One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2)

by James Chandler

  “Well, there are many,” Johnson mused. “First, we both could leave detectable amounts of DNA on the hat.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “What else?”

  “Well, it’s possible that neither your DNA nor my DNA would be discoverable.”

  “What else?”

  “Well, it is possible that my DNA would be there but yours wouldn’t.”

  “And?”

  “It’s possible that yours would be there and mine wouldn’t.”

  “Okay,” Sam said. “And that’s if we know we both touched the item, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Now, let me ask you this: those same possibilities exist for secondary or tertiary transfer, right?”

  “What are you asking?”

  “It is possible, isn’t it, that I could, say, transfer your cells to an item without transferring my own?” Sam asked.

  Johnson sat quietly, thinking.

  “I am asking if it is possible,” Sam prompted Johnson.

  “It is possible, yes.”

  “May I have a minute, Judge?”

  “Yes,” Daniels said.

  Sam walked to the defense table. “Two goals,” he said to Paul and Davonte. “One, there could be a perfectly innocent explanation for Davonte’s DNA on the hat. Two, someone’s DNA might be missing or in a concentration less than maybe it should be.”

  “Done,” Davonte said. Paul sat quietly and said nothing. Sam waited for him to speak, then returned to the podium when he saw that he would not.

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnson,” Sam said, gathering his materials. “Your witness,” he said to Cathy.

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnstone,” she said, and moved quickly to the podium. “Your Honor, may I approach the witness?”

  “Yes,” Daniels said.

  Cathy approached Johnson and handed him a pen. Johnson took the pen and looked at it curiously. “Mr. Johnson, would you set that pen down, please.” Johnson complied and shot Sam a curious glance while Cathy walked back to the podium. Sam knew what was coming, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he ignored Johnson’s look.

  “Now, Mr. Johnson, you and I have both touched that pen. According to your testimony, there are a number of possible outcomes if we were to look at the transfer of DNA—is that right?”

  “Correct,” Johnson said. He was looking at her like a mouse eyeing a snake, Sam thought.

  “Both of our DNA might be found?” Cathy asked.

  “True.”

  “Or neither, you said?”

  “Correct,” Johnson said.

  “Or yours or mine alone?”

  “Correct.”

  “Now, it is also possible that mine alone could have been transferred to the pen by you, even if I had never touched that pen—isn’t that what you said?” she asked.

  “True,” Johnson said.

  “Which of the outcomes is most likely?”

  Johnson looked to Sam for help, but he sat quietly. “Well, that’s hard to say . . .”

  Cathy asked him about a couple of what Sam presumed were the most recent, major studies in the field of touch DNA. Johnson acknowledged he was familiar with the studies. “Well, do you have any strident objections to the results of those studies?” she asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “You are satisfied with the methodology?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I am going to ask you again. Given the passing of the pen touched by both of us, and given your knowledge of the relevant literature, what is the most likely outcome, DNA-wise?”

  “That my DNA would be present,” Johnson admitted.

  “Next most likely?”

  “That both our DNA was present, I would think.”

  “Okay.” Cathy looked at the jury before asking her next question. They were paying attention. “How likely, according to the literature, is it that my DNA could be where I’ve never been?”

  “Well, that’s hard to say,” Johnson began.

  “I’m not asking for specific odds,” Cathy said.

  “Well, it would depend on myriad factors.”

  “Is it almost always?” she asked.

  “Oh, no.”

  “Possible?” she pressed. Sam was watching the jurors. They were picking up on it.

  “Oh yes.”

  “Probable?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say that.” Johnson shook his head.

  “Unusual?”

  “I think that’s probably fair,” he admitted. She had him boxed in, Sam knew.

  “Far-fetched?”

  “No, more possible than that.” Johnson again shook his head.

  “So, somewhere between ‘unusual’ and ‘far-fetched?’” she confirmed.

  “Well,” Johnson said. “Certainly closer to ‘unusual.’”

  “So, the science tells us in the grand scheme of things that—best case—it would be ‘unusual’ for you to have passed my DNA to that pen if I had not touched it?”

  “I think so, yes,” Johnson admitted.

  “No more questions, Judge,” Cathy said, and sat down.

  “Redirect, Mr. Johnstone?”

  Cathy’s cross-examination—as expected—had been effective. Sam thought about attempting to rehabilitate Johnson with a few questions but decided that he could live with “unusual” as the characterization of the theory that was rapidly becoming central to his defense. “No, Judge.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Johnstone,” Daniels said. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s take our lunch break. Bailiff, please conduct the jury to the jury room.” After the jury’s departure, Daniels looked to Sam. “Mr. Johnstone?”

  “Judge, I’ll have an answer after lunch, just as you directed.”

  “Good. We’ll take our noon recess and come back and get the jury instructions in order before we bring the jurors back. I’m going to give them a ninety-minute lunch. So, everyone be back in an hour. We’ll get your client’s decision on the record when we get back, then we’ll do the instructions conference, and then we’ll call the jury and start winding up.”

  Sam, Paul, and Davonte were in the counsel room located adjacent to the courtroom. The door was closed, and courtroom security was posted outside. “So, what do you think?” Sam asked.

  “I think we’ve got enough reasonable doubt,” Paul said, taking a sandwich Sam offered. “Let’s rest and call it good.”

  Sam passed a packaged turkey sandwich to Davonte. “I’m thinking we need to put Ronnie on.”

  “No.”

  “Paul, we already had this discussion. All I want to do is put him on the stand and have him testify that he’s been around the victim, just like Davonte. He will testify that he doesn’t know how his DNA could have gotten on the hat.”

  “No, Sam.”

  “It’s as good as having Davonte testify,” Sam said. He was struggling with the wrapper on a ham sandwich and gave up, dropping it on the table. “The evidence is almost identical. It’s like having Davonte testify without having to call him.”

  “Call him,” Paul said, pointing at Davonte. “He is the one on trial, not my son.”

  Davonte shook his head. He unwrapped Sam’s sandwich and passed it to him. “You gonna throw my ass under the bus to save your boy.”

  “I am,” Paul said. “And you’d do the same thing. He’s my son!”

  “Paul, we have to do this,” Sam said, taking a bite of the ham and cheese. He chewed for a long time while looking steadily at his partner. “I’ll limit his testimony with a few short questions, thereby framing the State’s cross. I spoke with Ronnie last night. He’s ready.”

  “You spoke with my son without me being there?” Paul asked, standing to leave.

  Sam pointed at Paul’s chair. “He’s an adult, Paul. Sit down; let’s talk about this.”

  “No. I’m done talking.”

  “Well, then, let’s stay and discuss Davonte testifying.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Paul said, opening the door. “I really don’t give
a shit.”

  After he was gone, Sam and Davonte sat for a moment, finishing their sandwiches and processing what had happened. “I told you, that dude don’t dig me,” Davonte said, taking a long pull from a bottle of flavored water.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Sam agreed. “But he’s not himself. Now, let’s talk this over.” He tossed the wrapper from his sandwich into the trash can across the room. “We’ve got to let the judge know whether you are going to testify after lunch. What do you want to do?”

  “I’ll go with whatever you think, Sam. I trust you.”

  Sam tried to conceal his surprise. “Well, it is your decision. The jury always wants to hear from the defendant. In a lot of cases, I’d go ahead and put you on. But in this case, the evidence is slim. Really slim. I think we’ve got to have planted some doubt in the mind of at least one juror—that’s all it takes,” he said. “And if I put Ronnie on the stand, he can help me plant doubt about the DNA.”

  “You gonna do that?”

  “Put Ronnie on the stand?” Sam asked. Davonte nodded. “I have to.”

  “Might cost you a friendship.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Sam said. “I think Paul is just being protective. He’s a father.”

  “Maybe he knows something you don’t.” Davonte dropped the plastic bottle into the trash and then returned to his chair.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I didn’t kill Miles, man. Meaning someone else did. What reason you got for thinking it ain’t Ronnie?”

  Sam thought again about the dorm room photograph and Ronnie’s comments from the prior evening. “Well, I’m not seeing any evidence he did,” Sam said.

  “That’s because you ain’t lookin’. Same evidence against Ronnie as me, right? How’d you put it? He’s just as variable—”

  “Viable.”

  “—just as viable a candidate for murder as me,” Davonte said. “Yet we got the brother charged, right?”

  “Right.” Sam stood and walked around the room.

  Davonte watched him pace. Finally, he asked, “What are we gonna do?”

  “I think we’ll have you stay silent,” Sam said. “Unless you insist. I don’t think they’ve got enough to get a jury to convict you.”

  “Even a brother like me?” Davonte asked.

  Sam smiled. “Yeah. Even a brother like you.” Then he turned serious. “Davonte, I gotta think the jury will do the right thing.”

  “Man, you are one red, white, and blue thinker,” Davonte said, shaking his head.

  “I have to be. If I didn’t believe in the system, all of this would be a waste,” Sam explained. “My men, those medics, that surgeon . . . they gave me a second chance at life. I can’t waste it.”

  “Okay, but you gonna call Ronnie, right?” Davonte asked. “I think that’s important to my case.”

  “I am.” Sam sighed. It had to be done.

  20

  After lunch, the parties returned to their seats in the courtroom. Sam was looking at the crown molding twenty feet above him on the roofline and doing deep-breathing exercises to relax when Daniels entered.

  “All right,” he said. “We’re back on the record. As an initial matter, Mr. Johnstone, will the defendant testify?”

  “He will not, Your Honor,” Sam said, and sat back down.

  Daniels looked around the courtroom to quiet the crowd, who now understood the trial would soon end. “Mr. Blair, I need to ask you a few questions to ensure you understand the importance of your decision.” He then proceeded to ask Davonte questions in order to satisfy himself that Davonte’s decision not to testify had come after due consideration, a discussion with Sam, and that it had not been forced or coerced.

  Having finished his inquiry, Daniels made his decision. “I’m going to find that Mr. Blair has made his decision to not testify knowingly, intelligently, and voluntarily after consultation with competent counsel with whom he is satisfied. I’ll find that he understands his right to testify, that this is a one-time decision, and that he has waived his right to testify to the jury,” he said. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, let’s take a look at these jury instructions.”

  The parties had discussed the instructions in the morning conference with the judge, so Cathy and Sam proceeded to formally lodge their objections or support for certain instructions given. Davonte doodled on the yellow legal pad and answered occasional questions from Sam. Paul left the courtroom and played no part in the instructions conference. At last, after Cathy and Sam had agreed on the majority of instructions to be given, and after Daniels had ruled on the ones at issue, they were ready to proceed. Daniels summoned the jurors. After they were seated, he looked to Sam. “Mr. Johnstone, call the next witness for the defense,” he said.

  Sam stood, looked at Judge Daniels, and then down at Paul, who was staring straight ahead. “Your Honor, the defense calls Ronald Norquist.”

  Earlier that morning, Sam had spoken with Ronnie and reminded him there were three points to be made on the stand. First, that while Davonte had left after Kaiden, he wasn’t particularly angry. Second, that Polson, in his conversations with Ronnie, had let it be known early on that Davonte was the main suspect; and third—and now that it had been revealed—while Ronnie’s DNA was on the watch cap, he had no idea how it got there.

  Sam turned to watch the court security officer retrieve Ronnie from the hallway. Hearing rustling behind him, he looked over his shoulder and saw Paul collecting materials from his part of the defense table. Sam walked over to him. “What are you doing?” he whispered.

  “I’m leaving. I’m done,” Paul said. “I cannot believe you are doing this to my son.”

  “Paul—” Sam started to say, but quietly gave up. The judge, court staff, audience, and the parties watched as an angry Paul began walking toward the double doors at the end of the courtroom. All eyes shifted to the doors as Ronnie was admitted.

  Ronnie stopped short as Paul walked by him. “Dad?” Ronnie said, but Paul did not answer and left the courtroom. Ronnie looked at Jeannie and P.J., who were seated in the last row of the audience. He then looked to Sam uncertainly.

  “Mr. Norquist,” Daniels said. “Please come forward, raise your right hand, and be sworn to an oath.”

  Sam looked at Ronnie while he swore the oath. He could see—and he was sure the jurors could see—the young man’s knees shaking and hear his voice quiver as he said, “I do.”

  “Mr. Norquist, please have a seat in the witness box,” Daniels directed. When Ronnie had complied, Daniels nodded at Sam and said, “Mr. Johnstone.”

  “Please state your full legal name,” Sam began.

  “Ronald Paul Norquist.”

  Sam then led Ronnie through a series of benign biographical questions designed to tell the jury who Ronnie was, and to calm him. Having established that Ronnie was a nineteen-year-old student at Custer College, Sam continued. “Do you—did you have a roommate?”

  “I did.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Kaiden Miles.” Ronnie stole a quick look at Kaiden’s mom.

  “How long were you roommates?”

  “Since August,” Ronnie said. “When school started.”

  “Did you live together last year?”

  “No.”

  “How did you come to live together? Were you assigned, or did you choose?”

  “We chose. We were managers on the basketball team together last year. Well, this year, too,” he added. “We met last year and hung out a lot, so we decided we’d go ahead and choose each other since we spent so much time together.”

  “So you were friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “Knew him well?” Sam asked.

  “I think so.”

  “In fact, you called the police to report him missing, didn’t you?” Sam asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he was gone for more than a day. I was worried about him.” Ronnie pulled a handkerchief from his p
ocket, wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, and then blew his nose. Sam watched him closely.

  “So, let’s walk backwards a little bit,” Sam said. “When did you last see him?”

  “I’d say it was about 1:30 in the morning on November 6.”

  “The day he disappeared?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I just know I saw him last at about 1:30, and I called the next day—no, the day after that—at around ten in the morning.”

  “Did you do anything before you called the cops?”

  “Sure; I tried to call him. I called Davonte. I called his mom. Trent, I called him,” Ronnie said. “Then, I called . . . my dad.”

  Sam struggled to keep his poise. This was news to him. “So, at approximately ten a.m. on the 8th you called the police?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you say?”

  “I told them my roommate was missing, and they said—”

  “Objection,” Cathy said.

  “Sustained,” Daniels said.

  “Just stick to what you said and did, please,” Sam instructed.

  “Okay, I called the cops and told them Kaiden was missing. The next day they came over.”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “No. I do remember it was after class and after practice and it had been snowing for almost two days, because when I got to my—er—our place there was quite a bit of snow on the doorstep,” Ronnie said. “And Corporal Jensen was outside my place.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he took a report of everything I said and told me he would get back with me,” Ronnie said.

  “Then what?”

  “Um, a day or two later, I think, Corporal Jensen and Detective Polson came by our place and started looking around.”

  “Then what?”

  “At some point—I can’t remember when, exactly—I sat down with Detective Polson. We talked.” Ronnie looked to the seats behind the prosecutors, where Kaiden’s mom was crying softly. “Or, maybe it was the other way around. Maybe they found Kaiden and then came to talk with me. I can’t remember.”