by Jodi Picoult
"You mentioned evidence of gunpowder on both Emily's and Chris's clothes," Jordan said. "Isn't it true that if you find gunpowder on the shirt all it really proves is that the fabric was in close contact when the gun was fired?"
"That's correct."
"Can you determine from gunpowder residue on clothing who actually shot the gun?"
"Not conclusively. But we didn't find any gunpowder residue on the victim's hands either. And the perpetrator of a suicide would have had some sort of trace of powder on her skin."
Jordan seized on that. "Is it consistent with a murder investigation to immediately bag the hands of the victim?"
"Ordinarily yes, but--"
"When was the gunpowder test performed on the corpse?"
Anne-Marie looked at her lap. "November ninth."
"You're saying you didn't test Emily's hands at the scene of the crime, and you didn't test her on the way to the hospital, and you didn't even test her in the morgue until two days after she'd died? Is it possible that during that block of time, someone had tampered with Emily's hands?"
"Well, I--"
"Yes or no?"
"It's possible," Anne-Marie said.
"Could someone have touched Emily's hands during the trip from the crime scene to the hospital?"
"Yes."
"Such as medics, or uniformed officers?"
"Either would be possible."
"In the emergency room of the hospital, might someone have touched her hands?"
"Yes."
"For example, maybe nurses or doctors?"
"I suppose so."
"In the emergency room might she have been swabbed down, since there were no instructions otherwise?"
"Yes," the detective said.
"So any number of people might have tampered with important evidence before you got around to collecting it from Emily's hands?" Jordan summarized.
"Yes," Marrone admitted.
"Wouldn't it also be consistent with a murder investigation to immediately test the hands of the perpetrator for gunpowder residue?"
"That's standard procedure."
"When you first saw Chris at the scene of the crime, did you test his hands for gunpowder residue?"
"Well, no. But he wasn't under direct suspicion then."
Jordan's eyes widened. "Really, Detective Marrone? He wasn't a suspect when the police got to the scene of the crime?"
"No."
"So when did it dawn on you that he was a suspect?"
"Objection!" Barrie called.
"Counselor, why don't you rephrase that question," Puckett said dryly.
"I'll move on. Did you test him at the hospital?" Jordan hammered.
"No."
"Did you test him the next day, when you went to gather more information?"
"No."
"Did you test Chris the day he came into the police station for that interview?"
"No."
Jordan snorted. "So he was never tested for gunpowder residue--not at first when he was not a suspect and not later, when you decided he was a murderer?"
"He was never tested."
"Isn't it possible that if you had managed to test Emily's hands before someone tampered with them, you might have found gunpowder residue on them?"
"That's possible."
"And that would have indicated that she'd fired the gun."
"Yes, it would," Anne-Marie said.
"And if you had tested Chris for gunpowder residue right at the scene of the crime, you might not have found any on his hands, either?"
"That's right."
"And that would have indicated that he hadn't fired the gun?"
"Correct."
And then none of us would have to be here. Jordan did not have to say the words. He walked to the jury box, standing at the end as if he was one of its members. "Okay, Detective. Your theory is that Chris was at the scene of the crime. He put two bullets in the gun in case he missed the first time from an eighth of an inch away. He unsuccessfully tried to get Emily drunk, had sex with her, went for the gun. Emily saw him going for the gun, they wrestled, and then he shot her. You absolutely believe this is what happened?"
"Yes, I do."
"Not a single doubt in your mind?"
"None."
Jordan moved closer to the witness stand. "Couldn't the fact that there were two bullets in the gun that night have meant that there was going to be a double suicide?"
"Well--"
"Couldn't it?"
"It could," Anne-Marie sighed.
"And couldn't the Canadian Club have been there to take the edge off a suicide attempt?"
"Maybe."
"And might there have been fingerprints on that gun that weren't in the right spot, or clear enough, to have been picked up by that test of yours?"
"Yes."
"And might another gunpowder test--one that for whatever reason, wasn't done--have shown that Chris Harte did not fire that gun?"
"Maybe."
"So you're saying, Detective, that in your expert opinion, there might be another way to look at this."
Anne-Marie Marrone exhaled through her mouth. "Yes," she said.
Jordan turned his back. "Nothing further," he said.
THE JURY--NOT TO MENTION THE JUDGE--was getting glassy-eyed; a common enough response to heavily detailed police testimony. Judge Puckett called for a ten-minute recess, during which the courtroom emptied.
Selena grabbed Jordan's arm on his way back from the men's room. "Nice work," she praised. "You've got Juror Five for sure, and I think Juror Seven."
"It's early yet."
"Still." She shrugged, rubbing his arm lightly. "On the other hand, your client is falling apart." She gestured toward Chris, visible through the courtroom's doors. Chris was still seated at the defense table, two bailiffs and a sheriff's deputy standing guard behind him with their arms crossed, a physical barrier to contact. "He's just spent an hour hearing what a sociopath he is, and there isn't even a friendly face in the courtroom."
Jordan peered at Chris, his body hunched slightly over the table. "His father's here," he told Selena.
"Yeah, but Ward Cleaver he's not."
Jordan nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "All right," he said. "I'll talk to him."
"You should. Unless you want him to pass out cold at the ME's testimony."
Jordan laughed. "Yeah. He'd probably crack his head open on Barrie Delaney's chair rollers, and she'd still find a way to make it look like Chris was faking." With a light squeeze of Selena's hand, Jordan made his way back into the courtroom. He nodded at the entourage surrounding his client. "Gentlemen," he said, slipping into his chair and waiting for them to disappear.
"It's going well," he said to Chris. "Really."
To his surprise, Chris laughed. "I hope so," he said. "Because it seems a little early to throw in the towel." Then the smile fell away from his face, revealing--as Selena had said--the tightly drawn mouth and pale countenance of a very frightened teenager.
"You know," Jordan said, "I realize it's hard to hear yourself described as a monster. The prosecutor is allowed to say whatever she wants ... but so are we. We just haven't had our turn yet, and we've got the better story."
"That's not it." Chris ran his finger over the blue lines of a legal pad. "It's that ... the prosecutor's making it real. It's been seven months, you know? But there's all this technical stuff and the blood and where Emily was and where I was and--" He paused, burying his head in his hands. "She's making me live it all over again, and I could barely survive it that once."
Jordan--who could confidently slay any prosecution's witness with his words, who had a thousand answers for any of Barrie Delaney's questions--stared at his client, speechless.
THE MEDICAL EXAMINER FOR GRAFTON COUNTY--Dr. Jubal Lumbano--was a thin, bespectacled man who looked far more suited to chasing butterflies with a large collector's net than rooting around elbow-deep in the innards of a corpse. It took Barrie Delaney a full
ten minutes to get Lumbano's credentials down on the record, and to make certain the jury knew that here, at least, was a witness with experience--the unprepossessing Dr. Lumbano had completed over five hundred autopsies during his career.
"Dr. Lumbano," Barrie began, "did you do the autopsy on Emily Gold?"
"Yes," the medical examiner said, his nose bumping against the microphone with a screech. Leaning back, he smiled apologetically. "Yes, I did."
"Can you tell us what was the cause of death?"
"All findings were commensurate with the cause of death being a forty-five caliber bullet fired against the skull into the brain; more precisely, entering the right temporal lobe--missing the frontal lobe--and exiting from the right rear occipital lobe."
Barrie admitted a chart into evidence showing the outline of a three-dimensional head surrounding a brain. Then she turned to the jury with a helpless smile. "Dr. Lumbano, for those of us not as--intimate--with occipital and temporal lobes, could you use this chart to show us where that bullet went?"
She handed the medical examiner a Magic Marker--blood red--and the doctor carefully set it against the drawing. "The bullet went in here," he said, making an X at the right temple. "Then it traveled this approximate path, and exited above the neck, here." Another X, behind the right ear. The line between them ran almost parallel to the side of the diagrammed head.
"Can you tell us how long it took for Emily Gold to die?" Barrie asked.
"It wasn't immediate," Dr. Lumbano said. "She was still alive when the medics got to her. She may even have been conscious for some of that time."
"Conscious ... and able to feel pain?"
"Certainly."
Barrie looked appropriately horrified. "So ... Emily lingered, possibly in pain, for how long?"
"I would say a half hour or so."
"Doctor Lumbano, did you find any other marks on Emily Gold's body?"
"Yes."
"Did they indicate violence?"
"Your Honor, she's leading," Jordan cut in. "It remains to be proved that any violence occurred."
"Sustained." Puckett nodded at the prosecutor. "Ms. Delaney, don't lead your witness."
"Were there any distinguishing marks on Emily Gold's body, Doctor?"
"Yes. There were bruises on her right wrist."
"What did that lead you to believe?"
"That some violence may have occurred."
"Might they have been caused by someone pulling at her wrist?" Out of the corner of her eye, Barrie saw Jordan open his mouth. "Let me rephrase that," she said, before he could object. "What would you, as a medical expert, attribute as the cause of those bruises?"
"It's possible that they were caused by someone who'd grabbed her wrist."
"How soon before death would you say those bruises were formed?"
"Within an hour premortem," Dr. Lumbano said. "The blood had just begun to rise to the surface of the skin."
"Was there anything else you discovered during the autopsy?"
"There was evidence of semen, which, with the condition of vaginal tissues, suggested recent sexual activity--approximately a half hour before death. And there was also skin under the victim's fingernails, cell samples of which did not match up with the victim's own skin."
"Which indicates what?"
"She scratched someone."
"Did you determine whose skin was under her fingernails?"
"Yes, the tissue samples matched those taken from Chris Harte and brought in by the detectives."
Barrie nodded. "Could you tell whether Emily was left-or right-handed?"
"Yes. All of the calluses were on her right hand, heavy calluses on the left side of the middle finger and the right side of the second finger. In my medical opinion, I would say the victim was right-handed."
"And the gunshot wound was through the right temple."
"Yes, it was."
Barrie nodded thoughtfully. "Have you seen a lot of suicides, Doctor?"
"Oh, a fair number. Sixty to seventy."
"Were any of those caused by a gunshot wound to the head?"
"Thirty-eight," Doctor Lumbano said. "It's a popular method, I'm afraid."
"Of those thirty-eight suicides, how many used a pistol or revolver?"
"Twenty-four," Dr. Lumbano said.
"And how did those twenty-four suicides shoot themselves?"
"I'd say ninety percent shoot themselves in the mouth, because that's what works. The other ten percent shoot themselves through the temple. Although I did see one strange case where a man shot a bullet up his nose."
"In the ten percent of people who point the gun at the temple, where is the exit wound?"
"On the opposite temporal lobe." He pointed at both of his temples.
"And where did Emily Gold's bullet exit?"
"From the same side occipital lobe." Moving his left hand behind his head, he pointed to a spot behind his right ear.
"Did you find that unusual?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact," the medical examiner said, his cheeks pinkening with excitement. "I've never seen anything like it. It would be very difficult to hold a gun to your right temple and have the bullet exit the right rear of the head. It requires the angle of the gun to be something like this." Dr. Lumbano lifted his right hand, pointed his finger like the barrel of a gun, and held it up against his right temple almost parallel to his head, twisting his wrist in a forced, unnatural position. "In my opinion, that's not--"
"Objection!"
"--a typical position--"
"Objection!"
"Sustained," Puckett said.
"Took your sweet time," Jordan muttered beneath his breath.
"What was that, counselor?" The judge slid a nut into his mouth. "Did you say something? No?" He turned to the jury. "Please ignore Dr. Lumbano's last statement."
Barrie approached her witness. "In your medical opinion, Dr. Lumbano, what did that lead you to believe?"
"Speculative!" Jordan yelled again. "Come on!"
"Your Honor, request permission to approach the bench," Barrie said, nodding at Jordan, who joined her in front of the judge's high desk.
"Ms. Delaney," Puckett said, "the only way you could lead this witness any more would involve putting a collar around his neck."
Barrie bit her lip. "If my witness can't speculate on this, I'd like to be able to show the jury what I'm trying to get at ... but I'll need the assistance of the defendant."
Jordan looked from Barrie to the judge. He had no idea what the hell she was going to do, and he wasn't about to give her free rein with his client. "I want to know what she's up to," he said.
Puckett turned toward the prosecutor. "Delaney?"
She spread her hands. "A little demonstration, Your Honor. I want to show the jury how Chris could have done this."
"Absolutely not," Jordan hissed. "That's completely prejudicial."
"Look, Your Honor," Barrie said. "I'm going to make my point. I'll use the doctor or a bailiff, if necessary. I just need a body--why not use the one allegedly involved?"
Puckett cracked an almond. "Proceed with caution, counselor, or we'll be right back up at the bench."
"What!" Jordan exploded.
"I've ruled," Puckett said firmly. And to Barrie, "Go ahead."
Jordan walked back to the defense table, thinking that at least now he had an appealable issue. Sliding into his seat, he touched Chris's shoulder. "I'm not sure what's up her sleeve," he whispered. "Just look at me and I'll nod, or object if she's out of line."
At this point, Barrie was walking toward Chris. "Okay, Dr. Lumbano. I'm going to have the defendant help me out here." She smiled at Chris. "Would you please stand up, Mr. Harte?"
Chris glanced at Jordan, who nodded imperceptibly. He stood.
"Thank you. Could you come over here?" She gestured to a spot directly in between the jury box and the witness stand. "Now, Mr. Harte, if you'd extend your arms out in front of you." She gestured, like a Frankenstein monster, until Chris
hesitantly raised his arms.
And Barrie Delaney walked right into them.
Chris started as she embraced him, her hands coming around to the tails of his jacket and her body flush against his. He stood stiff as a board as her head tucked onto his right shoulder, falling onto the same spot Emily's had when he used to hug her. What, he thought, is going on?
"Mr. Harte," Barrie said, her voice slightly muffled against the weave of his blazer. "Could you put your arms around me?" Chris looked at his lawyer, who nodded tightly. "Now, could you take your left hand and put it up to my right temple?"
With his eyes trained on Jordan, who for all his recent objecting was now sitting as still as a damn stone, Chris complied.
They were facing in such a way that the jury had a clear view of Chris leaning back maybe eight inches, just enough to put his left hand up to the right side of the prosecutor's head, while his right arm still embraced her. "Now Dr. Lumbano," Barrie said, "if there was a gun in Mr. Harte's hand right now, how likely would it be that the trajectory of a bullet fired at my temple at this point might exit at the right rear occipital lobe?"
The medical examiner nodded. "I'd say there's an excellent chance that would happen."
"Thank you," Barrie said, her arms falling away from Chris, her brisk footsteps leaving him standing alone in the middle of the courtroom.
"JESUS," CHRIS HISSED, his face red as a beet as he slipped into the seat beside Jordan. "Why didn't you do something?"
"I couldn't," Jordan said through his teeth. "If I jumped up, the jury would think you had something to hide."
"Oh, well, great. As opposed to what they think now--that I'm a fucking murderer?"
"Don't worry. I'm going to take care of it on the cross." He stood, assuming that after that debacle there was little else Delaney could want with her witness, but was stopped by her voice.
"One more question," Barrie said. "Was there anything else about Emily's physical condition that you noticed during the autopsy?"
"Yes," Dr. Lumbano said. "On the night Emily Gold died, she was eleven weeks pregnant."
Jordan closed his eyes, and sat back down.
"WE ALL APPRECIATE YOU BEING HERE TODAY, Dr. Lumbano," Jordan said a few minutes later. "And we all know you've worked on thirty-eight suicides. We heard you say that there was evidence of semen, evidence of bruising, and skin beneath Emily's fingernails. Now let's put that into perspective. The semen, that shows there was intercourse, right?" "Yes."
"Do you know whether or not Emily bruised easily?"
"No," Dr. Lumbano said. "Aside from the fact that she was rather fair, which suggests she might bruise easily."
