Let Darkness Come

by Angela Hunt

Briley smiles as her adrenaline level rises. “Listen, Louis, I need you to do something for me. I need DNA typing on any hair samples from that crime scene—and I need it fast.” She grits her teeth, knowing she’s about to ask the impossible. “Can you have something for me by tomorrow morning?”

  He laughs. “You gotta get in line, lady.”

  “I’ve already been in line, and now I’m at trial. Look, I know I’m asking a lot, but I’m nearing the end of my case. I’ll come down there and help if you want me to, but if I don’t get those results, my client could get a death sentence. Do you understand that?”

  She hears a heavy sigh, then Louis clicks his tongue. “Put Malone back on the horn.”

  “What?”

  “Let me talk to Malone.”

  She offers the phone to the detective. “He wants you.”

  Malone holds the phone to his ear with one hand while he pinches a French fry and drags it through a pool of ketchup with the other.

  “Yeah,” he says, glancing up at Briley. “Yeah. She’s okay.”

  The cop hands the phone back to her.

  “Well?” she asks the technician.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Louis says. “I might even have a couple of those hair samples already done. Anything particular you want me to look for?”

  “Just anything…odd,” she answers. “You want me to come down and keep you company?”

  “No, don’t want anyone saying you messed around with the evidence. Just let me plug in the coffeepot so I can get my second wind.”

  “Thanks, Louis. I’ll tell your boss they don’t pay you nearly enough. Detective Malone sends his love.”

  She snaps the phone shut and grins at the cop across the table.

  “You didn’t have to add that last bit.” He baptizes another French fry. “Might give Louis the wrong idea.”

  “You need to show the lab guys a little more appreciation,” she answers, sliding out of the booth. “Thanks, Detective. See you ’round the playground.”

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  After a nearly sleepless night, at nine the next morning Briley stands in the line that leads to the courthouse security checkpoint and redials Louis’s number. “Please, please pick up,” she whispers, setting her briefcase on the conveyor belt.

  A security guard hooks his thumbs over his waistband and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to send the phone through the X-ray machine.”

  “But I’m on a call.”

  “No exceptions.”

  Briley steps out of the security line and watches her purse and briefcase roll down the moving belt. Finally, a man answers, his voice heavy. “Hello?”

  “Louis? It’s Briley Lester and I’m at the courthouse. I need to know if you found anything interesting with those hair samples from the Tomassi crime scene.”

  “Ms. Lester.” A smile slips into that scratchy voice. “You want something interesting? Well, maybe you’re in luck. I tested twelve samples and found three different profiles, so that means three different individuals have been in that bedroom. In fact, all three profiles were found on the victim’s bed.”

  “Three different people? Are you sure?”

  “DNA doesn’t lie. The hairs looked pretty much alike—well, except the dark ones—but the other two are just a shade apart. That’s why we didn’t bother to test them all.”

  Briley catches her breath. “So this means…”

  “If you were playing a hunch, my guess is that it paid off.”

  She turns, pressing her hand to her forehead. Time to think like a prosecutor, play the devil’s advocate. “Okay. Couldn’t those hairs be from the husband, the wife, and the housekeeper? The cleaning lady is on record saying that she changed the linens the day before the murder.”

  “Not unless the housekeeper is related to the wife. The B and C hairs belong to individuals from the same family.”

  “So…” Briley struggles to think through the noise and commotion in the lobby. “Those hairs could have come from the husband and his brother.”

  Louis chuckles. “No way. The similar samples are from females. I’d say you’re talking about two sisters.”

  A thrill shivers along Briley’s spine. “Can you bring your report to the courthouse by nine-thirty? We’re in Judge Trask’s courtroom on the seventh floor.”

  “Sure, and do you want me to lasso the moon for you, too? I’ll do it, but you have to promise to have coffee with me first.”

  For an instant, Briley is flummoxed, then she realizes he’s joking.

  “Louis—” she can’t stop a grin “—I’d be happy to treat you to a cup of coffee. And if you need me to vouch for your overtime—”

  “I didn’t stay up all night for the overtime. I figured that if you were running around at 9:00 p.m. on your client’s behalf, maybe this Tomassi broad was worth a little extra effort.”

  Briley bites her lower lip as an unexpected lump rises in her throat. “Thanks, Louis.”

  “You gonna need me to testify?”

  “Yes. Is that a problem?”

  “Not as long as I have my coffee. And for you, I’ll even do a shave.”

  She looks toward the security checkpoint, where Bystrowski and his associate are dropping their briefcases and belts beside the X-ray machine. “I owe you big-time, Louis. But you’d better do that shave in record time.”

  When Briley approaches the defense table, Erin arches a brow. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary,” she says. “Or maybe you finally got a good night’s sleep.”

  “I got hardly any sleep, but I can’t explain why,” Briley says, pulling a legal pad from her briefcase, “because the judge is going to take the bench at any minute. But if all goes well, I think today we may toss Bystrowski a real surprise.” She slides the tablet and a pen toward Erin, then glances at her watch, willing to let the judge take all the time he needs in chambers. Maybe he needs an extra minute to run to the restroom, slip on more comfortable shoes, or make a telephone call….

  She props her chin on her hand and peers at her client, who seems subdued this morning. How will she react when she hears that she’s a chimera? Briley can’t imagine, but it’s probably like being told you have a rare blood type. Not the sort of thing that will affect your everyday life, but something that might make a world of difference on one or two occasions.

  Erin picks up the pen and begins to doodle on the legal pad. Across the aisle, Bystrowski’s knees are touching and parting like the knees of a hyperactive teenage boy. Somewhere down the hall, the fourteen citizen judges have gathered in the juror assembly room, where they are exchanging small talk, sipping coffee, and waiting for the third day of the trial to begin. Behind the prosecutor, on the first row of the gallery, Antonio Tomassi and his family have aligned themselves in two rows. At the center of the group, Antonio folds his arms and stares at the empty jury box. He wears his usual somber expression, but almost anything could be going on behind that stern facade.

  Briley picks up her pen and jots a list on her own legal pad. She’s prioritizing the issues she wants to address when she realizes that she and Erin could be twins, arched as they are over their writing, both elbows bent at their right sides, legal pads slanted at the same angle….

  Her hand freezes as an unexpected thought strikes in a barely comprehendible flash.

  A moment later, a door at the front of the courtroom opens. A hand appears and taps the bailiff on the shoulder. Briley watches, holding her breath, as the bailiff accepts several sheets of paper. He glances at the first page, then walks toward Briley.

  Her pulse races as she stands and accepts the faxed document. The header at the top of the first page confirms that it has come from the crime lab. A copy of Louis’s report. Does this mean he’s not going to show?

  She winces as a cold blade of foreboding slices into her heart. Something must have happened to Louis, so he sent this fax. But though she could try to get it admitted, even a certified copy won�
��t be admissible as evidence.

  She turns, hanging one elbow over the back of her chair as she looks at William. “I need a favor.” She glances toward the back of the courtroom, but there’s no sign of anyone who looks like a lab technician.

  William nods and silently points past Briley. She turns in time to see Judge Trask step into the courtroom. The bailiff, startled to be caught away from his post, practically shouts the traditional opening: “All rise. The Cook County Court is now in session, the Honorable Milton Trask, Judge, presiding. Be seated and come to order.”

  Briley drops the document to her desk as the judge surveys his courtroom. “Good morning,” he says, apparently content to see that the principals have not dishonored the proceedings by being late. “Unless there is new business we should discuss, is counsel for the defense ready to proceed?”

  “Your Honor.” Briley stands. “The defense has new evidence.”

  The judge perks up. “Really.”

  “The state objects, Your Honor.” Bystrowski stands, his tense jaw revealing his frustration. “What’s the nature of this new evidence?”

  Briley takes a deep breath and plunges ahead. “This evidence comes from the police lab, Your Honor. During discovery, we received an inventory of all items seized in the warrantless search of the defendant’s property. We knew the state had certain evidence, but last night we discovered that not all the evidence was tested.”

  Trask looks at her with an expression of pained tolerance. “What evidence was untested?”

  “Hair samples, Your Honor.”

  As a bailiff leans in to whisper something to the judge, Briley peers at the document in her hand. The second page portrays three distinct DNA profiles, revealed in graphs and notations that she doesn’t understand. But she can grasp the crucial detail—the DNA of three different persons was found on Jeffrey Tomassi’s deathbed. That’s all she needs to establish the presence of an intruder. It’s all she needs to establish reasonable doubt.

  If the judge will admit the document in her hand. Or if she can stall until Louis Thomsen arrives.

  She watches as the judge finishes his conversation with the bailiff, then looks out at her. “Hair samples, you said?”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Early this morning, the defense received verifying documentation.” She lifts the pages in her hand. “We have a witness en route, a lab technician who can testify as to the content and validity of this document.”

  The judge exhales in an audible sigh. “Ms. Lester, I expect you to have your witness present by the time we reconvene. This court will recess for ten minutes.”

  Chapter Fifty

  “What’s happening, Papa?”

  Sofia, Antonio’s youngest daughter, tugs on his arm as the order in the court dissolves into random chaos. “Why are they stopping the trial?”

  “Shh, they’re not stopping.” He looks at the bench, where the judge is already stepping down. “They’re only taking a break.”

  “I don’t get it.” On the other side of Sofia, Jason crosses his arms and glares at the back of the prosecutor’s head. “What’s the big deal about hair samples?”

  Antonio ignores his son and stands. “Excuse me, Mr. Bystrowski.”

  The prosecutor turns. “Mr. Tomassi?”

  Antonio studies the man charged with winning vengeance for his son. Travis Bystrowski has done a commendable job thus far, but never has his face looked so serious, so dedicated, so young.

  “Is this correct?” Antonio asks, gesturing to the defense attorney. “Can she stop everything to talk about hair?”

  Bystrowski nods. “It is unusual, but if she learns about evidence that she couldn’t—”

  “Why should we care about a few hairs?”

  The prosecutor swivels toward the defense table. “I don’t know, Mr. Tomassi. But we’ll hear about it soon.”

  “Can’t you force her to tell you? Aren’t lawyers supposed to show their hands to each other?”

  Like a father amused by the questions of a child, the attorney replies with an indulgent smile. “In civil cases, yes, the rules for discovery are quite clear. In criminal proceedings, however, the court recognizes that full discovery is not always possible. So the law makes allowances for new developments.”

  “What developments?” Antonio resists the pulse of fury that pounds in his ear and the beat of bitter memory in his blood. “How can anything change what happened to my son? That woman killed him. We all know it’s true.”

  “Mr. Tomassi.” Bystrowski takes a side step, effectively blocking Antonio’s view of the defense attorney and her client. “Sir, why don’t you take your children into the hall to stretch your legs? By the time you return, we’ll be ready to start up again.”

  Antonio glares at the young man for a moment, then allows Sofia to pull him toward the aisle. “Come, Papa.” She draws him away from the lawyers who have done nothing but complicate his life for weeks. “Let’s take a walk in the lobby. All this sitting is not good for you.”

  She’s fussing over him, but for once Antonio is inclined to allow it. Sofia is only trying to prevent him from barreling through that bar and throttling the prosecutor, the defense attorney, and the judge. He wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone who stands between him and justice for Jeffrey, and Sofia knows it.

  In the aisle, Antonio draws Sofia’s arm through his, then pats her hand. “So—” he gives her a wry smile “—you would rather walk in circles outside the courtroom than watch your father take on that scrawny lawyer?”

  She smiles, her dark eyes dancing above the roses in her cheeks. “We can go anywhere you like. But no, I didn’t want to watch you fight with the prosecutor.”

  “Were you afraid he would get the best of me?”

  “No, Papa. I don’t think any man can do that.”

  Antonio smiles. “No one ever will. And don’t worry—no matter what happens, we will win justice for Jeffrey.”

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Briley remains as tense as a cat throughout the recess. She sends William out into the hallway to search for anyone who looks like a sleep-starved lab technician, while she huddles at the counsel table and taps her pen on the desk. Erin pulls away, probably afraid Briley will snap if she makes an unnecessary comment.

  When the judge takes the bench again, Briley glances at her watch and bites her lip. What can she do? If William was here, he’d tell her to fall back and punt, but how does that translate into real life?

  “Pssst.”

  She turns, and nearly melts in relief when William comes toward her, followed by a young man in a rumpled blue suit. The man nods at her, then pushes dark hair from his eyes.

  “Louis?”

  “Yeah.” He slips into the pew beside William. “We’re on for coffee after this, right?”

  She stares, not sure she’s heard him correctly, then he gives her a teasing smile. “Just kidding.”

  Briley turns as the bailiff calls for order, and Judge Trask’s sharp gaze pins Briley to her chair. “Is counsel for the defense ready to begin?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Then let’s bring in the jury.”

  Briley skims her scribbled notes as the bailiff brings in the jury. When all fourteen have been seated, she stands. “The defense calls Louis Thomsen.”

  She closes her eyes as the man behind her moves through the gate and approaches the clerk. The lab tech looks like a skater and sounds like a college kid, but as long as he knows his material…

  After he’s been sworn in, Briley draws a deep breath and moves to the lectern. “Your name is Louis Thomsen, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Where are you employed, Mr. Thomsen?”

  “At the Cook County crime lab. I’ve worked there three years.”

  “What does your job at the crime lab entail?”

  He shrugs. “I examine evidence, analyze blood spatter, work with DNA.”

  “Are you familiar with DNA typing?”

 
A half smile crosses the man’s face. “Sure.”

  “Can you confirm that each human individual has a unique DNA fingerprint?”

  He holds up a hand. “That’s actually a bit of a misnomer. Everyone’s DNA has the same chemical structure, but differences lie in the order of the base pairs. Each individual’s DNA has so many millions of base pairs that every person has a different sequence—except in the case of identical twins, of course. They have identical sequences.”

  “So can an expert take a sample of genetic material and use it to identify the person from whom it originated?”

  “Not unless we have that individual’s DNA sequence on file. DNA patterns do not give every individual a unique print, but they do allow us to determine whether two genetic samples are from the same person, related persons, or non-related persons.”

  “Thank you for the explanation.” Briley holds up the faxed document, then hands a copy to the prosecutor. “This report arrived from the Cook County crime lab this morning. Would you like a copy, Your Honor?” Judge Trask waves her offer away, so Briley delivers a copy to the clerk. “I ask the clerk to mark these two pages as an exhibit for identification.” When the pages have been marked and entered as evidence, she holds her copy before the man in the witness stand. “Mr. Thomsen, are you familiar with this document?”

  “May I see it?”

  “Permission to approach the witness?” When the judge inclines his head, Briley steps forward with the lab report and hands it to Louis.

  “Yes, I recognize it. I sent it.”

  “Thank you. Can you tell me what this document represents?”

  Louis settles his elbows on the armrests of his chair. “They contain diagrams that represent DNA patterns taken from hair samples.”

  “How many different DNA sequences are represented here?”

  “Three.”

  “Three unique DNA patterns, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “So these hair samples came from three different individuals?”

  “That’s right.”