The Copy (5 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JAMES SCOTT MAY TUGGED at his jacket lapels and cleared his throat.

"The defense calls Dr. Joshua Stein."

As the first of his two witnesses made his way to the stand May considered the wisdom of their defense strategy. It was unconventional to say the least, and he vividly recalled his reaction when Geoffrey Bartell had suggested it - he had rejected the concept out of hand. But Bartell was charismatic and persistent, and after some discussion he'd finally seen the beauty in it. Its sheer audacity at first seemed outrageous, but that was Bartell - he rarely colored inside the lines, yet in truth the legal logic was so straightforward as to be easily missed.

After the bailiff finished swearing in the witness May approached the stand. "Dr. Stein, we thank you for taking the time to be with us today."

Stein nodded regally. He was a man accustomed to deference and accepted it without hesitation.

"Certainly, Mr. May," he said with a smile. His voice was a bass rumble and his mouth - wide and toothy - stretched below the overhang of an aquiline nose.

"Would you please begin by describing your professional background?"

"I was educated at MIT, where I earned multiple PhD's, with a specialty in Forensic Medicine. I have taught the subject academically for the last twenty six years. The first twenty at Harvard, and the last six here at the state university."

May nodded sagely and said, "And, Dr. Stein, in addition to your work as an educator, you also own and operate an independent forensic laboratory, do you not?"

"That is correct. I started Stein Diagnostics five years ago, after relocating here. We provide highly technical forensic testing and diagnostics services to local, state and federal agencies."

"Now why would a government agency pay you for forensic services?" May asked, wearing a look of feigned confusion, "Surely they have their own in-house labs?"

"Oh, they do," replied Stein flashing his toothy smile "With decades old equipment installed by the lowest bidder." He leaned back and steepled his fingers in a manner that would have seemed haughty on most, yet on Joshua Stein it served only to amplify his academic confidence. "I'm afraid, Mr. May, that more often than not our fine governmental agencies are simply not able to keep pace with technological changes in the field. Not for lack of desire nor negligence of duty you understand, but, due to antiquated administrative and budgetary processes, those forensic labs on the front lines of law enforcement are often found wanting. So companies like mine must bridge the gap in order to best serve the public interest."

May was nodding along as Stein spoke. "Dr. Stein, does your company do any work for our local police department?"

"Most certainly we do," Stein replied.

James raised a finger to his lips as if a thought had just occurred to him. "I wonder, Dr. Stein, if you have provided any services to the police department in this particular case?"

"In fact we have," said Stein, his face carefully neutral as the ghost of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Our lab has provided DNA tests for the prosecution as well as the complex spectral analysis of the shotgun shell fragments about which the District Attorney's final witness testified yesterday."

"Ah, I see," Said May as he strolled toward the jurors' box. He stopped in front of them and leaned with both hands on the railing, "So, it would be fair to say that the police department as well as the District Attorney's office places their faith in your expertise, would it not?"

Stein let the smile break free. "It certainly seems that way."

James gave the jury a moment to absorb that fact, his eyes wandering over them, letting the moment stretch out until it bordered on awkwardness. Then he turned a sharp about-face. "Now, Dr. Stein, your labs have performed some forensic testing for the defense also, have they not?"

"Yes we have."

"And would you be so kind as to tell the jury the nature of these tests?"

"Certainly. We completed a very detailed DNA and fingerprint analysis of the samples found at the crime scene."

"Objection!" Alton McBride blurted, rising to his feet.

"Grounds?" asked the judge.

"Immaterial. And irrelevant. Your honor, this testing has already been done and entered into evidence. Plus the defense has no access to criminal databases for sample comparisons. This is ludicrous."

Judge Lemar gave McBride a long paternal look before finally telling him to sit down. "Continue counselor," he said to the defense attorney with a wave, then leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, a look of curiosity on his face.

"Thank you, your honor," said May, returning his attention to the witness, "Dr. Stein, what exactly did these tests involve?"

"Firstly, we took DNA samples from the hair, skull fragments, flesh and brain matter found at the scene and analyzed each sample against one another."

"For what purpose, Doctor?"

"To establish that all samples belonged to the same individual."

"And did they?"

"Yes, they most certainly did."

"I see," said May who was now pacing in front of the witness stand as the interaction took place. "And then?"

"Secondly, we had one of our technicians visit the morgue and take a set of fingerprints from the victim's corpse. These prints were carefully analyzed against the set taken by the police forensics unit at the time of the incident."

"And the point of all that, Dr. Stein?"

"Again, to establish beyond any shadow of doubt that the prints belong to the victim. Once both tasks were completed we then had a clean, verified, baseline samples of the victim's fingerprints and DNA."

"For what purpose, Doctor? As the District Attorney has so helpfully pointed out, the victim's DNA and prints have already been run against all available databases, and no match was found."

"While it is true no match was found, that only means the victim was not in the databases available to law enforcement at the time the search was run. However, if one had access to DNA and fingerprint samples of a suspected victim, one that was not in the databases at the time of search, then verifying the identity would be a routine matter."

"Forgive me, Doctor," said James Scott May as a low murmur began in the audience, "it sounds like you're implying you have access to such samples?"

"Yes, Mr. May," answered Joshua Stein. He looked out upon the increasingly restless courtroom with a rueful smile, "indeed we do. A set of DNA and fingerprint samples were provided to us for analysis and comparison."

"Who provided these samples?"

"The defendant, Geoffrey Bartell."

"Objec-" began Alton McBride as the murmurs in the pews behind him escalated.

"Sit down, counselor!" barked the judge, lifting his gavel and rapping it sharply. "And I will thank the audience to maintain their composure, and their silence. Now, Mr. May, please continue."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said James Scott May, standing perfectly still in front of the defense table. He wanted all of the jurors' attention on his witness without distraction. "Dr. Stein, were you able to obtain a match between the victim and these samples provided to you?"

"Yes we were," replied Stein into the absolute silence of the courtroom, "We obtained a one hundred percent positive match on both fingerprints and DNA samples."

"Is there any shadow of a doubt as to the accuracy of the match?"

"No. Not at all. The DNA sample matched one hundred percent of all markers, leaving absolutely zero margin for error."

"I see," said the defense attorney, his voice reverent, almost a whisper. "And would you please now share with the court the identity of the victim?"

"Yes, certainly," said Stein. He looked out over the room, which seemed to be holding a collective breath, his eyes at length settling on the man sitting at the table directly across from him.

"The victim was the defendant, Geoffrey Bartell the Third."

CHAPTER TWELVE

GEOFFREY BARTELL SWUNG THE Maserati into his parking space and gunned the engine before shutting it down. He smiled as the throaty exhaust note rumbled through the parking structure. Life was good. He'd had a fine night at the company Christmas party. With the positive results of the congressional hearings he was the hero of both employees and shareholders alike, and had basked in the kudos and back-slapping all night long. And why not? Had he not worked his ass off for this? Had he not sacrificed his personal life, lost very nearly everything, for the good of the company? But that was behind him now. Balance finally reigned in his life, or almost did. He'd had the distinct feeling that Camilla was purposely keeping a distance between them all night, and she'd discreetly avoided intimacy upon returning home. He'd caught an occasional shadow behind her eyes, as if something he said did not align with her expectations, and it gave him a sense of being an actor playing a role; a role that was in fact his life - or what used to be his life.

"No!" he said aloud, determined not to let his mind wander to such thoughts, to poison his mood. He took a deep breath then beat his palms against his chest. Once, twice, then swung the door open and climbed out. He clicked the remote over his shoulder as he made for the building entrance.

"Good morning, Mr. Bartell," smiled the guard, holding the security door open for him.

Geoffrey returned the smile. "Good morning, Jackson. And a wonderful morning it is too," he said as he stepped through the door. "Did you enjoy the party?"

"Yes, sir," replied Jackson, his smile broadening. "And thank you for the generous Christmas bonuses, sir!"

"No need to thank me," Geoffrey said with a wave of his hand. "The entire team has worked hard and we all deserve to be rewarded for our parts in any success."

He strode across the small private lobby and into the waiting elevator, which Jackson had dutifully summoned upon observing his approach. Geoffrey hummed a tune as the elevator made its way to the 20th floor and considered the one potentially sticky part in his plan: the copy. Jeff was a valuable asset as long as he remained malleable, yet a flame of doubt was kindling in Geoffrey as to the copy's continued pliability.

The elevator chimed and the doors slid open with a sigh. As Geoffrey stepped out onto the busy executive floor his personal assistant approached wearing a painted on mini-dress and a look of mild surprise. "First time I've gotten here before you in five years," said Misty with a playful smile.

"Well, all work and no play..." he replied, letting his eyes roam over her lithe form. "What do we have on the agenda today?"

"Meetings with R&D this morning on the drug development," Misty said as she followed him to his office, tapping and swiping at her tablet as she went. "A lunch with Adrian Henry from Norquest Labs - he's looking for a collaboration deal on nationwide collection sites. Proposal is in your inbox. Two back to back press interviews this afternoon, between three and four. A stack of messages for you, one from Senator Denville, all in your inbox."

"Sounds like a full day," Geoffrey said as he opened his office door. He stepped back and nodded for Misty to enter, then followed her in, swung the door closed and set the lock. Misty dropped her tablet onto a chair and turned to face him as he approached. Without a word Geoffrey pulled her roughly against him, their mouths locking into a frantic kiss while his hands slid up her body until they found her breasts.

Misty pulled back from the kiss and in a hoarse whisper said, "A little frustrated are we?"

Geoffrey said nothing. He kissed at her neck as his hands found her hemline and began sliding the dress up her thighs.

Misty nuzzled his ear. "Should have been with me at the party instead of the bitch," she taunted, her words becoming breathless.

"Fuck you," he said, roughly backing her up against the wall. He hooked his left arm under a knee and lifted her leg, while unbuckling his pants with his right.

"Mmmm," she replied, "that's what I'm counting on. Should have come home with me last nigh-" She gasped as he entered her.

Three frantic minutes later Geoffrey was running a washcloth under the faucet in his private washroom. He wiped himself down and then buckled his pants. As he straightened up he caught his image in the mirror and an odd thought struck him. What, he wondered, did Jeff see when he looked at him? Or what would he himself see if he could go back eight years and look out through this mirror into his own face?

He'd seen the judgement in Jeff's eyes. It was plain whenever they spoke of Camilla and the kids.

"Bullshit," he muttered, shaking his head. He loved his family. Why else did he work as hard as he did, if not for them? He'd tried to be the faithful husband and father, but after the miscarriage there'd been a chasm that couldn't be bridged. And hadn't he made attempts to rekindle the flame? Lilian and Patch were surely proof of that. But Camilla had gradually slipped further and further away, like a raft come unmoored on an ebbing tide and, swim as he might, she had remained forever just out of reach.

Besides, a man has basic needs. Wasn't he within his rights to fill the void his wife refused to?

He looked at his reflection for a long moment, convincing himself of this fact. Then he bent to the sink and splashed water on his face, patted it dry with a clean towel, straightened his tie, and left the washroom.

"What time's the first meeting with R&D?" he asked Misty, who was now standing beside his desk, tablet once again in hand.

"Nine o'clock," she responded.

"Move it to nine thirty," he said as he walked to the private elevator and punched in his access code. "I'll be down then."

Without a glance back he stepped into the cubicle and waited for the doors to close before turning around.