“What did they find?”
“It was Mrs. Lockhart’s blood.”
“All of it? They didn’t find evidence of anyone else’s blood?”
“No.”
“Thank you, Doctor. I have no further questions.”
The judge looked at Livingston. “Counselor?”
“May I have a moment please?” Still seated at his table, Livingston seemed to be reading something important on his iPad.
“Michael, why does the court reporter look familiar?” Carl asked.
“No way, I saw her first.”
“I’m serious.”
Michael rolled his eyes and then concentrated on the court reporter’s image on the big screen TV. “I don’t see anything.”
“I do. What do we know about her?” Carl asked.
“Well, her name is Natalie Kirkwood, and she’s an independent reporter – which basically means she works by the hour and the court doesn’t have to pay benefits. A lot of courts are moving in that direction these days. She is single, hangs out in a bar not far from our hotel and... She just looked up and you know what, Jackie, Carl might be right. Boss, the camera in the back is too far away and not at the right angle. Can you get a shot with the medallion?”
Jackie began to toy with the medallion. She folded one arm, put her other elbow on it, and held the medallion as steady as she could. Without a viewfinder, she had to rely on the guys to tell her how to move it.
“More to your left,” Carl said. “Now tip it up a little? That’s better. Just a smidgeon to your left and hold it there until she looks up again...if she ever does.”
“Smile...” Michael said. “There, we got it.”
Carl studied the court reporter’s face. “For the life of me, I can’t think who she reminds me of.”
Jackie wrote ‘the eyes’ on her notepad, and then tipped her medallion down.
“That’s right, it’s the eyes,” Carl agreed.
Judge Blackwell impatiently stared at Livingston. “Does the defense have any questions for this witness?”
Livingston quickly stood up, but he stayed behind his table. “Just a few, Your Honor. Dr. Franklin, could you tell the jury what blood splatter is?”
“Blood splatter is when a bullet causes fine particles of blood to spray out of the wound in all directions.”
“Would the killer have gotten blood on him or her due to blood splatter?”
“At two feet away, most definitely.”
“Doctor, you stated that the shooter was six feet tall, is that correct?”
“That is correct.”
“Could he or she have been six feet one or two?”
“Possibly, but no taller than that.”
“How about five eleven or five ten?”
“That’s possible too,” Dr. Franklin admitted.
“What would make your assessment vary to that degree?”
“Well, if the shooter stood closer, or a little farther away, then his height would be assessed differently.”
“I see. Do you know exactly how far away the shooter was standing at the time?”
“There is no way to know that exactly, unless someone confesses.”
“Doctor, do you have any way of knowing exactly when the heat was turned up in the Lockhart home?”
“No, I don’t.”
“In your expert opinion, if the heat was not turned up until the next day, would that have changed your assessment of the time of death?” Livingston asked.
“To some degree, yes.”
“So your estimate of the time, and even the day of her death, might possibly be wrong.”
“That is correct.”
“No further questions.”
Although he tried not to show it, the judge looked a little surprised. “Redirect, Mr. Davis?”
“I only have one question, Your Honor,” said Davis as he stood up. “Dr. Franklin, how confident are you in your estimated time of death?”
“I am very confident.”
“Thank you. I have nothing further.”
“Very well, the witness is excused. Call your next witness. Mr. Davis.”
“The state calls Detective Thomas Heffran to the stand.” In the back of the courtroom, the bailiff opened the door and called for the detective once, and then a second time.
When his witness did not quickly appear, Davis pulled a blackberry out of his pocket and started to type a text message.
While they waited, Jackie turned her attention to a woman on the jury who looked to be about thirty, maybe a little older. It was hard to tell with nose jobs and liposuction available everywhere these days. Juror number six looked tired and perhaps a little perturbed at having to be in court every day for who knew how long.
Jackie suspected the older gentleman seated at the end of the first row had been chosen as the jury foreman. He had been very attentive to the proceeding so far, and it was probably a good choice.
Again, the Bailiff called for the next witness, and again, everyone waited.
“Mr. Davis, what seems to be the problem?”
“Your Honor, the detective is on his way.”
“How long?”
“About two minutes?”
Jackie began to doodle on her notepad. The picture of the missing child they had been searching for was seared into her brain, and she often imagined what it must have been like to be held for ransom. Ransom was a plague that especially fell on the rich, and not paying was the cause of several suicides throughout history. Such was the case in this instance. The FBI advised the parents not to pay, the captors were not caught, and they never saw their child again. Of course, there was no proof of a death either, so the family never stopped searching. The Harlan Detective Agency was their client’s last hope.
It did not follow that the wealthy were also famous, but their client was both. An actress beloved by many worldwide, she was now dying and time was not on their side. Still, until they could get close enough to their suspected missing child to get a DNA sample, all they could do was wait. Furthermore, there was more at stake here than anyone else knew. Approaching someone involved in this particular trial before it was over, could bring about an unintended and possibly disastrous outcome.
Jackie turned once more to look at the victim’s children. There were similarities in their appearances, yet, each was distinctly different. All four of them seemed a little less stoic than they had in the morning session, and in tones too soft to hear, the daughters were even chatting. Jackie decided that when she got to her hotel room, trying to see what they were talking about would be her first objective.
DAVIS WATCHED THE BACK of the courtroom and did not hide his relief when a man in a blue business suit dashed through the door. The DA quickly stood up and said again, “The state calls Detective Thomas Heffran to the stand.”
Thomas Heffran wore polished black shoes and a crisp blue shirt opened at the collar. He had light brown hair, looked relaxed, and nodded to the jury as soon as he sat down. It was obvious he had testified many times before.
“Mr. Heffran, how long have you been a crime scene detective for the state of Oregon?” Davis began.
As he did, after being asked each question, Heffran looked at the jury when he answered. “Almost fifteen years.”
“What are your specific qualifications?”
“Your Honor,” Livingston interrupted a second time, “the defense will stipulate to the qualifications of this witness as well.”
Judge Blackwell nodded. “So noted. Continue, Mr. Davis.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Heffran, were you called to investigate the murder of Mrs. Amelia Ann Lockhart on June 15th, 2012?”
“I was.”
“About what time did you arrive?”
“At about ten o’clock in the morning.”
“What did you do when you first arrived?”
“I made certain the crime scene had been properly secured?”
“Thank you. Detective, was Deputy Mu
sgrave there when you arrived?”
“He was.”
“And did Deputy Musgrave remain with you for the duration of your investigation.”
“He did.”
“How long did it take you to do a full investigation?” Davis asked.
“The better part of two days.”
Davis picked the next exhibit up off the table and asked permission to approach. It was granted. “Detective, I show you a document and ask if this is your fact finding statement?”
Heffran gave it a quick glance. “It is.”
The DA entered it into evidence and continued, “After you made certain the crime scene was secure, what did you do?”
“I took a preliminary look around, and then began to take notes.”
“Please be more specific, Detective Heffran.”
“Well, I noted the temperature in the house and then went back outside. I directed the photographer to take still shots of the outside entrances, and windows, the other rooms in the house, and then the bedroom. After that, we switched to videotape. We looked for possible footprint indentations in the carpets, blood, cartridge casings, and weapons.”
“Would you say your search throughout the house was very thorough?”
“I would, yes. We looked under furniture, in closets, and in every drawer in the house.”
“And did you find any weapons?” Davis asked.
“No, we did not.”
“What about bullets or bullet casings?”
“We found no unspent bullets. I did find one spent casing, but not until after the body was removed. The casing was under the bed.”
“Footprint indications on the carpet or in blood?”
“No, we didn’t find any.”
“How about outside? Did you find any footprints outside that could be identified?”
“No, there were none.”
Davis picked up several pages of notes and finally walked to the lectern. “Concerning the victim, before her body was removed, what did you do?”
“I examined her clothing, looked for gunpowder residue on her hands, and for loose hairs and fibers.”
“Were you able to find anything of that nature?”
“No sir.”
“Did you find any signs of a struggle?”
“I did not. It appeared that she was asleep when she died.”
“I see.” Davis paused to check his notes. “Let’s go back for a minute. Outside the house, specifically outside the unlocked front door, did you find anything unusual?”
“No. We normally look for fresh cigarette butts or candy wrappers...that sort of thing. We found no evidence outside any of the entrances or the windows.”
“You found no evidence of a voyeur, or any sign that someone had gone through Mrs. Lockhart’s trash?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you collect any evidence inside Mrs. Lockhart’s home?”
“I did.”
“Could you tell us what evidence you collected?”
“Well, there wasn’t much. After I examined the body for other injuries or...intrusions, I allowed the removal of the body. Then I collected the sheets, the pillow and pillow case, and put them in paper evidence bags.”
“Were you able to document everything you did on video tape?”
“I was.”
“Thank you. Now, Detective Heffran, did you take samples of the blood you found in the victim’s bed?”
“I did.”
“Did you video tape the blood splatter on the victim’s headboard and the wall above it?”
“I did.”
“Were you able to collect samples of the blood on the headboard and the wall?”
“Yes.”
Davis moved to the side of the lectern again. “Detective Heffran, did you manage to find the bullet?”
“I did. It was imbedded in the wall behind the headboard.”
“With that knowledge, would you say the perpetrator stood no farther than two feet from the victim?”
“I agree with the Medical Examiner’s estimate, if that’s what you mean.”
“Thank you. Do you also agree that the killer is likely six feet tall?”
“I do.”
“After you recovered the bullet, did you turn it over to the police lab for examination?”
“I did.”
“And what did you learn?”
“The bullet was fired from a .38 Davis & Wesson Special.”
“To your knowledge, was the murder weapon ever recovered?”
Detective Heffran shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“In your expert opinion, did the bullet and the casing you found under the bed come from the same manufacturer?”
“They did.”
“Yet, you haven’t been able to connect any particular gun to the murder?”
“That is correct. There is no way to make a match without a weapon to examine.”
“Now, did you and Deputy Musgrave try to determine what, if anything had been taken from the house?”
“We did.”
“What were your findings?”
“Everything appeared to be accounted for, except some jewelry.”
“Could you tell us which articles of jewelry were missing?”
“Yes, there was a black diamond ring, a pearl ring, a necklace, bracelet and earring set, and a diamond broach.”
“Did the necklace set consist of mostly diamonds, also?”
“Yes.”
“Detective, did you take fingerprints at the scene?”
“I did.”
“And did you turn those findings over to the state fingerprint expert?”
“I did,”
“Did you find any prints belonging to anyone other than the housekeeper and Mrs. Lockhart?”
“Yes, sir, I found a forefinger print on Mrs. Lockhart’s bedroom door.”
“Was that on the inside or the outside of her bedroom door?”
“The outside.”
“Does Mrs. Lockhart’s door open into her bedroom, or out into the hallway?”
“It opens inwardly.”
“Would a fingerprint in that location indicate that someone had pushed the door open with one finger?”
“Yes, sir.”
“To your knowledge, was the Portland fingerprint expert able to ascertain whose forefinger print it was?”
“Yes, sir, it belongs to Mark Barrett.”
“Thank you,” said Davis, allowing a little extra time for the jury to absorb that fact. “Did you find any other fingerprints?”
“Yes, we found prints matching the housekeeper, Mrs. Lockhart, and several more that we were unable to positively identify.”
“Did you also find smudged fingerprints that couldn’t be identified?”
“Well, there are always smudged fingerprints, and most cannot be identified.”
Davis paused to indicate he was changing the subject. “Were you able to ascertain when the victim was last seen alive?”
“I believe Miss Childers was the last to see her alive.”
“Was that on the day she died?”
“According to Miss Childers, the last time she saw Mrs. Lockhart was the Tuesday before, which was the 9th of June.”
“I have nothing further at this time.” He went to his table just as Livingston was about to stand up and then nodded to him. “Your witness.”
Livingston seemed eager to ask his questions. “Detective, did you find fingerprints on the bullet?”
“No.”
“On the casing?”
“No.”
“Did you find any fibers or DNA at all that could be connected to the defendant, Mark Barrett?”
“No, we did not.”
“Permission to recall Detective Heffran for the defense, Your Honor.”
“Permission granted.”
“I have no more questions at this time.”
The judge asked, “Any redirect, Mr. Davis?”
“No, Your Honor.”
<
br /> “Very well,” said the judge. He quickly glanced at his watch. “Call your next witness.”
“Well, that’s interesting,” said Michael. “Barrett didn’t wear gloves when he touched the victim’s bedroom door. He’s guilty.”
“Yep,” Carl said. “Unless he can prove he was in her bedroom before that night, but why would a young guy like that be in the bedroom of an old woman?”
CHAPTER 5
IN THE BACK OF THE courtroom, the Bailiff called for Arthur Knoll. Several years younger than the other witness, Knoll hurried in, gave his pledge and sat down. He seemed a little on edge, as if he hadn’t testified in very many trials before.
“Mr. Knoll, state your full name and your occupation?”
“Arthur Knoll and I am a Certified Latent Print Examiner.”
“And do you work for the state of Oregon?”
“I do.”
Davis picked up a report and handed it to the expert. “Is this a report of your findings?”
Knoll pulled out a pair of glasses, put them on, and took a little longer than the others had to make certain he had the right report. “Yes, it is.”
Davis gave it to the clerk and continued, “Could you tell the jury a little bit about collecting fingerprint evidence?”
Arthur Knoll put his glasses away and turned to face the jury. “Everyone has a different set of fingerprints, and we leave ours on everything we touch. A print is a series of loops and arches. Visible prints are made on a card, such as when we get a driver’s license. Latent prints are those we leave on various surfaces without even thinking. At a crime scene, we use a dark powder on suspected surfaces to find the latent prints, and then we use a light source to see if the print is recognizable enough to be used in a trial.”
“And can you explain to the jury the procedure for collecting latent prints?”
Again, the witness turned to the jury. “We use a chemical called cyanoacrylate and a wand like tool that heats up the cyanoacrylate until it releases a vapor. The vapor interacts with the amino acids in a latent fingerprint, turns it white, and stains the paper.”
“Thank you,” said Davis. “Bringing your attention to the murder of Mrs. Lockhart, approximately how many fingerprints were collected and turned over to you for examination?”
“Approximately fifty.”
“Were you able to identify a fingerprint belonging to Mark Barrett?”
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