Trial by Blood

by William Bernhardt

  “No. And he wasn’t around long.” She snapped her fingers. “But he was wearing a backpack. Dark green, I think. I looked away for a moment to watch the show, and the next thing I knew, he’d disappeared.”

  “Thank you. Pass the witness.”

  Presumably Kilpatrick wanted to establish that Ossie was on the premises before he called the forensic witnesses to explain what he supposedly did while he was there.

  He stood between the witness and the defense table, blocking her view. “Ma’am, when you were backstage that night, was it lighted or dark?”

  “I—I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Were the lights on backstage?”

  “No. But there was a lot of light coming from the stage.”

  “A lot, or a little?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Enough to see by.”

  “Enough to see by a little, right? But not all that clearly.”

  “Clearly enough.” She obviously did not like being questioned.

  “Did you tell anyone about this at the time?”

  “No. I had no reason to.”

  “But you told people after.”

  “Starting with the police. Are you suggesting that I shouldn’t’ve?”

  “I’m suggesting there wasn’t enough light for you to identify a stranger.”

  “It was your client.”

  “Did you decide that when you saw him—or after you heard the police wanted him for murder?”

  “It was...at the time. When I saw him.”

  “Are you sure?”

  She hesitated just an instant before answering. “Yes.”

  “Did you talk to any members of the Coleman family about it?”

  “Did I—what?”

  “Harrison Coleman wasn’t the only member of the family you know, was he?”

  “No.”

  “And you’re aware that they’d all like my client to disappear?”

  “I—only—I’ve heard Dolly mention a few—”

  “But you maintain that you knew the figure in the darkness was my client, even though you’d never seen him in person and the lighting was low, because...what? His height? His build?”

  “His face.”

  “Which you could make out in the darkness.”

  “Yes.”

  “Think hard about this. Is it possible—even remotely possible—that you saw someone else backstage?”

  “No.”

  “Listen to my words. Is it even remotely possible?”

  “No.” She pointed toward defendant’s table. “It was him. I saw him.”

  “But you didn’t say so at the time. Only after the police arrived, and Detective Kakazu saw the name in the fog and issued a warrant for his arrest. Then you connected the name with the shadowy figure you saw backstage. But not before.”

  “It was him.”

  “Let me ask you another question. Is Harrison’s office backstage?”

  “Not exactly. It’s in the rear of the theater. Near the back door.”

  “Which is presumably how a killer would enter, right?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  “A person wanting to keep a low profile wouldn’t come through the front door, would he? He’d be spotted by dozens of people.”

  “True.”

  “And if you’re traveling from the back door to Harrison’s office, which is right next to the back door, and you’re carrying a bunch of diabolical chemicals to eradicate the body, you’re not going to stroll backstage for no reason, are you?”

  “He had a reason,” she said, her back stiffening. “I just don’t know what it was. He was probably looking for Harrison. When he didn’t find him backstage, he went to the office.”

  “Ms. Tully, please don’t speculate. Just tell the jury what you actually know. You saw someone backstage. You’re not sure who it was. The killer had no reason to wander backstage. You clashed constantly with Harrison and probably didn’t like him very much.”

  “I didn’t dislike him.”

  “This identification is a guess you’re making after the fact. If the police hadn’t suggested Ossie was there, you never would’ve thought you saw him.”

  “I’m telling you, I saw him.” She pointed again. “Him. Him!”

  He smiled and turned toward the jury. “Well, that’s funny, ma’am. Because as I expect most of the jurors have already noticed, during the break, I asked my client to step out and brought in another man to sit at the table with me. He’s a young kid who works downstairs at the coffee shop. He’s about the same size and age as Ossie, but hardly an identical twin. And you just identified him as the man you saw backstage. Even though he tells me that on the night of the murder, he was vacationing at Disney World.”

  He nodded toward the judge. “No more questions.”

  Chapter 37

  Dan tried to take stock before the next phase of the trial began. That had been a decent trick, but would it have much impact on the jury? He couldn’t be sure. Yes, the woman had gotten worked up and defensive and said something she shouldn’t—but that didn’t prove she didn’t see Ossie backstage. He would have to keep his eye on the jurors and continue trying to read their minds.

  He was surprised that Kilpatrick didn’t follow with someone from the CSI department. He started with probably the sketchiest witness on his list—the Dumpster diver. But maybe that made sense. First establish how you got the syringe, then let an expert explain why it was important.

  To give Kilpatrick credit where due, he didn’t try to sugarcoat the reality of the situation. Quint had been groomed and dressed for trial—cheap gray suit—but in the first minute, the witness acknowledged that he had been homeless and searched trash bins for food and items he might sell for petty cash. He also revealed a minor record for theft—which was disappointing, because Dan had planned to reveal that during his cross-examination.

  “Where did you find the syringe?” Kilpatrick asked.

  Charlie Quint tugged at his collar. He looked uncomfortable, like he’d never worn a suit before in his entire life. Coupled with his natural nervousness, he came off as edgy and somewhat defensive. “In the trash bin outside the foster home.”

  “Why were you there?”

  “It was a good neighborhood for me. You’d be amazed what some people put out, especially in a house that’s feeding a lot of kids. You could live a week on it.”

  Out the corner of his eye, he saw Maria’s face curl. Eating out of trash cans was not for her. How likely were you to find kale?

  “Why did the syringe attract your attention?”

  Quint squirmed a bit. “You see a syringe in the trash, you immediately think—druggie.”

  “And why is that good?”

  “Because there might be heroin in the syringe. Or elsewhere in the trash. And you can get big money for street drugs.”

  “If they’re so valuable, why would anyone throw them out?”

  “Messed-up people do messed-up stuff.”

  Not elegant, but he made his point. “Did the syringe contain anything?”

  “Not enough that I could sell.”

  “Then why keep it?”

  “I thought the police might be interested.”

  “Did you contact the police?”

  “Yes. And they were interested. They took the syringe and ran some tests.” He beamed. “They thanked me for being such a good citizen.”

  Kilpatrick nodded. “Pass the witness.”

  It almost seemed too easy to chastise Quint for being a homeless wastrel or having a record. Like kicking infants. “Let’s talk about your visit to the police station. Given your history, you must’ve had some qualms about setting foot in there.”

  “Um...what?”

  He realized his mistake. “You must’ve had...you must’ve been worried about seeing cops.”

  Quint shrugged. “Yeah. A little.”

  “Were you hoping to get something for your information?”

  “Is that so
wrong? I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

  “You asked for money, didn’t you?”

  “I thought the intel might be worth something.”

  “But they weren’t willing to pay for it, right?” Because then the payment could be used to impugn his testimony.

  “True enough.”

  “How did you react to that news?”

  “I tried to leave. They stopped me. Said they’d arrest me for withholding evidence.”

  “So they forced you to surrender the syringe.” He thought for a moment. Something wasn’t right here. Quint clearly expected a reward from the cops. And he was in that particular trash bin at such an opportune time... “It sure seems like a coincidence that you happened to be searching my client’s trash right after Detective Kakazu claims he found the name on the mirror. Did you target that trash bin?”

  “I’m...not sure what you mean.”

  “When I talked to you earlier, you mentioned that the best bins to search were behind restaurants, but this neighborhood was a far cry from any restaurants. So why were you there?”

  “I told you—”

  “Isn’t it true that you went to that trash bin specifically hoping to find something that could be used against my client?”

  “How would I know that was the right trash bin?”

  “Yes, exactly. I don’t think your research skills could get you there. I think someone must’ve told you. And the most likely candidate would be the police. Isn’t it true that the police sent you to Ossie’s house?”

  Quint’s eyes darted to Kilpatrick. “Why...would they do that?”

  “If the police searched that bin, it might be considered an unreasonable search without probable cause and I’d be up here arguing that they needed a search warrant. If a homeless guy does it, there’s no state action and thus no constitutional violation.”

  “You’re way over my head now.”

  “And if the syringe was planted, they would definitely want someone else to ‘discover’ it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Let me simplify it for you. Have you run errands for the police in the past?”

  Kilpatrick rose. “Objection. Relevance. What the witness did or did not do in the past doesn’t relate to this case.”

  “I’m establishing that the witness is a regular police informant, your honor. Or...police flunky.”

  “What if he is?” Kilpatrick said. “The bottom line here is that the incriminating syringe was found outside the defendant’s home.”

  “No. The bottom line is that the police targeted my client before they’d had time to conduct any meaningful investigation.”

  “Another objection,” Kilpatrick said. “Your honor, may we approach?”

  The judge nodded. Most judges would’ve pulled the lawyers to the bench a long time ago. These arguments were not evidence, but they could influence the jurors.

  Stress was smeared all over Smulders’ face. “So...what is it you object to, Mr. Kilpatrick?”

  “The irrelevant suggestion that this witness is a police informant.”

  “Is it true?”

  He hesitated only an instant. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Dan jumped in. “You’ll note that he is not answering your question.”

  “Because it doesn’t matter.”

  “I think it does. I think the police targeted my client and sent this loser out to create evidence to back their case.”

  “They already saw his name—”

  “Anyone could scrawl a name on a mirror. Just as anyone could drop a syringe in a trash bin and then send Oscar the Grouch to find it.”

  “He’s attacking the police department. Standard shyster defense lawyer trick. I can’t believe you’d stand for it, your honor.”

  Who was the shyster now? Kilpatrick was playing on the judge’s naiveté.

  “Well, I don’t want any of that,” Smulders said.

  “Good. Shut down this line of questioning.”

  The judge drew in his breath. “I don’t think we need questions about what happened in the past. Let’s stick to this case.”

  The lawyers left the bench. Dan continued questioning. “In this particular case, Mr. Quint, did anyone suggest that you should search the trash outside my client’s home?”

  He could see Kilpatrick thinking about another objection, but he kept his seat.

  “Well...yes.”

  “And when was this request made?”

  Another glance at Kilpatrick. After a few beats, Quint answered. “Early. Some cop found me under a bridge and woke me. Wasn’t even light out yet.”

  At that point, most of the public didn’t know about the murder yet. And the police hadn’t had time to investigate much or to question any suspects. “How long did it take you to get to the trash bin?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “So the police had plenty of time to get there first. And put anything in it they wanted.”

  Kilpatrick shot up. “Objection! Your honor, this is exactly the kind of reprehensible tactic I warned you about.”

  Dan stepped toward the judge, jaw set. “I am entitled to question police conduct during a criminal trial. It’s the court’s job to make sure the police respect the constitutional rights of individuals.” He paused. “You probably recall hearing something about that in Constitutional Law class, right?”

  Judge Smulders drew in his breath. “Yes. I do.”

  “If my client was being framed by cops who decided he was guilty before they had any evidence just because he was the obvious suspect...” He paused. “Or because someone rich and powerful wanted Ossie out of the way...that’s exactly what—”

  Kilpatrick went into full-out aggro mode. “This man’s paranoia is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The jurors are not stupid. They won’t buy this fantasy. Mr. Pike wants everyone to believe that our boys in blue, the ones who risk their lives to keep us safe, are criminals. I reject this cynical liberal notion.”

  “If you’re finished with your drama-queen scene, maybe we could return to actual legal argument.”

  Kilpatrick pounded the edge of the bench. “Outrageous.”

  “I agree with one thing he said, your honor. The jurors are not stupid. They can weigh evidence for themselves without all this shouting and bellyaching. If what I say has no value, they won’t give it a second thought. But if they are concerned that the police may have pursued a particular suspect for reasons that have nothing to do with the evidence, that should rightfully play an important role in their deliberations.”

  A long pause ensued.

  After a significant period of silence, Judge Smulders seemed to realize it was his turn to speak. “So...did you want me to...do something?”

  His clerk muttered from behind the hand covering her face. “Rule on the objection.”

  “Oh, well, sure. I...don’t think we should be dissing the police officers. Especially since they aren’t even on the stand to defend themselves.”

  Kilpatrick leaned in. “You’re sustaining my objection?”

  “Um, yes. That’s right.”

  “And strike the irrelevant business about police misconduct from the record?”

  “Sure. Did the court reporter get that?”

  Over in the corner, Bertha nodded. Dan didn’t care. They could do anything they wanted to the record. The jury would not forget what he’d said.

  “Anything else?”

  He decided to end the cross. He’d done what he wanted—planted the possibility of a police conspiracy to frame his client. He’d pick up the thread again later. “Nothing more, your honor.” He took his seat at the table.

  Both Maria and Ossie looked pleased.

  “You knocked the ball out of the court, slugger,” Maria whispered.

  “Technically, I did nothing. The syringe is still coming in. And it is incriminating.”

  “Till you get your hands on the next prosecution witness.”

&n
bsp; Ossie seemed more concerned than elated. “Why would the police want to go after me?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure. But we’re going to find out.”

  Chapter 38

  Kilpatrick called his DNA expert, Dr. Harriet Victor, to the witness stand. Most of what she said was non-controversial. Ossie’s DNA report indicated that he could be related to Zachary Coleman, but it did not prove conclusively that he was. But the DNA traces found in the bathtub proved that Harrison Coleman was the victim who was washed down the drain. “We were able to ascertain that the DNA came from Harrison Coleman with an almost 93% certainty,” she explained.

  “He probably bathed there. Couldn’t he have left DNA on a previous occasion?”

  “He could have, but it would’ve been obliterated by the bio-cremation process. There were barely traces of the victim. No one else’s DNA could’ve survived.”

  “Where did you find a DNA sample for matching?” Kilpatrick asked.

  “Harrison left genetic material with a company called Past Lives. They use it to provide ancestry reports. Apparently Harrison wanted to know more about where he came from.”

  “Can you explain to the jury how the body was destroyed?”

  “Yes. It’s not that complicated, and it could be done with common materials easily obtained at most home and garden stores.”

  “Was it dangerous?”

  “Somewhat. The killer probably wore a chemical retardant suit. And stripped the corpse naked.”

  “Where did the clothes go?”

  “I can’t be sure, but in all likelihood, the killer hung them up and put them in the closet where Harrison kept several other outfits. The killer used lye in concentrated powder form. He likely let the water in the tub get very hot, till the skin turned red. Then he’d toss in several scoops of the lye. Let the water run till the tub was almost full. Then he must’ve covered the tub.”

  “With what?”

  “Some kind of drape. Maybe a rubber sheet. That would be the best thing and not hard to find or carry. He would need to seal the tub shut, perhaps with duct tape. We did find adhesive residue on the tub.” She drew in her breath. “At that point, all the killer had to do was sit back and wait. The bio-cremation would break down everything—skin, muscle, tissues, even the teeth. At a cellular level.”