One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2)

by James Chandler

  “You’re kidding me, right?” Paul was up and waving his arms now. “You can’t possibly believe the jurors aren’t reading the papers and social media and whatever else they can get their hands on, can you?”

  “I know what they were told not to do,” Sam said. He was on the phone and instructed Davonte to be early. “This is important,” he concluded.

  “Sam, this isn’t the army,” Paul said after Sam had hung up. “In the real world, people don’t always do what they are supposed to do. We’ve got a courthouse and a jail filled with people who don’t do what they are supposed to do. Hell, half of the government’s agencies exist because people don’t do what they oughta be doing.”

  Sam was putting files in his briefcase. He looked at his watch. “We need to get going if we are going to meet with Davonte before court.”

  “Sam, let’s call Daniels right now and tell him we need time,” Paul argued. “Tell him we have an issue. We don’t even need to tell him what it is about. He’ll know.”

  “You coming?” Sam asked, ignoring the suggestion.

  “Let me grab my briefcase,” Paul said.

  The partners had walked the two blocks to the courthouse in silence. As they mounted the steps, they were briefly surrounded by protesters shouting, “Justice for Kaiden!” Most held signs supporting Kaiden and his family and referring to gay rights. Sam noted that among the protesters was Custer County Commissioner Pat Morales. As they passed Morales, Sam could hear him shouting over the din to Penrose, “We are working every single day to build trust with the gay, lesbian, and trans community here in Custer. One of the things that would undermine the burgeoning relationship with that community would be a not-guilty verdict.”

  Penrose and other members of the press spotted Sam and Paul and rushed them, but neither commented and eventually they were through security and at the defense table. Enduring the stares from courthouse personnel, they quickly prepared for the day’s session before Sam went to Daniels’s chambers and retrieved a key from Mary to a room reserved for counsel to meet with clients. He waved Davonte in when he saw the young man sauntering down the hall with Sharon, Reggie, and Damon. Davonte took a seat as Paul closed the door in Damon’s and Reggie’s faces.

  “What the hell?” Davonte began to protest.

  “That’s what I want to know,” Sam said. “What the hell is your major malfunction?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sharon asked. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m talking about your son talking with that black lawyers association and saying Paul and I are essentially a couple of bums he’s retained because he thinks we can relate to the dumb white folk on the jury.”

  Sharon looked at Davonte. “I didn’t know they was gonna write a story,” he told her.

  “What the hell did you think they were going to do? Keep your secret? You got enough of those already,” Paul snarled. Sharon looked at him steadily. Davonte tried to appear unfazed. “This isn’t the time to give me your badass game here, son,” Paul continued. “You need to speak up and you need to speak up now.”

  “Son? Who you callin’ son? I oughta—” Davonte said, and began to stand.

  “Sit down, Davonte,” Sharon said quietly. She looked at Sam. He understood.

  “Mrs. Blair . . . Sharon, my client and I need a minute,” Sam said quietly. “You will recall I explained to you up front there were certain matters that were going to be between Davonte and us. This is that.”

  “I’ll be outside.” Sharon stood and looked down at her son. “Davonte, listen to the man,” she said, and left the room.

  Paul closed the door behind her. Davonte began to stand, but before he could do so Sam had moved across the room and put his forehead to Davonte’s, forcing him back in his chair. “Sit down and shut up until I tell you to talk. And when I tell you to talk, you’d better stay on subject.”

  “Or what?” Davonte said, balling his fists.

  “Paul, get out,” Sam said, not taking his eyes off Davonte.

  “What?”

  “Get out,” Sam said again. “I’m not asking.”

  “Sam, don’t do this,” Paul pleaded.

  “Paul, it’s time for me and Davonte to have a little ‘Come to Jesus.’”

  Paul left the tiny room. Sam had not moved. He was looming over Davonte. “Now, big man, I want you to know something: I’m sick of your screwed-up attitude, the games you play, and you and your henchmen spying on me, trying to intimidate me.”

  “What are you talking about, spying on you?” Davonte said. “No one talks to me like that.”

  “I am,” Sam said, moving his face even closer to Davonte’s. He could smell the young man’s breath and was sure Davonte could smell the several cups of coffee on his own. “It’s just you and me. You don’t like the way I’m talking to you? Now’s the time to do something about it. Let’s go.”

  “You serious?”

  “I am,” Sam said, his voice lower. “Come on, Davonte. Put your money where your big mouth is.”

  “You only got one leg, man.”

  “I know, and I want nothing more than to stand on my bad leg and kick your ass with the good one. Let’s do this. Make your move.”

  Davonte stiffened. “Do it, Davonte,” Sam whispered. “Do it, or I’ll know that you’re a chicken-shit.”

  Davonte sat perfectly still for several seconds and then seemed to relax slightly. “Man, we got to do court.”

  “I don’t know that I’m willing to ‘do court’ with you.” Sam said. “I’ve busted my butt since day one, and I’m not going into court with a client who is undermining me. I don’t need your shit, and I don’t need your money. What I do need is to kick your ass. I need that bad. I just need you to make a move. Do it!” Sam yelled.

  “Everything okay in there?” Paul asked from outside.

  “Fine, Paul,” Sam said. “Get away from the door.” Sam turned his attention back to Davonte. “Time’s almost up. I’m right here.”

  “That story in the magazine,” Davonte said. “I was just talkin’ shit, man.”

  “I know that, dumbass. And your shit-talking might get you convicted. But we’re not here for that. We’re here because I’ve got a score to settle.”

  “Sam, I . . . I don’t want to fight you. How the hell’s that gonna look to—”

  “To who? What do you care?”

  “Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean nothin’. I was just talking shit in front of Reggie and Damon. Just funnin’ around a little. I screwed up. I admit it.”

  Paul was pounding on the door. “Sam! Mary says the judge is waiting!”

  “Just a minute!” Sam said. He stepped back from Davonte and looked the young man in the eye. “Davonte, you should know that I’m going to walk into the courtroom with you, and I’m going to bust my ass to defend you. Not because of you—I think you are an arrogant, immature punk. And not because of the money—I couldn’t care less. But because it’s my job. Because somebody has to defend idiots like yourself. I signed up to do the job, and I’m going to do it. But there is another option, and it is yours and yours alone.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You grab yourself by the stack and swivel and tell Judge Daniels you need new lawyers. Sounds like you got some that are dying to come to Wyoming.”

  “How—?”

  “Not my problem. I’m just giving you your options and I’m telling you this: you either get new lawyers or you do exactly what I say from here on out, knowing I’m perfectly willing to walk if you don’t.”

  “This is bullshit,” Davonte said. “I don’t think you can do this.”

  “Tell your firm from back east,” Sam said. “You already have their number. What’s it gonna be?”

  Two minutes later, Davonte and Sam exited the little room. Paul stepped in beside them, sweating heavily. “Mary says the judge is pissed.”

  “He’ll either get over it, or he won’t,” Sam said.

  “What are we doing?”
Paul asked.

  “I’m not sure. Davonte might want to speak with the judge.”

  “I’m glad to see that defense counsel is finally ready,” Daniels said, shooting a scathing glance Sam’s way after all but the jury were seated. It was an act; he’d read the paper and anticipated that Sam would need a little extra time with his client this morning. “Does the defense have a motion to present?”

  Sam looked at Davonte. “Your move,” he said.

  Davonte shook his head, so Sam leaned behind Davonte and addressed Paul. “What do you want to do?”

  “Your call,” Paul said.

  “Your Honor,” Sam said, standing until he felt Davonte’s hand on his sleeve.

  “Sam, don’t quit on me,” Davonte said.

  Sam looked at him. “It can’t be the same.”

  “You got it.”

  “No, Your Honor,” Sam said. He thought he could see both Daniels and Cathy exhale.

  “Good,” the judge said. “Bailiff, please call for the jury.”

  After the jury was seated, Daniels ordered Cathy to proceed. “Your Honor, the State calls Amanda Desmond,” she said.

  After Desmond was sworn and seated, Cathy began the direct examination. “Please state your name for the court.”

  “Amanda Desmond.”

  “How are you employed?”

  “I am a forensic scientist with the Wyoming state crime lab,” she said.

  Cathy then asked a series of questions designed to show the jury that Desmond—as the result of her education, credentials, and experience—was an expert in the field of DNA.

  “Ms. Desmond, can you tell us or give us sort of an overview of what DNA is?”

  “DNA is a chemical found in various cells throughout the human body. It determines our unique individual characteristics,” Desmond began. “The majority of human DNA is very similar from person to person, but there is a small percentage that varies a great deal from person to person and makes us unique. It is these regions or areas of the DNA that we use in forensic DNA analysis to generate a person’s specific DNA profile.”

  “So, everyone has a specific profile?”

  “Yes. Well, except for identical siblings.”

  “And I think you said the majority of our DNA is similar but there are areas that are unique—is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And without getting into too much detail, when you are doing your analysis, do you look at the similar areas or the unique areas?”

  “We look to the unique areas, the polymorphic areas. Those vary greatly from person to person.”

  “Now, Ms. Desmond, what can you get a DNA profile from? What sort of material?”

  “DNA is taken from cells. We can obtain DNA from blood, saliva, semen, or skin cells.”

  “Skin cells?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is touch DNA? If I hear that phrase, what is that?”

  “Touch DNA refers to skin cells transferred to an item by having physical contact with it.”

  “And is it different from other DNA?”

  “Well, the source is,” Desmond said. “In touch DNA, we are obtaining nucleated cells in skin cells rather than in a fluid as in blood, semen, or saliva.”

  Sam was watching the jurors closely. They appeared to be paying attention.

  “So, if I touch an item, my cells will be transferred to it?” Cathy continued.

  “Possibly,” Desmond allowed.

  “But not in every case?”

  “No. It depends on a number of things, such as the duration of the touch, the type of surface of the item—there are a number of variables.”

  “Could submersion in water or being covered in snow affect the deposit of skin cells?”

  “It could.”

  “Could it affect the duration skin cells would remain on an item?”

  “It could.”

  “Might it impact your ability to recover them?”

  “It might.”

  “I am handing you State’s Exhibit 10,” Cathy said while she did so. “Will you take a look at that for me, please? Can you tell me what that is?”

  “It is a sample of blood from Kaiden Miles.”

  “Have you handled that before?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “It has my initials and I dated it right here,” Desmond said, pointing to a pen entry.

  “And what, if anything, were you asked to do with that?” Cathy asked.

  “To develop a DNA profile of Kaiden Miles.”

  “Were you able to do that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am now handing you State’s Exhibits 24, 25, and 26,” Cathy said. “Take a look at those three items for me. Are you familiar with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “These are buccal swabs—cheek swabbings identified as coming from Ronnie Norquist, Trent Gustafson, and Davonte Blair,” Desmond said.

  “What were you asked to do with those items?”

  “Develop a DNA profile.”

  “Were you able to do so?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m showing you State’s Exhibit 32. Will you take a look at that for me, please?”

  “I have.”

  “What did I just hand you?”

  “This was a swab sample collected from a watch cap found near Kaiden Miles’s body,” Desmond said.

  “How was the swab taken?” Cathy asked.

  “I imagine a number of samples were taken from areas on the watch cap,” she said. “I wasn’t there, of course.”

  “What were you asked to do with this item?”

  “To develop a DNA profile and compare it to known standards.”

  “So you would compare the DNA profile or profiles found on the cap to those of the three DNA profiles you obtained from the men using the mouth swabs?” Cathy asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And when you did that comparison, what did you find?”

  “Well, I generated a partial profile on that cap and found that it was consistent with a mixture of male DNA, meaning that there is more than one contributor, and the predominant profile matched to the DNA profile from Kaiden Miles.”

  “What does ‘predominant profile’ mean?”

  “When you have more than one profile, one will have DNA on the item in a greater concentration.”

  “So, you had more than one profile? Were you able to determine who the, uh—”

  “Minor contributors?”

  “Yes, were you able to determine who the minor contributors were?”

  “One of them, yes.”

  “And after you made that determination, did you perform a statistical analysis?”

  “I did.”

  “What did you determine?”

  “The sample came from a black male.”

  “Who?”

  “The sample was 102 million times more likely to come from Davonte Blair than another black member of Wyoming’s population.”

  Cathy allowed the murmuring in the audience to die under the withering gaze of Daniels. “No more questions, Judge,” she said, then turned to Sam. “Your witness, counsel.”

  “Thank you,” Sam said. He stood, picked up a pile of papers, and carried them with him to the podium. “Ms. Desmond, I just have a few questions. Are you familiar with the term secondary transfer?”

  “Of course.”

  “What does that term mean?”

  “Basically, it is DNA transferred from one item that is also transferred to another item.”

  “Let me see if I understand. Let’s say I’m sitting in a restaurant and I’m waiting for a friend—say, Davonte here. He arrives and opens the restaurant door, then walks over and shakes my hand with the same hand that opened the restaurant door. Is it possible that I could have Davonte’s DNA—”

  “Objection. Calls for speculation,” Cathy said, standing and sitting quickly. The objection was not a good one, she kn
ew, but she wanted to put the thought in the jurors’ minds.

  “Overruled.” Daniels shot her a look. “She’s an expert,” he continued, looking to the jury. “She can respond to a hypothetical.”

  “Yes.”

  “So Davonte’s DNA could be on my hand simply from him touching me?”

  “Yes, that’s called touch DNA. I thought we covered that,” she said, looking bored.

  “Continuing with my example.” Sam paused for effect. “Is it possible that in shaking my hand, Davonte could pass on to me DNA from other people who had touched that same door handle?”

  Desmond shifted uneasily in her chair. “It is possible, but not probable. But it could happen.”

  “So, to continue with my hypothetical, if you were to swab my hand after my meeting with Davonte, you might find my DNA?”

  “Almost certainly,” Desmond said.

  “Davonte’s DNA?”

  “It’s not unlikely.”

  “And the DNA of a few other unknown people who touched the door handle of the restaurant but had never touched me?”

  “Possibly.”

  “It could happen?”

  “Yes,” Desmond said. “But—”

  “So, you cannot exclude as a possibility that the cells you found on that cap got there not from my client touching the cap, but from someone else—like Kaiden Miles—touching my client, or even something he had touched, and passing my client’s cells to the cap?”

  “No, I cannot exclude that as a possibility,” she admitted. “I’d say it was remote.”

  “But possible if, for example, Kaiden had touched my client and then the cap?”

  “Yes,” she said tightly. “I already said that.”

  “When you are analyzing a sample, does your analysis tell you when the sample was placed on the surface that is being swabbed?”

  “No.”

  “You have absolutely no way to tell how long a sample has been present on an item when it is swabbed for DNA?”

  “Correct.”

  “You were asked to test numerous items in this case, correct?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Do you have your reports there in front of you?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “I want to read some of the items that you were requested to test,” Sam said. He picked up and read from a paper in his hand. “You were asked to test swabbings from the decedent’s car, from his dorm room, from his pants, shoes, socks, and shirt—true?”