Let Darkness Come (29 page)

“W
hat's happening, Papa?”

Sofia, Antonio's youngest daughter, tugs on his arm as the order in the court dissolves into random chaos. “Why are they stopping the trial?”

“Shh, they're not stopping.” He looks at the bench, where the judge is already stepping down. “They're only taking a break.”

“I don't get it.” On the other side of Sofia, Jason crosses his arms and glares at the back of the prosecutor's head. “What's the big deal about hair samples?”

Antonio ignores his son and stands. “Excuse me, Mr. Bystrowski.”

The prosecutor turns. “Mr. Tomassi?”

Antonio studies the man charged with winning vengeance for his son. Travis Bystrowski has done a commendable job thus far, but never has his face looked so serious, so dedicated, so young.

“Is this correct?” Antonio asks, gesturing to the defense attorney. “Can she stop everything to talk about hair?”

Bystrowski nods. “It is unusual, but if she learns about evidence that she couldn't—”

“Why should we care about a few hairs?”

The prosecutor swivels toward the defense table. “I don't know, Mr. Tomassi. But we'll hear about it soon.”

“Can't you force her to tell you? Aren't lawyers supposed to show their hands to each other?”

Like a father amused by the questions of a child, the
attorney replies with an indulgent smile. “In civil cases, yes, the rules for discovery are quite clear. In criminal proceedings, however, the court recognizes that full discovery is not always possible. So the law makes allowances for new developments.”

“
What
developments?” Antonio resists the pulse of fury that pounds in his ear and the beat of bitter memory in his blood. “How can anything change what happened to my son? That woman killed him. We all know it's true.”

“Mr. Tomassi.” Bystrowski takes a side step, effectively blocking Antonio's view of the defense attorney and her client. “Sir, why don't you take your children into the hall to stretch your legs? By the time you return, we'll be ready to start up again.”

Antonio glares at the young man for a moment, then allows Sofia to pull him toward the aisle. “Come, Papa.” She draws him away from the lawyers who have done nothing but complicate his life for weeks. “Let's take a walk in the lobby. All this sitting is not good for you.”

She's fussing over him, but for once Antonio is inclined to allow it. Sofia is only trying to prevent him from barreling through that bar and throttling the prosecutor, the defense attorney, and the judge. He wouldn't hesitate to destroy anyone who stands between him and justice for Jeffrey, and Sofia knows it.

In the aisle, Antonio draws Sofia's arm through his, then pats her hand. “So—” he gives her a wry smile “—you would rather walk in circles outside the courtroom than watch your father take on that scrawny lawyer?”

She smiles, her dark eyes dancing above the roses in her cheeks. “We can go anywhere you like. But no, I didn't want to watch you fight with the prosecutor.”

“Were you afraid he would get the best of me?”

“No, Papa. I don't think any man can do that.”

Antonio smiles. “No one ever will. And don't worry—no matter what happens, we will win justice for Jeffrey.”

B
riley remains as tense as a cat throughout the recess. She sends William out into the hallway to search for anyone who looks like a sleep-starved lab technician, while she huddles at the counsel table and taps her pen on the desk. Erin pulls away, probably afraid Briley will snap if she makes an unnecessary comment.

When the judge takes the bench again, Briley glances at her watch and bites her lip. What can she do? If William was here, he'd tell her to fall back and punt, but how does that translate into real life?

“Pssst.”

She turns, and nearly melts in relief when William comes toward her, followed by a young man in a rumpled blue suit. The man nods at her, then pushes dark hair from his eyes.

“Louis?”

“Yeah.” He slips into the pew beside William. “We're on for coffee after this, right?”

She stares, not sure she's heard him correctly, then he gives her a teasing smile. “Just kidding.”

Briley turns as the bailiff calls for order, and Judge Trask's sharp gaze pins Briley to her chair. “Is counsel for the defense ready to begin?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Then let's bring in the jury.”

Briley skims her scribbled notes as the bailiff brings in the jury. When all fourteen have been seated, she stands. “The defense calls Louis Thomsen.”

She closes her eyes as the man behind her moves through the gate and approaches the clerk. The lab tech looks like a skater and sounds like a college kid, but as long as he knows his material…

After he's been sworn in, Briley draws a deep breath and moves to the lectern. “Your name is Louis Thomsen, correct?”

“That's right.”

“Where are you employed, Mr. Thomsen?”

“At the Cook County crime lab. I've worked there three years.”

“What does your job at the crime lab entail?”

He shrugs. “I examine evidence, analyze blood spatter, work with DNA.”

“Are you familiar with DNA typing?”

A half smile crosses the man's face. “Sure.”

“Can you confirm that each human individual has a unique DNA fingerprint?”

He holds up a hand. “That's actually a bit of a misnomer. Everyone's DNA has the same chemical structure, but differences lie in the order of the base pairs. Each individual's DNA has so many millions of base pairs that every person has a different sequence—except in the case of identical twins, of course. They have identical sequences.”

“So can an expert take a sample of genetic material and use it to identify the person from whom it originated?”

“Not unless we have that individual's DNA sequence on file. DNA patterns do not give every individual a unique print, but they do allow us to determine whether two genetic samples are from the same person, related persons, or non-related persons.”

“Thank you for the explanation.” Briley holds up the faxed document, then hands a copy to the prosecutor. “This report arrived from the Cook County crime lab this morning. Would you like a copy, Your Honor?” Judge Trask waves her offer away, so Briley delivers a copy to the clerk. “I ask the clerk to mark these two pages as an exhibit for identifica
tion.” When the pages have been marked and entered as evidence, she holds her copy before the man in the witness stand. “Mr. Thomsen, are you familiar with this document?”

“May I see it?”

“Permission to approach the witness?” When the judge inclines his head, Briley steps forward with the lab report and hands it to Louis.

“Yes, I recognize it. I sent it.”

“Thank you. Can you tell me what this document represents?”

Louis settles his elbows on the armrests of his chair. “They contain diagrams that represent DNA patterns taken from hair samples.”

“How many different DNA sequences are represented here?”

“Three.”

“Three unique DNA patterns, correct?”

“Yes.”

“So these hair samples came from three different individuals?”

“That's right.”

“Can you tell the jury where these hair samples were discovered?”

“Objection.” Bystrowski stands and removes his reading glasses. “The witness had nothing to do with the gathering of this evidence.”

“Objection sustained.” Trask looks at Briley. “Please confine your questions to areas of the witness's direct knowledge.”

Briley draws a deep breath. “Mr. Thomsen, do you recognize the term c
hain of custody?
”

“I do.”

“Can you define it for us?”

He nods. “Because we never know what will be needed in a trial, it's important to prove the legal integrity of all evidence. So we go to great lengths to keep an accurate
written record to track the collection, possession, handling, and location of evidence taken from a crime scene. Few people are allowed to handle the items, and they are never transferred without chain-of-custody forms.”

“The hair samples you tested—were they stored with the appropriate chain-of-custody forms?”

“They were.”

“Did you notate on this document—” she points to the lab report in his hand “—where the samples were originally found as reported on the chain-of-custody forms?”

“I did.”

“Will you please tell the jury what those forms told you.”

He lifts the report and begins to read: “Sample A—dark brown hair found on bedsheet, adjacent to the victim's body. Sample B—blond hair found on suspect's pillow. Sample C—light brown hair found on bedsheet, adjacent to victim's body.”

“Can you identify these hairs visually? For instance, can we assume that the dark brown hair belonged to Jeffrey Tomassi?”

“Not necessarily. Individual hairs differ in color and texture, depending on where they originate on the body. So color and length are not reliable markers. We prefer to match hair DNA with a saliva swab.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thomsen. Now, can you read what you wrote at the bottom corner of the page?”

The technician reads aloud: “Analysis—these three specimens come from three different individuals, two of whom share VNTRs, indicating shared parentage.”

Briley smiles. “For those of us who aren't geneticists, what does VNTR stand for?”

“Variable number of tandem repeats.”

“And what does medical science tell us we can assume about two samples that share VNTRs?”

He lifts the paper in his hand. “As it says here, shared VNTRs indicate shared parentage.”

“So—and you'll have to excuse me for recapping, but I
want to be sure this is clear—apparently two of these three individuals were siblings?”

“That's what the evidence indicates, yes.”

“Thank you. Do you know if the defendant, Erin Tomassi, has siblings?”

“I wouldn't know.”

“That's all right. Do you know if Jeffrey Tomassi has brothers or sisters?”

“I wouldn't know that, either.”

Louis may not know, but the jury does. They know that Erin's only brother lives in a supervised adult home, but Jeffrey's five siblings are present. Every head in the jury box swivels toward the gallery, where Jason Tomassi and his four sisters sit with their father.

Bystrowski leaps up. “Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness.”

Briley turns to face the judge. “I'm asking about facts the witness might know. The Tomassi children are frequently in the public eye.”

Judge Trask leans into his microphone. “Ms. Lester, I'm not sure where you're headed with this, but I'll give you a little latitude.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Briley takes the lab report from the witness. “Mr. Thomsen, wouldn't you agree that the DNA evidence from the Tomassi crime scene indicates three different people were present in that bedroom at some point between the housekeeper's last visit and Erin Tomassi's 911 call?”

Louis grins. “I don't know anything about the housekeeper, but I agree that when the samples were gathered, hair from three different people was found at the locations described in my report.”

“And you would agree that one of those three people had to be a sibling to Erin or Jeffrey Tomassi?”

“Objection!” Bystrowski stands again. “The Tomassi children are not on trial here.”

“Your Honor,” Briley says, “I am simply attempting to verify a biological relationship between the people in that room.”

The judge looks at the prosecutor and tugs irritably at his collar. “Objection overruled.”

“Mr. Thomsen,” Briley repeats, “please answer the question. Does the official report from the Cook County crime lab reveal that three different people, two of them siblings, were present in that bedroom and near Jeffrey Tomassi's deathbed?”

A sly smile plays at the corner of Louis's mouth. At the sight of it, Briley prays he doesn't reveal too much. “Yes.”

She gives him a look of relief and thanks, which he acknowledges with a barely perceptible nod. “I have only a few more questions, sir. At the crime lab, do you also work with fingerprints?”

“Yes.”

“You lift them from objects and identify them?”

“Very often, yes.”

“Do you recall reading the police report pertaining to this case?”

Louis's brows flicker. “I don't have it memorized, but I read it.”

“Would it be helpful if I produced a copy?”

Briley walks to the court clerk, hand outstretched, and waits while the woman pulls the document from the file. She waits for Bystrowski to manufacture some kind of objection, but he remains silent, doubtless aware that he has already stipulated to the accuracy of this report.

She returns to the witness stand and delivers the report to the lab technician. Without glancing behind her, she stares directly into Louis Thomsen's eyes. “Sir, from where you're sitting, can you see the defendant, Erin Tomassi?”

The man's gaze flicks away, then returns to Briley's face. “Yes.”

“Is she writing on a legal pad?”

Again, the man's gaze darts away. “She is.”

“Is the defendant right-handed?”

A flash of curiosity fills his eyes, and his tone is bemused when he answers. “Apparently she is.”

“Would you look at the police report, sir, and read the section about fingerprints aloud. You'll find it midway down the second page, under
dactylography
.”

Louis's gaze drops to the paper. “A routine dusting of the syringe revealed a partial print matching the suspect's left thumb on the plunger. Full prints matching the suspect's left index finger and thumb were discovered on the barrel.”

“Interesting. Let me make sure I understand…. Does the report specify that the lab found prints from my client's
left
hand?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Are you right-handed, Mr. Thomsen?”

“I am.”

“Have you ever handled a syringe?”

“Actually, I have.”

“As a right-handed technician, would you ever handle a syringe with your left hand?”

Louis grins, giving Briley a quick, admiring look before transferring his gaze to the jury. “I would not.”

“Mr. Thomsen, have you seen crime-scene photos of the victim's body?”

“I have.”

“Did Mr. Tomassi sleep on the left or right side of the bed?”

“The left—if you're talking about a foot-of-the-bed perspective.”

“Thank you, I am. So if Mr. Tomassi slept on the left, Mrs. Tomassi must have slept on…?”

“The right.”

“Objection.” Bystrowski stands, glowering like a thundercloud. “Counsel is again leading the witness.”

“Sustained.” Trask shoots Briley a warning look.

“I'll rephrase.” She turns to Louis again. “If Mrs. Tomassi
was sleeping in that bed—and she wasn't sleeping where Mr. Tomassi was sleeping—which of her arms, right or left, was closest to the edge of the bed?”

Louis's brow lowers, then he relaxes. “Her left arm…unless she was sleeping on her stomach.”

Briley turns and smiles at a woman in the jury box. “What woman—with breasts—sleeps on her stomach?”

The females on the jury twitter while Bystrowski roars another objection.

“I'll withdraw the question.” Briley turns back to the lab technician. “If Erin is like most women and sleeps either on her side or her back, if an intruder wanted to manipulate her hand, which would be the easiest to reach?”

“The left, I suppose.”