by Kenneth Eade
“That is correct, sir.”
“So there is no doubt in your mind that she would have ingested the poison at her residence, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” Chernow interjected.
“He can answer if he has an opinion,” said the Judge. “Detective Tomassi, answer the question if you can.”
“No, sir, there is no doubt in my mind that it occurred at her residence.”
“Is it also true that, at her residence, your forensic team found no traces of ricin?”
“Yes, that is true.”
“And they also found no traces of any poison of any kind, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“You testified, Detective Tomassi that, as a result of a search of Mrs. Haskins’ house that you did find cellophane wrapping in her garbage can with traces of ricin on it, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And this cellophane wrapping had no fingerprints on it besides the victim’s, Barbara Densmore, isn’t that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“This means that, if anyone had wiped the cellophane clean, they would have done so only before Barbara Densmore handled it, isn’t that correct?”
“Objection, calls for speculation,” said Chernow.
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the question.”
“You didn’t find any flowers at Mrs. Haskins’ residence, did you Detective?”
“No.”
“And you found no evidence of any ricin or ricin manufacture at her home, did you?”
“Besides the flower wrapping and flower food, no.”
“And you were careful not to handle the wrapping, putting it in an evidence bag and booking it as evidence because of your procedures in handling evidence, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, and because of the potentially dangerous toxins we were looking for.”
“You follow these procedures to make sure there is no evidence tampering or contamination, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that’s correct.”
“Isn’t there a procedure to contain a crime scene as well?”
“Yes, there is.”
“That’s why we see on TV the police putting up yellow tape, right?”
Several members of the jury chuckled.
“That’s right.”
“The procedure is to make sure that no potential evidence at a crime scene is tampered with or contaminated, right?”
“Right.”
“And, when you are investigating a crime scene, nobody but Sheriff’s personnel are allowed at the scene, to make sure none of the potential evidence is comprised, correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“You were the first officer to arrive on the scene the night of Barbara Densmore’s death, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And your team put up that yellow tape in front of her house, just like on TV, didn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“To keep people out, correct?”
“Yes.”
“But when you arrived, there was someone else already inside Ms. Densmore’s residence, wasn’t there?”
“Yes, Frances Templeton was there.”
“You detained her at gunpoint, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did, until I was convinced that she wasn’t a threat to my safety.”
“How did Ms. Templeton get into Barbara Densmore’s house?”
“She had a key.”
* * *
Chernow next called a virtual parade of police officers as witnesses, who testified how they had secured the crime scene, and the forensic team who had combed Densmore’s house for evidence. Brent put them through a cursory cross examination, but most of them had really nothing to add to the case, and certainly nothing damaging.
Then he called Dr. Fernando Medina, a poison expert, whom Brent agreed was qualified to testify. Medina looked like he had been born to be a scientist, as if he were more comfortable with a test tube in his hand than by his side or in his pocket. He was clean cut, average looking, with plain brown hair and plainer brown eyes.
“Dr. Medina, how exactly is ricin made?”
Although introverted and lacking in social skills, Dr. Medina spoke to the jury in a very non-technical manner that made it easy for the jurors to understand.
“Without going into the actual technicalities of it, it is made from the castor bean. After the beans are put into an oil press to extract castor oil, the “cake,” or crushed part of the beans that is left over is pounded into a powder, which contains ricin, and is lethal unless put through an autoclave.”
“Are castor beans difficult to come by?”
“Why no. Anyone can buy castor beans from just about any seed dealer.”
“And is it difficult to pound the leftover bean mash into a powder?”
“Not at all. Anyone can do that as well. You just have to wear protective clothing like gloves and a protective mask; the type they have in any high school science class.”
Brent barreled ahead on cross examination. “Dr. Medina, you say that anyone can make ricin, is that correct?”
“Yes, anyone can.”
“Isn’t it true that you have to possess a degree of scientific knowledge in chemistry to refine the ricin powder?”
“Actually no. After ten minutes of Internet research, anyone with a computer can learn how to make ricin. And, as I said before, the beans are easy to come by and there’s no special equipment required besides an oil press and protective clothing.”
“Move to strike after ‘no’ Your Honor.”
“Denied.”
It turned out to be a terrible mistake, the classic one that lawyers are taught in law school never to make. Never ask a question that you do not know the answer to; especially of an expert.
Chernow next called Thomas Benton, who was qualified to testify as a forensics expert, and described, with the aid of computer modeling, how the flower food package containing ricin in the bouquet was rigged to explode and distribute its poisonous payload to the unsuspecting victim who unwrapped the flower package.
Benton had big, curious hazel eyes, as if he was always on the lookout for a new discovery. He had a few hours’ worth of grey stubble on his chin that gave away his age and the fact that he colored his dark brown hair.
“Mr. Benton, can you explain the expertise that was required to rig this package to explode?”
“There was no expertise required at all. It was a very crude device. The perpetrator simply used an empty flower food package, filled it with ricin, using protective clothing I assume, and taped it to the plastic wrapping here,” he said, pointing to his computer model diagram on the screen. “When the cellophane was ripped open, the package would naturally empty its contents. Being a fine powder, it would naturally become airborne.”
Brent made his points here in cross examination.
“If the package was rigged to explode as you described, isn’t it true that the powder would have been distributed over a large area?”
“Normally, yes.”
“And you would expect at the death scene there would be traces of powder on the floor and on the victim’s clothes, would you not?”
“You would, yes, unless somebody had cleaned it up.”
“Interesting you should mention that because, if somebody had cleaned it up with, for example, a vacuum cleaner, wouldn’t you expect to find traces of the powder left on the floor?”
“Yes, unless it had also been washed.”
“And wouldn’t you expect to find the powder in the vacuum cleaner bag and apparatus?”
“Yes, unless of course, that had also been thoroughly cleaned.”
“So, unless the site of the explosion had been meticulously washed, you would expect to find some traces of ricin, isn’t that correct?”
“Yes.”
Chernow next called Thomas Finlay, the fingerprint exp
ert, who looked at the jury with squinty ashen eyes through thick glasses, as if he had already worn them out looking at too many fingerprints. Finlay testified that the fingerprints on the wrapper matched those of Barbara Densmore’s. On cross examination, he admitted, matter-of-factly, that there no fingerprints of Nancy’s found on the wrap, or anyone else’s besides Densmore’s.
The minutes clicked on into the hours, and the jury, once alert and attentive, looked really worn down. Finally, the Judge adjourned for the day. And sure enough, Brent noticed upon leaving that Frances Templeton was there, in what had surely become her season ticket seat.
Brent resisted the temptation to get a free commercial or two from the TV crews that accosted him outside the Courthouse. There would be plenty of time for that after the trial.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
There would be no gourmet dinners tonight, no baths, no romantic interludes, only the fantastic harbor view, the patio, and various alcoholic libations. Brent and Jack had to get together for a brainstorming and preparation session because the next court day, Bradley Chernow was expected to rest his case. Then it would be Brent’s turn.
On the way home, Brent stopped at Dr. Orozco’s office to brief him on the next days’ testimony. Dr. Jaime Orozco was a medical examiner that Brent had worked with before, on one of his most important cases. He was smart and sharp, and had a great bedside manner; he just wasn’t very presentable. Brent had the impression that he had attended the same sandwich eating autopsy school that Dr. Perez had gone to. Nevertheless, he was the best and he was Brent’s next witness.
Brent’s minor victory in getting the urine sample suppressed could be a pyrrhic victory. After all, the jury knew full well that the test had come back positive for ricin, they just technically couldn’t consider it. Orozco would brief the jury as to the other medical conditions which could generate the same symptoms. His contradictory testimony alone may be enough for the jury to question Dr. Perez’ testimony.
* * *
“Jack, please don’t say you have good news and bad news,” Brent said, as he sipped on a Baileys on the rocks and watched the moon rise above the Santa Barbara harbor.
“I won’t. It’s all bad.”
“Even better. Those flowers didn’t just get up and walk away. And the cellophane wrapping didn’t transport itself to Nancy’s garage by magic. Someone wearing gloves put it there after they had thoroughly ridden every grain of ricin from Densmore’s home. It was either Nancy, which I doubt, or someone trying to frame her.”
“And that someone may or may not be the real killer.”
“Exactly. Great minds do think alike.”
“Well, in the reasonable doubt corner, we have the People’s witness, Frances Templeton, who is a lying sack of shit, but I can’t find anything tying her to the flowers.”
“And nothing on the flower shop?”
“Nobody knows where they came from. I covered every shop within a five mile radius.”
“Maybe you should try a ten mile radius. What about her whereabouts between the time the ambulance arrived and the time the detective arrived?”
Jack took gulpful of beer from the bottle. “She’s got an alibi.”
“Since when does a witness for the prosecution need an alibi?”
“Since the defense is investigating her. She was with a friend. All that day and, after the police released her, all night.”
“I suppose you talked to this friend?”
“Yes, and as alibis go, it’s about standard.”
“Nothing I can rip a hole in?”
“I’m afraid not. She’s pretty credible.”
“Okay, so she can account for her whereabouts. What else have we got?”
“Gary Goldstein, whom I’ve served with subpoena. But I think he’s just a guy with anger issues.”
“Anger issues are good for us. What about the drug dealers?”
“I’ve served Michel and Corral, but neither one is talking.”
“What about the DEA investigation? Corral won’t even talk to the U.S. Attorney to save his own butt?”
“He says that the Columbians will kill him and his entire family if he does, so he’s willing to do the time.”
“What about Keith Michel?”
“They’re still investigating. Never found the marijuana that was smuggled in, if that’s what it was. So now they’re trying to get someone on the inside who knows them to wear a wire.”
Brent spent the evening going over Jack’s reports, working out questions for Michel, Corral and Goldstein. He also did a post-mortem on the day in court in anticipation of what appeared to be the next and last day of the prosecution’s case-in-chief. Sometime during that, he had nodded off. He awoke to Calico, nudging him and purring. She was telling him it was time to go to bed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Chernow next put on Dr. Gerald Gregory, a poison expert, who looked like the only thing he had ever worn was a lab coat. In fact, his beige two piece cotton suit looked like it had been made from a lab coat or designed after one, because it was so long. His tie was loosely affixed to the collar because of his lack of a neck. It was as if his shoulders were attached directly to his head. Gregory had a squirmy face, darting eyes and a moustache that looked like one of those fuzzy caterpillars.
He explained how lethally toxic ricin was. Less than 1.8 mg could kill the average adult human. It killed by inhibiting protein synthesis, which was the reason why symptoms often took hours or even a day to appear. And it was difficult, if not impossible to detect after ingestion, all of which made it the perfect poison. It also was very rare; not the type of poison you would find in the garden section at Home Depot. If you had ricin, there was only one reason for it, and that was to kill another (or more than one other) human being.
Brent had no questions on cross examination. Chernow had now laid out all the pieces of his puzzle for the jury, except for the urine test.
“Your Honor, the People rest,” he declared.
“Mr. Marks, is the defense ready?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“You may call your first witness.”
“I call Jack Ruder.”
Jack did not disappoint. He wore a crisp, grey G-man suit and looked more like a witness for the prosecution than the defense.
“Mr. Ruder, what is your occupation?”
“I am a California licensed private investigator.”
“And can you please tell the jury a little about your background and experience?”
Jack turned to the jury, just as he had rehearsed it with Brent, and spoke to them as if he were hosting them at a dinner party in his home. However, he couldn’t shake the military-type cop talk that he had been using for years, especially in the courtroom.
“I hold Bachelor’s and Master’s Degrees in Criminology from California State University Long Beach. After leaving CSULB, I worked for about five years as a police officer for the LAPD. Then I worked for 21 years for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Los Angeles office, the last ten of those in the Violent Crime Division, where I served on several serial killer task forces, including the Night Stalker case.”
“Showing you what has been marked for identification as Defense Exhibit A, can you identify this document?”
“Yes, that is my resume.”
“Your Honor, I move that Defense Exhibit A be admitted into evidence.”
“Objection?”
Chernow’s lips pursed and the Judge paused. He looked like he was finishing a bite of food or something.
“No objection, Your Honor,” he finally conceded.
“Exhibit A is received.”
“You were hired by the defense in this case, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“And you are being paid for your services?”
“Yes.”
“What was your assignment in this case?”
“To investigate the death of Ms. Barbara Densmore.”
Jack told the jury,
albeit in his cop-like jargon, of his interviews with the Goldstein’s, Keith Michel and Frances Templeton, but when he told about the stakeout of Keith Michel’s house, this is where Chernow sought to get even with the objections.
“Objection, Your Honor,” said Chernow, savoring every word of his argument. “This is irrelevant, immaterial, and highly prejudicial to the People’s case.”
“Counsel please approach.”
At the bench, Chernow couldn’t stop hurling objections. Finally, Brent interrupted.
“Your Honor, may I be heard please?”
“Yes, Mr. Marks.”
“Your Honor, this witness is necessary to lay a foundation for half of the witnesses on my witness list. Whether or not this raises reasonable doubt as to my client’s guilt is for the jury to decide. However, just as the People were allowed to connect up their foundational evidence, I would ask for the same indulgence from the Court.”
“I’m going to allow it,” said the Judge. Chernow looked like a little kid whose dad had taken a lollipop away from him.
Jack described the stake out, the ensuing shoot out and chase, and the subsequent arrest of Felipe Corral on suspicion of drug smuggling and assault. Then he was prompted to describe his investigation of Gary Goldstein.
“Objection, Your Honor. This has gone far beyond foundational and is definitely prejudicial to the People’s case, not to mention irrelevant and immaterial.”
Then don’t mention it, thought Brent.
After another lengthy bench conference, the Judge declared, “Overruled, I will allow it.”
Finally, Jack left the witness stand unscathed, having paved the way for the “suspects” to come.
And they came. First to testify was Gary Goldstein, who had been sitting in the gallery fuming, looking like he had a severe case of indigestion, and an even stronger case of impatience. He was with his lawyer, Richard Hannaford, an octogenarian attorney whose reputation and experience were almost as big as his nose. He was one of the most respected criminal attorneys in Santa Barbara. Brent did not expect the testimony to last long. Hannaford sat at the defense counsel table with Brent. He couldn’t bear the thought of sharing a table with the prosecution, having never been on that side of the courtroom. It would be like fish swimming in tomato juice.
