Killer Ambition

by Marcia Clark

  I briefly scanned the faces of the jurors to see how we stood. All were paying close attention, and a few were taking notes. Excellent.

  “With regard to Ian Powers’s profile, can you tell me how many other people might possibly have that same profile? Or to put it another way, what is the statistical likelihood that the bloodstain could have come from someone other than Ian Powers?”

  “The odds of that are one in one quadrillion, four hundred and seventy-seven trillion, two hundred thirty-six billion—”

  “I can’t even picture a number as long as that, so just to cut to the chase: How many people are there on this planet?”

  “Just over seven billion.”

  “So when you say the odds of finding another person with the same profile as Ian Powers’s is one in one quadrillion, are you basically saying there’s no one else on this planet with the same DNA profile as Ian Powers’s?”

  “In a word, yes. We would have to look through more people than there are on earth to find another person with the same profile.”

  “And in plain English, that means the blood that was found on Brian’s trunk was Ian Powers’s, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  There was no topping that, so I didn’t try. “Thank you, Mr. Gelfer. No further questions.”

  When I sat down, I noticed that Bailey was gone. “What happened?” I whispered to Declan.

  “She said she had to take care of something and not to worry.”

  I wouldn’t—I had enough to keep me busy right here. Terry moved a giant binder to the lectern.

  “There are two forms of DNA testing: RFLP and PCR, correct?”

  “Well…those are the tests relevant to this case.”

  “And you used PCR testing in this case, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t it true that PCR testing is more vulnerable to contamination?”

  “Well…yes. If proper protocols aren’t followed.”

  “When you say protocols, you mean there are things that should never be allowed to happen during PCR testing, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s because you need to follow certain procedures in order to ensure that evidence doesn’t get contaminated, right?”

  “Right.”

  “One of the biggies in terms of things you should never do is bring a suspect’s blood sample into the lab while evidence is being tested?”

  “Yes, that would be a very bad thing to do.”

  “Tell us why, Mr. Gelfer.”

  “Because PCR is a very sensitive testing method. If you bring a suspect’s blood sample into the lab while you’re testing an evidence bloodstain, you run the risk of contaminating the evidence stain with the suspect’s blood sample.”

  “And that would make the suspect’s DNA show up in the evidence bloodstain, wouldn’t it?”

  “Well…I…it could.”

  “To be more specific: If you brought Mr. Power’s blood sample—the blood you removed from his arm—into the lab while you were testing the bloodstain on Brian’s car, you could contaminate that stain with Ian’s DNA. And that would make it look as though Ian’s DNA was in the blood on the trunk of Brian’s car when it really wasn’t. Isn’t that true?”

  “Objection!” I’d had enough of this b.s. questioning based on shadows, smoke, and mirrors. “Improper hypothetical, Your Honor. There is no evidence whatsoever that there was any contamination here.”

  Terry didn’t wait for the judge to rule. “Actually, Your Honor”—Terry brandished a stapled sheaf of papers—“These are the quality control and proficiency test results that just came in this morning on Mr. Gelfer and his lab.”

  “Does the prosecution have these reports?” the judge asked.

  This had to be some kind of scam. Some smack written about SID by a defense hack so he could get his name in print and his butt on the witness stand in a high-profile case. I tried to look unconcerned as I answered. “No, Your Honor. I need time to review these reports before cross continues. It’s unfair to allow questioning based on data I’ve had no chance to examine.”

  “I’m not going to take up this jury’s time with a recess, Ms. Knight. You can review the documents briefly now and I’ll give you some extra time to go over them during a regular break, before redirect—”

  “But Your Honor, this is—”

  “I’ve ruled! Ms. Fisk, give the prosecution—and the witness—a copy of the reports and proceed with your cross.”

  A law clerk trotted over with the report. The top of the front page showed the ASCLD/LAB emblem—American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors/Laboratory Accreditation Board—telling me this was no sham. This was the real deal. And just issued that morning? How the hell had Terry gotten these reports? My knees suddenly felt like Jell-O. I sank into my seat. Holding on to a neutral expression as best I could, I skimmed the findings. The words “Errors” and “Unsatisfactory” jumped out at me. Oh, God. This was bad. Very, very bad. A roaring in my ears kept me from hearing the beginning of Terry’s next question. I leaned over to Declan and whispered, “What’d she just say?”

  Declan looked pale. “Just asked if he’d seen the report.”

  Gelfer adjusted his glasses. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. When he answered, he was short of breath.

  “N-no. I didn’t know it was out yet.”

  “But you can see that it’s from ASCLD/LAB, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please tell the jury what ASCLD/LAB is.”

  He explained that ASCLD/LAB is an organization that sets the standards for lab and tech procedures and administers the testing that determines whether a lab should be accredited.

  “And just so the jury understands, Mr. Gelfer. Your lab, and all the criminalists in it, are tested every so often to make sure your labs are being run properly and you’re all following standard procedures, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes.” Gelfer’s voice cracked.

  “Then ASCLD/LAB writes up a report of how you all did on that test, correct?”

  “That’s right, yes.”

  “And a couple of months ago, all of you techs and your lab underwent blind or undeclared tests to check on whether proper procedures were being followed, right?”

  “Right.”

  “These pages I’m holding appear to be a report on your last set of blind tests, don’t they?”

  “From what I’ve seen…yes.”

  “I’m going to let you look at this page for a moment before I ask a few questions.” Terry glanced back at me. “Page seven, Counsel.”

  I flipped to the page, fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, and forced myself to read. It was like having to walk through a curtain of razors.

  Terry continued. “This page shows that one of your fellow techs didn’t follow enzyme activation and cycling times. Without going into all the gory details, that’s a big no-no, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. But it wouldn’t cause the DNA in an evidence sample to change. I mean—”

  “Not saying it would, Mr. Gelfer. But it would affect the validity of any result you got, wouldn’t it?”

  “It—well, more likely it would prevent us from getting any result.”

  “Fair enough. Another tech failed to wipe down the table with ethanol after using lab cleaner—also a big no-no, isn’t that right?”

  “It’s…a problem, but—”

  “But that didn’t result in contamination, is that what you wanted to say, Mr. Gelfer?”

  “Yes.”

  “I agree. Now turn to page nine.”

  Heart pounding, I found the page. When I saw what was written there, I wanted to bang my head on the table, then put my fist through a wall. Instead, I leaned back and doodled on my notepad. And tried not to look like I knew the biggest case of my career was about to explode in my face. When Gelfer finished reading the page, he looked like he was going to cry.

  “That blind test did involve a con
tamination mistake, isn’t that right, Mr. Gelfer?”

  Gelfer swallowed, then answered. “It—it seems so.”

  It was almost physically painful to watch him up there. Like a man in the stocks, helpless to avoid the rocks being thrown at his head.

  “And what happened was exactly what I mentioned earlier: a suspect’s blood sample—blood that had been drawn from his arm—was brought into the lab where evidence was being tested. Right?”

  “Yeah, uh, yes.”

  “As a result, the evidence sample did in fact get contaminated with the suspect’s blood. Meaning the suspect’s DNA showed up in that evidence sample, didn’t it?”

  Gelfer glanced down at the page again. “It…yes, it did.”

  “But it turned out that result couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be the suspect’s blood in that evidence stain, because the evidence pertained to a cold case. The suspect hadn’t even been born when that crime was committed. So when the suspect’s DNA showed up in that evidence stain, there was no question that it had to have been caused by contamination. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now, please turn to page ten.”

  Gelfer obediently turned the page, looking like a whipped dog.

  “Tell us. Who is the tech that made that grievous mistake, Mr. Gelfer?”

  Gelfer’s eyes moved down the page. His face, already pale, now sagged as he stared at the report, slack-jawed. Without looking up, he replied in a choked whisper, “Me.”

  The moment the word left his mouth, a gasp went up in the audience. An unnatural stillness settled over the courtroom, like the calm before a tornado. I sat motionless, holding my body erect with an effort as shock waves ran from my numbed brain to my toes. Seconds later, the silence was broken by the rapid shuffling of feet in the spectators’ gallery behind me. Reporters were running for the door. This was going to hit every television and radio station in the country in about five minutes. By tomorrow morning, it’d be front-page news. I could already see the headlines: “Cornerstone of Prosecution’s Case Crumbles!” And the worst part of it was, I couldn’t even blame the defense. This was all on us. The knowledge was almost too painful to process.

  A pot of gold fell into Terry’s lap somehow, and she used it well. Now, she co-opted the only comeback I had.

  “You did all the DNA testing in this case, didn’t you?”

  Somehow, Gelfer found his voice again. But it was plaintive, pathetic—and entirely unconvincing. Like a child who crayoned the walls and then cried that he “didn’t mean to.”

  “Yes, I did. But I know nothing like that happened here. I followed protocol, I—”

  “You were very careful in this case. Is that what you want to tell this jury?”

  “Yes! I know there was no contamination. I never had the suspect’s blood anywhere near the lab when I was testing the evidence! I know it for sure!”

  “But isn’t that what you thought when you contaminated the cold case evidence in the blind tests?”

  “I…” Gelfer’s mouth was open but no words came out.

  I had to admit, furious as I was, I felt sorry for him.

  “Mr. Powers’s life hangs in the balance, sir! After what you did in those blind tests, do you honestly expect this jury to take your word for it that these test results are accurate?” Gelfer stared at her, looking like he was about to cry. “Answer the question, Mr. Gelfer! Do you?”

  “I…uh.” Gelfer swallowed, opened and closed his mouth silently, then, his voice barely a whisper, said, “Yes, I guess so.”

  Terry looked at the jury and shook her head, her expression both mournful and angry. Her voice was laced with disdain as she said, “I have no further questions for this witness.”

  “People?” the judge asked.

  Gelfer sent me a pleading look, but there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t make matters worse. This bomb had obliterated the DNA evidence. There was nothing left for me to resurrect. And as I stood to answer the judge, I realized that the damage wouldn’t be confined to the DNA. This case hinged on the physical evidence. We had no eyewitnesses, and our proof of motive had always been thin. A fuckup this gigantic on our most incriminating piece of physical evidence would burn through the credibility of every single expert we’d called—the hair, the prints, the soil. Now all of it would be laid to waste, leaving us with nothing but a few suspicious phone calls. And a sure acquittal.

  “No. Nothing further.”

  70

  It was only four o’clock. You’d think total annihilation would take a little longer than ninety minutes. I asked for a brief recess to gather my next witnesses and the judge reluctantly allowed it. He was probably wondering why we were bothering. It was a good question.

  The jury filed out, and as I turned to speak to Declan, I heard Wagmeister and company excitedly whispering their congratulations to Terry. I glanced up and saw Ian Powers looking over a law clerk’s shoulder at me with a smug little smile. An instant later it was gone, replaced with his usual solemn expression, the look he probably surmised an innocent man who was falsely accused would have. It wasn’t a bad impression, and it got a big boost from the fact that you could still see the child star Mattie from Just the Two of Us in his features. I huddled with Declan on our end of counsel table and tried to ignore the backslapping jubilation coming from the defense side.

  “How’d Terry get that ASCLD/LAB report?” he asked, looking shaken.

  “She’s got to have a snitch with connects high up. I’ll ask Dorian when it’s all over. And I’ll check out this report to make sure we didn’t miss anything, but right now, let’s move on.” I could always call Gelfer back to the stand if I found anything helpful. But I didn’t really see any way of rehabilitating him no matter what else I saw in the reports. “Who’ve we got on deck?”

  “I think that studio cop, Ned Junger.”

  I was about to go out and look for him when Bailey strode in.

  “Not everyone thinks your case just blew up,” Bailey whispered. “Raynie’s on board.”

  I was stunned. She’d kept her distance through the whole trial, never even checked in to ask how I thought it was going. “You’re kidding?” Now, of all times, I would’ve expected her to figure that Russell had been right all along. Speaking of which, he’d gone over to the railing to congratulate his good buddy, the murderer. They were all smiles and high spirits. It set my teeth on edge. But Raynie’s defection was as good a consolation prize as I was likely to get. If I could trust it. “Is it possible she’s pretending to be friendly so she can get up there and tank us?”

  Bailey shook her head emphatically. “She was crying when she called me. Kept apologizing for not being more supportive.”

  Or supportive at all. Still, I was skeptical.

  “Look, just trust me on this one, okay? What the hell do we have to lose?”

  That point won the day. “Is she ready right now?”

  “Yep. And if I were you, I wouldn’t wait to let her change her mind.”

  “Okay.”

  Bailey hurried out to get her.

  I needed a blockbuster ending to have any hope of making a comeback—unlikely as that seemed. The mother of the victim can be a very powerful witness if she’s at all sympathetic. But Raynie was a wild card. I had no idea what to expect from her. The judge took the bench at four ten on the nose and called the jury out. As they filed in, Bailey brought Raynie up the aisle. Her tearstained face told me that either Bailey was right on the money or this was the best snow job I’d seen since the presidential primaries.

  The entire gallery shifted to watch and whisper as she moved toward us. It was the first time they’d seen a family member take the stand. Russell’s face was pinched with anger, and the entire Ian contingent seated around him gave Raynie, the traitor, cold-eyed looks of contempt.

  Raynie seemed to have aged fifty years since I last saw her. Her shoulders sagged, and she clutched a handkerchief as she slowly walked to my side of counsel table.
I guided her up to the witness stand and got her settled. Raynie sniffled into her handkerchief as she confirmed that she was Hayley’s mother and Russell’s ex-wife. Bailey brought her a box of Kleenex.

  “I’m going to take you back several years to when your ex-husband, Russell Antonovich, was just a young writer on a teen show called Circle of Friends. Do you remember any problems between him and a fellow writer on that show named Tommy Maher?”

  “Yes. Tommy claimed that Russell stole his screenplay.”

  I had her describe the nasty fight over authorship of Wonderland Warriors, how Tommy became so unhinged they had to move him to the edge of the lot. The story had spread all over Hollywood; it was widely known that not only wouldn’t his contract on Circle of Friends be renewed, he’d probably never get hired as a writer again. So few had been surprised when he’d committed suicide. And after Tommy’s death, Russell’s fortunes had skyrocketed as Wonderland Warriors became a box office phenom.

  I was watching Raynie carefully for any sign that this was a setup, but when she spoke of Tommy’s death, a look of genuine sadness crossed her face. So far, so good. I wrapped up the background testimony and moved on.

  “Did Hayley have an iPad?”

  “Yes. I gave it to her for her last birthday.” Raynie pressed her lips together. Bailey handed me the iPad, which was now encased in the standard evidence envelope. I pulled on latex gloves and removed it from the envelope. Then I turned it on and tapped the e-mail icon.

  “Is this it?”

  I held it up for Raynie, and the corners of her mouth trembled. Putting a hand to her lips to control the shaking, she choked out her answer. “Yes.”

  Raynie had been living with the reality of Hayley’s death for some time now, but sitting on that witness stand, identifying something Hayley had held in her hands, brought it home on a visceral level.

  “Did you know Hayley and Brian were dating?”

  “I had no idea. I’d never met or even known of Brian.”

  “Did you know where Hayley was supposed to be when Russell got the text saying Hayley had been kidnapped?”

  “She was supposed to be at her father’s house in the Hollywood Hills, which was just a couple of miles away from where I live. He let her stay there when he wasn’t using it for…entertaining.”