Naked Justice (40 page)

“How’re you holding up?”

Barrett shrugged. “Doing the best I can. Under the circumstances.”

Ben nodded. If he thought he was having a bad time, imagine what it must be like for the man on trial.

Barrett coughed once, then spoke. “It’s … not going too well, is it?”

Ben hesitated before answering. He made it a policy to tell his clients the truth, no matter how grim it looked. But he knew Barrett needed some sort of boost if he was going to get through another day like the last. “It always looks dismal when the prosecution is putting on their case. Our prospects will improve once we get our turn at bat.” Ben smiled and tried to sound convincing. “You’ll see.”

Barrett gave Ben a quick nod. He probably didn’t believe it, but it was a nice thought, anyway.

Barrett’s eyes turned toward the jury box. The jury was filing in, taking their seats. As they did every day, they gazed across the courtroom and looked into the defendant’s eyes, trying to see what there was to see. Barrett met their eyes, giving them a practiced smile and a look of total confidence. Ben just hoped it was enough.

Ben pulled his notebook out of his briefcase and prepared for the day’s trial. Despite his wretched night, he felt much sounder than he had the day before. It always took at least a day before he found his footing in the courtroom. At least. Surely the worst of the prosecution’s case was over. It had been tough, but they’d survived. Now, Ben felt like he was ready for anything.

He was wrong.

“The State calls Lieutenant Michaelangelo Morelli to the stand.”

Ben’s eyes went wide as cantaloupes.
Mike?

Sure enough, Mike pushed himself out of his seat in the back of the courtroom, shrugged off his trenchcoat, and pushed his way into the aisle. He was wearing a suit and tie, a phenomenon Ben didn’t think he’d observed since Mike’s wedding.

This had to be some last-minute decision. When he had last talked to Mike, he hadn’t said anything about testifying, and Ben felt certain he would have if he’d known. It must’ve been a recent decision by Bullock, probably made last night as the prosecution forces evaluated the first day’s trial. But why?

He watched as Mike trudged up to the witness stand and took the oath. He didn’t look at all pleased about being there. That, at least, gave Ben some small measure of comfort.

Mike introduced himself and briefly outlined his position, his duties, and his years of service leading to his current position as one of the chief homicide detectives on the Tulsa police force.

If anything, Bullock seemed even more confident than usual. Perhaps the delight of putting a close personal friend of the defense counsel on the witness stand was giving him an extra charge. “Lieutenant Morelli, did you have any connection with the investigation of the murder of Caroline Barrett and her two children?”

“Yes I did.”

“What exactly was your role?”

“I was the homicide officer assigned to the crime scene.”

“What are your duties as homicide officer at the crime scene?”

“Basically, to take charge and secure the area, protect the integrity of the evidence, and collect whatever clues or witnesses we could find.”

“And did you perform these duties?”

“I did. To the best of my ability.”

Wait a minute, Ben thought. Aren’t we leaving out a few steps here? He began scribbling notes furiously on the left side of his legal pad.

“What did you do when you arrived at the crime scene?”

“I cordoned off the area and posted a sentry to ensure that no unauthorized personnel were allowed inside the house. Entrance was restricted to those who had to be inside and could follow evidence purity procedures.”

“I see. Then what did you do?”

“We laid butcher paper down on the floor to cover the main walkways and to protect any evidence that might be there.”

“I see. And after that?”

“Then I allowed in members of the police staff who were trained to gather evidence. First, the photographers and videographers, so they could make a record of the scene of the crime exactly as it appeared when I arrived. Then we sent in representatives from the hair and fiber department. Then the blood specialists. And finally, the DNA experts.”

Ben stared deeply into his friend’s eyes. Granted, a general sense of unease was part of Mike’s makeup on a day-to-day basis. But this time there was something more. He simply did not want to be here. There had to be some reason.

“Please explain to the jury what the photographers do.”

“They make a visual record of the crime scene. Principally, the three corpses, although in this case I had every square inch of the house photographed.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Well, given the nature of the case and the … er …” Ben watched Mike squirm for the right word. “Well, since there were no eyewitnesses and the crime involved prominent members of the city, I thought it best to take every possible precaution.”

“I see. What does the hair and fiber team do?”

“They look for trace evidence. Hairs, obviously, bits of clothing, fabric. Anything that might help identify the perpetrator.”

“Were they successful in finding any such trace evidence?”

“Sure, lots of it.”

“Any fibers that matched clothes belonging to the defendant?”

“Of course. Lots. He did live there, after all.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Bullock’s thin smile could’ve cut glass. “Just answer the questions, if you would.”

Mike almost grinned. “Whatever you say.”

“Tell us about the blood team. What did they do?”

“They searched and scraped for traces of blood. All over the house, but particularly near the bodies.”

“Lieutenant, I won’t ask you about their results, because we’ll have a member of that team testify shortly. But let me ask you this. Had you allowed any disturbance of the crime scene before or during the blood team’s sampling?”

At last Ben saw the light. That was why Bullock had dragged Mike to the stand. He was laying the foundation for the credibility and purity of the forensic evidence yet to come. The lab experts wouldn’t be able to fend off Ben’s questions about chain of custody. So Bullock was using Mike to establish it in advance.

“No,” Mike answered. “I made sure all blood splatters, drops, and traces were undisturbed from the moment I arrived until well after the blood team had completed their work.”

“And what about the DNA experts?”

“Same thing. I believe they removed skin tracings from under the fingernails of one of the victims. I didn’t allow anyone near those fingernails before the DNA experts were able to do their work.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. No more questions.”

Bullock sat down, and Ben took his position behind the podium.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Ben said.

“Morning to you, counsel.”

Ben tried not to smile. He felt ridiculous, standing here pretending to cross-examine his old college roommate. Like two little boys playing Perry Mason.

“I heard you tell the prosecutor that you were the homicide officer in charge at the Barrett home after the tragedy occurred.”

“That’s right.”

“And I heard you say that once you arrived you secured the crime scene.”

“That’s also correct.”

“Funny thing, though. I didn’t hear you say exactly when you arrived at the crime scene.”

Mike smoothed his lips with his tongue. “I arrived on the morning of March 12. Just after sunrise. About six-thirty
A.M.”

Ben put on his puzzled expression. “But I thought the murders occurred in the late afternoon of the previous day.”

“That’s correct.”

“Well, were you delayed?”

“Yes. I was investigating the murder of a homeless person on the north side of town.”

“So you were not in fact securing the crime scene from about six
P.M.
on Sunday night—after the murders—till about six-thirty the next morning. Correct?”

Mike tried to look nonchalant. “There was another officer in charge at that time.”

“Who was that?”

“That was my colleague, Lieutenant Prescott.”

“I see. Would he be the one the men call Pigpen Prescott?”

Mike had to close his eyes and bite his bottom lip. “I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Uh-huh.” Ben leaned against the jury rail. “So for over twelve hours following the murders, Prescott—not you—was in charge of the crime scene.”

“Right.”

“Did he secure the crime scene?”

Mike hesitated for only the barest of seconds. “He did.”

“To your satisfaction?”

The hesitation was a bit longer this time. “I’m not his superior, so my satisfaction is irrelevant.”

“Did he do things the way you would have done them?”

Mike’s eyes focused on Bullock for a moment, then darted away. “No.” Then he added: “But every officer has a different style—”

“Was it Lieutenant Prescott’s style to allow a lot of unnecessary personnel to tromp through the Barrett home?”

Mike licked his lips again. Ben knew Mike well enough to know that, however uncomfortable this made him, he was an honest man. He wouldn’t lie. “There were a number of persons in the home when I arrived that morning.”

“Were these all police officers?”

“Uh, no.”

“Well, then who were they?”

“For the most part, they were … sightseers.”

Ben blinked, giving the jury a moment to absorb it all. “I beg your pardon?”

“Curiosity seekers. People who heard about the killings on TV or radio and decided to take a look.”

“How many?”

“I’m not sure. Ten or fifteen.”

“And these people were able to get inside the house?”

Mike nodded. “True.”

“Was butcher paper on the floor?”

“Not yet.”

“Photographs taken?”

“Not yet.”

“Forensic teams been through?”

Mike shook his head. “Not yet.”

“So none of that happened until
after
you chased these ten or fifteen people out of the house.”

“You got it.”

“Thank you.” Ben allowed himself a small smile. “Just a few more questions. After the preliminary investigation, did you continue to work on the Barrett case?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The feeling of my superiors in the department was that there was no need for further investigation. The case was assigned to another officer who specializes in pretrial preparation.”

“I see. And when was that decision made?”

“I believe it was March 12.”

Ben blinked. “The day after the murders?”

“That’s correct.”

“Lieutenant Morelli.” Ben spoke slowly and carefully. He wanted the jury to absorb every word. “To your knowledge, did any member of the police department ever investigate the possibility that someone other than my client might have committed these horrible crimes?”

Mike’s answer was firm. “Not to my knowledge.”

Ben smiled. “Thank you, sir. No more questions.” And, Mr. Bullock, let that be a lesson in the dangers of putting an honest man on the stand. Ben had assumed he would have to wait until he was putting on the defense case to introduce his main theme—police mishandling of evidence. Instead, he’d been given a brilliant opportunity to do it during the prosecution’s main case.

Bullock rose more slowly than usual this time, a rare sight that cheered Ben’s heart. He stood as close to Mike as he could and began his redirect. “Lieutenant Morelli, I just want to ask you a few more questions. It’s unfortunate, but sometimes lawyers couch their cross-ex questions in ways that can mislead the jury.” Ben noted that Bullock’s voice had acquired just the tiniest edge. “Lieutenant, you didn’t mean to suggest that the crime scene was contaminated during the time that Lieutenant Prescott was in charge, did you?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Leading.”

Judge Hart nodded, but said, “I’ll allow it.”

Mike eased forward in his seat. “I was not present at the time Lieutenant Prescott was in charge, so I can’t possibly testify as to what happened then.”

Bullock spoke in soft, even tones. “But, Lieutenant, I know you’ve been working in Homicide for some time and undoubtedly hope to continue to do so in the future, so let me ask my question again. I’m asking, did you see any evidence that the crime scene was contaminated?”

Mike leaned forward, his jaw tightening. “Let me make myself clear. I took an oath to tell the truth, and that’s what I’m going to do, and there isn’t anybody or any threat that can make me do differently.” He paused. “Now, having said that, let me answer your question. No, I did not see any evidence that the crime scene was contaminated.”

“Thank you, sir. You may—”

“At the same time, I know there’s no way in hell that ten or fifteen rubberneckers could stomp through a house without disturbing things. I don’t know of any specific item that was altered, but I can’t dismiss the possibility.”

Bullock’s voice was cold as ice. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Mike smiled congenially. “My pleasure.”

“The witness may be dismissed.”

Mike stepped down from the stand and hurried to the back of the courtroom, but not so fast that Ben didn’t notice a definite bounce in his step that hadn’t been there before. He didn’t miss the wink Mike gave him on the way out, either.

A
FTER A MID-MORNING BREAK,
Bullock called his next witness, a Dr. Albert Camilieri. Ben knew from the prosecution’s witness list that he was their blood expert.

Bullock began the witness examination in the traditional fashion, trying to wow the jury with a seemingly endless recitation of the witness’s qualifications, recommendations, degrees, professional memberships, and the like. The strategy was simple. For most of his testimony, he would likely be talking way over their heads. They wouldn’t be able to follow the analysis, much less duplicate the procedure. They simply had to take his word for it. To make sure that happened, Bullock had to make the man more than just a run-of-the-mill police lab tech. Albert Camilieri wasn’t enough. He had to be the Albert Einstein of the blood world.

For more than half an hour, Bullock dwelt on the man’s professional credentials, including a review of prestigious cases he had worked on—indeed, had practically solved single-handedly, if you believed Bullock.