“Is that like curbing your dog?” Vail mumbled half aloud as he walked back to his desk.
“What was that?” Shoat demanded.
“Just clearing my throat, Your Honor.”
“I have no further questions at this time,” Venable said. “Your witness.”
Vail stood and approached the witness stand. “Dr. Danielson, I ask you: Are you one hundred percent sure that the same person made all the various cuts, slices, incisions, punctures, and other graphically described wounds in the victim’s body?”
“Do you mean is there a possibility someone else might have made some of these cuts?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“The traumatic wounds—the throat wound, the wounds to the chest—I can say were definitely made by that knife and by a left-handed person. I can tell by the—”
“Yes, yes, Dr. Danielson, we’re not arguing that point. We will concede that those twelve wounds were administered by a left-handed person. How about the other… sixty-five wounds? Were all these wounds made by a left-handed person?”
“It’s hard to say. You can’t always tell whether the person wielding the weapon was left- or right-handed.”
“Depends on the wound, doesn’t it?”
“Uh, yes.”
“A puncture, for instance, would be very hard to distinguish—I mean, between a right-handed and left-handed person, isn’t that so?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“And weren’t at least two of the twelve wounds you identified as fatal or potentially fatal in fact puncture wounds?”
“… Yes.”
“Straight in, right?”
“Yes.”
“So, what you are saying is that someone else could have wielded the knife when at least two of the fatal wounds were administered, correct?”
“I suppose so.”
“I repeat, Dr. Danielson: Could at least two of the fatal wounds have been struck by someone else, yes or no?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, sir. Now let’s talk a minute about the throat wound. In your opinion this was the first wound struck, is that correct?”
“In my best opinion.”
“You say aeroembolism occurred, correct? Here in your report, it says, ‘Evidence of aeroembolism in heart and lungs.’”
“There was evidence, yes.”
“And you testified that aeroembolism is almost instantly fatal. In fact, your exact words were, ‘In most of the cases, cadaveric spasm occurs—which is instant rigor mortis.’ Correct?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And yet you also testify that the bishop put up a fight. That the stab wounds in his hands and arms were the result of his using his hands and arms to protect himself. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“So, while it is possible the throat wound was the first wound, it is more likely that it was not, isn’t that true?”
“It is possible that he could have survived, even fought back reflexively, for a minute or so. Certainly long enough to administer the wounds in the hands and arms.”
“The knife entered here”—Vail pointed to a spot just under Danielson’s right ear and drew his finger slowly across to the left side as he spoke—“just under the right ear, slashed to just under the left ear, cut through to the spinal column, severed the jugular, all the arteries and veins in his neck, the windpipe, and all muscle and tissue. That’s what your report stipulates, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“So there was some muscle and tissue trauma there, too, right?”
“Yes.”
“And aeroembolism, which is almost always instantly fatal, occurred, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you still contend that the bishop fought on for another minute or minute and a half?”
Danielson stared Vail eye-to-eye and suppressed a smile. He was good, all right. This Vail was a shark.
“I judged … because of the amount of blood and tissue samples … that probably—”
“Probably? What is it, Dr. Danielson? Probably, possibly, an outside chance, a fluke?”
“It’s certainly possible that it was the second or third strike,” Danielson agreed.
“So …if two of the fatal chest wounds could have been struck by one person and the rest of the wounds by another, it is also possible that one person actually struck the death wound and someone else then stabbed and cut the bishop after he was dead, right?”
“I suppose … yes, that’s true, but unlikely.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Danielson echoed.
“Yes, why is it unlikely?”
“Well, just think about it.… I mean, it’s just completely illogical.”
“So, Doctor, you can’t prove that Aaron Stampler made all or even any of the actual stab wounds, and you can’t prove whether one or two people stabbed the bishop or even which wound was the fatal wound, isn’t that so?”
Danielson thought about the question for several seconds and finally nodded slowly. “That’s all true,” he said.
“And the fact that Aaron is left-handed is really the only proof you have that he actually wielded the knife, true or false?”
“Yes, Mr. Vail, that’s true.”
“Thank you, Dr. Danielson,” Vail said, walking away from him. “You may come away.”
“Just a moment,” Venable said. “Dr. Danielson, in your twenty-six years as a forensics scientist, have you ever seen a case in which two people used the same knife to stab the same person to death?”
“No, I have not.”
“Have you ever heard or read of such an occurrence?”
“No, I have not.”
“Thank you.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Danielson,” Vail said. “How many cases are you familiar with in which the penis and gonads of the victim were cut off and stuffed in the victim’s mouth?”
“Uh … none, actually.”
“So this event could have occurred exactly as I described it, true or false?”
Danielson sighed. “True.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Harvey Woodside followed Danielson to the stand. It was his job to correlate the medical and forensics evidence into a single, hard conclusion: that Aaron Stampler committed a premeditated, cold-blooded murder.
He huffed his way to the witness stand, breathing heavily through his nose as he settled into the chair and took the oath. Vail listened quietly as Venable established his credentials. Woodside was also an expert at his job. Vail did not challenge him.
“So, in effect, Mr. Woodside, you link all the various elements of the crime together, is that true?”
“Yes.”
“That includes medical reports, fiber samples, fingerprints, etcetera…”
“Everything, yes. I put it all together.”
In the ensuing cross-examination, Woodside used the combination of photographs, physical evidence, fiber samples, bloodstains and fingerprints to paint a mural of terror.
“Mr. Woodside,” Venable continued, “based on the physical evidence gathered at the scene of the crime, what is your assessment of this crime?”
“That Stampler entered through the kitchen, took off his shoes, removed the carving knife from the tray, leaving fibers from his gloves when he did, went down the hallway to the bedroom and attacked the bishop. Bishop Rushman fought for his life, as witness the wounds in his hands. He was stabbed, cut and sliced seventy-seven times. He had less than a pint of blood in his body after the attack, which is one-twelfth of the normal blood supply in the body. The final act was the removal of his sexual apparatus, which Stampler stuffed in the bishop’s mouth. Stampler then returned to the kitchen, put his shoes on and ran out, and the police car happened to be passing so he dodged back inside and hid in a confessional, where he was discovered by police and arrested.”
Vail buttoned his jacket and stood up. He walked around to the front of his desk and leaned against i
t with his arms crossed. Shoat looked down his nose at Vail, his mouth hanging half open.
“Was it something, Mr. Vail?”
“That’s a very interesting story, Your Honor,” Vail said with a smile. “Of course we object to the entire presentation. It’s pure conjecture.”
“Your Honor,” Venable shot back, “Mr. Woodside is one of the most honored pathologists in the country. His job is to assess a crime based on the forensic evidence and that is exactly what he has done.”
“There’s no proof that Stampler removed his—and I quote—‘sexual apparatus,’” Vail said. “The only basis for Mr. Woodside’s and Dr. Danielson’s assumption is that it had to happen that way or his whole theory is full of hot air.”
“Mr. Vail,” Shoat said, leaning over the bench and glaring down at him, “it is certainly within the realm of Mr. Woodside’s expertise to logically string these events together. That is what he does. He made it clear that it’s an assumption and I am sure the jury will take that into consideration in weighing the evidence. Your objection is overruled.”
“I have no further questions at this time,” Venable said.
“Your witness, Mr. Vail.”
Vail flipped through his legal pad and slowly approached the witness box, while reading from his notes.
“Mr. Woodside,” he said, still reading from his pad, “you checked the carpeting for fibers, correct?”
“That’s correct. I worked with Dr. Danielson in the analysis of all the evidence.”
“What else did you check the carpeting for?”
“Bloodstains, hairs, other foreign matter.”
“Indentations?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“Did you check for residual footprints, indentations in the carpeting, to ascertain whether anyone else was in the room besides Bishop Rushman and Aaron Stampler?”
“That really isn’t practical, Mr. Vail. The maid cleaned the room earlier that day. Other people passed through the bedroom.”
“So what you’re saying is, if there were other indentations in the carpet they could have been there since earlier in the day?”
“Yes…”
“And the same might be true for hair samples and fibers, isn’t that correct?”
“Well, yes…”
“So the only physical evidence in the room that you can positively state was not there prior to the murder is the bloodstains?”
“Well, that’s …”
“Yes or no, Mr. Woodside?”
“I suppose you could say that. There’s the bloody footprint, of course.”
“My client doesn’t deny that it’s his footprint,” Vail said, still checking his notes. “Of course he was there. But since he was in a fugue state and remembers nothing, we raise the question: Was someone else there, too? And that’s the question we’d like you to resolve, Mr. Woodside, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Now, sir, based on these findings, can you honestly say that Aaron Stampler and Bishop Rushman were the only people in the room at the time of the assault?”
“I am ninety percent—”
“Ninety percent won’t do, Mr. Woodside. Will you tell the court that you are one hundred percent sure that nobody else was in the room at the time of the murder?”
“I guess not.”
“Yes or no?”
“No.”
“Mr. Woodside, I will remind you of the Wright case. Do you remember the Wright case?”
“Of course.”
“You were the forensics expert on that case, right?”
“Yes.”
“Tell the jury the details.”
“I object, Your Honor. Irrelevant. What is the point here?”
“The point is logic, Your Honor.”
“Logic?” Shoat echoed.
“Mr. Woodside is basing a lot of his assumptions on logic. I would like to examine his perception of logic.”
“Oh, all right, Mr. Vail. I told you I’d give you latitude in this case, so you may proceed.”
“The Wright case, Mr. Woodside.”
“Theodore Wright was a salesman. He was found shot to death in a hotel room. The murder weapon was later discovered behind a steam radiator in the corner.”
“So the logical conclusion was that he was murdered, right?”
“That’s correct. Our original assessment was that Wright was murdered.”
“And was that, in fact, the case?”
“No, we later ascertained through tests that Wright shot himself. The kick of the gun threw his hand back and the weapon flew out of his hand and lodged behind the radiator.”
“So the logical conclusion—that he was killed—was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Woodside, judging from the evidence, would it have been logical to conclude that he committed suicide?”
“Not really.”
“You mean no.”
“No.”
“The point is, a great many criminal cases defy logic, don’t they, sir?”
“Well, you can say that, but in most of the cases—”
“Most of the cases. But not all, correct?”
Woodside sighed. “Correct,” he said.
“Now Mr. Woodside, you testified earlier that Mr. Stampler’s fingerprints were—as you put it—all over the knife and the body.”
“Yes.”
“And you also testified that fibers from Stampler’s gloves were on the knife tray?”
“That’s correct.”
“And so you assumed from that evidence that Stampler took the knife out of the tray, right?”
“It would certainly seem logical.”
“Is it also logical that he took off his gloves before committing the murder?”
“Uh … I don’t understand the—”
“Sure you do, but I’ll put it another way,” Vail said. “You’re very big on logic, Mr. Woodside. Is it logical that Mr. Stampler came in with his gloves on, took the knife, then took off his gloves so he could leave fingerprints all over the place—as you put it? Is that logical?”
“Uh … well, I would say—”
“Just say the answer, sir. Do you think it is logical that a man premeditates a crime, plans it all out, then takes off his gloves before he goes to work?”
“Well, I don’t know why he did that.”
“Is it logical? Does it make any sense at all?”
“Not really.”
“I think we can assume that’s a ‘no,’” Vail said. “And as far as the other fiber samples you found, if Mr. Stampler was there earlier in the evening, the fiber samples could have been left at that time, true or false?”
“True.”
“So the fibers in themselves really don’t prove that the defendant was in the room at the time of the attack, is that a true statement?”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So, to sum up, Mr. Woodside, you can’t prove Aaron was alone in the room with the bishop, can you?”
“Uh … well, I…”
“Yes or no?”
Woodside sighed. “No,” he said.
“And you can’t say beyond a reasonable doubt that Aaron took the knife from the kitchen, right?”
“Not really.”
“We’ll take that as another ‘no.’ Now let’s talk about Aaron’s escape, as you put it, through the kitchen door. It’s your opinion that he came in through the kitchen door, left his shoes there, took the knife, and went to the bishop’s bedroom and stabbed him, then went back the same way, put his shoes back on, and exited through the kitchen door.”
“Yes.”
“And you base that opinion on what?”
“Logic. Logic says that he took off his shoes when he came in, because the bloodstains on his socks led straight back there. And since it is unlikely that the carving knife was in the bedroom, we can also assume that he picked up the knife when he came in.”
Vail walked across the room.
“Supposing he did come in the fron
t door, as he says he did. What’s the first thing you do when you come in from the cold? You take your gloves off, right? Rub your hands together, breathe on them. So Aaron comes into the rectory, pulls off his gloves, then he hears something upstairs, and goes up. Someone else is in the room, so”—Vail leaned over, pulled off his loafers and stuffed one in each of his suit coat pockets—“he takes off his shoes so nobody’ll hear him, sticks them in his jacket pockets. He goes to the bedroom, looks in, and sees someone stabbing the bishop—someone who did come in the back door, take the knife, and go to the bishop’s bedroom. The Bishop is trying to prevent the stabbing. He has his hands in front of him. But finally he drops his arms and the killer stabs him—according to your report, ‘wound number four, direct cardiovascular hit sufficient to kill almost instantaneously’—and the bishop falls on the floor. The killer runs out of the room, and Stampler, shocked into a fugue state, grabs the knife and goes berserk. Then he leaves the room, hears someone downstairs, runs to the kitchen, puts his shoes back on before going out in the cold, and exits the kitchen door. Can you prove it didn’t happen that way, Mr. Woodside?”
“Nope,” Woodside said with resignation. “I can’t prove a duck didn’t fly in the window and kill him, either.”
The arena broke up. Shoat smashed his gavel several times.
“If you people don’t shut up, I’m going to clear this room,” he bellowed, then glared down at Woodside.
“Mr. Woodside, that remark was totally uncalled for. You are no stranger to courtrooms or trials. You know better.”
Woodside lowered his head. “Yes sir, I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“I should think so. The jury will ignore that remark. It has absolutely no relevance to these proceedings.”
“I have no further questions of this witness,” Vail said.
The doorman delivered the first paper to hit the street that night to her door. She read it at her desk while she supped on chicken noodle soup and crackers.
LEGAL EAGLES AS CELEBRITIES
Venable versus Vail
Is the Best Show in Town
by
Jack Connerman
The toughest ticket in town these days is in King’s County Superior Court, where yesterday the legal battle of the century began.
It’s a dream trial: a grisly murder case involving two legal superstars and one of the city’s most prominent citizens as victim. At stake: the life of a nineteen-year-old mountain boy named Aaron Stampler, who has a Himalayan IQ, an accent like Sergeant York and is accused of turning Archbishop Richard Rushman, “The Saint of Lakeview Drive,” into an anatomy lab experiment one night this past February. The details of the slaying were so brutal they were kept under wraps by the police until the trial started yesterday.
Primal Fear Page 41