“Did you have occasion to compare fingerprint evidence in the case of the State of Washington versus Ezekiel Frazier?”
Emerson nodded. “Yes, I did.”
“Could you please explain to the jury the nature of that evidence?”
Emerson turned again to the jury. He’d caught his breath by then, so wasn’t panting any more. But he was throttling that report with both hands now, squeezing and twisting it as he spoke. “The police recovered a partial fingerprint from the handgun that was recovered from the vehicle. I compared that fingerprint to a known fingerprint of the defendant.”
Talon decided she needed to get that report away from him. If it was distracting her, it was likely distracting some of the jurors. And it didn’t exactly make him look trustworthy to be fidgeting like a schoolboy who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Did you eventually write a report of your findings?” she asked, picking up the clean, marked, uncrumpled copy of his report from her table.
“Uh, yes,” Emerson looked back at her to answer.
Talon stepped forward to place the exhibit on the shelf in front of the witness chair. She extended a hand for his crumpled papers. Emerson hesitated, seemingly unsure of what she wanted, but then realizing and handing her the wrinkled scroll.
I’ve handed you what’s been marked as exhibit twenty-seven. Is that a copy of your report?”
Emerson reviewed it for a few moments and Talon placed his other copy on her table.
“Yes,” he answered. “This is my report.”
Good, Talon thought. He wasn’t the easiest witness, or most persuasive, but now at least she could focus on what really mattered.
“Now, before we talk about your conclusions,” she said, “did law enforcement ever analyze the partial fingerprint from the gun?”
Emerson turned to the jury and shook his head. “No. They determined it had no comparison value.”
“What does that mean?” Talon asked. “No comparison value?”
So Emerson explained. “Prints left behind at a crime scene—known as ‘latent’ prints—are only valuable if there’s enough left behind to compare to a full print of a known suspect. In order to include a suspect as the contributor of the latent print, the latent needs to include at least ten or twelve specific points depending on the comparison technique used.
“The latent print in this case,” he explained further, “only had five of those points.”
“So it couldn’t be used to conclusively identify a particular suspect?” Talon summarized.
“Correct,” Emerson confirmed.
“But could it be used to exclude a suspect?” Talon followed up.
“I believe so, yes,” Emerson replied.
Talon suppressed a wince. Just say, ‘Yes,’ she thought.
“Why is that?” she asked.
“You can compare the five points from the latent print against any possible suspect,” Emerson told the jurors, “and if they don’t all match, then you can exclude the suspect. If they all match, it wouldn’t include him, but if they don’t all match, it does exclude him.”
“Did you compare the five points from the partial print on the gun in this case,” Talon asked, “against known fingerprints of Mr. Frazier?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Were you able to draw any conclusions about whether Mr. Frazier is the one who contributed that latent print?”
Emerson thought for a moment. “Yes.”
Okay, here we go, Talon thought.
“And what was your conclusion?”
Emerson turned to the jury. “Three of the five points matched Mr. Frazier, but the other two points were not matches. Therefore, I can exclude Mr. Frazier as the contributor of the latent print recovered from the gun.”
Talon exhaled. No ‘maybe, probably, I think.’ He finally seemed certain in his opinion. Maybe he’d seen that suppressed wince of hers.
She might have asked one more question—something to translate his expert-speak into normal speech, something like, ‘So he’s not the one who left that print?’—but he’d basically said that. She could translate it in her closing if it was really necessary to do so, and the last thing she wanted was to give him a chance to fudge his conclusion.
“Thank you, Mr. Emerson. No further questions.”
She returned to her seat and everyone in the courtroom turned to Alcott.
“You got fired for incompetence, right?” she started.
Talon wasn’t really surprised. Alcott was, at her core, a self-righteous bitch. A chance to embarrass someone for their failings and humanity wasn’t something she was likely to pass up.
Emerson shook his head. “No, I was fired because my alcoholism made it impossible for me to fulfill my job requirements.”
“Right. So, incompetence,” Alcott insisted.
But Emerson wouldn’t agree. “Incompetence means I didn’t know how to compare fingerprints, or I did it wrong, or I made mistakes and said prints matched when they didn’t, or didn’t match when they did. None of that happened. What happened was, I kept missing work because I couldn’t get out of bed in the morning.”
“So you couldn’t complete your assignments?”
“Correct,” Emerson agreed.
“Sounds like incompetence to me,” Alcott scoffed.
“Yes, well, you’re not a scientist,” Emerson returned. “You’re a lawyer. I’d rather be a scientist.”
That actually pulled a couple of muted chuckles from the jury box. And if Talon noticed, it was sure that Alcott did too.
The prosecutor narrowed her eyes at Emerson. “You got paid for your opinion, right?”
“No,” Emerson replied in his usual subdued manner. “I got paid for my analysis and my time. But my opinion is my opinion. I don’t get paid to say a particular thing.”
“Sounds like the same thing to me,” Alcott said.
“You’re getting paid to be here today, too, right?” Emerson asked. “Does that mean you’re not being honest?”
“Objection!” Alcott called out, and looked to the judge.
But objections were for lawyers’ questions, not witnesses’ answers. Haroldson cocked his head at her. “What’s the objection exactly?”
“I’m the one asking the questions,” she said. “Not the witness.”
Talon stayed out of it.
Haroldson took a moment, then told Alcott, “Ask another question.”
“So, again, you’re getting paid to be here, right?” she repeated.
“I’m being paid for my time, yes,” Emerson confirmed. “But again, not my opinion. That would never work because scientific opinions are reviewable.”
Alcott’s eyebrows knitted together. Talon knew she was about to ask a question she didn’t know the answer to.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Emerson explained, “you could take my report to your own fingerprint experts—ones who still work at the Crime Lab—and ask them if I’m right. Did you do that?”
Alcott’s face went even whiter than it usually was.
Talon knew the answer to that question, Emerson’s question. And the jurors did, too, based on Alcott’s reaction. But she refused to say it out loud.
“Let’s talk about these points,” she changed the subject. “How many did you say are needed to have comparison value? Ten or twelve, right?”
“It depends,” Emerson answered, “on whether you’re trying to include or exclude.”
“And you need twelve to include, right?” Alcott asked.
“At least twelve,” Emerson answered. “The more, the better.”
“And isn’t the entire point of a law enforcement investigation to identify a suspect?” Alcott tried.
Emerson thought for a moment. His shoulders were still stooped, but he’d gotten comfortable with Alcott somehow. He knew more about the subject than she did. So past travails or not, he was in the superior position.
“Gosh, I hope not,” he ans
wered.
“What do you mean?” Alcott demanded.
“I mean,” Emerson turned to the jurors, not because he’d been trained that way, but because he seemed to truly believe what he was saying, “investigations should be about finding out the truth, whatever that is, whoever it inculpates or exonerates. It’s important for law enforcement to use forensic science to identify possible suspects, but I think it’s even more important to use it to exclude people who would normally be suspects but, in truth, are innocent. If we don’t do that, why do anything?”
He turned back to Alcott for her next question. But she didn’t seem to have one ready. Her arms were at her sides, hands balled into fists. Everyone waited for her to say something. But she didn’t. Finally, the judge interrupted the awkward silence. “Ms. Alcott?”
“No further questions,” she barked and spun on her heels back toward her seat.
Talon stood up as quickly as she could to end Emerson’s unexpectedly solid testimony. “No redirect, Your Honor.”
“The witness is excused,” Haroldson announced, and Emerson stepped down from the stand.
He tried to stop at Talon’s counsel table and talk to her, gesturing vaguely at his crumpled report, but she couldn’t talk to him. He may have been done, but she wasn’t, and the jury was watching. She handed him the report and waved him off.
“Does the defense have any further witnesses?” Haroldson asked formally, even though they all knew the answer.
“No, Your Honor,” Talon answered. “The defense rests.”
Haroldson turned to Alcott. “Any rebuttal case?”
Alcott stood and shook her head. “No, Your Honor.”
The judge looked back to address the jurors. “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the evidence portion of the case. When we reconvene, the attorneys will deliver their closing arguments, after which you will retire for your deliberations. You are excused to the jury room for further instructions regarding the schedule.”
Once the bailiff had led them out of the courtroom and closed the door behind them, Haroldson addressed the attorneys again.
“Is there any reason we can’t do closing arguments immediately after lunch today?”
Talon looked at the clock. Emerson had taken less than an hour. Even though she would have preferred to have the night to work on her closing, she knew the judge was eager to wrap the case up. She could be ready if she had to be.
“No, Your Honor,” she answered.
The judge looked to Alcott, who still seemed lost in her own thoughts. “Ms. Alcott?”
“Uh, no, Your Honor,” she replied. “No reason at all. The State will be ready.”
“Good,” Haroldson said. Then he adjourned court with a bang of his gavel and retired to his chambers.
Talon turned to check in with Zeke, who seemed pleased enough, but really, it was impossible to know what a jury thought about anything. The corrections officers closed in to cuff him and get him out of the courtroom as soon as possible. Talon patted him on the shoulder, then went to see what Marshall thought of Emerson.
But as she reached Marshall’s spot two rows behind her, Emerson came running up to her again. He hadn’t left the courtroom after his testimony.
“Talon, I’m really sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but I thought you’d want to know. Your brother’s fingerprint is a match for the gun.”
Talon frowned, but she wasn’t surprised.
“Looks like your case just got tougher,” she joked to Marshall. “They’re gonna charge with that gun in the trunk too.”
“No,” Emerson interrupted. “Not that case. This case. Your brother matches the print left on the gun in this case.”
CHAPTER 37
“What?” Talon half-shouted. Then, before Emerson could answer, she grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him to the back corner of the courtroom. Marshall followed.
“What did you say?” she demanded in hushed tones.
“The five points from the latent print found in Mr. Frazier’s case,” Emerson repeated, “all match your brother’s known fingerprints.”
When Talon didn’t immediately respond, her grip still fastened to his sleeve, Emerson went on. “I had all the reports last night for both cases, and when I started comparing for the new cases, I couldn’t help but notice your brother’s print looked similar to the one from Mr. Frazier’s case. So I did a full comparison and it’s clear that your brother’s print matches.”
“But you can’t positively include him, right?” Talon said. “Because you’d need twelve points.”
Emerson shrugged. “I could do it with ten,” he qualified, “but no, I can’t definitively include him. It would take other evidence.”
“Like what?” Marshall asked.
“A description,” Talon knew. “Skinny guy, long black hair, lots of tattoos, hangs out with drug users, hadn’t been around for a long time.”
Marshall cocked his head at her. “Bear?”
“Bear.” Talon nodded and closed her eyes. “Bear is my brother.”
CHAPTER 38
“What are you gonna do?”
Talon was back at her office. She’d convened an emergency session of any lawyer she could find, plus Curt. The conference room held her, Marshall, Olsen, Feingarten, and Curt. She was pacing while others sat around the conference table. It was Olsen who’d asked the question.
“I don’t know,” Talon answered it.
“I do,” Feingarten said. “You’re not going to do a damned thing.”
Talon cocked her head at her. “My brother is responsible for putting that gun under my client’s seat. I can put him on the stand to say that.”
“He’s not going to say that,” Feingarten scoffed. “He’s a felon. He’s not going to admit to touching a gun. He’s gonna plead the Fifth.”
“Not if I’m the one who asks the question,” Talon insisted.
“Oh yeah?” Feingarten crossed her arms. “Are you his lawyer?”
“No,” Marshall spoke up. “I am.”
“You gonna let your client admit to a felony that’s gonna put him in prison—back in prison—for, what, five more years?” Feingarten asked. “Ten, depending on his history.”
“Probably closer to ten,” Talon put in.
Marshall shrugged. “Probably not,” he admitted.
“Definitely not,” Feingarten shot back. “If you want to keep your license.”
“You don’t even know it’s really him, though, right?” Olsen pointed out. “I mean, shouldn’t you drive up to the jail and ask him?”
“No time.” Talon shook her head. “I have to give closing argument right after lunch.”
“I could go,” Curt offered.
“Is anyone listening?” Feingarten interrupted. “He’s not going to admit to committing a crime. Not to anyone except his lawyer, and that’s absolutely privileged. Mr. Lenox could go, but he couldn’t tell us what he said.”
“What about a photo?” Talon thought. “Put my client on the stand and show him a photo of Will. Ask him, ‘Is that Bear?’”
“You’re going to expose your client to cross-examination just so he can add a photograph to the description you’ve already provided the jury?” Feingarten questioned. “And what will that jury think when they hear the guy in the photo is your brother?”
“They’ll think I’m a terrible sister,” Talon said.
“No,” Feingarten laughed. “They’ll think you’re a liar. They won’t believe a word of it. They’ll think you’re desperate and went home and found a photo of your brother to trick them just because he kind of looks like the description of this imaginary Bear guy.”
“I could put Emerson back on to say the prints match,” Talon considered.
Marshall shook his head. “But he just testified he couldn’t include anyone based on only five points,” he pointed out.
Talon spun and ran her hands through her hair. “Ugghh. I have to withdraw. This is a conflict. I can’t give closing argument
s.”
“It’s a potential conflict,” Olsen said. “You don’t actually know for sure it’s your brother. Not yet, anyway.”
“You don’t have to withdraw,” Feingarten said. “You rested. The State declined rebuttal. You couldn’t put on any evidence even if you wanted to. Not without leave of the court, anyway.”
“So, don’t I have to ask for that leave?” Talon asked. “Don’t I have to do something?”
Feingarten stood up. “Yes. You have to do the absolute best you can for your client. How did the trial go?”
Talon thought for a moment and shrugged. “I don’t know. Good, I guess.”
“It went really well,” Marshall put in. “I’ve watched the entire thing, and she did a great job. I think she has a real chance of winning.”
Feingarten grabbed Talon by the shoulders and looked her straight in the eye. Talon felt like a little girl who’d been seized by her mother. “Can you win this case? Is there any chance?”
Talon thought for a moment. “Yes. If they think maybe he did borrow someone else’s pants. If they think Bear is real and he didn’t know about the gun. Yes, maybe. I could win it.”
“Then win it,” Feingarten demanded. “And don’t hold back in your closing. Give it everything you have, knowing no matter what, he won’t be going to prison. Not this time anyway.”
Talon lowered her eyebrows. “What do you mean? They could definitely convict him. The crack was in his fucking pocket.”
“If they convict him,” Feingarten grinned, “then you tell the court about your brother. About the conflict. About this newly discovered evidence that casts doubt on his guilt. The judge will have to grant a new trial, no matter what the jury says.”
“Unless they say, ‘Not guilty,’” Talon knew.
“You can’t appeal an acquittal,” Marshall recited the well-worn truism. He stood up too. “So go back in there this afternoon and make sure there’s nothing to appeal.”
CHAPTER 39
Talon couldn’t have eaten lunch even if she’d had time for it, which she really didn’t. But there was no way she would have held anything down. She took what time she’d had left after her emergency consult and did her best to focus her thoughts for closing argument. She got back to the courtroom fifteen minutes before they were supposed to start. Alcott was already there. She considered wishing her luck. She decided against it.
Talon Winter Legal Thrillers Box Set Page 42