Trial, page 42
67
The next day, Assistant District Attorney Amanda Jackson presented her first witness for the prosecution, her matter-of-fact demeanor suggesting that prosecuting Malcolm Hill was simply part of the job, not the subject of misgivings.
The witness, Joel Stein, was a chubby, balding man in his forties whose calm and straightforward manner reflected who he was—a veteran of numerous trials as a crime scene investigator for the GBI, with additional expertise in DNA evidence. Quickly, Jackson moved to the heart of his testimony.
“On the night of Deputy Bullock’s death, Mr. Stein, did you respond to the scene?”
“I did, with two other members of my team. There were a number of deputies already there, standing near a white Honda Civic. Inside was Deputy Bullock.”
“How did he appear?”
Stein grimaced, a frown tugging at the ends of his mouth. “He was deceased, obviously. He had a substantial gunshot wound to the head, and his face was in the condition described by the medical examiner. After obtaining a search warrant for the car, we proceeded to take photographs of his head and torso, enlargements of which were shown in connection with the testimony by Deputy Spinetta.”
“After taking the photographs, did you obtain physical evidence from the body?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Stein answered. “We bagged the deputy’s hands so they could be swabbed for gunshot residue. We also requested that the sheriff’s department bag Mr. Hill’s hands, so that our people could swab them as well.”
“What else did you do?”
“We observed that Deputy Bullock’s service weapon was still in his holster. Thereafter, we located a gun on the floor of the passenger side—a black Glock 19. We photographed it, bagged it, and removed it from the scene. That way we could inspect it for fingerprints and DNA before our ballistics expert performed his own inspection.”
“Were you able to find out who owned the gun?”
Stein looked toward the jury. “Yes. Roughly two weeks before, Malcolm Hill had purchased that Glock at Freedom Guns, just a couple blocks down Main Street.”
“Did you subsequently determine whether there were fingerprints on the Glock 19?”
“There weren’t any,” Stein replied promptly. “That’s pretty common.”
Jackson moved closer to the witness, standing so that Stein was facing the jury. “Did you find any DNA evidence on the gun?”
“We found trace DNA from the defendant and the victim.”
This, Chase knew, was a critical point. For the prosecution, Stein was a mixed blessing—they needed him to establish certain forensic evidence essential to proving elements of the crime, including such basics as identifying the gun and its owner. But in the process, they were compelled to elicit facts potentially helpful to Malcolm’s defense. No doubt Harris had been happy enough to give this witness to Amanda Jackson.
“Did you later determine,” she asked Stein, “whether there was gunshot residue on the defendant’s hands?”
He nodded briskly. “There was. In fact, there was a goodly amount, suggesting that the defendant had one or both of his hands on the gun at the time that it fired.”
As Robert Franklin took notes in the jury box, Jackson let the answer linger for a moment. “No further questions,” she said.
As Ford walked toward Joel Stein, Malcolm fidgeted in his chair. He had begun holding a pen in his hand, Chase noticed, twisting it between his thumb and forefingers.
Ford stopped a few feet from the witness, hands on his hips. Without preface, he said, “So there was gunshot residue on the hands of both Malcolm Hill and Deputy Bullock.”
Briefly, Stein hesitated. “That’s correct. In fact, on both of the deputy’s hands.”
“We already know that the deputy’s DNA was on the gun itself.”
“Yes. On the handle.”
“And where was Mr. Hill’s DNA?”
“Also the handle. As well as the barrel.”
Ford gave him a curious look. “Obviously, Deputy Bullock left his DNA on the Glock 19 the night of the shooting.”
“It seems obvious to me that he did.”
Ford showed the same brief smile that, Chase realized, a smart witness should take as a warning. “So when did Mr. Hill’s DNA get on the barrel?”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean which day or days of the ‘roughly two weeks’ that Mr. Hill had owned the gun?”
Comprehension seemed to slightly widen Stein’s eyes. “I can’t know,” he conceded.
“Uh-huh. So for all you know, Deputy Bullock was aiming the gun at Malcolm, and Malcolm Hill managed to deflect it.”
Stein considered the question with a look of intense concentration. “It’s possible. But with the angle of the bullet, how does that make sense?”
“Isn’t the real problem, Mr. Stein, that you’re assuming Malcolm pointed the gun at Deputy Bullock, and that’s how his DNA got on the handle?”
“I might have. But all I’m testifying to is the DNA evidence, which is that both men left DNA on the handle of the gun.”
Ford stepped closer to the witness stand. “But when? Let me try a not-so-hypothetical hypothetical. As a predicate, you agree that there were absentee ballot applications on the passenger seat—some of which ended up with Deputy Bullock’s blood on them.”
“That’s true.”
“Suppose I told you that the gun was under the absentee ballot applications, and that Deputy Bullock reached for the applications, uncovered the gun, grabbed it, and tried to aim at the defendant. Is there any evidence of which you’re aware that contradicts that hypothetical?” Ford smiled again. “Oh, and please don’t hurry to answer. You may need some time to sort out your previous suppositions.”
Stein put curled fingers to his chin. “I don’t know the basis for your hypothetical,” he said at last. “But at this point, I can’t think of evidence that directly contradicts it.”
“What about evidence that supports it? For example, did you find fingerprints on the applications themselves?”
“The defendant’s.” Stein paused for a moment. “And Deputy Bullock’s.”
By now, Chase had perceived the brilliance of Ford’s cross-examination, because he had grasped where it was going. But it was not yet apparent that Stein had.
“So you’re willing to concede,” Ford continued, “that Deputy Bullock reached for the ballot applications?”
“Perhaps, but not necessarily. Another possibility is that he touched them while falling after receiving his wound.”
“In either case,” Ford said easily, “that raises another interesting question. Exactly what was Deputy Bullock doing inside Malcolm Hill’s car?”
“I don’t know,” Stein responded impatiently. “I wasn’t there.”
“Then let me be more precise. Before you searched the defendant’s car, you got a search warrant, yes?”
“Of course,” Stein said. “The law requires it—” He stopped abruptly.
“Did Officer Bullock?” Ford asked.
Briefly, Stein shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Actually, Mr. Stein, he did not. Nor, I think you’ll agree, did he turn on his body or dashboard cameras.”
Stein hesitated again. “That’s true. He didn’t.”
“So we don’t have video or audio telling us whether Deputy Bullock just fell into those papers, or tried to grab them without the benefit of a search warrant.”
“That’s also true.”
“In fact, Deputy Bullock’s various omissions have deprived us of visual evidence regarding how the shooting happened?”
Swiftly, the witness glanced at Jackson. “Objection,” the district attorney called out. “Asked and answered.”
“Overruled,” Tilly said at once. “You may answer, Mr. Stein.”
“We have no video,” Stein acknowledged. “That would be the best evidence of how the shooting occurred.”
“Then let’s get back to what evidence we do have. Would you say that there were roughly equal amounts of GSR on the hands of both Malcolm Hill and Deputy Bullock?”
“That’s true.”
“Does that suggest,” Ford prodded, “that they struggled for control of the weapon?”
Stein nodded. “It’s among the possibilities.”
“You also testified that neither Malcolm or Bullock left fingerprints on the gun, and that the only trace DNA was on the handle of the gun.”
“That’s true.”
“Indeed, Mr. Stein, you don’t even know who pulled the trigger.”
“No,” Stein said with open annoyance. “But why would Deputy Bullock shoot himself?”
Ford stared at him. “He wouldn’t, deliberately. But isn’t it also possible that Bullock had his finger on the trigger, and the gun went off in the struggle?”
Stein rubbed the fingertips of one hand against the other, for the first time glancing at the television cameras that stared back at him. “That’s conceivable,” he said finally.
“It’s more than conceivable,” Ford rejoined. “Can you offer me any evidence that expressly suggests that Mr. Hill, instead of Deputy Bullock, pulled the trigger?”
“I can’t.”
“I didn’t think so,” Ford snapped. “So let me ask you one final question. Based on your work, can you offer the jury your opinion as an expert as to whether the shooting was deliberate or accidental?”
This time, Stein’s tone mimed resignation. “As you well know, Mr. Ford, I can’t.”
“I do know, Mr. Stein. That’s why I’ve got no more questions. At least for you.”
As Ford sat down, Chase saw the jurors following him, for this moment the courtroom’s center of gravity. Placing his hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, Chase whispered to Ford, “You’re now three for three.”
Late that evening, Chase worked at the desk in his apartment, outlining his first cross-examination in a decade. Finally, after midnight, he crawled into bed next to Allie.
She, too, had not slept. The tension of the trial had drained the passion from them both. What was left was worry for Malcolm, their need for each other’s presence. Quiet, Chase held her in the dark.
“I was thinking about Jabari,” he said at last. “I don’t know if I was ever that good.”
She, too, was quiet for a time. Then she turned and, quite gently, kissed him. “I know you’ll be fine, baby. And so does our son.”
68
The following day, Dalton Harris called the chief firearms inspector for the Georgia Bureau of Investigation to the witness stand. Larry Elder was a native Georgian in his midforties with a lean frame, a calm demeanor, and the sharp-eyed look of a hunter. On the easel was a blow-up of the Glock 19.
Sitting between Ford and Chase, Malcolm could see how sinister the gun would look to the jury—black and blunt, made for killing. While it was not in dispute that Malcolm’s gun had fired the fatal shot, Ford had explained, the prosecutor had to go through the formality of proving this to the jury. But, in the prosecutor’s telling, Malcolm had chosen it to deliberately murder George Bullock.
“The Glock 19,” Elder explained, “is a very popular weapon. Although powerful, it’s relatively small and therefore easy to conceal. Because it has an internal firing pin, you can fire it quickly. You don’t need to cock the hammer—you simply put your finger on the trigger and give it a light squeeze.”
“Is it a reliable handgun?” Harris asked.
Elder nodded. “Extremely reliable. It simply doesn’t misfire. This gun will always do what you want it to do.”
But it hadn’t, Malcolm thought. It just went off.
“How would you describe its capacity to inflict death or serious bodily injury?”
“High. That’s the point of the gun.”
The jury, Malcolm saw, was serious and attentive. “Is this enlargement,” Harris asked the witness, “an accurate depiction of the gun you were asked to inspect?”
“It is.”
“Could you describe the steps you took to evaluate the Glock 19 shown here?”
“Yes.” Again, Elder faced the jury. “First, I inspected the gun to make sure it was firing properly. It was. I checked the trigger pull—the amount of pressure necessary to fire the weapon. Then I fired the weapon, and matched the bullet to the bullet extracted from the victim’s skull.”
“And what did you conclude?”
“Beyond doubt, this is the weapon that killed Deputy Bullock.”
“Thank you,” Harris said. “No further questions.” But in that moment, Malcolm felt the larger implications—inspired by the Double-XX video, Malcolm had purchased a particularly deadly weapon with malicious intent, and then turned it on a deputy who had never drawn his gun. Now the task of undermining this had fallen to the man Malcolm had asked to represent him.
After a brief pause to steady his nerves, Chase touched Malcolm’s shoulder and rose from the defense table to cross-examine Larry Elder.
Briefly, he registered Harris’ look of mild surprise, the curiosity on the faces of the jurors, his son’s worried gaze. He tried to focus on nothing but the witness.
With a calm he did not feel, Chase asked, “Did you determine the make of the bullet extracted from Deputy Bullock?”
Elder nodded. “It’s a Remington 115, full metal jacket.”
“Does it have a hollow point?”
“No.”
“In other words,” Chase continued, “it’s a conventional bullet, not one designed to inflict maximum damage on a human being.”
“That’s right. It will kill you at that range, sure enough. But it’s not made to create the lethal damage a hollow point would.”
“And only that one bullet was fired, correct?”
“Correct.”
With this, Chase felt himself following a once-familiar path. It was a cardinal rule of cross-examination to know the answers before he asked the questions, the better to draw the witness into a rhythm of acquiescence. “As compared to a revolver,” Chase asked, “how much pressure does it take to pull the trigger on a Glock 19?”
From Elder’s expression, Chase divined, he understood where this was going. But he was an expert, not an advocate, and by reputation was committed to accuracy over partisanship. “Relatively less,” he answered.
“Therefore it also requires a lighter touch.”
“That’s right.”
Chase paused for a moment. “As a result, the gun in question could have fired accidentally, in the course of a struggle between Deputy Bullock and Malcolm Hill.”
The witness glanced at Harris. “Yes,” he acknowledged. “That’s possible.”
This was a point for the defense, Chase felt certain, that the prosecution had anticipated—and that, quite likely, they hoped might end the cross-examination. But, if the next questions went as he hoped, he had hardly begun. Casually, he inquired, “What’s the normal trigger pull on a Glock 19?”
“Four to six pounds of pressure.”
“And what was the trigger pull on Malcolm Hill’s Glock?”
“Two to three pounds.”
“In other words,” Chase prodded, “roughly half the pressure required to fire the normal Glock 19—if not less. Did you determine why the defendant’s gun was so much easier to fire?”
Elder shifted in the witness chair. “The Glock the defendant purchased from Freedom Guns was a used gun. The prior owner had modified the gun to make the trigger pull lighter.”
Chase nodded toward the enlargement. “So this particular Glock had what you would call a hair trigger.”
“Pretty close to that, yes.”
“Does that further increase the chances of an accidental shooting?”
“It could, yes.”
Chase felt himself gaining confidence. Part of this was preparation—he had committed to memory every feature of the Glock 19, before consulting with the defense ballistics expert on the particular properties of Malcolm’s gun. “So let me ask you this, Mr. Elder. If two people struggling for this gun touched the trigger simultaneously, would that lighten the trigger pull still more?”
“Yes. Theoretically, it would cut the trigger pull in half.”
“Which, in turn, would further enhance the possibility of accidental shooting.”
“Yes.”
Chase moved closer to the witness. “Does the inherent design of a Glock 19 also increase the risk of an accidental shooting?”
“It does.”
“For what reason?”
Elder turned to look at the enlargement. “The Glock 19 is the best in the world, made right here in Georgia. But it has no external safety—everything works off the trigger.”
“Would you say that accidental firings of a Glock 19 are quite common?”
“They are. Everything works off the premise that you won’t touch the trigger.”
“Is fear of accidents why the American military doesn’t use Glock 19’s?”
“That’s correct.”
“Thank you, Mr. Elder,” Chase said easily. “Did your work on this case also include studying the autopsy report and related materials?”
Immediately, Chase sensed the close attention of Judge Tilly and, with that, the prosecutor’s heightened alertness. “It did,” Elder responded. “I went over the autopsy report, the autopsy photos, and the victim’s uniform on the night of the shooting.”
“Did you focus on particular aspects of the autopsy relevant to your opinion?”
“Several.”
“Including stippling—the question of whether unburnt powder from the Glock adhered to Deputy Bullock’s skin and clothing?”
