be penalized because we became aware of untested evidence.”
The judge strokes his chin. “Let me see if I’m understanding this correctly…. The evidence in question, the hair samples, has been in the state’s possession for how long?”
Briley grips the edge of his desk. “Since the commission of the homicide, Your Honor.”
“And it wasn’t tested?” Trask looks at Bystrowski. “Why not?”
Not wanting blame to fall on Louis Thomsen or Detective Malone, Briley interjects an answer. “The prosecutor charged the first available suspect. They didn’t test additional evidence because they thought they had their killer.”
A shadow of annoyance crosses Bystrowski’s face. “The difference in the samples couldn’t have been apparent, Your Honor. All the samples were a visual match to either the victim or the defendant. And we never test every hair, because DNA can only be pulled from samples with an attached follicle.”
The judge rubs his hand over his face, then gives Briley a wry grin. “I don’t think a few hours will hurt your case, Counselor, and the prosecution apparently needs time to see what else, if anything, they might have in storage down at the police lab.” He looks at Bystrowski. “I would advise you to commence your cross-examination now, Counselor. You can always recall the witness later.”
Briley smothers a smile as she returns to her counsel table. The prosecutor doesn’t sit, but charges toward Louis like a bull released from a rodeo chute. “Three people in that bedroom?” He shifts his gaze to the jury and adopts an expression of amazed disbelief. “Did you find three sets of fingerprints on that syringe?”
Louis shakes his head. “No.”
“Did you or the police find any fingerprints belonging to a third person?”
“Well, yes. The third set of prints was identified as the housekeeper’s.”
“Could this hair belong to the housekeeper?”
“Not unless she’s related to Erin or Jeffrey Tomassi.”
“Is it possible that this mysterious sibling’s hair could have come from a piece of clothing and dropped onto the bedsheets?”
“I suppose that’s possible.”
“Did the police find any other evidence of this mysterious third person?”
“Not to my knowledge—but my knowledge is hardly exhaustive. I never visited the crime scene.”
Briley rests her chin on her hand, careful to maintain a neutral expression as Bystrowski searches for words. She’s caught him by surprise, and that’s not an easy thing to do.
“So—” Bystrowski turns to the witness again, determined to drive his point home “—in all the evidence gathered from the murder scene, you found nothing else to establish the presence of an intruder. No fingerprints, no footprints, no traces of saliva on a drinking glass. Are you really basing your theory of an intruder on one tiny hair?”
“Actually, the police collected four tiny hairs belonging to the third person,” Louis says, leaning forward. “And DNA does not lie.”
In a terse voice, Bystrowski announces that he’s done with the witness and stalks back to his table.
A moment later the judge declares a recess and announces that the court will reconvene at nine-thirty on Thursday morning.
Ensconced in a booth at Taqueria Tayahua, a restaurant less than a mile from the courthouse, Briley lifts her soda glass. “A toast.” She smiles at Kate. “To Louis the lab guy, and Dr. Phillips, who gave me what could prove to be a brilliant idea.”
Kate clinks her glass against Briley’s. “Don’t count your chickens yet. You know Bystrowski’s going to come back tomorrow and hit on the fingerprint issue again. If another person was in the room, where’s the third set of fingerprints?”
“All I have to do is ask about gloves during the redirect,” Briley says. “Unlocked windows and gloves. I might have the court reporter read back part of Detective Malone’s testimony. I remember him saying that if there’d been an intruder, he would have left some trace of h
is presence. Well—” she grins “—he was right.”
Kate sips from her drink, then lowers her glass. “Imagine having two different sets of DNA in your body. How weird is that?”
“I don’t care if it’s weird. I’m just glad we learned about it in time.”
Folding her arms, Kate leans closer. “Come on, Briley, what do you think really happened in that bedroom? I mean, being a chimera is a lucky break for your client, but it doesn’t explain anything.”
“I think…” Briley hesitates, sorting through her own thoughts. “I think that parasomnia is the right—the accurate—defense.”
“So you think she injected him while she was asleep.”
“What else could have happened?” Briley shakes her head. “I’m only glad that unidentified hair establishes reasonable doubt. That’s enough to get Erin acquitted…if the jury does the right thing.”
Kate rises halfway out of her seat as someone jangles the bell above the restaurant door. “I thought Wills was coming,” she says, sinking back onto the bench. “I told him we’d meet him here.”
Briley shrugs. “Maybe he had to run an errand.”
“Anyway,” Kate continues, “that is an incredible development. I wonder how many people are chimeras and don’t even know it?”
“That’s not something I want to contemplate. The thought is enough to give me a headache.”
The bell jangles again. A moment later, William shrugs out of his coat, hangs it on a hook, and slides into the booth next to Kate. “What’s the good word?”
“The word is celebration.” Kate gives him a welcoming smile. “All Briley has to do now is deliver her closing remarks and remind the jurors that Mrs. Walker had just changed the sheets in the master bedroom. No juror is going to pin the murder on an abused woman when the evidence proves someone else was present at the scene.”
“Don’t forget the fingerprints.” Briley unfolds her napkin. “I’ll have to remind the jurors that someone could have manipulated Erin’s hand while she was asleep. I’ll mention that in my closing, too.”
“But what about the Tomassis?” William looks at Briley, concern in his eyes. “What are you going to do if they pin the crime on Jason or one of the sisters?”