In the Name of Honor

by Richard North Patterson

  As Terry watched her, Major Wertheimer seemed to quickly grasp Flynn’s implication—her expression was both grave and alert, as though framing questions of her own. Moving closer to the witness, Flynn asked, “If the accused had shot D’Abruzzo in the leg, would that have caused his death?”

  Though surprised, Terry stood at once. “Objection,” he interjected. “The question calls for speculation.”

  “The question,” Flynn rejoined, “properly solicits a medical opinion. As an expert witness, Dr. Goode is entitled to latitude in testifying.”

  “Objection overruled,” Hollis said in clipped tones that suggested that he, too, wished to hear the doctor’s response. “Please answer, Dr. Goode.”

  Hollis folded his hands. “Unless the bullet struck an artery,” he answered, “a leg wound would be unlikely to cause death.”

  Silent, Terry resigned himself to watching Randi Wertheimer’s face reflect the damage to Brian McCarran. “Could such a wound,” Flynn prodded, “have prevented Captain D’Abruzzo from posing a threat to the accused?”

  Narrowing in thought, the witness’s small eyes became slits. “It very well could have,” he answered carefully.

  “Even though Captain D’Abruzzo was skilled in karate?”

  This time the witness’s lips formed a thoughtful O. “I can’t give you a definitive answer, Major Flynn. But karate depends on leverage and swiftness of movement. That requires a working pair of legs.” He paused, then added, “Most leg wounds would have seriously impaired Captain D’Abruzzo’s abilities. A bullet in the kneecap would have put him on the ground.”

  “In other words, a well-placed shot could have severely diminished his ability to kill or injure Lieutenant McCarran.”

  “Without a doubt.”

  Frowning, Major Wertheimer seemed both riveted and restless, like someone who wanted to take notes but lacked a pen or paper. Flynn pressed forward. “You mentioned a wound in the palm of Captain D’Abruzzo’s right hand. Do you have an opinion on how he could have received such a wound?”

  Forming his answer, Goode settled in his chair, causing his chin to overlap his shirt collar. “Again, I can’t be absolutely confident. But from the angle of the bullet, a distinct possibility is that he raised his hand in a reflexive effort at self-protection.”

  “What can you conclude from the fact that there were wounds in four separate parts of the captain’s body?”

  When less certain, Terry noticed, Goode addressed Flynn rather than the members. “One obvious conclusion,” he said after a moment, “is that D’Abruzzo was moving. There’s really no other way to explain wounds in the left arm and right palm. Not to mention a wound to the back.”

  Flynn paused, miming curiosity. “When you say that the captain was moving, Dr. Goode, could he have been coming forward toward Lieutenant McCarran?”

  “During all four shots?” Goode briefly shook his head. “That’s hard to imagine, Major Flynn. The shot in the captain’s left arm was direct, clearly suggesting that D’Abruzzo was turned sideways, rather than facing the accused. More obviously, it’s almost inconceivable that the decedent was backing toward the lieutenant when he took a bullet between his shoulder blades.”

  Glancing at Meg, Terry noticed that she had taken refuge in scribbling notes. Colonel Alex MacDonald had crossed his arms, his expression grim. “Were you able,” Flynn inquired with a trace of satisfaction, “to conclude anything else from the wound in D’Abruzzo’s back?”

  “Yes,” Goode said incisively. “When he received it, Captain D’Abruzzo was pressed chest-first against the wall, directly above where his body fell to the floor.”

  “How did you conclude that?”

  “There was a smear of D’Abruzzo’s blood on the wall at chest level. Even more telling, the bullet that entered his back was shored.” As he faced the members, Goode’s manner became tutorial. “ ‘Shored’ means that the bullet did not completely exit the body. The explanation—confirmed by an indentation in the wall—is that the wall helped stop the bullet from going through.”

  Either Brian was a superb actor, Terry thought, or his expression of confusion was real. But the members were focused on Goode. “The accused”—Flynn spoke the word with a trace of scorn—“claims to have fired to prevent Captain D’Abruzzo from killing him with his hands. Beyond the shot in his back, did you reach any conclusions that discredit this assertion?”

  “Several. The wound in the decedent’s left arm would have rendered it largely useless. This is also true of his right palm.” He paused, then said with quiet emphasis, “There’s also the matter of how close Captain D’Abruzzo was to the accused, and therefore the degree of threat posed.

  “One measure of proximity is gunshot residue, GSR—the amount of powder on the victim’s clothing surrounding a particular wound.” Goode’s speech slowed, lending his words an added import. “When expelled from the barrel, GSR travels a short distance before it dissipates. Up to perhaps four feet, we can use the size and density of the pattern GSR makes around the wound to determine the distance between the gun and the victim. The closer the gun, the tighter the pattern. At four feet or a little less, the GSR stops leaving a pattern at all. Distance becomes anyone’s guess.”

  He stopped there, allowing Flynn to ask, “Did you find gunshot residue around any of Captain D’Abruzzo’s wounds?”

  “None. Therefore, we can conclude with certainty that all four shots occurred when Captain D’Abruzzo and the accused were—at a minimum—more than three feet apart. For any given shot it could have been four feet, or fifteen feet, or anything in between—the only limit being the size of Lieutenant McCarran’s living room. But we know for sure that none of these shots came from within three feet.”

  Behind them, Terry heard a spectator’s stifled cough, underscoring the silence in the courtroom. Turning sideways to watch both the witness and the members, Flynn asked, “Did your examination of the body yield any evidence that supports Lieutenant McCarran’s claim of self-defense?”

  “Affirmatively supports?” Goode responded with raised eyebrows. “No. In fact, quite the opposite—the absence of GSR and the wounds to the arm, palm, and back all suggest a threat that was not immediate and diminished with each shot.”

  Pausing, Flynn stood very still, drawing attention to his next question. “Is it possible that the accused could have shot Captain D’Abruzzo as soon as he closed the door behind him?”

  “That’s very possible. The mark for the shored bullet was two feet from the door frame. That’s where the captain’s body fell.”

  In the jury box, Bobby Wade adjusted his glasses, peering at Brian more closely. “When I asked you for the cause of death,” Flynn said to Goode, “you identified the first wound inflicted by Lieutenant McCarran. On what did you base that opinion?”

  “As I said, the bullet nicked an artery. In essence, Captain D’Abruzzo bled to death. Which accounts for the pool of blood found beneath his body.”

  Watching the members of the court, Terry felt the vise around Brian closing, the pressure to somehow discredit this witness building. “Tell me,” Flynn continued, “can you estimate how long it took for Captain D’Abruzzo to die?”

  Goode frowned, his expression betraying distaste and disapproval. “It’s impossible to be precise, Major Flynn. But my best estimate would be that Captain D’Abruzzo lived for roughly ten minutes.”

  “In other words, Dr. Goode, you believe it likely that the victim died sometime between Lieutenant McCarran’s phone call to his sister and the arrival of the EMTs.”

  Brian closed his eyes. “Yes,” Goode answered. “I think that’s highly possible.”

  In the jury box, Doug Young leaned closer to Adam Chase, briefly whispering before Chase nodded, his expression of disapproval similar to Dr. Goode’s. Glancing at the members, Flynn asked, “Is it also possible, Doctor, that Captain D’Abruzzo would have lived had the accused called the EMTs instead of Ms. McCarran?”

  As Meg turned
to him, silently beseeching, Terry stood to object. “The question solicits an answer that, by its nature, is inflammatory and wildly speculative. Latitude doesn’t mean license.”

  Hollis turned to Flynn. “To the contrary,” Flynn responded. “The question follows logically from Dr. Goode’s estimate of the time that Captain D’Abruzzo remained alive. That the implications may be unpleasant doesn’t make them prejudicial.”

  Hollis paused, openly reflective. In a flat voice, he said, “I’ll allow the witness to answer.”

  Turning, the judge watched Goode closely, reflecting the reaction of the members. “That’s hard to pinpoint,” the pathologist answered slowly. “Captain D’Abruzzo would have required immediate surgical attention and a considerable infusion of blood. But survival would not be out of the question.” He paused, then finished: “What I can say for sure is that Lieutenant McCarran’s delay in calling ended the captain’s chances.”

  Behind him, Terry heard a muffled sob from Joe D’Abruzzo’s mother.

  seven

  FOR A MOMENT, TERRY REMAINED AT HIS TABLE, FIXING GOODE with a look meant to signify puzzlement and disbelief. Then he stood quickly and walked toward the witness. “How drunk was Captain D’Abruzzo when he arrived at the lieutenant’s apartment?”

  The unexpected question seemed to startle Goode. Carefully, he answered, “According to the toxicology report, his blood alcohol concentration was at one-point-five, almost twice the legal limit for intoxication.”

  “That was based on a blood sample you drew during the autopsy, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you drew that sample, how long had the captain been dead?”

  Goode hesitated. “Roughly four hours, I’d say.”

  “Even after death, Doctor, doesn’t the blood alcohol content lower every hour?”

  “It does.”

  “So that at the time of the shooting, D’Abruzzo’s level of intoxication would have been about three times the legal limit?”

  Goode nodded, watching Terry with a guarded look. “That seems accurate.”

  Terry paused, then asked his next question with mild incredulity: “Couldn’t that have made D’Abruzzo more likely to be violent and irrational?”

  “Objection,” Flynn swiftly interposed. “Calls for speculation.”

  Terry did not turn. “It’s hardly speculative,” he told Judge Hollis, “to suggest that inebriates lack judgment.”

  “Nor is it controversial,” Hollis told Flynn. “The witness may answer.”

  Goode sat back, folded hands resting on his ample belly. “Alcohol,” he said slowly, “operates as a disinhibitor. It adversely affects judgment and self-control.”

  “Then it might well have intensified D’Abruzzo’s anger.”

  “Yes.”

  “And, given that, made him much more threatening in his words and actions.”

  “It could have, yes.”

  “So that the lieutenant’s description of D’Abruzzo as aggressive, bellicose, and threatening is consistent with his extreme intoxication.”

  Goode’s eyes narrowed, as though he was tempted to debate the premise. Then he said simply, “It’s true that those behaviors are often fueled by alcohol.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” Terry said dryly. “Let’s move on to the gunshot wounds. Are you absolutely certain of their sequence?”

  Goode shook his head. “Except for the back shot, no. It’s pretty clear that that one came at the end.”

  “Is there any way of determining how rapidly Lieutenant McCarran fired?”

  “No.”

  “So you have no reason to dispute Major Dahl’s testimony that the first three popping sounds she heard occurred within split seconds.”

  “I don’t.”

  Terry put his hands on his hips. “For the record, you’re not suggesting that firing three quick shots to stop an angry man with lethal skills is overkill, are you?”

  “Objection,” Flynn called out. “The question is argumentative and addresses an implication the witness never made.”

  “That’s simply not true,” Terry told Hollis with a trace of anger. “The thrust of the witness’s direct testimony was to cast this shooting as tantamount to execution. If Brian McCarran had been resisting a home invasion, no one would quarrel with the number of shots, or the location of the wounds. What I’m addressing is the extremely unsubtle premise underlying Dr. Goode’s responses to Major Flynn.”

  Hollis frowned, pensive. Turning, he asked the witness, “For the record, Dr. Goode, does anything in the medical evidence allow you to determine Lieutenant McCarran’s motive or state of mind at the moment he fired those shots?”

  Terry tried to conceal his surprise and satisfaction. Perfectly posed, the question undermined the influence Flynn had constructed with such care: that D’Abruzzo’s wounds suggested the calculated murder of a defenseless man. Glumly but respectfully Goode answered, “No. Nothing.”

  Hollis nodded to Terry. ”You may continue, Captain.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Facing the witness, Terry said, “Let’s turn to the impact of the gunshots. Do people who get shot always fall down?”

  A brief look of irritation crossed Goode’s face. “Of course not.”

  “The captain was tall, well-muscled, and very strong. Is it likely that his wounds in the arm or palm would cause Captain D’Abruzzo to collapse?”

  “No. Fairly obviously, they didn’t.”

  “Nor, given that the captain was still standing when wounded in the back, did the chest wound bring him down.”

  “True.”

  “Could a man with wounds in the arm and palm continue to move forward?”

  “Yes.”

  Terry paused. “Even with a chest wound, could D’Abruzzo keep on coming toward Lieutenant McCarran?”

  A corner of Goode’s small mouth turned downward. “He could have, yes.”

  “Is it also true that a man with gunshot wounds can appear to be moving deliberately when he’s actually having involuntary muscle spasms?”

  “Yes.”

  “Could such spasmodic movements appear violent and aggressive?”

  “They could,” Goode conceded grudgingly.

  “Is it also possible for a man with fatal gunshot wounds to continue attacking his opponent?”

  Goode puffed his cheeks. “Yes.”

  “Perhaps you could give us an example from your own experience.”

  As Goode studied him, Terry saw a new awareness creep into his eyes. With mild asperity, he answered, “As you seem to know, Captain, we had an incident last year after an armed robbery. In the ensuing gunfight with police, the perpetrator took five bullets—one in the mouth—and continued firing for another minute. Just before the robber collapsed, he killed an officer.”

  Glancing at the members, Terry saw Dr. Wertheimer nod to herself. Satisfied, Terry said, “Let’s talk about the location of Captain D’Abruzzo’s wounds. Are you familiar with the attack positions used in martial arts?”

  Goode waggled his head, as though searching for an appropriate answer. “To a limited degree.” He smiled faintly. “Obviously, I’m not a martial artist.”

  “So you don’t know whether some attack postures begin with a sideways movement?”

  “I have no real insight into that.”

  “But if Lieutenant McCarran claims that D’Abruzzo whirled with his hands raised, preparing to attack, you’re not aware of any medical evidence that refutes that?”

  Goode paused. “No,” he answered. “I’m not.”

  “In contrast, you suggested that the wound to the captain’s palm may have resulted from a defensive reflex—in which he raised a hand to protect himself.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “You certainly did,” Terry said coldly. “But isn’t it also possible that the wound occurred when D’Abruzzo was lunging for the gun?”

  In truth, Terry had no idea—Brian had fired this shot after his purported loss of memory
. “What about the absence of GSR?” Goode parried.

  “We’ll get to that. Please answer the question as posed.”

  Goode briefly touched his chin. “The angle of the wound was upward. But depending on where the accused held the gun, your proposition is at least conceivable.”

  “Not just conceivable,” Terry shot back. “Isn’t my ‘proposition’ as likely as yours?”

  “I can’t quote odds,” Goode said with faint resentment. “Both are possible.”

  “With respect to the chest wound, you already conceded that D’Abruzzo might have been moving forward. Is that consistent with the angle of the bullet?”

  “It could be, yes.”

  “So let’s take up gunshot residue. By your own testimony, the wounds we’re discussing could have been inflicted from three to four feet without leaving GSR. Is that right?”

  “Right?” Goode repeated. “All I can say is that it’s theoretically possible.”

  “So for all you know, less than four feet separated Captain D’Abruzzo from the lieutenant.”

  Goode shrugged. “That’s possible, yes.”

  Terry stood straighter. “If you were facing a karate expert with lethal skills, would three to four feet feel safe enough to you?”

  “Objection.” Rising, Flynn said, “There’s no foundation for the question. Dr. Goode has already stated his unfamiliarity with martial arts.”

  “Which is all too apparent,” Terry answered. “But that didn’t stop him from suggesting that Brian McCarran had time to disable Captain D’Abruzzo with a well-considered and perfectly aimed bullet to the kneecap.”

  A keen look that could have been amusement surfaced in Hollis’s eyes. “Then maybe you should ask him about that, Captain Terry.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor.” Facing Goode, Terry asked, “On what basis—if any—do you believe that the lieutenant had time to consider and execute a shot to the leg if D’Abruzzo was attacking him from four feet away?”

  For a moment, Goode said nothing. “I simply can’t answer that,” he allowed.

  “All right. Major Flynn also asked if it was possible that Lieutenant McCarran shot the captain as soon as the door closed behind him. So let’s consider another scenario.” Moving closer, Terry spoke as though he were telling a story. “Drunk and angry, D’Abruzzo told Brian McCarran that he’d gouge out his eyes and shatter his windpipe. He kept moving closer, threatening Brian until he reached for the gun. When he was perhaps six feet away, he whirled sideways, ready to attack.