by John Bowers
“Yes.”
“Then you submitted it for a ballistics test?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you learn anything from the ballistics test?”
“Yes. The bullets taken from Lloyd’s body and the shell casings in his driveway were all fired by the recovered weapon.”
“What did you do next?”
“Once we had the test results, we applied for an arrest warrant and went to find Mr. Frie.”
“Where did you find him?”
“By the time all the datawork was completed, it was almost the end of the day. We picked him up when he returned to the halfway house after work.”
“Did Mr. Frie resist in any way?”
“No. Not physically, anyway. He protested loudly that he was innocent.”
“He protested? What did he say?”
“He said we framed him the first time and now we were doing it again.”
“How many people have you arrested, Agent Majors?”
“Um…I don’t really know. A few hundred, I guess.”
“Did any of those other people you arrested ever claim they were being framed?”
“Oh, sure. All the time. One a month, at least.”
“So the fact that Mr. Frie claimed he was being framed, in your view, doesn’t prove that he was innocent?”
“Definitely not. If anything, it’s a tired old cliché that we hear all the time. It doesn’t prove he was guilty, but it adds weight to the likelihood that he is.”
“Objection. The witness is not a psychologist.”
“Sustained.”
Victoria continued.
“After Mr. Frie was booked, what happened then?”
“We ran a GSR test on him.”
“GSR?”
“Gunshot residue. It’s a test to determine if the suspect has fired a weapon.”
“How can you determine that?”
“When a gun is fired, some of the gases from the gunpowder escape the chamber and stick to the hand. You can detect them with certain chemicals.”
“And what did you find?”
Majors’ expression clouded.
“Nothing. Apparently, Mr. Frie anticipated the test and had washed the residue off his hands.”
“What about his clothing? GSR can transfer to clothing, isn’t that true?”
“Yes. We tested the clothing he was wearing and all the garments in his residence. We found nothing.”
“So you were unable to establish guilt using the GSR test?”
“That’s correct.”
“Does the failure to find gunshot residue on the defendant’s hands or clothing prove his innocence?”
“Not at all. As I said, he could have washed it off, or he might have worn gloves. And it’s likely he disposed of what he was wearing at the crime scene.”
“Did you find any gloves?”
“No. But the man works for a garbage company. He had ways to dispose of them.”
“Thank you, Agent Majors. No more questions at this time.”
As Victoria returned to her table, Anderson Gabel winked at her. He looked very pleased with how the trial was going. In the seats along the back wall, Gary Fraites also looked on with a happy face.
Hayes Crawford put the witness through thirty minutes of cross-examination, but was unable to shake his testimony. Finally, he sat down.
“Call your next witness, Miss Cross.”
“The Federation calls Agent Max Linder to the stand.”
Max Linder was nearly sixty. He was a slight, bookish man with bad posture and a pink scalp covered with liver spots. His hair was nearly gone, but what remained at the fringes of his hairline had been wetted down and slicked back across his bald pate in a pitiful attempt at a comb-over.
He took the stand and peered at Victoria through thick, old-fashioned glasses. She walked him through his qualifications and work history. She established that he was the leading ballistics expert for Alpha Centauri County.
“Agent Linder, I suspect you have performed hundreds of ballistics tests, is that right? Maybe thousands?”
“Forty-seven thousand, three hundred and eighty-two, as of yesterday,” he said.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Wow! You keep track of them all?”
He shrugged. “I anticipated that you might ask, so I had the computer count them up for me.”
“Well, that’s very impressive. Did you perform the ballistics test on the weapon recovered from Wallace Frie’s room at the halfway house?”
“I did.”
She carried the red box to the witness stand and showed it to him.
“Is this the same weapon you tested?”
“It appears to be. Can I see the trigger guard?”
“Why the trigger guard?”
“One of the other agents made a scratch on it so we could easily ID the gun.”
Victoria removed the gun from the box and held it up for the witness to inspect. Linder nodded.
“Yes, that’s the same weapon.”
“Thank you.” She placed the box back on the table. “What did your test reveal?”
“I fired the weapon to obtain a couple of slugs and shell casings, then compared those to the slugs recovered from the victim’s body. They were a match.”
“And the shell casings?”
“Also a match.”
“To what degree of certainty?”
“Ninety percent.”
“Is there any possibility that the fatal bullets were fired by another weapon?”
“Yes, but it’s extremely remote. Ballistics tests are like fingerprints—every gun has unique lands and grooves inside the barrel, and when a bullet is fired, those lands and grooves leave impressions on the slug as it travels down the barrel.”
“Can you explain to the jury…what are lands and grooves?”
“It’s part of the rifling inside the barrel. Centuries ago, gun makers discovered that a bullet is more accurate if it spins while in flight. To achieve that effect, they designed gun barrels with rifling, which consists of parallel ridges in the form of a spiral that force the bullet to spin. The ridges are referred to as ‘lands’, and the space between them are the grooves.”
“And both lands and grooves leave a physical impression on the slug as it travels down the barrel?”
“Correct.”
“Thank you. Did you find anything else unusual about the bullets in your examination?”
“Well…I wouldn’t call it unusual, but we did find fingerprints.”
“You found fingerprints where?”
“On two of the shell casings.”
“How do fingerprints get on shell casings?”
“When someone loads a weapon, he has to pick up the bullets to do so. That’s when the fingerprints are transferred.”
“Are the fingerprints affected when the bullet is fired? By the heat, maybe?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t erase or damage them. If anything, it simply burns them into the metal.”
“Did the fingerprints match anything on file?”
“Yes.”
“Who did the fingerprints belong to?”
Linder took a deep, dramatic breath. He shifted his gaze toward the defense table.
“The fingerprints came back as a match to the defendant, Wallace Frie.”
Victoria nodded and backed away from the witness box. She retrieved a small plastic bag from the prosecution table and showed it to the witness.
“Are these the bullets you tested? And the shell casings?”
Linder peered at them, then nodded.
“Yes. As you can see, three of the slugs are deformed, two of them badly. The fourth is in excellent condition. And, you can clearly see the fingerprints on two of the casings.”
Victoria walked the bag over to the defense table, then showed it to the jury. The shell casings still contained fingerprint powder outlining the prints themselves.
“Enter this into evidence as Federat
ion Exhibit 2, your Honor?”
“So ordered.”
“Nothing further at this time.”
“Mr. Crawford?”
Hayes Crawford approached the witness chair with his usual smile.
“Good afternoon, Agent Linder.”
“Afternoon.”
“When you examined what you believed to be the murder weapon, did you find the defendant’s prints on it? On the gun itself?”
“No. We assume it was wiped clean.”
“You didn’t find any DNA, either, did you?”
“No. I don’t test for that, but my understanding is that no DNA was recovered.”
“The fact that the shell casings had my client’s prints on them does not definitively prove that he fired the shots, does it?”
Linder gazed at him a moment, then shook his head slowly.
“Not all by itself, no. But it’s a pretty good indicator.”
“A ‘pretty good indicator’ is not proof beyond a reasonable doubt, is it?”
“No.”
“Agent Linder, can you hypothesize a scenario in which someone’s fingerprints might be found on a murder weapon when that person did not commit the crime?”
Linder frowned.
“No, I don’t think so. Isn’t that your job?”
Crawford laughed.
“Actually, yes, it is. So let me offer you a hypothesis. Let’s say that you, personally, entered a market and picked up a bottle of…oh, I don’t know—shampoo. Just for the sake of argument.”
“Okay…”
“You pick up the bottle, and in so doing, you leave fingerprints. With me so far?”
“Yes.”
“Then you change your mind. You don’t like that brand, so you set the bottle down and choose another one, which you purchase. You leave the market, and the bottle with your fingerprints remains behind. An hour later, someone else comes in wearing gloves. They pick up that same shampoo bottle and hit the store clerk over the head with it, killing him. Still with me?”
“Yeah.”
“The police find the murder weapon with your fingerprints on it. Based on that evidence, or what appears to be evidence, they arrest you for the murder. How about that?”
“How about what?”
“What are you supposed to do? You didn’t commit the crime. You were there, but you didn’t do it. How do you prove your innocence?”’
Linder shook his head.
“I don’t know. I guess I would hire you to get me off.”
Crawford laughed again, a big belly laugh.
“But you see my point, don’t you? It is possible for a murder weapon to carry the fingerprints of someone other than the actual killer, is it not?”
“Yeah, I guess so. So you’re suggesting that the defendant fingered bullets in a box but didn’t buy any?”
“It could happen. Couldn’t it? It’s not impossible?”
“Nnnno. I guess it’s not impossible.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
“Redirect, Miss Cross?”
Victoria hopped up and headed back to the witness box.
“Agent Linder, if we accept Mr. Crawford’s theory that the defendant somehow touched the fatal bullets but didn’t fire them, wouldn’t that be grounds for another charge against the defendant?”
“How do you mean?”
“Mr. Frie is a convicted felon on parole. The law forbids him from owning or even handling a firearm, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, it does. I’m not sure about just touching the bullets, though.”
“Agent Linder, in your opinion, what are the odds of Mr. Crawford’s scenario actually taking place?”
“Objection. There is no way the witness can answer that question accurately.”
Victoria spun on him.
“Because the scenario is too far-fetched? Thank you! I agree.”
Crawford ignored her.
“Your Honor?”
“Withdraw the question,” Victoria said. “Nothing further.”
“Mr. Crawford?”
“No more questions, your Honor.”
“The witness is excused. Call your next, Miss Cross.”
Victoria stared at her notes. She glanced at her laptop. She checked her watch. She whispered to Godney.
Then she stood up.
“Your Honor…at this time, the Federation rests.”
Chapter 29
The defense began its case at two-thirty in the afternoon. Hayes Crawford had done his legwork…or rather, his investigators had. The physical evidence in the case was iron-clad and difficult to overcome, so instead of a frontal assault, Crawford used a flanking maneuver. If he could sow enough reasonable doubt…
His first witness was Mickey Tullis.
Victoria had studied Crawford’s witness list and was not surprised. She had interviewed Tullis herself and found him to be unreliable. She was curious what he might say for the defense.
It didn’t take long to find out.
Crawford established Tullis’s credentials and then got down to the point.
“Mr. Tullis, do you recall testifying in another courtroom in 0432? Twelve years ago?”
Tullis brushed greasy hair out of his face.
“Yes.”
“Without giving away any details, who was the defendant in that case?”
“Wallace Frie.”
“The same Wallace Frie who sits here on trial today?”
“Yeah, it’s the same guy. He’s a little older now, but he’s the same guy.”
“Mr. Tullis, we’re not going to discuss the details of that case, but I want to ask you a very specific question, so please give me a specific answer and don’t elaborate.”
“Okay.”
“When you testified against Mr. Frie in that other trial, what was the nature of your testimony?”
“I was there to report what he said in jail while waiting for his trial.”
“How would you know that? Were you also in jail?”
“Yeah, I was. I was in the cell next to Frie.”
“So you were what we refer to as a jailhouse snitch?”
Tullis laughed.
“Don’t say that in front of my friends. We don’t like the word ‘snitch’. But, yeah, I was.”
“Mr. Tullis, please tell the jury—what was your testimony at that time?”
“I testified that Frie had threatened to kill Lloyd Randal.”
“And why would Mr. Frie want to kill Lloyd Randal?”
“He claimed that Randal framed him for the sm—”
Crawford’s hand shot up to stop him.
“Thank you, Mr. Tullis. Remember, no details about the previous trial, just the questions I ask you. Please don’t elaborate.”
“Sorry.”
“So Mr. Frie told you that Agent Randal had framed him for the previous crime, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Frie actually tell you that, or did you make it up?”
“He actually told me that. He said Randal was a crooked cop.”
“Anything else?”
“Yeah. He said, ‘Somebody should kill that mothertrucker’.”
“Is that an exact quote?”
“As near as I can remember. Only he didn’t say ‘mothertrucker’—he said something that rhymes with it.”
“Thank you, I think we get the picture. Mr. Tullis, at any time, did Wallace Frie tell you he was going to kill Agent Randal?”
“No.”
Crawford’s eyebrows shot up. He spun toward the jury to let them see how shocked he was.
“No?”
“No.”
“But you testified twelve years ago that he did say that. Did you not?”
“I did.”
“You committed perjury on the witness stand?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.” Tullis laughed again. “What’s the statute of limitations on that?”
“Expired. You can’t be charged with it now.”
“Thank god.”
“Why did you lie, Mr. Tullis? Were you offered anything in return for your testimony?”
“Yeah.”
“What were you offered?”
“Six months.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was doing a year for petit theft. I had six months to go and they waived it for me.”
“So, in return for your testimony, you walked free?”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“So you lied on the stand.”
“Yep. Sure did.”
“It didn’t bother you that your testimony put an innocent man in prison?”
“Hell, I didn’t know if he was innocent. I figured, if they picked him up, he was guilty. That’s how it always worked when I was arrested. I always screamed that I was innocent, too, but I never was. Anyway, a guy’s gotta look out for himself, right?”
“Were you coerced in any way to lie on the stand?”
“Naw, I just told the man what he wanted to hear.”
“What man?”
“The Federation prosecutor, Mr. Anderson. That’s him right there.”
Tullis pointed.
Crawford turned to look.
“You said Mr. Anderson, but you’re pointing at Mr. Gabel.”
Tullis frowned, then grinned.
“Yeah, that’s right. Anderson Gabel. I always forget his last name. To me he’s just Mr. Anderson.”
“And Mr. Gabel didn’t coerce you in any way to testify against Mr. Frie?”
“No, but he didn’t have to. I knew what he wanted to hear and that’s what I told him.”
“How could you possibly know what Mr. Gabel wanted to hear?”
“Hey, he’s a prosecutor. Prosecutors only want to hear bad things about the people they’re prosecuting. If I told him the truth, I would’ve spent another six months in lockup. He didn’t want to hear what Frie really said.”
“Okay. So today, you are telling this Court and this jury that Mr. Frie did not, in fact, threaten Lloyd Randal’s life?”
“No, he didn’t. All he said was that somebody ought to kill the guy.”
“But he never said he was going to do it?”
“No, he didn’t. Not to me, anyway.”
“Thank you. No further questions.”
“Miss Cross? Cross-examine?”
Victoria approached the witness and ignored his leering grin. She stopped six feet away and stared at him.
