Splitsville, page 19
Kenzi thumbed through the profiles. The amount of information Hailee had compiled was astounding. “This is kinda crazy.”
“But useful. I can’t be for sure but, based upon my review of their posts and likes, I think you have seven Democrats on your jury and five Republicans, three of whom are women.”
“That may not help Maya.”
“You can overcome whatever law-and-order bias they might have. Emphasize how hard Maya worked to support her family. Emphasize what a good mother she is. Don’t criticize law enforcement officers. Even when they’re on the stand.”
“Of course, being conservative doesn’t guarantee a juror will convict.”
“True. But that’s not all you know. Seven of your jurors have dogs. Three have multiple dogs. Four have cats. One has a horse.”
“So…?”
“It’s a well-known fact that cat owners are soft-hearted but independent, while dog owners crave affection. Why else would they get a big animal that jumps up and down and slobbers all over them?”
“I fear we may be veering from science toward supposition.”
“Here’s the bottom line. You need to become their newest dog.”
“Excuse me?”
“You need to show that you like them and respect them—so they will like you. And you should play up the idea of duty. Do your duty. Don’t disappoint America. Play by the rules. If the prosecution doesn’t provide enough evidence, you must acquit.”
“That’s kind of what I said in my opening.”
“Keep saying it. Every chance you get.”
“Anything else?”
“Only three of your jurors are religious enough to mention it online, so I’m hoping Maya’s stem-cell research won’t hurt you much. But the cult is another matter. Eleven of the twelve have children. Everyone loves their children and wants them to be safe. If it starts to look like Maya put her daughter in danger…”
“It will be a lot easier to convict her.” Kenzi pushed the papers into her satchel. “Okay, I want to spend more time with these. But…thanks. You did good work.” She combed through some photos of the ashy remains of LORE. “Where did you get these?”
“I snapped them with my phone. Sent them to the printer.”
“You—How did you get out there?”
“Carrie took me.”
“Carrie.” Okay, she didn’t want to admit she didn’t know her daughter’s friends but…
“It’s okay, Mom. We don’t hang that much. Carrie’s in my homeschool group, but she’s also a track star.”
“I feel I’m missing something.”
“Carrie is able to do the one thing I can’t. Run.”
Kenzi bit down on her lower lip.
“I asked Carrie to walk, then run from the lab to the convenience store. Then back to the lab. No one can run faster than Carrie. Certainly not some scientist in street shoes.”
Hailee handed her mother an Excel spreadsheet. “I think you’ll find these numbers interesting.”
She found them more than interesting. She found them amazing. “Hailee…this is—this is wonderful.”
Hailee beamed. “Can I get the coroner’s reports? All the medical stuff?”
She was surprised Hailee didn’t have them already. “I’ll scan them tomorrow morning and email them to you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“What are you looking for?”
“I don’t know exactly. But Emma said the DA’s expert left a door open, a slim possibility that Maggie Price was unconscious or dead before Maya arrived. If we can prove that, the murder charge goes away. The convenience store security cam footage establishes when Maya was there, right?”
“Yes. But it’s possible she was sneaking around LORE long before she went to the store. Or set the fire.” Kenzi took another bite of the pizza. She knew the alcohol content in the vodka sauce burned off during cooking, but she liked to at least imagine it was having a calming influence on her nerves. “I can’t tell you how stressful this is. Maya could spend the rest of her life behind bars. And never see Brittany again. Leaving the child in the hands of the hot-tempered bastard who fathered her.”
“The jury has the ultimate decision-making power. Not you.”
“I’m the one who has to make sure Maya gets a fair shake.” She looked up abruptly. “I’m afraid I’m going to blow it.”
“You won’t.”
“Harrington thinks I will. Even my own father thinks I will. They both tried to buy me off.”
“But you persisted.”
“But did I do the right thing?”
Hailee wheeled in closer and laid her head on her mother’s shoulder. “None of us can predict the future. But I know this. I’m very proud of my mother.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Kenzi entered the courtroom feeling slightly stronger than she had the day before. The difference was minor and it was certainly not based on her previous day’s performance. But she was starting to feel less like a complete poseur and more like someone who belonged here.
She spotted most of the same faces in the courtroom, but one new one—Patricia Clare. The woman who ran Hexitel. Candy had mentioned that Hexitel supported Maya, but Emma had asked them to stay away. What brought Clare to the courtroom?
Kenzi greeted her. “Information gathering? Or recruiting?”
“In a courtroom? Rather unlikely, don’t you think?” Maybe it was just Kenzi, but Clare’s upper-crust accent made her sound snotty even when she wasn’t trying. “I need to stay on top of this situation.”
“Why?”
“I’m worried about Maya. And of course, the impact all this press coverage will have on Hexitel.”
“Damage control?” Kenzi narrowed her eyes. “Are you testifying for the DA?”
“Actually, I thought you might want to call me as a character witness.”
To emphasize Maya’s connection to Hexitel? “Hard pass.”
“Perhaps I should hold a press conference. Or issue a statement. This may be a critical juncture in the life of our organization.”
“Translation. You see this as a recruiting opportunity. Or a fundraiser. You’re going to harness the publicity arising from Maya’s tragic situation and use it to your own benefit.”
“I find your cynicism predictable and banal. As Maya has told you, Hexitel is her church. Is it wrong to defend our church? We used to make saints of our defenders of the faith.”
“Faith didn’t used to be so expensive.” This conversation wasn’t productive, and she probably shouldn’t alienate one of the few people who might actually say something positive about Maya to the press. So she moved on.
Maya was already in the courtroom, dressed in a modest but professional pantsuit. Probably best she didn’t look too attractive. She didn’t want to threaten all those dog lovers on the jury. “How are you holding up?”
“Better than yesterday. You?”
“’Bout the same. I’ve got some new—”
“Have you heard anything from Brittany?”
“No. Sorry. Michael is keeping her tightly wrapped up. I don’t think either of them will come anywhere near the courtroom.”
“Can’t you arrange some kind of meeting?”
“I tried. It’s too complicated, what with the jail and the marshals and all.”
“Michael is taking advantage of the situation.”
True enough. “This will be over in a few days. And then…we’ll see what develops.”
“If I lose, I’ll never see Brittany again.”
Kenzi clenched her teeth. “Prisons have visiting hours….”
“He won’t let her come.”
“And she won’t be a minor forever.”
“By that time, it will be too late.”
What did Maya mean by that? She was almost afraid to ask.
Emma sat on the other side of their client. Shaking her head.
Translation: leave her alone. Get your head in the game.
Because what Maya said was true. If she lost this trial, Brittany would never see a loving parent again.
The first witness of the day was a fingerprint expert, a tech from the CSI division named Harold Lauter. Because the fire eradicated most of the possible evidence, there would be little of the usual forensic testimony. But Lauter testified that Maya’s fingerprints were all over the lab and especially in the area where the fire ignited. Kenzi thought this was somewhat less than earth-shattering since Maya worked there. It was only toward the final moments of Lauter’s testimony that it became interesting.
“Where else did you find the defendant’s fingerprints?”
“On tabletops, equipment shards, doorknobs. As you might expect. But I also found her prints on something that shouldn’t have been there at all. A twisted spiral of wire.”
DA Harrington nodded. “Earlier, we heard Dr. Kirk testify that the igniter cord used as a fuse could contain a wire spiral.”
“The actual fuse would have been subjected to such extreme heat that you couldn’t expect to find prints on it. What I found was another spiral not used as the fuse. But on the premises nonetheless.”
“Why would that be?”
Lauter shrugged. “Perhaps the arsonist goofed up the first one. Threw it away. Started over. Or perhaps it was a spare that was dropped accidentally. Or—”
“Objection,” Kenzi said. “This is speculation.”
“It’s within the witness’ field of expertise,” Harrington replied. “An expert can speculate, as all experienced criminal attorneys know.”
Kenzi clenched her teeth. “He’s not speculating about fingerprints. He’s speculating on why someone he doesn’t know might’ve brought wire into a lab. That’s way outside his expertise.”
The judge almost smiled. “I will have to agree with that assessment. Sustained.”
Harrington looked completely unruffled. If the jurors didn’t follow the legal terminology, they might think he won. “Did you find a fingerprint on that strip of wire?”
“Yes. And the print matched the defendant.”
“Thank you. No more questions.”
Kenzi could see that this revelation troubled the jurors—but what else was new? She was starting to realize what a massive disadvantage the defense had in any criminal trial. They had to sit quietly for days while the prosecution piled insinuation and suppositions sky high, then after the prosecution show was over, try to overcome what the jurors had firmly entrenched in their brains.
She positioned herself squarely in front of the witness. He seemed competent but not particularly strong. She thought she could lead him where she wanted to go. “I noticed you didn’t precisely say the fingerprint belonged to the defendant. You said it matched. Why?”
“That’s the preferred terminology in my field.”
Emma had given her a lengthy lecture on dactylograms the night before. “To translate your testimony into layman’s terms, you’re saying the fingerprint might have come from my client, but you can’t be certain that it did.”
“I wouldn’t put it exactly—”
“You keep saying you found a print, but you didn’t find a complete print, did you?”
“No. It was a partial. That’s common. You rarely find a perfect complete print in the field.”
“Especially on a small unsmooth surface like a twist of wire.”
“Exactly so.”
“Isn’t it true that the print you used to reach your conclusion was actually less than thirty percent complete?”
“Again, this is common—”
“Please answer the question.”
Lauder sighed. “Yes, that is correct. But—”
“So it is entirely possible that the rest of the print did not match.”
“In my opinion, that is—”
“Sir, I didn’t ask whether you, a prosecution witness, think it’s likely. I asked whether it’s possible.”
Another sigh. “Yes. It is…possible. But—”
“You mentioned extreme heat. Could that possibly have damaged the partial print you recovered?”
“I saw no evidence of distortion.”
“Again, sir, I will have to ask you to answer the question. Is it possible?”
“It could happen, sure. But—”
“Did you run the partial print through any databases to see if it matched anyone else?”
“I saw no need. It matched the person who had already been arrested.”
“Was it a perfect match?”
Lauter craned his neck. “It fell well within the standards and guidelines used in my profession to establish identity.”
She took a step closer. “You’re using gobbledygook to avoid my question. Was it a perfect match?”
He squirmed a bit. “There’s no such thing. All fingerprint analysis requires a degree of…interpretation.”
“Meaning guesswork? Supposition?”
“Meaning expert analysis.”
“You’re admitting that the fingerprint you found did not perfectly match the exemplar taken from my client.”
“Because in my field, there’s no such thing as perfect.”
She glanced back at the defendant’s table. Emma was pointing at her hand.
Got it.
“Speaking of the many fallacies in your field that prevent it from being as certain as you lead people to believe, isn’t it also true that fingerprints can be planted?”
Lauter chuckled. “Now you’re speculating. Wading into the realm of science fiction. You’ve seen too many Mission Impossible movies.”
“Can’t prints be copied? Placed on adhesive materials and transferred to another surface? Placed on gloves to give the false impression of hands?”
He grinned. “There are technologies that enable the reproduction of prints, but they are far beyond the capabilities of most people. I think we can rule that out. Unless the fire was set by James Bond.”
“Would it be James Bond? Or Q?”
Lauter twitched. “Now…what?”
“Q was the armorer. The quartermaster. If someone was going to come up with a fingerprint gimmick, it would be Q.”
“I…suppose.”
“Because Q was a scientist.” She paused. “Like every single person who worked in that lab.”
“Including your client.”
“And about fifty other people.”
Harrington rose. “Objection. Your honor—who’s speculating now? The wire bears the defendant’s print.”
Judge Foreman pursed his lips. “I will allow this conversation to proceed. It is cross-examination, after all. She’s permitted to explore alternate possibilities. However remote.”
Thanks for nothing, your honor. “One last question. Wouldn’t an arsonist wear gloves?”
“Apparently not.”
“Isn’t it standard practice in that lab to wear gloves when performing experiments or handling chemicals? Both for safety and to maintain the integrity of the work?”
“That…may…”
“If you were going to handle wire, which cuts, or combustible chemicals, which burn, wouldn’t you wear gloves?”
“Would I? Yes. But I would never do this. Criminals aren’t always the brightest bulbs. That’s why we catch them.”
“If you were talking about a mugger, I might agree with you. But it’s clear that whoever committed this crime was smart. Educated. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The witness did not reply.
“The arsonist gained access to the lab and knew which chemicals to use, then constructed an igniter cord fuse perfect for the situation. And left few clues behind. Doesn’t that suggest an above-average intelligence?”
“I hate to speculate…”
“Are you seriously suggesting that the arsonist was smart enough to set this fire—but not smart enough to wear gloves?”
Lauter opened his lips—but no words came out.
“Thank you,” Kenzi said. “That’s all I have for this witness.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Okay, Kenzi, she told herself. Not too shabby. Maybe you can get the hang of this criminal stuff yet.
Maybe.
But she couldn’t allow herself to get a swelled head. The next witness would be a thousand times more challenging.
Steve Atherton was the eyewitness who claimed he saw Maya running away from the fire only a few seconds after the initial explosion. As far as Kenzi was concerned, running from a huge chemical fire was the smartest thing anyone could possibly do. But now the prosecution was using it against her, suggesting that she was fleeing a fire she started and a murder she committed.
Atherton was a thin man, perhaps seventy, retired, widowed. He looked like a TV sitcom grandpa. Kenzi knew she would never convince any juror he was lying. She didn’t think he was lying herself. If she was going to undermine his testimony, she would have to come at if from a different direction.
“How did you happen to be in the vicinity of the fire on the night in question?” Harrington asked.
“I went to the convenience store on the other side of that huge front lawn. Across the street. SpeedyMart, I think it’s called. Needed to get gas and some of that jalapeno dip they sell. I inhale that stuff. Can eat an entire tub in one sitting.”
“Yes,” Harrington said, gently nudging him back to the topic, “but did anything unusual happen while you were there?”
“I heard this huge explosion. Like the loudest thing you’ve ever heard in your life. And I wasn’t even that close to it. The clerk wondered if a plane had crashed. I ran outside and that’s when I saw the fire. Actually, I felt it before I saw it. Even from that distance, the heat was impressive. Felt like I’d walked into a fireplace.”
“What did you do then?”
“Crossed the street and tried to get a closer look. I knew they had some kind of scientific setup over there. Might be dangerous, all those chemicals in the air. I wondered if I needed a gas mask.”
