Dark Justice (39 page)

“But it’s true that you don’t follow generally accepted scientific techniques.”

“I disagree.”

“Then show me your documentation. Prove to me that this blue-light business works.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“I want proof. Can you show me a picture of what you saw?”

“No. Photography doesn’t work under infrared light.”

“Did you ask an impartial third person to view the bite under the blue light?”

“No.”

“In fact, no one else has been able to see any of the things that you claim to see under the light, right?”

“I can’t speak for other people.”

“In the world of science, a new technique cannot be accepted until the procedure can be documented. Until the results can be reproduced by other researchers. Correct?”

“I can’t be blamed for the unwillingness of others to accept what is perfectly apparent to me. I know what I see.”

“The world is full of people who know what they saw. Like ghosts. Or UFOs. But that doesn’t prove they exist, does it?”

“Of course not.”

“My legal assistant sees angels. My sister sees auras, though mostly only when she’s had too much to drink.”

“Objection!” Granny barked. “This is ridiculous.”

“I agree,” Ben said, “but you’re the one who put the man on the stand. He might as well be using voodoo or alchemy to see those bite marks. Whatever it is he’s doing, it has nothing to do with science.”

“Mr. Kincaid,” the judge said, “I will not permit this ranting—”

“I’m not ranting,” Ben said, “I’m making a motion. I move that this witness’s entire testimony be struck and that the jury be instructed to disregard.”

Granny ran up to the bench. “On what grounds?”

“On grounds that this so-called scientific evidence doesn’t hold water.”

“All we have to do is show that it is based on generally accepted scientific principles,” Granny argued. “I think we’ve done that.”

“I agree,” Judge Pickens said.

“You’re both wrong,” Ben said. “That isn’t the test anymore. The Supreme Court ruled in
Daubert v. Merrill Dow Pharmaceuticals
that it wasn’t enough. They held that forensic results must be validated scientifically. I’ve been spending the whole cross trying to find some scientific validity for what this voodoo doctor does, and I still haven’t found it.”

“That’s just your opinion,” Granny said. “He explained his scientific process.”

“I agree,” the judge said.

“If you’d read the case, you’d know that he’s required to prove that this testimony is based upon good grounds, and that his technique can be and has been tested, meaning peer review and publication. He should document his error rates and control techniques.”

Pickens looked down from the bench. “As a matter of fact, Kincaid, I have read the case, and I happen to know for a fact that the Court suggested those items as guidelines—not as a mandatory checklist. The ultimate decision is left to the discretion of the trial judge. And I find his testimony perfectly valid.”

“He admits himself he can’t show us any proof!”

“I’ve ruled,” Pickens said. “Your motion is denied. Either ask some more questions or sit down. Personally, I’d prefer the latter.”

Ben marched back to the podium. Pickens’s ruling was, of course, no big surprise. But he hoped the jury was getting the picture. Regardless of what the judge said, they were always free to disregard any evidence they didn’t find credible.

“Dr. Grayson, has anyone else endorsed or supported your findings?”

“Not as such. Although many scientists are experimenting with blue light.”

“But you’re the only one who runs around claiming to see things no one else can see with it?”

“I pioneered the technique, yes.”

“You’re a pioneer with no followers, right?”

Grayson sighed heavily. Was Ben finally managing to raise a few prickles on his tough hide? He hoped so. “I am confident that time and science will prove me right.”

“Well, the
Woltz
case sure didn’t, did it?”

Grayson looked up abruptly. His lips parted. “I—excuse me?”

“Three years ago, you testified in a prosecution for forcible rape against a man named Jackie Woltz, right?”

“That’s … correct.”

“That one didn’t turn out so well, did it?”

Grayson frowned. He seemed to be having more trouble choosing his words than he had before. “The prosecution was unsuccessful. The defendant was released.”

“There’s a bit more to it than that, isn’t there?” Ben peered down at the detailed court records Jones had sent him. “You identified Woltz as the rapist, based on yet another bite mark no one but you could see. Unfortunately for you, the hair and fingerprint evidence didn’t match Mr. Woltz. And the DNA analysis positively eliminated him as a suspect.”

Grayson drew up his chin. “I still stand by my findings.”

“You’re telling this jury that the fingerprints and DNA and hair—all the established forensic techniques—were wrong, but your totally undocumented technique was right?”

“I found that Mr. Woltz caused the bite wound. It’s possible that someone else committed the rape.”

“But that wasn’t your testimony. You took the stand and said Woltz must have been the rapist. Indeed, and beyond a doubt, right? Weren’t those your exact words?”

Grayson hesitated.

“Weren’t they? If you’re having memory problems, I’ve got a transcript right here.”

“That’s not necessary.” His lips drew together like he’d been sucking a lemon. “That’s what I said.”

“And you were wrong.”

“The jury disagreed with me.”

“Everyone disagreed with you! Except maybe the desperate prosecutor who hired you!”

“I say again,” Grayson repeated through clenched teeth. “I believe time and science will prove me right.”

Ben folded his notebook. He should probably quit; he’d done about as much damage as he could. But he couldn’t resist trying one more … possibility. “Dr. Grayson, did you ever give any consideration to insect bites?”

Grayson blinked. “Insect bites?”

“We know the corpse was found in the forest. We know there are animals and insects in the forest. I believe the coroner testified that the corpse was infested by insects before he arrived. Could this so-called bite mark have been made by insects?”

“I have found clear traces of molars, incisors—”

“But only under the blue light.”

“There was a clear pattern—”

“What pattern?” Ben walked up to the last chart and removed the transparencies. “Look at this!” he said to Grayson, but really to the jury. “There’s no pattern here. Just some random nibbling. It could be anything.”

Grayson pointed toward the easel. “But look at the transparency!”

“The image on the transparency was drawn by you
after
you received my client’s dental records. Correct?”

“It’s true that I drew the chart. I had to. Photography doesn’t work.”

“So this isn’t evidence of any sort, much less proof. You can’t even prove this bite mark came from a human being.”

“If you’ll recall, even the coroner knew the victim had been bitten—”

“I’ve read the coroner’s report, Doctor, and I listened to his testimony earlier. He said there was a bite mark. He never said it was a
human
bite mark. Because he couldn’t prove it. And when all is said and done, you can’t either.” He turned away before Grayson had a chance to stammer out a response. “I have nothing more for this witness.”

T
HAT EVENING, BACK AT
his office, Ben thumbed through his address book for the phone number for Tulsa Police Headquarters—Central Division. It seemed late for anyone to be at the office, but then again, he was. Ben punched in the number and waited. No one picked up the phone until the seventh ring.

“Homicide. Morelli here.”

“Mike, is that you?”

“It’s me, kemo sabe,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“What are you doing at the office?”

“Working, natch. I don’t have a life, remember? So how’s everything in the Great Northwest?”

“Not so great.” Ben leaned back in the rickety wooden chair behind the tiny desk in his office. “I’m in the middle of trying a murder case.”

“So I hear. Let me guess. All the evidence points to your client, the odds are hopelessly stacked against you, but you think he’s innocent and you’re determined to prove it.”

“How did you figure that out?”

There was a knowing chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Just a lucky guess.”

“Look, Mike, I called for a reason.”

“You need my help.”

Ben stared at the receiver. “What are you, the psychic hot line?”

More chuckles. “I just know you’re not one to call to ask about my health.”

“Well, you’re right. I’m having problems. I think there’s a major drug dealer in this town, a big brick wall called Alberto Vincenzo. I think he’s a very likely suspect for the murder my client has been charged with. And I think the prosecutor knows it, so she’s suppressing all the evidence she has about him. Apparently the DEA has the goods on this character, too, but I’ve been calling the regional office in Seattle and I can’t get them to send me anything or give me an appointment. I can’t even get them to return my phone calls.”

“So why are you calling me?”

Ben made a coughing noise. “Well, you are in the law enforcement community. I thought perhaps …”

“Ben, I’m just a cop. A lowly homicide detective in Tulsa, in the faraway state of Oklahoma. And you’re thinking I might have connections in the federal DEA office in Seattle? You’re delusional!”

“Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe you might know someone who knew someone who knew someone else.”

“This is really a stretch, Ben.”

“That’s what I said when you married my sister. But you did it anyway.”

“Don’t remind me.” Ben listened patiently through several seconds of thoughtful silence. “Look. No promises. I’ll do the best I can, okay?”

“That’s all I can ask.”

“And hey—take care of yourself out there. I get worried when you get into these messes and I’m not around to bail you out.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“Yeah, well, just try not to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any serial killers, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

After he finished talking with Mike, Ben pored over his notes for the next day of trial, not to mention an extremely interesting report he’d received from Loving, just back from Oregon. Around nine, Christina poked her head through the door. “Is this the cramped but classy office of Ben Kincaid, a.k.a. Ben the Giant-Slayer?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Hello, Christina. Where ya been?”

“Procuring a little well-deserved liquid refreshment.” As she stepped across the threshold, Ben saw she was cradling a large bottle of champagne and two flutes. She set down the glasses and began twisting off the wire cap.

“I think this is way premature,” Ben said. “We don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”

“Baloney. You’ve been superb in the courtroom. Granny hasn’t put a single witness of any importance on the stand that you haven’t hurt on cross. And what you did to that sanctimonious dental quack—
wowzah
!”

“It’s still too soon …”

“I bet Granny’s not sleeping well tonight.” Christina popped the cork and poured the champagne. “I had the pleasure of watching her today while you were crossing Grayson. She was definitely getting sweaty-palmed. You haven’t given her an inch. If the jury voted today, it would be hands down for acquittal.”

“But the jury isn’t voting today. We still have several more witnesses—”

“But she hasn’t done anything that truly tied Zak to the murder.”

“The truth is, she hasn’t tried. She’s intentionally started with the least important witnesses. She’s building slowly, letting the jury anticipate where she’s going. And, I suspect, taking my measure.”

“Well, right now, your measure is pretty damn good.”

“Let’s see what happens tomorrow.” He gazed absently at the bottle of bubbly. It was a French sparkling wine—as if Christina would bring anything else. “So you’ve been out to dinner?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“ ’Course not. It’s none of my business.”

Christina’s eyes crinkled a bit. “I meant I didn’t think you’d mind if I did my trial prep after dinner.”

Ben fidgeted with his pencil. “Oh. Right. That’s what I thought you meant.” His eyes averted. “So how many dinners with Sheriff Allen does this make?”

“Who said I was eating with Doug?”

“Doug?”

“That’s his name.”

“I figured as much.”

“I never said I was eating with Doug.”

Ben tugged at his collar. “I just assumed …”

“Well, you assumed correctly.”

“And how many times have you gone out with him now?”

“I don’t know. How long have you had me in this godforsaken backwater?”

Ben looked away. “Of course, it’s none of my business.”

“Of course.” A mischievous smile played on Christina’s lips. “Do you have a problem with this?”

“Of course not,” Ben said, not looking up. “Like I said—”

“Doug is a wonderful talker. Not at all what you’d expect. Really very charming. Sophisticated.”

“Sophisticated?”

“Oh, yes. You shouldn’t be such a snob, Ben. Just because people live in a small town, it doesn’t mean they’re hicks.”

“I never meant to suggest—”

“He is a bit homespun, to be sure. But that’s just his way. Honestly, he’s very well educated. Smart.”

“Is that right.”

“Oh yeah. And supremely self-confident.”

“That’s good, I guess. If you like that sort of thing.”

“And very masculine.”

“Do tell.”

She mock-trembled, as if shivers were racing up and down her spine. “Something about him just makes me go all aquiver.”

Ben gave her a long look. “You’re putting me on, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am, you dimwit!” She grinned from ear to ear.

“And may I ask why?”

“Because you’re so easy!” She reached forward and ruffled his hair. “Although in a way, that takes all the fun out of it. It’s like torturing a bunny rabbit.”

Ben waited a moment, until her laughter faded and the room grew quiet. “But you do like him, don’t you?”