The Underground Man sw-3

by Parnell Hall

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Did you examine the stomach contents of the decedent?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “What did you find?”

  “I found the partially digested remnants of a frankfurter with mustard and sauerkraut.”

  “I see. Were you able to determine when the person died relative to when they ate the hot dog?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “And how long was that?”

  “Based on the progress of the digestion, I was able to postulate that the decedent ingested the food approximately four hours before his death.”

  “Four hours?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I see. And you estimate the time of death between ten and eleven. The median time would be ten-thirty. Four hours prior to that would be six-thirty. So then is it your opinion that the decedent ate the hot dog at approximately six-thirty P.M. on the night of the murder?”

  “Approximately six-thirty.” The doctor smiled a thin smile. “Six-thirty is a median time, as is ten-thirty. I would say my findings indicate the man ingested the food sometime between six and seven o’clock, just as I say he died sometime between ten and eleven. Six and seven and ten and eleven are, of course, extreme limits, the times within which the events might have occurred. However, as to when the events are most likely to have occurred, the optimum time of ingestion of the frankfurter was around six-thirty, and the optimum time of death around ten-thirty.”

  “I see, Doctor. Thank you for you clarification. Now let me ask you this. Do you know of your own personal knowledge when the man ate the hot dog?”

  Doctor Abraham shifted in his seat. “I do not know when the food was ingested, no.”

  “Well, aside from your own personal knowledge, did anyone tell you when the decedent ate the hot dog?”

  “Objection, hearsay,” Dirkson said.

  “I’m not asking what the man was told,” Steve said. “I’m asking if anyone informed him.”

  Judge Grimes frowned. “Sustained as to form. You may rephrase the question.”

  “Very well,” Steve said. “Doctor, aside from your personal knowledge, did you learn when the man ate the hot dog from any other source?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “I see,” Steve said. “That’s very interesting. So when you say the man ate the hot dog between six and seven, you are deducing that from your examination of the stomach contents alone, is that right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “You are saying, this man died approximately four hours after eating the hot dog. I fix the time of death between ten and eleven and therefore he ate the hot dog between six and seven. Is that right?”

  “Exactly. As I have already stated.”

  “I know you have, Doctor. But what I’m getting at is this. Since you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog, the stomach contents really tell you nothing in terms of time of death. In other words, in reaching your conclusions, you are taking the time of death as a given, and using it to determine when the man ate the food. You’re saying the man died between ten and eleven, therefore he ate between six and seven. Instead of the other way around, which would be, the man ate between six and seven, therefore he must have died between ten and eleven. Is that right?”

  “That’s essentially correct.”

  “Essentially? I think it’s totally correct, Doctor. Is it not true that if you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog, the stomach contents cannot tell you the time of death?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “And is it not true that you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “So is it not true that in this case the stomach contents do not tell you the time of death?”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “Gee, Doctor,” Steve said. “Then I guess that my assumption was essentially correct.”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said.

  “Sustained. Mr. Winslow, if we could avoid these side remarks.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor. So, Doctor, in this case is it not true that you could not determine the time of death from the stomach contents?”

  “Objected to as already asked and answered.”

  Judge Grimes frowned. “I’ll allow it.”

  “Yes, that’s true.”

  “So,” Steve said, ticking them off on his fingers. “You could not determine the time of death by post mortem lividity, you could not determine the time of death by rigor mortis, and you could not determine the time of death from the stomach contents. Tell me, Doctor, how did you determine the time of death.”

  “By body temperature.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Abraham snapped. “As I would have pointed out in the beginning, if I’d been allowed. Those three methods you mentioned are factors in determining the time of death, but they are relatively unimportant factors. Post mortem lividity is a factor, but a relatively negligible one. Rigor mortis is of some importance, but still not that accurate. Examination of the stomach contents can be of great help in determining the time of death if the time of ingestion of the last meal is known. But far and away the most accurate method of determining the time of death is by body temperature.”

  “And that is how you determined the time of death in this case?”

  “It is.”

  “You took the body temperature of the decedent?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And when was this done?”

  “When I performed my autopsy. At approximately 12:05, after midnight on the morning of the 27th.”

  “That would be approximately an hour and a half after the time you determine as the optimum time of death?”

  “That is correct.”

  Steve paused, scratched his head. “Well, that’s mighty interesting, Doctor.” He turned to include the jury. “And now, for the benefit of us laymen, who have not had the benefit of your medical experience, could you perhaps explain how you use body temperature to determine the time of death?”

  “Certainly,” Dr. Abraham said. “Humans are, as you know, warm-blooded. During life, the body temperature is approximately ninety-eight-point-six. After death, the body begins to cool. Since the rate of cooling is constant, by taking the body temperature it is possible to determine when the body began cooling. Which is, of course, when the person died.”

  “A very good explanation, Doctor. And may I compliment you on not cluttering it up with a lot of technical jargon. So you say the rate of body cooling is a constant?”

  “It is.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, that rate is one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, Doctor, you stated you took the body temperature at 12:05, approximately an hour and a half after the time you fix as the time of death. Is that right?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, let’s do the math. We have one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour for an hour and a half. So a half hour would be three-quarters of a degree Fahrenheit, or point-seven-five degrees, if you will. So one and a half plus three-quarters equals two and a quarter degrees Fahrenheit, or two-point-two-five. As you’ve already stated, the body temperature is normally ninety-eight-point-six. So ninety-eight-point-six, minus two-point-two-five leaves ninety-six-point-three-five. So, Doctor, am I to assume when you took the body temperature you got a reading of ninety-six-point-three-five degrees Fahrenheit?”

  Dr. Abraham tugged at his shirt collar. “No, sir. That is incorrect.”

  “Oh really? I thought we agreed that the body cools at one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour.”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “And did you state that the body temperature is ninety-eight-point-six?”

  “Yes, I did. But-”

  “I’m a little confused, Doctor. And I’m sure some of the jurors are too.”

  “Objection.”

&nb
sp; “Sustained.”

  “Sorry, Your Honor. I’ll confine myself to my own confusion. Are you telling me, Doctor, that my mathematics is incorrect?”

  “No, I’m not. But-”

  “I’m not? Then I am correct in saying that if the body cools at one and a half degrees per hour, if you examined the body an hour and a half after death, the body temperature should have been ninety-six-point-three-five. Isn’t that right?”

  “No, sir. That is not correct.”

  “And why not Doctor? Is there something wrong with my math?”

  “No, there’s nothing wrong with your math. The problem is, you’re making a false assumption.”

  “Oh? And what is that?”

  “That the body temperature of the decedent was ninety-eight-point-six.”

  “Oh? I thought you said it was.”

  “No. I said that was the general case.”

  “Are you saying that was not the case here?”

  “Of course.”

  “And why was that?”

  Dr. Abraham smiled condescendingly. “You’re forgetting, Counselor, that the body was burned. Naturally, that would raise the body temperature.”

  Steve Winslow feigned surprise, as if that thought had never occurred to him. “Oh, I see, Doctor. Thank you for pointing that out to me. So, you’re saying the body temperature of the victim was higher than ninety-eight-point-six when he died? Therefore it was higher than ninety-six-point-three-five when you took his temperature?”

  “That is correct.”

  “What was the actual body temperature when you did your autopsy?”

  “Ninety-eight-point-two.”

  “Ninety-eight-point-two? Then, if the body had cooled two-point-two-five degrees, then the temperature at the time of death would have been a hundred-point-four-five. Is that right?”

  “Approximately.”

  “The temperature at the time of death was a hundred-point-four-five?”

  “I said approximately. It’s impossible to be that accurate. But the body temperature was somewhere around a hundred and a half degrees Fahrenheit.”

  Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. “Wow, that’s interesting, Doctor. A hundred-point-five degrees?”

  “Approximately.”

  “Gee, Doctor, where did you get that figure?”

  “I just told you.”

  “Yes, you sure did. Tell me something, Doctor. Isn’t this just like the hot dog?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s exactly like the hot dog, isn’t it. You don’t know the temperature at the time of death. You didn’t take the temperature at the time of death. You weren’t there at the time of death. You took the temperature at the time of the autopsy. That temperature was ninety-eight-point-two. Now you say the man died an hour and a half earlier, so when he died his temperature must have been a hundred and a half. In other words, you assume the temperature was a hundred and half because you assume the man died at ten thirty. And you assume the man died at ten thirty, because you assume the temperature was a hundred and a half. Is that right?”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I didn’t ask you if it was fair, Doctor. I asked you if it was accurate.”

  “It is not accurate. I determined the time of death by medical means.”

  “And those medical means include a wild guess as to what the body temperature was at the time of death, don’t they, Doctor?”

  “Objection to the characterization, ‘wild guess,’” Dirkson said.

  Steve Winslow chuckled. “I’ll withdraw the question, Doctor.” He smiled at the jury before adding. “I can understand why the prosecutor wouldn’t want you to answer it.”

  31

  “So,” Taylor said. “Why is the time element so important?”

  Mark Taylor, Tracy Garvin and Steve Winslow were catching lunch at a small diner near the courthouse. Steve, exhausted from the morning session, had ordered a round of coffee to start, and the waitress had just delivered it and taken their sandwich orders.

  Steve took a sip of coffee, grimaced at the bitter taste, shook his head. “It isn’t,” he said.

  Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee, made a face, dumped more sugar in. “Why is it none of these places ever wash the pot?” He took another sip, found it only slightly more to his liking. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, it’s not important?”

  Steve shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The doctor says he died between ten and eleven. He’s probably right. But even if he’s wrong-say the guy died between nine and ten-what does it matter? Jeremy Dawson could have killed him between nine and ten just as well.”

  “So what’s the big deal?”

  “No big deal.”

  Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee, frowned, shook his head. “I don’t know what’s pissing me off more, you or this coffee. If the time element’s no big deal, why did you make such a big stink about it?”

  “Because it’s there.”

  “What?”

  Steve sighed. “You tell him, Tracy.”

  Tracy shrugged. “The way I see it, he couldn’t care less about the time element. He’s just trying to win the sympathy of the jury. Just like with the female transit cop.”

  Steve grinned. “Oh, you caught that?”

  Tracy gave him a look. “How could I miss it. It was shameless. You got six women and three Hispanics on the jury, so you take an Hispanic woman cop and make a speech about her intelligence and honesty.” Tracy shook her head. “I tell you, when I heard that I said, ‘Shit, he must really be in trouble now.’”

  Steve nodded. “Well, you’re absolutely right. Dirkson’s got me by the balls. I’m in a situation where I have to use every trick I can.” Steve turned back to Mark Taylor. “So, no, Mark, the time element don’t mean shit. But tell me, did you like my cross-examination of the doctor?”

  “I’ll say,” Taylor said. “It was right on. That’s why I figured it had to mean something.”

  “Well, it doesn’t. But you liked it, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the jury liked it too. I knew they would. I mean, here’s an arrogant, pompous, condescending doctor, and the jury just loved to watch me rip his can off. We scored points for it.

  “And that’s what it’s all about now. Dirkson has such a damn good case on the one hand, and such a horrifying one on the other. I mean, you should have seen those pictures. This is not just a murder. This is a gruesome murder. Dirkson’s drenching the jury in horror, and they’re lapping it up. The best I can do now is lighten the mood. It ain’t easy, and I gotta score points any way I can. That’s why I was so brutal with the doctor.”

  “Yeah, I see that,” Taylor said. “So now what?”

  Steve shrugged. “More of the same. And it’s only gonna get worse.”

  “How come?” Tracy asked.

  “Well, more than likely next up is the derelict who saw Jack Walsh and Jeremy Dawson together. He’s gonna make the identification, I’m gonna have to shake it. And it’s gonna be a bitch. The jury loved me for tearing into the doctor. They’ll hate me if I tear into this guy.”

  “So what you gonna do?” Tracy asked.

  “Anything I can. You got those pictures, Mark?”

  Taylor tapped his briefcase. “Yeah. Right here.”

  “What pictures?” Tracy asked.

  “Head shots,” Taylor said. “Kids with green hair.”

  “Oh, I didn’t see ‘em,” Tracy said. “Can I take a look?”

  “Sure,” Steve said. “Pass ‘em over, Mark. But keep ‘em covered,” he cautioned Tracy. “It’d be just our luck to have someone from Dirkson’s office walk by.”

  Taylor opened the briefcase, took out a manila envelope, passed it over to Tracy.

  Tracy pulled out the photos, leafed through them. They were eight-by-ten color glossies of teenagers with green mohawks. Tracy flipped through the pictures, stuck them back in the envelope, and looked up at Steve.

  “Are thes
e different kids, or are they all the same guy?”

  Steve grinned. “You just made my day. Nice work, Mark.”

  Tracy handed the envelope back to Mark Taylor and frowned. “Yeah, good, but I don’t get it. You may be able to confuse the hell out of the witness, but isn’t that just what you said you didn’t want to do? Isn’t that gonna piss the jury off?”

  “Depends how it’s done,” Steve said. “I gotta tread lightly and try to reverse the field.”

  Tracy frowned. “I don’t know what that means. Tell me something. Was one of those pictures Jeremy Dawson?”

  Steve grinned again. “That’s the second best thing I’ve heard all day.”

  Tracy frowned and shook her head. “I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not. I mean, everything you’re doing-the pictures, the doctor-it’s not to prove a point. It’s to confuse the issue. It’s to try to throw up a smoke screen to keep the facts from getting out. Dammit, it’s the classic case you hear about. It’s the clever defense attorney using his legal education to help some criminal beat the rap.”

  “I can’t think that way.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have a premise, a given, a bottom line. That bottom line is, Jeremy Dawson did not kill Jack Walsh. That’s the assumption on which I’m operating. The prosecution says he did, I say he didn’t.”

  Steve paused, took a sip of coffee. “And let me tell you something. If you didn’t like the doctor and the photos, you are in for a rude shock.” Steve held up his finger. “Because I promise you, I am going to use every trick in the book to get Jeremy Dawson off.”

  32

  When court reconvened, Dirkson stood up and said, “Call Joseph Bissel.”

  In the back of the courtroom, Mark Taylor nudged Tracy Garvin. “This is it.”

  “Huh?”

  “Joe Bissel. That’s the derelict.”

  Tracy Garvin watched with some interest as Joseph Bissel walked to the stand. The prosecution had certainly done everything in their power to clean him up for court. He’d had a shave and a haircut. He was dressed in an inexpensive, but clean and presentable suit.

  He was also sober, which had to be a big victory for the prosecution. Tracy couldn’t help wondering exactly how they’d managed that. An occasional slight tremor now and then as he walked up the aisle with the court officer was the only real indication of what this man had once been. Otherwise, he seemed a perfectly ordinary, if somewhat pale and emaciated fifty-five-year-old man.