My Sister's Grave (32 page)

“I’ll give you some leeway but make it quick.”

“Could it have been a possiblity that your sister wore these pistol-shaped earrings?” Dan asked.

“No.”

“How can you be so emphatic given your testimony that your sister had a propensity to change her mind?”

“My father gave Sarah the pistol earrings and the necklace after she won the Washington State Cowboy Action Shooting Championship when she was seventeen. The year, 1992, is engraved on the back of each earring. Sarah wore them once. They gave her horrible ear infections. She couldn’t wear anything but twenty-four-carat-gold or sterling-silver posts. My father thought they were sterling silver, but they clearly weren’t. Sarah didn’t want to upset him, so she never told him. She also never wore them again to my knowledge.”

“Where did she keep them?”

“In a jewelry box on her dresser in her bedroom.”

Meyers had stopped rocking. The gallery too had stilled. Out the windows the ethereal dark fingers reached further down from the sky and the snowfall had grown heavier.

“Thank you,” Dan said and quietly returned to his seat.

Clark sat with his index finger pressed to his lips as Tracy left the stand. Her heels clicked the marble floor as she made her way across the well to the gallery. As she did, a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, spooking those in the gallery who were sitting nearby them. One woman gasped and flinched. Otherwise, no one moved. Even Maria Vanpelt, resplendent in a royal-blue St. John pantsuit, sat still, looking pensive.

Only one person looked as if he’d enjoyed the morning’s events. Edmund House rocked onto the back legs of his chair, smiling like a man who had just had his fill at a fine restaurant and had savored every last bite.

CHAPTER 47

A
t the start of the afternoon session, Judge Meyers retook the bench looking resigned. “It appears the weathermen got it partially correct,” he said. “The third storm is approaching, though they expect it to hit sooner than anticipated, as early as late this afternoon. I am going to push counsel to finish the hearing today, if at all possible.”

Dan immediately stood and announced that Harrison Scott would be the defense’s last witness.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Meyers said.

Tall and lean, Scott took the witness chair in a steel-gray suit. In quick order Dan went through Scott’s educational background as well as his credentials. Scott had been head of the Washington State Crime Labs in Seattle and Vancouver, Washington, before he had gone into private practice to start Independent Forensics Laboratories.

“What type of work does IFL specialize in?” O’Leary asked.

Scott pushed sandy-blond hair off his forehead. Except for the patches of gray at his temples, he looked too young for his impressive resume. He looked like he should be riding waves off the beaches of Southern California. “We do all disciplines of forensic work, from DNA analysis to processing latent fingerprints, firearm and tool-mark analysis, crime scene analysis, and micro-analysis of things such as hairs and fibers, glass, paint.”

“Would you explain to the court what I asked your laboratory to do in this particular case?”

“You sought a DNA analysis on three blood samples and thirteen hair samples.”

“Did I tell you where those samples were obtained?”

“The DNA samples you provided had been kept by the Washington State Patrol Crime Lab as part of a police investigation into the disappearance of a young woman named Sarah Crosswhite.”

“Would you provide the court with a brief overview of DNA testing?”

“The court is familiar with DNA analysis and testing,” Meyers said, scribbling notes and not raising his head. “Move along.”

“Did you perform DNA testing on the blood and hair samples I provided to you?”

“We did,” Scott said, and he provided an overview of the tests performed.

“Were those tests available back in 1993?”

“No, they were not.”

“Starting with the blood, were you able to obtain a DNA profile from the samples provided?”

“Because of the age of the samples and the manner in which they had been stored, as well as possible cross-contamination, it was not possible to obtain a full DNA profile.”

“Were you able to obtain a partial DNA profile on any blood sample?”

“Just one.”

“And could you make any definitive conclusions about that sample based on that partial profile?”

“Only that it belonged to a male.”

“You could not identify a specific individual?”

“No.”

Dan nodded and checked his notes. Scott’s findings confirmed House’s assertion that the blood was his and lent some credibility to his contention that he’d cut himself working in the furniture shop and had gone to his truck to get his cigarettes before going inside to clean his scratches and scrapes. Dan continued. “Would you describe the testing performed on the hair samples?”

“We examined each sample microscopically. Of the thirteen strands of hair we examined, seven strands had roots which allowed us to run DNA profiles.”

“And did you obtain a DNA profile on any of those seven strands?”

“We obtained DNA profiles from five strands.”

“Did you run those profiles through the state and national databases that store DNA profiles?”

“Yes we did.”

“And did those DNA profiles from the hairs match any DNA profiles stored in the state and national databases?”

“Yes, we obtained what we call ‘positive hits’ on three of the five samples.”

“What does a positive hit mean?”

“It means that the DNA profile we obtained from three of the hair samples matched a DNA profile that is on file in the state and national databases.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott. Now, let’s go back a moment. Did I provide you with any other item to test for DNA?”

“Yes, you provided me with a strand of blond hair and asked that it be independently analyzed.”

“Did I tell you where I obtained that independent strand of blond hair?”

“No, you did not.”

“Did you obtain a DNA profile from the independent strand of blond hair?”

“We did, and we ran that DNA profile through the state and national DNA databases and obtained a positive hit.”

“Dr. Scott, would you identify the person in the state database whose DNA matched the DNA you obtained from the independent strand of blonde hair that I gave to you?”

“The DNA profile matched the DNA profile in the state database for a law enforcement officer, Detective Tracy Crosswhite.”

Tracy felt the gaze of the gallery shift to her.

“Okay. You testified you also matched the DNA profile on three strands of hair in the police file to an individual’s DNA profile in the state database. Would you identify
that
individual?”

“The DNA obtained from the three strands of hair also matched the DNA in the state database for Tracy Crosswhite.”

The gallery stirred.

“Oh my God,” someone muttered.

Meyers rapped his gavel once, restoring silence.

“Just to be clear, the DNA obtained from the three strands of hair in the police investigative file, which were obtained from the interior of the red Chevy stepside truck, belonged to Tracy Crosswhite?”

“That is correct.”

“What are the odds that you’re wrong?” Dan asked.

Scott smiled. “Billions to one.”

“Dr. Scott, you said you also obtained a DNA profile for the two other strands of hair.” Dan turned and pointed to Tracy. “Those two strands did not belong to detective Crosswhite?”

“They did not.”

“Were you able to determine anything definitive about those samples?”

“Actually, yes. The two strands belonged to a person genetically related to Detective Crosswhite.”

“Related how?” Dan asked.

“A sibling,” Scott said.

“A sister?” Dan asked.

“Most definitely a sister.”

CHAPTER 48

A
s Harrison Scott stepped down from the witness stand following Vance Clark’s brief cross-examination, Judge Meyers turned his attention to Vance Clark. “Mr. Clark, does the State wish to call any witnesses?”

Meyers’s tone intimated he didn’t think it wise, and for all practical purposes, who could the State call? The witnesses from 1993 had all been on the stand, and this time they had been less than stellar in their performances.

Clark rose. “The State does not, Your Honor.”

Meyers nodded. “Then we’ll be in recess.” Without further explanation why he had recessed instead of summarily ending the day’s proceedings, Meyers quickly left the bench. The moment the door leading to his chambers closed, the courtroom burst to life, and the media came at Tracy. Just as swiftly, she moved for the exit before it could become completely blocked and saw Finlay Armstrong clearing a path to facilitate her escape. “I need some fresh air,” she said.

“I know a place.”

Together they descended a back staircase and stepped out a side door onto a concrete deck on the south side of the building. Tracy vaguely recalled standing on the deck during Edmund House’s trial.

“I just need a minute alone,” Tracy said.

“You’ll be okay?” Finlay asked. “You want me to guard the door?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll let you know when the judge returns.”

It was numbingly cold, but Tracy was perspiring and her breathing labored. The finality and the magnitude of the proceeding stunned even her. She needed a moment to take it all in.

Scott’s testimony that the hair samples found in the red Chevy belonged to both Tracy and to Sarah raised serious doubts about the integrity of that evidence. Then there was the added fact that the earrings presented at House’s trial had not been worn by Sarah the day she was abducted, as well as the presence of plastic and carpet fibers calling into serious question Calloway’s testimony that House had confessed to killing and burying Sarah quickly. Not to mention the job Dan had done discrediting Hagen. It seemed a foregone conclusion that Meyers would grant Edmund House a new trial. Now Tracy needed to think ahead. She needed to get the investigation into her sister’s death reopened and she needed to get people talking. In her experience, nothing was more likely to cause conspirators to begin cannibalizing one another than the very real threat of criminal prosecution and going to prison.

The frigid cold, initially invigorating, began to burn her cheeks. The tips of her fingers had become numb. She started for the door and found Maria Vanpelt watching her.

“Will you be making a statement, Detective Crosswhite?”

Tracy didn’t answer.

“I understand now what you meant about this being personal. I’m sorry about your sister. I overstepped.”

Tracy mustered a nod.

“Do you have any idea who’s responsible?”

“Not with any certainty.”

Vanpelt stepped toward her. “It’s television, Detective. It’s about ratings. It was never personal.”

But Tracy knew it was personal, for her and for Vanpelt. A homicide detective getting a murderer a new trial
was
good television. When the victim was the detective’s sister, it was great television. And that meant not just better ratings for the station, but exposure for Vanpelt, and exposure was everything to someone like her.

“For you it’s about ratings,” Tracy said. “Not for me or my family. Not for this community. The impact of a murder is very real. This is my life. It was my sister’s life and my parents’ life. It was Cedar Grove’s life. What played out here twenty years ago impacted us all. It still does.”

“Perhaps an exclusive to tell your side of the story.”

“My side of the story?”

“A twenty-year quest that looks as though it’s coming to an end.”

Tracy considered the first snowflakes falling from an ever more angry-looking sky, a sky that gave every indication that the weathermen had gotten it correct this time. She thought of Kins’s and Dan’s questions about what she would do when the hearing had ended.

“That’s what you don’t understand, what you’ll never understand. When the hearing ends, you’ll move on to the next story. But I don’t have that luxury. It will never be over, not for me and not for this community. We’ve all just learned how to live with the pain,” she said.

Tracy stepped past Vanpelt and pulled open the door, heading inside, eager to hear what Meyers had to say.

Tracy sensed a change in Judge Meyers’s demeanor as he retook the bench, shuffled pages, and moved a stack of documents. He picked up a yellow pad, holding it at an angle and looking out at the half-empty gallery over the rim of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose. Many had decided to leave and get home before the storm hit.

“I took the opportunity to check the weather report as well as to review the law to confirm the extent of my authority over these proceedings,” Meyers said. “First things first. I’ve confirmed that a severe winter storm is scheduled to hit this evening. Knowing that, I cannot in good conscience delay these proceedings a single day further. I am, therefore, prepared to issue my preliminary findings of fact and conclusions of law.”

Tracy looked to Dan. So did Edmund House. Both Dan and Vance Clark had cleared their tables during the break. Like those who’d left the gallery, they’d anticipated the proceedings had ended for the day, except for Meyers perhaps providing them with an estimated timeline for rendering his decision. Now they scrambled to get out notepads and pens. Meyers only briefly accommodated them.