CHAPTER 64
LOU PALUCCI WAS laughing, the phone receiver bobbing up and down with the flab on his double chin.
“I’m serious,” Chandler said. “I need you to do me a favor.” He heard a door close and realized Palucci was probably still at the lab and had just sequestered himself inside his office.
“The last favor I did for you nearly cost me my job. Is your memory that short?”
“Last time I checked, you were still in charge of the lab.”
“The answer’s no, Chandler. Absolutely not.”
“You don’t even know what I need.”
“The very point,” Palucci said, “is that you need something. And that means that I can’t help you. I work for the state, not Ryan Chandler.”
Chandler took a deep breath. “Lou, this is no big deal, but you’re the only one who can do it.”
“I don’t like the sound of it already, and I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
“It’s just a few numbers. Lot numbers, on the bottoms of the beer cans found in Phil Madison’s car and those confiscated from Harding’s house.”
“Why do you need those?”
“Don’t ask why. Just get them for me. You’re not running any tests, you’re not spending any state money for private purposes—”
“I’ll think about it. I need to let things settle down a bit before I go poking around. I’ll call you from home if I have anything for you.”
Chandler thanked him and hung up, then slumped in his chair. At this point, there was nothing to do unless Palucci called him back. As he sat there, he thought of a case his father had presided over, a case that first lit the spark in his heart for choosing police work as a career when he was sixteen years old. He smiled at the memory of sitting with his dad on a pier in Bay Shore, Long Island, going over the forensic evidence that helped put a killer behind bars for life.
Johnny Donnelly’s voice echoed through his head.
“It’s time, Junior...it’s time...”
Chandler picked up the phone, stared at it for a long moment, then dialed his father.
CHAPTER 65
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, with the sun poking through the low-hung sky for the first time in two weeks, Denton called Dr. Leonard Ross to the stand. Dr. Ross, a researcher well schooled in the analysis and typing of DNA, had written a textbook on the topic. As a witness he was presentable, though he did have a tendency to talk above the heads of the jurors at times. At two thousand dollars for a half-day of testimony, Denton wanted to make sure Ross’s message got through loud and clear to the jurors; he met with his witness on two occasions to go over the testimony and ensure the fact that the words he used were no more than three syllables in length.
Ross testified as to what the prosecution wanted to communicate to the jury: that the evidence was properly handled and preserved with little or no risk of contamination, and the delay in running the DNA testing was of no consequence whatsoever.
He explained the process of DNA analysis, starting with the protein building blocks and moving through genetics in half an hour in a manner that would have had even a ten-year-old nodding comprehension. Denton was pleased with how it was presented.
Although Warwick pecked away with information supposedly quoted from his own consultant, namely that the delay could have caused degradation and produced incorrect results, Ross stood by his position. He referred to his textbook repeatedly, a tactic that was designed to solidify his reputation as the expert and to ground his opinions in fact. “You’re arguing with the person who wrote the book,” Ross said at one point—which could have been taken as egotistical and turned off the jury. However, it came off instead as his way of defending himself from Warwick’s incessant attack that was riddled with desperation tactics and baseless opinions.
“Answer this for me, sir,” Warwick asked, getting up close to Ross, “why did the lab use the PCR method as opposed to the RFLP method of analysis?”
“PCR is more sensitive. It also allows typing in situations where it wouldn’t have been possible before. It gives us the ability to type DNA with the smallest of sample sizes. All we require is one-billionth of a gram of DNA. Before, we wouldn’t have been able to even begin analysis with RFLP on such a small sample size.”
“PCR...isn’t that the method where photocopies are made of the DNA pattern? Isn’t it less accurate than RFLP?”
“Let me answer one question at a time,” Ross said with a chuckle. “You mention photocopying. That’s a gross simplification to the point of being misleading. PCR is a technique that was developed from the very basis of how DNA strands naturally replicate, or copy themselves, within a cell. The key concept is that an enzyme called DNA polymerase can be stimulated to synthesize, or create, a specific region of DNA. In the same manner, PCR can be used to repeatedly duplicate or amplify a strand of DNA many millions of times. So it’s not photocopying,” he said, talking down to Warwick in a manner in which a teacher reprimands a student who was attempting to show off at the teacher’s expense.
“Now to your other question of PCR being less accurate than RFLP,” Ross continued. “It used to be that the frequency of occurrence of one of the gene types that is isolated, the DQ alpha gene, is greater than the frequencies typically obtained through the RFLP method. But, a typing kit known as Polymarker allows the typing of five different genetic markers. When used in combination with DQ alpha, it will produce frequencies of occurrence of less than one in a thousand. In this case, Mr. Saperstein also included the DIS80 marker, which is quite an uncommon marker.
“In general, the more markers you use, the better the odds are in excluding possible matches from the general population. That’s why the odds in this case are one in fifty thousand.” Ross paused for a second to take a breath. “So, I personally do not feel that anything significant is lost with the PCR method—in fact, a tremendous amount is gained.”
Warwick looked perturbed for a moment. He had committed the cardinal sin in cross-examination: he had asked a question without making sure he knew the answer that was coming. But in fact, there was no way that Warwick could have known that Ross was going to cite cutting-edge research and methodology.
“How big a sample of DNA are we talking about in this particular case against my client?”
“The DNA was obtained from saliva residues on a beer can, so there was more than enough to get an accurate result.”
Denton knew that Warwick was well aware of that very unfortunate fact.
The public defender cocked his head. “How big is a molecule of DNA?”
“It’s microscopic.”
“So it’s nothing we can really see with the naked eye. It’s nothing that I or any of the jurors could look at and see for ourselves.”
“No. But I assure you it exists and is quite real.”
“Uh-huh,” Warwick said, as if to mock Ross’s last comment. “You said earlier while being questioned by Mr. Denton that DNA can become contaminated?”
“Yes.”
“What are some of the ways in which this can occur?”
“A number of factors or situations.”
“Can you name some?”
“Improper handling of the evidence, improper storage conditions, high humidity, excessive dirt, dust, things of that nature.”
“What about sneezing? Could that spoil a sample?”
“Yes.”
“Coughing?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm,” Warwick said, pacing away from the witness.
The jurors’ eyes followed him. “Something as benign as a sneeze could contaminate the sample.”
“Yes, but—”
“And how much time elapsed between the time that the evidence was gathered and the actual lifting of the saliva from the cans?”
“As I said earlier, I believe six weeks.”
Denton felt pimples of sweat forming on his forehead.
“Six weeks,” Warwick said. “And you said dust or even dirt could co
ntaminate the sample?”
“Again, as I said a moment ago, yes. But it would have to be—”
“And when a DNA sample is contaminated, the results that it yields are then no longer considered accurate.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
Warwick had stopped and leaned back against the defense table, arms folded across his chest. He looked hard and long at Ross, as if he were pondering what he had just answered. It was no doubt intended as an exclamation point for the jury. “Yes, I suppose I could. Thank you, Dr. Ross. I have nothing further.”
“Redirect, Mr. Denton?” Calvino asked.
“Yes, Your Honor.” He stood rapidly and walked to the spot in front of the witness stand, facing Ross. “Doctor, was the sample in question contaminated?”
“No. Not to my knowledge.”
“Was the evidence properly stored, in a facility where there were no unusual amounts of humidity, direct sunlight, dust, or dirt?”
“From what I’ve read in the report, standard protocol was followed, and the evidence was properly marked, stored, and handled.”
“How does sneezing or coughing contaminate a sample?”
“Contamination occurs because you have someone else’s DNA intermixing with the sample DNA. It’s only a concern when you’re dealing with a very small sample, which, as I said, is not the case here. However, even if it were, we would be able to separate out the DNA from the person who sneezed or coughed from the DNA of the suspect.”
“It sounds very sophisticated.”
“It is,” Ross said. “Very sophisticated.”
“And accurate?”
“Extremely accurate.”
“If a DNA sample were contaminated or degraded by dirt or dust, or any such substance, would the tainted analysis come back with results implicating Brittany Harding?”
“No, the results would either be incomplete or unmatchable.”
“And that was not the case here?”
“No.”
“They clearly matched Brittany Harding’s DNA?”
“Yes, they did.”
“Is there any reason to believe that the results produced by the DNA analysis in this case were tainted, degraded, contaminated, or otherwise rendered inaccurate?”
“Absolutely none whatsoever.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ross.”
Denton walked back to the prosecutor’s table, threw a look of triumph at Warwick, and sat down. Warwick’s strategy of attempting to place doubt in the minds of the jurors was neutralized by Denton’s pointedly successful redirect; he was gathering momentum, which was exactly what he wanted as he led into his next witness, Mark Stanton.
Stanton, impeccably dressed and imposing by way of his wholesome good looks and articulate manner, seduced the jury as he told of Harding’s false claims of sexual harassment. As he spoke, Harding seated at the defense table, rolled her eyes and shook her head.
The jury listened intently as Stanton described his conversation with Movis Ehrhardt. Denton inquired about the video they were about to play. Stanton explained why it was made, who made it, the date it was filmed, and the manner in which the filming was accomplished.
Warwick objected again to the showing of the video for the record, citing its lack of foundation and relevance, and its highly prejudicial nature. Calvino overruled the objection, and the bailiff was instructed to initiate playback.
As expected, it had the same effect on the jury as it had had on everyone else who had viewed it—some of the jurors looked at Harding afterward, their faces betraying their thoughts: how could someone be so cold and calculating? She turned away to avoid their gazes, as clear an admission of guilt as there was without overtly entering a guilty plea.
Denton extracted from Stanton the reasons for his reluctance to testify, and by the time he finished, he had all the jurors’ sympathies...while Harding had all their wrath.
To cap off the day, Denton finished with a mere formality: the private investigator who filmed the video—verifying the date and time when it was created, and what he observed. He flawlessly reiterated Stanton’s story.
Warwick had no questions for either of them; the damage had been done, and belaboring the subject would only drive home the image of Harding’s admission of extortion.
Although Warwick undoubtedly wanted to ignore the repulsive content of the tape and move on, Denton was hoping that it would remain an indelible mark against Harding no matter what her attorney was able to accomplish in the coming days of trial.
CHAPTER 66
THE DAY FOLLOWING Stanton’s testimony, Hellman was in Department 12, participating in the trial that had started a couple of days ago. The judge had recessed early, and Hellman stopped in to see how Denton’s case was progressing. He arrived at the tail end of the day’s testimony pertaining to the rape accusation against Madison.
One of Denton’s last witnesses, who was on the stand when Hellman arrived, was Mary Bender, a police officer trained as a rape counselor. It was her job to meet with the victim upon presentation, and accompany her to the hospital to ensure that the appropriate evidence was properly secured and marked. She was well versed in trials, having testified in over one hundred rape cases as to the nature of the evidence obtained, the type of physical evidence one would expect to find on a victim, and the process by which the evidence was collected.
“So, Officer Bender, please tell the court what evidence one would expect to find following a rape,” Denton said.
She leaned forward and used a hand to comb her coarse ash blond locks behind her ears. “We’d find seminal constituents in or around the vagina of a rape victim. Physical findings such as bruises or bleeding confirm that a violent act occurred. Sometimes, the transfer of physical evidence, such as blood, semen, hairs, and fibers will occur between assailant and victim.
“Following the act, we take vaginal swabs, and sometimes oral and anal swabs as well. Pubic combings will be made to check for loose or foreign hairs. Saliva and blood samples are secured, and fingernail scrapings are taken to check for skin that the victim might have scratched from the assailant.”
“You’ve read the report of the investigating officers?”
“Yes, I have.”
“And was any of the physical evidence you mentioned a moment ago found in this complaint of rape brought by Ms. Harding?”
“No.”
“And why is that?”
“Because Ms. Harding did not come forward until five weeks after the alleged act.”
Denton walked back to the jury box, leaned on the railing, and faced his witness. “A moment ago, you mentioned a number of common items of evidence found in rape cases. Have you ever heard of phone calls made from an alleged assailant’s home being used as evidence of rape?”
“No.”
“What about fingerprints of the alleged assailant on the alleged victim’s belt?”
“In and of itself, I wouldn’t use that as evidence that a rape occurred. There are obviously a great many explanations for the presence of fingerprints on a belt buckle.”
“Objection,” interrupted Warwick. “Officer Bender is not an expert on what could or could not be considered evidence in a rape trial.”
Calvino looked over to Denton for his response. “Your Honor,” Denton said, turning away from his witness to face the judge, “Ms. Bender is a police officer with special training in rape cases. She often testifies as to the collection of evidence, and the relevance of each piece of that physical evidence. I believe she’s eminently qualified to comment—if not from a legal perspective, then from the perspective of a police officer trained in the investigation of rape.”
“Overruled, Mr. Warwick.”
Denton turned back to Bender. “In your opinion, officer, is there any evidence at all of rape in this case?”
“None. None whatsoever.”
“Thank you, officer,” Denton said as he turned to take his seat.
Calvino asked Warwick if his cross-exa
mination could wait until tomorrow; receiving an affirmative response, court was convened for the day and the jury was dismissed.
As Denton packed his attaché, Hellman walked over. “Looking good.”
“Went well. But this is all slam-dunk stuff. This morning I brought on the two rape detectives—Coleman and Valentine.”
“Coleman and Valentine. I remember them,” Hellman said, shaking his head in a manner displaying dissatisfaction.
“Don’t knock them too hard, they did well today. They told how they followed up on all of their leads, and the fact that there was virtually nowhere to go because of the lack of evidence. No witnesses, no police report, no medical evidence. Straightforward stuff.” He snapped his briefcase shut. “The tough part comes when your guy takes the stand.”
“He’ll be ready,” Hellman said. “Any idea when you’ll need him?”
“Friday. Tell him to be ready for Friday.”
It was Madison who suggested he and Hellman meet for dinner a couple of nights later at Fifth Street Café. He had been unable to go near the place since his meeting with Harding a few months ago, but he thought a positive dining experience with his friend could help restore its status as his favorite restaurant.
Hellman scooped his escargot while Madison munched on his duck salad.
“Ronald Norling testified yesterday. He was a little rough around the edges, but he did well. Warwick couldn’t rattle him. At one point, when Warwick was trying to beat him down, Norling said, ‘Look, man, I’m just telling you what I saw and heard. She said she was going to get even, make him pay. Simple as that. I don’t know this guy Madison, and I don’t know that lady over there. I don’t care what happens to either of them. I’m just telling you how it was.’ Totally shut Warwick down. He had to back off.” Hellman chuckled. “Warwick then tried to attack his background, but the kid put him down again, telling him that he wasn’t a model citizen, and didn’t claim to be—he just saw what he saw. Nobody gave him anything for testifying, and he was missing time from his new job back East. So he told him, essentially, get out of my face. Great stuff.”
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