No Way Out
Page 17
The man knew that there was nothing more he could do to her. He heard the sound of other people coming and realized that he was now in danger. He didn’t know how many people were responding to Martine’s cry, or whether they were security guards or just members of the public. But whoever they were, even if they couldn’t stop him, they would still be witnesses who could identify him.
So he knew he had to flee, and moreover that he had to do so as quickly as possible. He couldn’t start her car as it was one of those modern high-tech ignition systems and he didn’t have the key. She must have put it in her pocket when she reached for the pepper spray. So he leapt out and dived back into his own car via the passenger door, slamming it shut, sliding across the seat and starting the engine as quickly as possible. By the time he had got the engine started there were two security guards charging towards the vehicle, apparently more concerned with stopping him than with helping Martine.
But he knew they wouldn’t shoot. Even if they were armed, they wouldn’t shoot. Their position would be legally precarious if they did. They might have grounds to detain him, but they sure as hell didn’t have grounds to shoot him. They didn’t know that was an attempted rape. For all they knew it could have been a falling out between a pair of lovers or an argument over a parking space. And the word she had shouted that had brought them running was not “rape” but “fire” – hardly grounds to shoot a man.
They tried to run into his path, but he just kept going, sending them spinning out of the way as they dived for cover.
He permitted himself a brief chuckle as he thought about their pathetic and futile effort to stop him. And now he was screeching his way down a series of ramps to get to the exit of the parking structure. A couple of times other cars, in the process of leaving the structure, came perilously close to crossing his path. But the ferocity with which he was driving forced them to hold back or swerve out of the way. So it took him only a minute to get to the exit on 13th Street.
But when he got there, in his desperation to escape, he forgot the most basic rule of driving: to look. And a second later, a speeding police car that was answering the call from the security guards, slammed into the left side of the aquamarine Mercedes, sending him reeling.
Thursday, 20 August 2009 – 11:50
“The problem with nail clipping samples in cases where the victim scratches the attacker,” said Alvarez, “is that you normally find a large amount of DNA from the victim and only a small amount from the assailant.”
“And can this be resolved by the method you described earlier? Identifying the major and the minor contributor?”
At the defense table, Alex had noticed that Martine wasn’t sitting in the press section. He was idly curious about that but continued to concentrate on the Alvarez testimony.
“Unfortunately that is often impossible, because the sheer volume of DNA from the victim dwarfs the amount of DNA from the other contributor. And if you try to get round this by setting the detection equipment to a more sensitive level, you end up with a lot of background ‘noise’ as we call it.”
“So how do you solve the problem?”
“We turn our attention to a particular type of DNA that comes from the Y chromosome. Only men have a Y chromosome, so that means you’re limiting it to DNA from a man. We’re still looking for repeated sequences – just like with ordinary autosomal DNA – but this time it’s a set of twenty two locations on the Y chomosome.”
He clicked the button and showed an illustration of a strand of Y chromosomal DNA with arrows pointing to various marked sections.
“We use the same processes to break down the DNA into fragments and analyze them and then we get the computer to print out a report showing the length of the sequences at each of the marker locations.”
Sarah now assumed control of the presentation system and pressed a button. On the screen a report appeared.
“And is this your report in this case?”
“Yes.”
It was the first page of the report, stating that the suspect, Elias Claymore could not be eliminated as a suspect. Sarah pressed another button.
“And this is the second page?”
“Yes.”
“The second page showed the breakdown of the different fragment lengths at the different locations on the crime scene samples and the equivalent for the suspect.”
Locus
B. Newton (index fingernail)
Elias Claymore (ref sample)
19
17
17
385a/b
16, 19
16, 19
388
12
12
389-1
13
13
389-2
31
31
390
21
21
391
10
10
392
11
11
393
16
16
426
11
11
437
14
14
438
11
11
439
12
12
447
28
28
448
24
24
460
10
10
H4
11
11
YCA2a/b
17, 19
17, 19
450
8
8
456
16
16
458
18
18
464 a/b/c/d
13, 16, 17
13, 16, 17
“Now I see from this table that the lengths of the strands for the suspect and crime scene sample are identical. What does this tell us?”
“It tells us that there were no exclusions. This means that the suspect could not be eliminated as a possible source of the DNA in this sample from the victim’s fingernails.”
An eerie silence hung over the courtroom before the prosecutor spoke again.
“And were you able to establish the probability of a randomly selected male matching this particular DNA profile?”
“Yes. In the general population as a whole, this profile or ‘haplotype’ as we call it, is likely to occur in one in every four thousand males.”
“One in four thousand, is that correct?”
“Yes, one in four thousand.”
“Your witness,” said Sarah Jensen, turning to the defense table.
But as Alex was about to rise, the judge spoke.
“We’ll take a twenty minute recess.”
Thursday, 20 August 2009 – 11:55
“Will he live?” asked the driver of the police car as the gurney was raised into the ambulance outside the parking structure.
“Oh yeah,” said the ambulance attendant. “It’s not life threatening.”
“Pity.”
There was a certain amount of macho posturing in this interjection. The cop was not, in fact, as hard as he was trying to sound. He was a rookie and had never killed a man before. Nor was he looking forward to doing so, although he knew that at some point in his career he might have to. Even the sight of Martine and her condition, couldn’t make him wish that the man was dead.
“It’ll be okay,” said his partner.
The rookie backed off as the ambulance crew closed the doors and drove off.
Martine was being treated in situ by a second ambulance crew. Another squad car had been summoned and a victim chaperone was taking her preliminary statement.
“So what do we know?” asked the rookie. His partner had been getting further information while he had stood aside, trying to calm down after the shock of the impact.
“Name’s Manning, Louis Manning. Has a string of priors for possession and d
ealing.”
“Anything for rape or indecent assault?”
“No. Just dope.”
“I guess that’s gonna change now.”
“Uh huh. He cornered her as she was getting into her car. She’s a reporter on the Claymore case.”
“No shit.”
The rookie looked over to where she was making a statement to the other team.
“She’s cute.”
“She’s gotta be. She does the TV news.”
The rookie looked away embarrassed when Martine noticed him starting.
“That her car?”
“No his. Hers is up on Level Four. She was getting into her car for a change of makeup or whatever and he was getting something out from the passenger side of his when he jumped her.”
“Didn’t she see him approaching?”
“His car was right next to hers.”
“Sounds like a setup.”
“Probably was.”
“She okay?”
“Think so. She maced him in the face so she must be pretty tough.”
The rookie looked at the Mercedes.
“You say he was a dealer?”
“That’s what his rap sheet says.”
“He must’ve been making some serious dough.”
“Oh yeh that’s another thing. She said that one thing that caught her attention just before he jumped her was the car, because it matched the description of the one in the case she’s covering.”
“What the Claymore rape case?”
“Yeah.”
“Well maybe we should check it out.”
“I was planning to.”
The older cop put in a call on his radio. About twenty seconds later the dispatcher replied.
“Those license plates come from a 1993 Pontiac Firebird licensed to one Louis Manning in New Mexico.”
“Okay thanks,” said the older cop. He looked over at his partner to make sure that had heard it.
“So he used his old plates,” said the rookie.
“That’s the way they do it. Steal a top-of-the range Merc to replace an aging Pontiac and transfer the legal plates to the stolen vehicle.”
“But we can check the VIN to trace the real owner.”
“Exactly.”
The older cop smiled. He’d seen it all before: the young, eager rookie showing off how much he’s learned. He’d been like that too, when he was rookie.
They walked over to the car as it was being hitched to the tow truck. The tow truck team stood back while the rookie and his partner opened the driver’s door and looked for the plate on the dashboard with the serial number. The rookie spoke into his radio.
“We need a make on Vehicle Identification Number 4DB-NG-7-zero-JX-9K-234-299.”
The dispatcher came back even more quickly on this one.
“That vehicle is registered with the California DMV as a Mercedes belonging to Elias Claymore.”
“Okay, thank you,” said the rookie, letting out a whoop of delight.
Thursday, 20 August 2009 – 12:10
Martine was in the rape suite at the police station in the Frank H Ogawa Plaza. Unlike Bethel Newton, they hadn’t taken any vaginal or oral swabs or even nail clippings. But they had taken photographs of her injuries and tapings from her clothes to show fiber matches with Louis Manning’s clothes.
The victim chaperone dealing with her had told her not to be surprised if Manning tried to use a consent defense, but pointed out that her injuries would be corroborative of her version of events. There seemed to be a sense of gloom however, as if to make her aware of the fact that she could expect her reputation to be attacked by the defense lawyers as a matter of course.
That reminded her about one very particular defense lawyer whom she wanted to call. She asked if it was okay and when the victim chaperone said yes, she whipped out her cell phone and put in a call to Alex. She was expecting to get his message box, because he was in court, but was surprised when he answered in person.
“Martine where are you?”
“I’m at the police station up at the Ogawa Plaza.”
“Why what’s happening there?”
“I was attacked.”
“What?”
“Some one tried to rape me.”
“Holy shit! Who?”
“I don’t know his name. I got him with pepper spray and the cops busted him.”
“Are you all right?”
“A bit shaken, but everything intact.”
“Thank God.”
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
“I’m coming round there.”
“No need. I’ll probably be through here in fifteen or twenty.”
“I’ll ask for an adjournment.”
“There’s no need.”
“But I want to.”
She gritted her teeth, but felt a tinge of amusement at Alex’s reaction.
“Did anyone ever tell you, you’re very stubborn?”
“Only Mrs. Sedaka.”
“Melody?”
“No, my mother.”
Martine couldn’t help but smile at Alex’s reaction.
“Okay, you do whatever you must. Like I said, I’ll be here for at least the next half hour.”
Thursday, 20 August 2009 – 12:15
“Let me see if I’ve understood this, Mr Sedaka. You want me to grant your request for an adjournment, so you can visit your girlfriend a few blocks away?”
Justice Wagner’s tone was condescending rather than indignant. But Alex was left in no doubt as to how she felt about what he realized might seem like a frivolous request.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Your Honor, just a professional friend. And she’s pretty badly shaken up.”
“But you said yourself that this was only an attempted rape and she hasn’t even been hospitalized.”
“Yes, but she must be in shock. It’ll probably hit her later.”
“And when it does, you can comfort her – this evening. But right now, we have a case to try.”
“Your Honor, if I’m forced to conduct my cross-examination while I’m thinking about this, it might affect my performance.”
“I hope you’re not going to try and make your client pay for your concern about your girlfriend – sorry, your ‘professional’ friend.”
“I’m not saying I’ll do anything less than my best. But my concern for Miss Yin is genuine and may affect my performance. And even if it doesn’t, my client might claim that it does. He might claim incompetent representation by counsel and use it as grounds for appeal.”
“Which would hurt your reputation.”
“And threaten to undermine the verdict.”
Sarah Jensen stepped in.
“Why can’t Ms Phoenix conduct the cross-examination?”
All eyes turned back to Alex.
“This is a very complex area of law and science, Your Honor, and my co-counsel may not be sufficiently well-versed in this area to–”
“Come off it, Mr Sedaka. Ms Phoenix is an experienced trial attorney. She has been a prosecutor in New York City as well as defense counsel. Unlike you, she’s worked the criminal courts from both sides and she’s more than capable of conducting a rigorous and thorough cross-examination of the witness.”
Alex found himself almost stuttering.
“Well… I don’t know. I mean my client might not agree to it.”
“Oh really?” sneered the judge. “A minute ago you were saying that your client wouldn’t want you to cross-examine because you were in emotional turmoil over what’s happened to your – to Miss Yin. Now your saying he desperately wants you.”
For once, Alex was lost for words.
“May I confer with my client, Your Honor?”
“Please do.”
Alex went over to Claymore and told him what had happened, prefixing his remarks by telling Claymore not to show any reaction on his face – an instruction with which Elias Claymore proved singularl
y incapable of complying. But worse than that, Claymore showed no sign of flexibility on this point.
“I don’t want her doing it! I want you to cross-examine.”
“But why? She’s a very good lawyer – and in some ways it’ll look better in the eyes of the jury if she does it.”
“She doesn’t understand the DNA science as well as you do. She’s too wrapped up in this computer business.”
“She can use my notes. It’s all there.”
“I don’t want it. Look, you pushed me into accepting her as second seat. And she did a good job on the Newton girl. But for this job, I don’t think she’s up to it. I’m the client and I ain’t taking any chances. I want you to cross-examine Alvarez.”
Alex could see from the look in Claymore’s eyes that he wasn’t going to give way. But he also noticed something else. Claymore was afraid – it was the DNA that frightened him more than anything else.
Seconds later, Alex was back at the judge’s bench.
“My client doesn’t agree, Your Honor. I’ll do the cross. But may I at least be excused after that?”
“Okay, we’ll adjourn for lunch when you’ve finished and we’ll cancel the afternoon session.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
On the way back to the defense table, Alex whispered to Andi.
“I don’t want Elias to hear this, but don’t be surprised if I race through the cross.”
“I understand,” Andi replied.
Seconds later, Andi and Sarah Jensen were seated at their respective tables. Alex remained standing.
“Proceed, Mr Sedaka.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He looked down at his notes, flicking through several pages, and then looked up to meet the eyes of Victor Alvarez.
“Dr. Alvarez, you told us in direct examination that the test you carried out looked at twenty two markers on the Y chromosome. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But is it not a fact that the generally accepted profile for the Y-STR Haplotype uses only eleven of those markers?”