The Best Defense (21 page)

“It was as if the person had stood in the room and splashed out gas in several directions, making a ray pat tern.”

“How do you know the child’s body was soaked in gasoline?” Gerald Fierst asked in a low voice. He sounded as if he hated this as much as anyone in the room.

“I examined her body and her clothing.”

“Can you just tell us the conclusions you drew from your examination?”

“Yes, sir. The fire flashed over her, consuming all the gasoline, and it ignited her clothes and her hair….” He kept his gaze fixed on Gerald Fierst. His voice was without expression.

Someone in the seats behind Barbara began to sob in a loud voice, and there were mutters, and one voice calling out in a harsh whisper, “Oh, God! Oh, God!”

Barbara did not turn to look. She did, however, glance at Paula, who was like a carving, except that her eyes were closed and tears were coursing down her face.

Barbara stood up.

“Your Honor, may we have a re cess?”

He already had his gavel raised, and brought it down hard as she spoke.

“Ten minute recess,” he said.

“The bailiff will clear the courtroom.” He stalked out.

When they resumed. Judge Paltz said icily in a very soft voice, “If there is any further demonstration of any kind in this courtroom, the persons responsible will be charged with contempt of court and will be denied reentry. Mr. Fierst, please.”

Gerald Fierst surprised Barbara then by changing the direction of his questions.

“Mr. Conkling, as part of your investigation did you try to find the source of the gasoline?”

“Yes, sir. We found three gas cans in the barn. One five-gallon can and two one-gallon cans. The five-gallon can was half filled, the others were empty.”

“No further questions,” Fierst said.

“Thank you, Mr.

Conkling.”

Barbara rose and walked to the front of her table.

“Mr. Conkling, can you estimate how much gas was spilled in the house that day?”

“At least a gallon,” he said without hesitation.

“Could it have been more?”

“It might have been more, but no less than a gallon.”

“Mr. Conkling, I have here a floor plan for the Canby house.” The drawing was admitted. She handed it to Conkling.

“Is this correct as far as you can tell?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s the house plan.”

“What I’d like you to do, Mr. Conkling, is try to show us where the gas actually was, starting with the kitchen. Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She handed him a red felt-tip pen.

“If you would just indicate where the gas was spilled, please. And describe to the jury where you are marking the floor plan.”

He began to draw jagged red marks in the kitchen, explaining as he went. He looked up at her.

“There wasn’t any gas on the kitchen door. Out in the hall, it was sort of splashed back and forth, not quite to the walls. Then in the living room.”

When he finished, she took the house plan and studied it a moment.

“There wasn’t any gas on the stairs?”

“No, ma’am.”

“You show that it stopped several feet away from the living room door, and there isn’t any shown for several feet into the room. Is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“These other two doors in the hallway, one to a bedroom, and the other to an office, were they splattered at all?”

“No, they weren’t.”

“Mr. Conkling, as part of your investigations into arson fires, do you sometimes reconstruct the actions of the arsonist?”

“Frequently we do that.”

“And could you do it for us with this fire?” She walked to the jury and held the house plan drawing up so they could see it and follow what he was saying.

“Yes, pretty much. Someone went to the kitchen and splashed the gas around and tossed a match in, and then closed the door. and went through the hall splashing it around for about fifteen feet. Then the arsonist went into the living room and stood about where I put a circle, and threw the gas around the room and on the child’s body, and then went out.”

“You’re assuming the child’s body was on the floor already?”

“Well, the gas was all over her.”

“But you said earlier that it was under her as well.

Didn’t you?”

“Yes. It was.”

“So it had to be on the floor already when she was struck and then covered with gas. Is that right?”

“Objection,” Fierst called out.

“This is getting out of the range of expert opinion into pure speculation.”

“The witness has been testifying as an expert from the start; this is what he does for a living, reconstruct what happened,” Barbara said quickly.

“Overruled,” Judge Paltz said.

“You may answer.”

“This is a difficult question,” Conkling said.

“Some gas could have flowed under the body, or she might have fallen where gas already was in place, or she might have rolled into it, or been placed on it. Without observing her body in place, I couldn’t say which one is correct.”

Barbara nodded.

“All right. Would you expect anyone throwing around that much gas to get some on his or her clothing?”

“Very likely.”

Barbara nodded and went to the defense table, where she had placed the large plastic bag. She took out a gas can.

“Mr. Conkling, is this like the cans you found in the barn?”

She handed it to him, but he was already nodding.

“Yes, it is,” he said.

She took the can back and walked with it to the jury box to show them. The can was red, with a short spout and cap and a top handle. She returned to the witness stand with it.

“Mr. Conkling, would you mind demonstrating how you believe the arsonist threw the gas around?”

“Objection,” Fierst said.

“This witness can’t know the movements of the arsonist. This is pure speculation.”

Judge Paltz was eyeing the gas can with a slight frown. He waved toward Pierst and said, “I think I would like to see such a demonstration. If you will, Mr.

Conkling?”

Conkling stood up, went to the front of the bench, and took the can from Barbara. He regarded it for a moment.

“We’ll pretend the kitchen door is here,” Barbara said, drawing an imaginary line.

“The door is closed now.”

“Well,” Conkling said, grasping the can in both hands, “I think you’d want to walk backwards, so you wouldn’t walk through the gas.” He walked backward a few steps, tilting the can with one hand, guiding it with the other in a sweeping motion.

“And now the living room,” Barbara said.

“Let’s pretend this is where you drew your circle, where you think the arsonist stood.”

He paused in thought again and then looked at her.

“I

think you’d want the cap off,” he said.

“You couldn’t throw it out very well through the spout.” She nodded, and he removed the cap and, using both hands, pantomimed throwing gasoline. When he was done, he replaced the cap.

“Thank you, Mr. Conkling. When you examined the gas cans in the barn, were the caps on them all?”

“Yes they were.” He looked hesitantly at the witness chair and she nodded. He reseated himself.

“Did you examine the clothing worn by Paula Kennerman that day?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

“Did you find any traces of gas?”

“No.”

“Did you also examine Paula Kennerman?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell us what you found.”

“She had flash burns down one side of her face and her body, a first-degree burn where her skin was exposed.”

“One side of her face and body? Which side?”

“Down the left side. Her hair was slightly charred on the left side, also.”

“Thank you, Mr. Conkling. No further questions.”

Fierst asked from his table.

“Mr. Conkling, when you said that likely the person would get gas on her clothing—”

“Objection,” Barbara snapped.

“Pronouns, Mr.

Fierst.”

“Let me rephrase the question,” Fierst said with a glance at Judge Paltz.

“If a person were being very careful, then would it be likely that he or she could avoid splashing gas on himself or herself?” From someone else the question would have hung heavy with irony, but from Fierst it simply showed caution.

“It probably could be avoided.”

The prosecution’s next witness was the medical examiner who had performed the autopsy on the body of Lori Kennerman. Dr. Voorhees was sixty-four, thin-faced, with a raspy, high-pitched voice. He started by describing the condition of the body. When he went into detail about the extent of the burns, Barbara gripped Paula’s arm. It felt like steel. In his irritating voice Voorhees continued to give a detailed report on what he had done, what his conclusions were.

“What exactly was the cause of death?” Pierst asked.

“A blow to the neck, just below the anterior region of the right ear, with an instrument sharp enough to puncture the skin and sever the carotid, and to cause a break between the third and fourth vertebrae.”

“A broken neck, is that the common term?”

“Well, I suppose it is.”

“Was the wound caused by a knife?”

“No, nothing that sharp. It broke through the skin, but didn’t cut it as a knife would do.”

“Something like the edge of a square-cut fireplace poker?”

“That could have done it, or anything with a straight edge wielded hard enough.”

Barbara glanced again at Paula, who had her eyes closed and her fists clenched tight enough that blood was showing on her hands. Fierst finished his questions, and Barbara stood up.

She picked up the gas can once more and approached the witness chair.

“Dr. Voorhees, could something like this have caused such a wound?” She indicated the bottom of the can. He peered at it.

“Yes, that straight edge might have done it, too.”

“Dr. Voorhees, would such a wound as you describe cause copious bleeding?”

“Oh my, yes. She was very nearly exsanguinated.”

“And would there have been a spurt of blood from such a throat wound?”

“I should think so.”

“Would you expect a person standing close enough to cause such a wound to have that blood on his or her clothing?”

“It’s difficult to say for certain, but I think so.”

“Would death have been very fast from such injuries?”

“Instantaneous unconsciousness and death immediately following would result from such injuries,” he said.

“As part of your examination, did you look for indi cations of previous accidents or injuries, signs of abuse in the past?”

“Yes. There were none.”

Barbara thanked him and turned back to the defense table. Paula had her head buried in her arms.

Fierst stood up for his redirect.

“Dr. Voorhees, would a long weapon afford enough distance to avoid being splashed with blood?”

“If it’s long enough, or if the killer was in motion, I guess he could avoid it. But blood would have spurted.”

Fierst had no further questions and the doctor was excused

“In view of the hour, we will be in recess until two,” Judge Paltz said then.

Everyone except Paula rose as he left the bench. She tried, but sank back down into her chair. As soon as the judge was gone, a murmurous group voice rippled over the courtroom. Paula looked up at Barbara; her face was ashen.

“How could you do that?” she whispered.

“How could you talk about her as if she weren’t even real?”

“I’m sorry,” Barbara said.

“Paula, you’ve come through this much. Don’t break now. It won’t get any worse than today.”

today emma tidball was dressed in a dark blue polyester suit with a white blouse and a strand of large pearls. Her face was as wrinkled as Barbara remembered.

Gerald Fierst asked her to describe the Canby Ranch, what it was used for, and her position there, and she did so in a rambling way that took a long time.

Fierst finally stopped the flow and asked, “Will you just tell us what you remember about the morning of Saturday, April nineteenth?”

“Angela—that’s Angela Everts—she called at about nine-thirty and said the mushrooms were up thick and did we all want to go get some, and I said sure, it would be good for everyone to get out in the woods for a time.

You know, we had all that rain, and finally the sun was out and it was nice and warm. But Paula didn’t want to go out, and Lori wasn’t feeling good. Poor little thing, she said her stomach hurt, but I told Paula it would be good for them to go out for some air, and that Lori wouldn’t be so afraid as soon as she saw that her mother wasn’t so afraid, so Paula said they’d go. At the last minute Lori said she had to go to the bathroom, and Angela said why didn’t I go on ahead with everyone else since I knew as well as her where the mushrooms were, and she’d wait, her and Annie, that’s Angela’s girl. And Fern, one of the other little girls, said she wanted to wait for Annie, and that seemed all right, so that’s what we did.”

“Where were you when the fire started?”

“Off nearly to the other logging road, half a mile maybe.”

“Did you hear the explosion?”

“We heard something, but we didn’t know what it was. And then Angela was screaming, closer by, that it was a fire, and we all hurried back.”

“Then what happened?”

“Well, Angela got there first, and when I came up she was holding Paula back from going in the house.

And she yelled for me to hold her and she would call the fire department, and she got in her car and raced off, and me and one of the others held Paula.”

“It took two of you to hold her?”

“Yes, it did. She was fighting to go back in, screaming, crying, pulling. Out of her head.”

“Mrs. Tidball, you said there were four women and their children at the ranch, and then Angela Everts and her child came. Did you see anyone else at the ranch that morning?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You said that Mrs. Kennerman was irrational when you arrived at the scene of the fire. Was she irrational before that? In the morning before you left the house?”

“I said she was out of her mind. Which she was.

Screaming and yelling.”

“Earlier that morning how did she appear?”