"Thanks, Libby!" he called back into the house and its inner rooms, and let himself out the front door.
He had the clothes and stolen cane laid out in the back seat of his car before Libby could make it to the front door. Then there she stood, inside the glass storm door, waving weakly as if confused by his sudden disappearance. He tossed her a quick salute and pulled back down the driveway. She must have been watching; the gate lifted and--he was free.
Now he had his answer. Until he had examined it for himself, it had been a wild guess. Well, maybe not totally wild. The pictures of the blood pool beneath Suzanne Fairmont had tipped him off: the round smears in the congealing blood where something had touched and left the print of circles with their inner striations.
It was in the backseat, under Ansel's coat. Not only did it match the photograph with its tread, but it was also caked with blood.
Tomorrow he would go straight to Symatrixx Lab in Niles and have it tested.
But he already knew whose blood it was. She had been visited, just after her death, by Libby Largent.
Now to prove that Libby had been with her just before her death too.
It was all circumstantial.
Thaddeus laughed and slapped the steering wheel.
Like Henry David Thoreau had said, some circumstantial evidence is overwhelming.
As when you find a trout in the milk.
46
Chapter 46
Symatrixx Lab was a full-service testing laboratory that offered its services to medical doctors, lawyers, police agencies, and anyone who needed a substance analyzed.
He met D.E. Walkerton there, a smallish, hairless man wearing a black lab coat, who measured the cane end-to-end with his eyes, then examined the hard rubber foot Thaddeus had been talking about.
"I see, right there, crusted in the two circles," said Walkerton.
"Exactly. I need DNA testing. Can you do that?"
Walkerton smiled. "We can now."
"Meaning what?"
"We use the Integenx RapidHit testing machine."
"Let's do it."
"And you want me to compare it to what?"
"I'm going to leave you with the complete autopsy report on Suzanne Fairmont."
Walkerton peered through the bottom half of his eyeglasses, glancing through the report. "Oh, yes," he nodded enthusiastically, "here it is right here, page six. toxicology: sample of right pleural blood and bile are submitted for toxicologic analysis. Blood DNA tested with Integenx RapidHit, markers attached. Excellent."
"Why so?"
"We use the same machine here. We can have the DNA results back in ninety minutes if you'd like to come back."
"Why would the crime lab run this testing?"
"To determine the blood belonged to the victim. That might seem very obvious to you and me, but hey, you're the lawyer. You know it can't just be assumed it's her blood. It has to be proven. That's what the RapidHit testing proved.
"Ninety minutes? Are you kidding me?"
"Welcome to the new millennium, Mr. Murfee. Come back around noon and we'll have everything wrapped up and ready to go."
"Can you testify tomorrow?"
"One of us can."
"Certified operator?"
"Totally guaranteed."
"How much?"
"Five thousand for the testing and one day of testimony."
"I can leave you a check."
"That will be fine."
"Oh, one other thing," Thaddeus said. "About the cane."
"What's that?"
"Do you have a tool marks expert? Someone who can examine the crime scene marks in the blood and compare those to the marks left by the cane's rubber foot?"
"Sure, that would be James Cartwell. He's a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering and has been qualified as an expert tool marks witness in over a hundred Cook County cases."
"Here are the photographs. My discovery copies, so don't lose them, please."
Walkerton smiled. "Of course not. Consider it done."
"How much?"
"Five thousand for the testing and one day of testimony."
"Do you have any other rates besides five thousand?"
"Ten thousand for two days?"
"I'll take the five. Thanks, Mr. Walkerton."
47
Chapter 47
Libby Largent preferred flying without Ansel along. That way, if the plane went down, it wouldn't make Winston an instant orphan. Besides, Ansel had insisted she fly out ahead of him. He told her there would be money waiting at the other end. He told her that if something went wrong, he loved her.
Always did love her, he said.
But she knew that. He was a fool--a damn fool--but in spirit he was always beside her.
Thank goodness for the O'Hare Airport Courtesy Cart, she thought, as she plopped down on the plastic seat and seized the grip. The cart lurched and she shot a dirty look at the back of the young driver's head. Butthole, she thought. Don't you know there are people here? She watched up ahead as they scattered and scurried like free-range chickens in a driveway.
He had told her: one suitcase and one carry-on. She had checked the suitcase at the counter.
For the umpteenth time she unzipped the carry-on. Latest Grisham novel. Check. Two-cheese sandwich, no mayo. Check. Sleeping mask. Check. Motion sickness patch (box of four, prescription strength). Check. $9,000 cash. Check. Emirates Airlines tickets--straight through to Dubai, changeover, straight through to Hong Kong. Check.
The cart narrowly missed flattening an older woman whose limp slowed her. Libby reached forward and punched the driver's shoulder.
"What!" he tossed over his shoulder.
"Shlow the hell down! Theresh people here!"
"Don't want you to miss your plane, lady."
"Oh. Well, run them over, then."
"Can do!"
She boarded at 7:45 a.m. Poor Ansel, she thought, last day of trial. But he seemed to be in high spirits.
And he seemed to know what he was doing.
He always did.
So she settled back in her First Class seat and accepted a glass of champagne.
A drizzle escaped the corner of her mouth, which she dabbed with the linen napkin placed on her tray.
It was getting better, the stroke stuff. One day at a time. She looked out the window and realized they were moving to the end of the runway.
Then the engines were run up, the howling of the Pratt & Whitney's deafened her and she pressed her head against the linen headrest.
Close the eyes. Say the prayer.
Another champagne now that we're airborne?
Thank you, believe I will.
48
Chapter 48
Early Friday morning Thaddeus took Ansel's clothes to him. He then arrived early at court and advised the receptionist he wanted to make a motion in limine. She buzzed the judge, he okayed it for eight-thirty, and she then called D.A. Eckles and told him he would be needed at eight-thirty too. He confirmed.
"What's the motion?" she asked, and held out her hand for the paper motion.
"Motion to withdraw contempt citation."
"Your guy is ready to tell us who shot the lady?" Her voice was pleasing and playful.
"There will be no need for that. Please read my motion."
She lowered her eyes and began reading. Thaddeus backed out of the office and rode the elevator down to the basement cafeteria. He loaded up a plate with scrambled eggs, sausage, English muffin, coffee and OJ, and paid the cashier.
The place was packed. He found an empty chair along the far wall, at a four-person table already occupied by three women who were having an animated discussion about The Voice. He eavesdropped and caught the gist of it. Evidently some female vocalist had clicked with two of the women and hadn't clicked at all with the third. The songstress had been added to the stable of one of the judges and so on. Thaddeus tried not to listen.
He cut a link of sausage and stuffed it in his mouth. It
was eight-seventeen. In thirteen minutes he would forever change the direction of the Ansel Largent trial with the bombshell he was about to explode. He smiled. Not literally, of course, a bombshell more in the nature of solving the Whodunit the jury was faced with.
He glanced at the manila file as he spread grape jelly on the muffin. Ten thousand dollars of Ansel Largent's money sitting there. Two expert's reports and two experts scheduled to testify at trial. Along with a motion to amend the defendant's list of witnesses. The state would scream bloody murder, but the defendant would prevail, because barring of defense witnesses was anathema to all judges. It was serious grounds for appeal and almost certain reversal not to allow one of the defendant's witnesses to testify at trial, no matter how late in the case they were added to the witness list. Besides which, there was no reason to keep them from testifying. The state couldn't claim surprise because the state would be allowed to interview the witnesses before they testified. Moreover, the defense wouldn't and couldn't object to the state adding new witnesses to its list to refute what the defendant's new witnesses had said.
Which were all arguments Thaddeus was making in Judge Zang's office fifteen minutes later.
When he was finished the judge addressed the motion to withdraw the contempt citation.
"I have no problem withdrawing the contempt citation, given what you've just explained to us," said Judge Zang. "While I don't believe you're proven one hundred percent that Ansel wasn't the shooter, you have definitely placed his wife's cane at the scene of the crime. Does that mean the wife was the shooter? Did the husband use her cane to entrap her? The jury will have to decide these things. But I'm going to call over to the jail and have your client released now. We'll put it on the record in court when we get in there. Now, what about the motion to amend your witness list to add two additional witnesses? Why weren't these witnesses listed prior to the beginning of trial, Mr. Murfee?"
Thaddeus tugged at his shirt sleeve. He straightened his tie, all the while considering.
"Your Honor, maybe I'm just dense. But it took me all this time to realize the marks in the blood pool might mean something. When I finally realized they had actually been put there by some object and weren't just random patterns, it still took me hours and hours of thinking and sleeping and dreaming about it to put two and two together. I even spent a week in Mexico with Ansel and Libby and so I was quite familiar with her use of the cane. But honestly, it just didn't occur to me. As soon as it did, I had my theory tested by the experts and you've now seen those reports. I'll call the experts if I'm allowed to present their testimony and admit the reports through them. But as you can see, they leave little doubt that at least the cane itself was at the murder scene. Why it would have been taken there by Ansel just makes no sense. The circumstantial evidence that I'm going to present will set him free. For this reason the testimony and the amendment is absolutely critical."
"Mr. Eckles? Would you like to be heard?"
Eckles leaned back in his chair and crossed and uncrossed his legs. He jiggled his foot, obviously anxious.
"Judge, this whole thing reeks of prejudice. We haven't been allowed to prepare our case in anticipation of what the defendant could have known weeks ago when he and his counsel first saw the close-ups of the blood pool. Why didn't it occur to him then, what had made those marks? Or did it and he just sandbagged? Frankly, now that I look at the prints left by the cane in the blood and look at the prints left by the cane when it was tested by Dr. Cartwell, this whole thing gets pretty obvious. The state wants to see justice done and certainly doesn't want to convict the wrong person, but it would only be fair for the state to have the opportunity to have this newly discovered or newly revealed evidence tested by its own experts. The DNA evidence, I have no trouble with that. But the tool mark--the marks left behind by the cane--I can't just agree the expert is correct in saying the cane testing is one hundred percent accurate."
"So what you're saying is you would like additional time to test?"
"I would at least like great leeway in cross-examination of the defendant's expert, Dr. Cartwell. I don't think the District Attorney's office wants to actually delay the trial, there's been such close coverage by the press. Off the record--
"Speak freely," said the Judge. "We are off the record."
"To be very frank with the court, the D.A.'s office is looking at a huge public relations gaffe if some reporter questions the state's own competence in not noticing the marks and having them examined more closely in the first place. I don't think I want to walk across that hotbed."
"I understand that," said the judge. "Look, let's do this. Let's have the witnesses testify, and then, at the close of the defendant's case, if you still feel like you want additional testing, we'll adjourn the trial until you can get that done. By then, it's early afternoon and the jury would love to go home early. That would ease some of their disappointment with having to come back again next week."
"How long could I get to test the marks?"
"You have the crime lab with its jillion experts just down the block from here. Let's get the testing done by Monday night and get the jury back to hear your rebuttal expert, if you decide to call one, on Tuesday. Then we can instruct the jury and give them the case."
"Works for me," said Thaddeus.
"Sounds fair," said Eckles.
Everyone took a deep breath and sat back.
Then the judge said, "Five minutes. See you guys in court. Let's put all this on the record then I'll call the jury in."
"Judge, one more thing," said Eckles. "The state will stipulate to the DNA report. The blood on the floor is Suzanne's, the blood on the foot of the cane is Suzanne's. Pure and simple."
"Fine," said the Judge. He was already slipping into one of three black gowns hanging behind his desk. "Mr. Murfee?"
"Sounds great."
"Five minutes, gents."
* * *
The testimony of James Cartwell went swiftly. He told the jury he had a Ph.D. in mechanical engineering from Purdue and that he had worked for Ford in Detroit until he got his MBA but still couldn't get promoted into management. At that time he had taken on his role at Symatrixx Lab and was an equity owner of fifteen percent of the company. His specialty was tool marks. He testified about the marks left by screwdrivers on screws, the marks left by hammers on human skulls, the blade marks from hacksaw blades, the Vise-grip marks left behind when a doorknob was torqued off--any and everything where an impression is made by what was generically known as a "tool." Walking canes for the handicapped qualified as one of the types of items he tested.
His testimony was curt and to the point. When asked what he had done to examine the cane he said he had prepared a blood print and a cane print for observation under what is called a stereoscope. The marks were analyzed, measured and compared. The cane had its own peculiar tread and the trailing edge of the cane foot was worn down more than the leading edge. He demonstrated with photographs enlarged to 30 x 40 how the marks compared, where the worn edges were exactly alike and how, in his expert opinion, the tread marks left by the cane were the same as those seen in the blood pool photos.
All this time Ansel was absolutely still. He stared straight ahead, neither acknowledging nor reacting to what Dr. Cartwell was saying. It was as if he knew it all beforehand and now it was just a matter of producing it in open court. Thaddeus watched him out the corner of his eye and when the expert was done with cross-examination by D.A. Eckles, Ansel Largent had been consciously gone from the courtroom for two hours, though his body was still there. He had just disengaged from the trial, was how Thaddeus would describe it later to Katy. He had vanished.
Ansel's reverie was interrupted when Thaddeus called him back to the witness stand.
The cane had already been marked as an exhibit during Dr. Cartwell's testimony, and now Thaddeus picked it up and looked it over. The foot of the cane was now wrapped inside a plastic bag to preserve the remaining blood inside the pattern. Then he hel
d the cane up in front of Ansel and asked, simply, "Whose cane is this?"
Ansel spoke so softly only Thaddeus heard. "Elizabeth Largent's cane."
"Louder, please."
Judge Zang looked over. "Mr. Largent, please speak up so the jury can hear you. And so I can hear you too. You were asked who the cane belongs to. What is your answer, sir?"
"It belongs to my wife. Elizabeth Largent."
"Libby, she's called," said Thaddeus. "Correct?"
"By her friends and me, yes."
"Do you know how it came to be that her cane left the marks in the blood pool?"
"I didn't see. I can only assume."
There was no objection by the state to an answer based on assumption. Such an answer would normally be highly objectionable, but this time Eckles said nothing.
So Thaddeus asked, "What is your assumption?"
"I can only assume Libby was at the scene. At some point, anyway."
"Well, let's consider that."
"Was she with you the night of the shooting?"
"Yes."
"Did she shoot Suzanne?"
"I don't know."
"Well, was she with you when you heard the gunshot?"
"No."
"Do you know where she was?"
"She said she was going to the restroom."
"Is the restroom near Suzanne's office?"
"Across the hall and down maybe twenty feet."
"That would be the women's?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever ask Libby about the gunshot?"
"No."
"What did you do when you heard the gunshot?"
"Me? I got up to walk into the hallway, then I reconsidered."
"Why?"
"Because I didn't want to get shot. If there was a shooter loose in the law firm I didn't want to be the next target."
"Were you concerned about Libby's safety?"
"Yes."
"Still, you didn't go to investigate?"
The Mental Case (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 6) Page 24
