Trial by Blood

by William Bernhardt

  “What happened after that?”

  “I showed them what I found.”

  “Let me ask you an important question. Did you see the defendant at or near that cabin?”

  “No, I didn’t see anyone. Alive.”

  “Did you see any traces that the defendant had ever been there?”

  “No.”

  “You found the cabin. Is it possible someone else could have done the same?”

  “Sure. It wasn’t really hard to get to—just remote.”

  “Thank you. Nothing more.”

  Dan didn’t cross. The primary reason Kilpatrick put this witness on the stand was that he didn’t want someone else to suggest that he was trying to hide evidence supporting Ossie’s story. But it had no bearing on whether Ossie was a murderer.

  Kilpatrick’s next witness was Sergeant Enriquez, the officer who took control of the crime scene once Dodgson got them there. He made sure the proper crime-scene protocols were implemented. They cordoned off the property—not that they expected anyone to wander by. They called the medical examiner’s office to take charge of the body. And they systematically sent in crime-scene techs to search for evidence.

  “Were there any indications that anyone other than the deceased lived in the cabin?”

  “None. No clothes or personal belongings other than those attributable to the old man, who still has not been identified.”

  “What about outside?”

  “There was a shack...with chains. It appears they were used as restraints. Presumably for the victims before they were...mummified.”

  “Did you find any fingerprints?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The place was in bad shape. The man had been dead a long time, and I think it’s safe to say the cleaning crew had stopped coming in. A dusty, dirty, filth-ridden environment is not an incubator for forensic evidence.”

  Slowly, and with great reluctance, Enriquez described the mummies, the corpses of young boys who had apparently been tortured before being killed and preserved and arranged in staged tableaus. And the pharmaceutical cabinet.

  “Can you describe what drugs you found in the cabinet?”

  “It would be easier to describe what wasn’t found. This guy had everything. It was all legit—assuming he had a prescription. No street drugs.”

  “Any ketamine in the cabinet?” That was, as the jury would recall, the poison found in trace amounts on the syringe.

  “Yes, that was on the list.”

  “Someone could have found the cabin, just as you did, noted the yellow triangle, acquired the poison and a syringe, then left.”

  “Objection,” Dan said, rising to his feet. “Who’s speculating now?”

  Kilpatrick shrugged. “I’m posing a hypothetical.”

  The judge appeared baffled.

  “If Pike can do it—” Kilpatrick took a breath, then tried a different approach. “I’m just establishing that a killer could’ve obtained the poison from this cabin.”

  “Oh.” The judge extended his lower lip. “Well, that’s okay, I think.”

  His clerk nodded subtly.

  “Any idea where these drugs came from?” Kilpatrick asked.

  “No idea. The man must’ve gone into town periodically for food and supplies. Looks like he had a source that hooked him up with drugs, too. A physician, maybe, or a Canadian pharmacy that didn’t care whether he had a prescription. Hard to know.”

  And with that, Dan realized, the prosecution added the last element needed to complete its prima facie case—an explanation of where Ossie got the poison and perhaps the syringe. No signs that he lived in this cabin, much less for fourteen years. But a strong suggestion that he might’ve dropped by and acquired the murder weapon.

  And there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. Because he knew every word the witnesses had spoken was true.

  Chapter 41

  As Dan expected, the last witness of the day was Bradley Ellison, the ex-cop cold-case expert. The man who put away his father.

  Ellison eased into the witness stand as calm as could be. In a few brief strokes, he established that he was a retired member of the local police force, a former homicide detective, that he retired at the rank of captain, that he had testified in court on many previous occasions, and that he now acted as a private investigator.

  “Do you get paid for this work?” Kilpatrick asked.

  “Sometimes. Not always. I’m fortunate to be financially secure at this point in my life, so I don’t worry about that too much. I focus on cases with unusual or intriguing aspects.”

  The Sherlock Holmes of St. Pete. Except Sherlock was never wrong.

  “Have you investigated the Ossie Coleman case?”

  “Yes. For years.”

  “What were the unusual aspects that attracted your interest?”

  Ellison turned slightly, drawing the jurors into his line of sight. He was a good, experienced witness. He knew how to include the jury without making it seem as if he were putting on a performance for them. “I remember when the boy disappeared, fourteen years ago. I was on the force then. I didn’t work that case, but I knew about it. And it was never solved, despite all the manpower put into it, and all the money the Coleman family spent trying to locate the lost heir.”

  “Are you familiar with the latest developments in the case?”

  “I’m aware that a young man has come forth claiming to be Ossie Coleman.” He pointed. “The defendant.”

  “And do you have an opinion on whether that claim is accurate?”

  Dan rose. “Objection, your honor. There is a civil suit pending on this issue, a declaratory judgment suit filed by the Coleman family. This testimony might be relevant there, but it isn’t here. This is a murder trial.”

  Judge Smulders nodded thoughtfully. “This is a murder trial. That’s for certain. Right?”

  Kilpatrick stepped toward the bench. “Nonetheless, this is relevant, your honor. It goes to motive.”

  The judge was still nodding. “Motive. Also...important.”

  “It’s crucial,” Kilpatrick added. “Even Mr. Pike would agree—”

  “I do not agree. Motive is not an element of any of the crimes with which the defendant has been charged.”

  “Motive may not be an official element,” Kilpatrick said, “but it’s almost impossible to get a jury to convict without one. Let me explain why the defendant committed this crime.”

  “He already has. The jury knows there are zillions at stake. They probably knew before they got to the courthouse. If that’s all this is, it’s completely unnecessary.”

  “That’s not all it is,” Kilpatrick said, “as will be clear very soon. May I proceed, your honor?”

  Judge Smulders pursed his lips. “Let’s put a pin in that objection and...get on with the trial.”

  Did that mean “Overruled?”

  Kilpatrick continued. “You were about to offer your opinion regarding the defendant’s claim.”

  “Yes. It’s my opinion, based upon careful investigation, that the claim is without merit.”

  “Meaning...?”

  “Meaning the young man sitting over there in the nice suit is not Ossie Coleman.”

  “You think it’s unlikely?”

  “I think there’s no possibility. His story does not hold water. Maybe he’s just delusional, but I have strong reason to believe he’s actively trying to swindle money from the Coleman estate.”

  “Could that swindle include murder?”

  That was beyond the pale. “Objection.”

  “Never mind. I’ll withdraw the question.” Kilpatrick flipped a page in his outline. “Why do you say the story doesn’t hold water?”

  “Common sense, for starters. Think about it. Where did Ossie Coleman go after his mother killed herself? How would he get to a cabin in the middle of a swamp? A boy that age couldn’t take care of himself. Who did? Plus the defendant looks nothing like the boy who disappeared.”

  “Can you explain what you m
ean by that?”

  “We have photographs of Ossie Coleman taken before he disappeared. Not as many as I’d like, and the quality isn’t great. His mother doesn’t seem to have cared much for snapshots, and this was before everyone had a cellphone with a fabulous camera in their pocket.”

  Kilpatrick turned on the video screen facing the jury. He rambled through the procedure for admitting exhibits. “Can you identify this photograph?”

  “Yes. That’s one of the best of the handful of photographs we have of Ossie Coleman before he disappeared. It was taken at his fourth birthday party.”

  “Have you performed any kind of analysis with this photograph?”

  “Yes. I’ve used a program called FaceApp, which uses artificial intelligence to age people, using common points of reference. Police often use programs like this to produce a portrait of a suspect who hasn’t been photographed for many years. The program takes into account the natural shape of the young face. Prominent cheekbones remain prominent, big eyes remain big. But the features spread, weight is gained, the face lengthens. The program duplicates the natural aging process.”

  Kilpatrick put another photograph on the screen, a shot of a much older boy. After allowing the jury to see it by itself, he put the two photos side by side. “Can you tell the jury what the second photo is?”

  “That’s the photo my software program created. It’s basically a portrait of the real Ossie Coleman—but fourteen years older. And as you can see, it is far from identical to the defendant. No one would look at that photo and ID the man sitting at the defendant’s table.”

  Dan scrutinized the photos carefully. He’d looked at these on many previous occasions, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen them on an enlarged, backlit screen. What Ellison said was true—this was a reliable software program. He’d used it himself in the past. And the aged-photo face was not identical to his client, though he did not think it was so far different that it blew Ossie out of contention.

  Kilpatrick let the jury gaze at the photos. “Do you have any other reasons for disbelieving the defendant’s story?”

  “Yes. He came to see me at one point. Tried to get me to back his claim.”

  Dan sat up. Ellison hadn’t mentioned this when they talked before. And Ossie hadn’t mentioned it either.

  He turned toward his client, scribbling on the legal pad between them. TRUE?

  Ossie hesitated a moment. I SAW HIM.

  Great. Nothing like a big surprise to make a murder trial more challenging.

  “When did this happen?”

  “A few days after the police found him. You’ll recall he claimed he’d lost his memory for the most part—but somehow remembered his name was Ossie Coleman. He was placed in a foster home. He actively sought out people he claimed were his relatives—including Harrison Coleman.”

  “Yes,” Kilpatrick said. “We’ve had testimony putting the defendant at the theater where Harrison worked.”

  “Objection,” Dan said. “That testimony was unreliable and highly disputed.”

  “I object to that objection,” Kilpatrick growled.

  Judge Smulders pressed a hand to his forehead. “This is getting very confusing.”

  Kilpatrick almost rolled his eyes. “For the sake of simplicity, I’ll withdraw the statement. I’m sure the jury remembers what they’ve heard.” He turned back to the witness. “The defendant sought you out?”

  “Yes. He’d heard that I was a local expert on his case. He tried to persuade me that he was the real McCoy. Didn’t seem like a bad kid, but I had to tell him I didn’t for one minute believe he was the missing heir.”

  “How did he take that news?”

  “Not well. He became angry. Accused me of trying to hurt him because he was black—which was absurd.” Ellison took a deep breath. “Then he tried to bribe me.”

  Dan felt a chill run up his spine.

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “He noted that if I backed his claim, he would come into a lot of money. He said he planned to be generous with that money.”

  Ossie grabbed the pencil. WASN’T A BRIBE!!!

  Dan gave him a stern look. Stay calm. Don’t let the jury see you sweat.

  Ellison continued. “He mentioned that my house could use some repairs and my truck looked pretty shabby. Wondered if maybe he could help.”

  Ossie kept writing. STILL NOT BRIBE!!! Then he underlined it three times.

  Kilpatrick cleared his throat. “So basically, his message was, back me and I’ll slide some of the loot your way.”

  “That’s how I understood it.”

  “And of course, if a man is willing to bribe a witness to get his hands on the money...he could be capable of doing anything. No more questions.”

  Dan pushed himself to his feet. He skipped the warmup and plunged right in. He didn’t like this man, thought he was a lying son of a bitch, and wasn’t going to pretend otherwise. “You suggested that you started looking into this case out of intellectual curiosity. But in fact, didn’t someone pay you to look into the Ossie Coleman case?”

  “I have been compensated for my work.”

  “By whom?”

  He raised his chin. “I prefer to keep my clients’ confidences. Just as you do.”

  “The attorney-client privilege does not extend to dilettante investigators. Who paid you?”

  “There is a privilege for private investigators who—”

  “Are you a licensed PI?”

  Ellison exhaled heavily. “No.”

  “One more time. Who paid you to look into this case?”

  Ellison frowned. “Conrad Sweeney.”

  “And Sweeney is closely tied to the DA and local law enforcement, isn’t he?”

  “I believe that is an accurate statement.”

  “So in truth, you were hired to debunk my client’s claim. Which you didn’t mention to the jury.”

  “I was hired to look into the case. I reached my own conclusion about it. I would’ve reported the truth, whatever I thought it to be.”

  “It was just a coincidence that you ended up telling them exactly what they wanted to hear?”

  Kilpatrick rose. “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  Wow. Not even Judge Smulders had to be coached on that one. “You’ve worked with Sweeney before, haven’t you?”

  Ellison gave him a penetrating look, as if to say, did he really want to go there? “Yes.”

  No, you bastard, we aren’t going to discuss the lies you told to put my father away. “And Sweeney is an influential man in this community, right?” Out the corner of his eye, he could see Prudence in the gallery, looking extremely unhappy, scribbling notes onto an iPad.

  “He’s a successful tech businessman and philanthropist. He’s probably done more for this town than anyone else alive.”

  “And the only way he can have influence is by having power. The power to manipulate people to get what he wants.”

  “I have not been manipulated. I’ve been hired. There’s a huge difference. And I don’t think you should malign one of the most prominent—”

  He couldn’t stand to listen to this and didn’t have to. “Let’s talk about the computer-generated photograph. What information did you give the software program before it aged the original photograph?”

  “Only the number of years involved. I did nothing that would bias the result.”

  “Or make it more accurate. Do you think diet influences the development of the face?”

  “Of course.”

  “Your photograph has a full, healthy appearance. But of course, if you’ve been out in the swamp eating irregularly or unhealthily for years, and then you get thrown into jail, you might not have the flushest face.”

  “True.”

  “What about abuse? Can that affect someone’s appearance?”

  “I would assume so.”

  “Exercise? Sunlight?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “T
here are many factors that could influence the development of someone’s face. And your program didn’t know about any of them.”

  Ellison hesitated. “I would maintain that although environment may be a factor, ultimately, genetics dominate.”

  “But you can’t always predict genetics, can you? Sure, you can take an educated guess. But you can’t tell this jury your photo represents the only possible way that four-year-old face might evolve, can you? Beyond a doubt?”

  Ellison pursed his lips. “No. I can’t say that.”

  He didn’t skip a beat. “You called Conrad Sweeney a philanthropist.”

  “A great one.”

  “He’s donated to the police retirement fund.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “And you acknowledged that he paid you to investigate.”

  “True.”

  “Does that mean he was bribing you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “It’s possible for someone to contemplate helping someone without intending it as a bribe.”

  “Well...”

  “Like you just said about Sweeney.”

  Ellison took a deep breath. “I suppose it’s possible. But when the boy started talking about my truck—”

  “If he paid you for your expert opinion, would that be a bribe?”

  “Well, no...”

  “Is the DA’s office paying you for your testimony today?”

  “I’m being compensated for my time.”

  “So you were bribed.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Did the money influence your testimony?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Seems like you only see a bribe when you want to see it.” He paused. “Or when Sweeney wants you to see it.”

  Kilpatrick shot to his feet. “Objection!”

  He waved it away. “Withdrawn. This witness is a complete waste of my time. I have no more questions.”

  Chapter 42

  Dan caught his reflection in the microwave over the stovetop. Who was that guy staring back at him? He’d spent so much time worrying about who his client really was—who was that guy in the reflection? A scrappy courtroom brawler?

  Or, as Ellison suggested, a scared little boy who desperately wanted his daddy to come home and go swimming with him.