Written In Blood (6 page)

“Ms. Rose, did you reach a conclusion regarding Torg Sorensen’s signature on the California Statutory Will?”

Claudia sat forward and spoke into the microphone. “Yes, I did. In my professional opinion, the signature on the will matches the standards I used for comparison. I have no doubt that the signature is genuine.”

Claudia watched Frank Norris push back his chair and approach the lectern. It was after the lunch break and the attorney for the Sorensen clan was about to do his best to make Claudia look stupid. It was her job to not help him. A herd of butterflies in elephant boots danced the tarantella in her stomach.

Someone had left a pitcher and a hermetically sealed glass on the table in front of her, but she didn’t touch them. She refused to let Norris see her sweat, although her mouth was as parched as the Mojave in August.

She put on her game face, inhaled a calming breath, and hoped she appeared more relaxed than she felt. Paige looked like she might jump out of her skin, and who could blame her—her financial future was riding on Judge Krieger’s ruling. On Claudia’s testimony.

Norris made a big production of gathering his notes, then strolled to the lectern as casually as if there were no place he would rather be. He glanced down at his legal pad, then at Claudia. For several long seconds he just looked at her, saying nothing.

“Ms. Rose,” he said at last in a lazy drawl. “Earlier, we heard you testify about a
range of variation
. That’s what you called it, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let me ask you, in all your
many years of experience
, would you say there is generally a group of people who have a tendency to write their signature virtually the same way on nearly every occasion?”

“Signatures are an individual matter. Some people write virtually the same every time, some don’t.”

“Well, then, are there individuals,
in your experience
, who will write their signature remarkably different over a period of time?”

“Again, it depends on the individual. Some signatures have a greater range of variation than others.”

What do lawyers use as contraceptives? Their personalities.
If Norris’ personality were bottled, the population explosion could be eradicated in a month.

Frank Norris cleared his throat. “Well, would you say that older people, say, people in their seventies, who learned to write at a particular time in history, write significantly the same way?”

Claudia knew at once where Norris was going. He was implying that a man of Torg Sorensen’s age would stick to the way he had been taught in school because back then penmanship was a big deal. When Torg went to grade school, knuckle rapping to produce perfect cursive was SOP. Nowadays, the ACLU would crawl all over any teacher who used a ruler on a kid’s knuckles if their running ovals weren’t up to par.

“I have to repeat, Mr. Norris, it’s a highly individual matter and cannot be generalized.”

He removed his eyeglasses and stared at her with a challenging expression. “Okay, then. In looking at the fifty—what was it, fifty-seven documents?”

“Yes, fifty-seven.”

“The fifty-seven documents, did you find
any
differences in the known documents?”

“As I testified this morning, there was a small range of variation between the known signatures—some minor differences.”

“And in looking at the questioned document, was there a range of variation in the
alleged
signature of Torg Sorensen on the will?”

“There can’t be a
range
of variation in just one signature.”

“Well, Ms. Rose, looking at the questioned signature, don’t you think the T in the name
Torg
is quite different from the exemplars you examined?”

“There’s a slight difference, but a difference in the way a capital letter is formed is far less important than the many
similarities
, including—”

It wasn’t what Norris wanted to hear and he cut her off.

Parsons interrupted from his seat. “Objection, Your Honor. Counsel asked a question. He should allow the witness to respond.”

Claudia waited for Judge Krieger to rule on the objection. He shuffled some papers and nodded at her. “Go on, Ms. Rose, you may finish your answer.”

She decided to take advantage of the opportunity to give the judge another mini lesson in handwriting examination. “I was saying that there are far more important aspects of handwriting than just the way the capital letters look.” Judge Krieger leaned forward, paying attention now.

“The spacing, proportions, and other more important
unconscious
factors like letter and word impulse in the questioned signature are virtually
identical
to the known signatures, even though the letter forms—like his capital T—were affected by his physical condition due to the stroke.”

Claudia saw it on Norris’ face when he realized he had shot himself in the foot. Smart lawyers never ask a question to which they don’t already have the answer. He frowned. “All right now, Ms. Rose. You received the California Statutory Will with the
alleged
signature of Mr. Sorensen—the questioned document—from where?”

“From my client, Mrs. Sorensen.”

“And do you know where Mrs. Sorensen obtained it?”

“No.”

“So it’s possible that Mrs. Sorensen could have signed it herself, isn’t it?”

“Objection!” Stuart Parsons snapped. “There’s no foundation for counsel to draw that conclusion.”

Judge Krieger gave a big sigh, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sustained. Grandstanding isn’t called for, Mr. Norris. There’s no jury here, and if there were, you’d be in trouble.”

“I’ll withdraw the question.” Norris’ lips curled into a smirk. “Ms. Rose, isn’t it true that you’re not a
real
handwriting expert at all. You’re
just
a graphologist, aren’t you?”

Claudia waited for Parsons to object, but he was whispering to Paige and had failed to hear the attack. She was on her own.

“I’ve been accepted as a handwriting expert in more than fifty trials in superior, criminal, and federal courts,” she said, looking Norris directly in the eye. “Graphology is a specialty of handwriting examination concerned with behavioral profiling. It’s a separate part of my practice from document examination, and I did not use graphology in forming my opinion in this case.”

He showed an insincere flash of teeth. “I see. Tell us, have you had any law enforcement training? Or training in an accepted forensic document-examining laboratory?”

Despite the pleasure it would have given her to knock the shit-eating grin off his face, she kept her tone cool. “There is no state or federal requirement to train in a specific lab.”

“Objection.” That was Parsons, finally tuning in. “Your Honor, it’s my recollection that Mr. Norris already stipulated to Ms. Rose’s expertise. It’s not fair for him to question it now.”

Judge Krieger’s hangdog features sharpened. “That’s right, he did. Mr. Norris, do you have any
other
questions of this witness?”

“Yes, Your Honor, thank you. Ms. Rose, if you don’t even know where your client obtained the document, how can you testify as to its authenticity?”

“I was given a series of signatures that were represented to me as undisputed to use for comparison to the questioned signature. As far as I know, no one has suggested that those signatures were not genuine. It was my job simply to compare the handwriting, not to identify where the documents came from.” She used the authoritative tone she sometimes adopted when guest lecturing a college class.

“I formed a preliminary opinion based on a photocopy, but later I visited the courthouse where the original will was filed and looked at it under a portable microscope. I photographed it; then I redid my examination and found that it supported my earlier opinion.”

“No further questions of this witness.”

“Thank you, Ms. Rose. You may step down.”

Claudia gathered her things and stepped off the dais, almost giddy with relief that Norris had let her off easy. His next words dispelled the notion that it was because she’d done such a bang-up job.

“Your Honor, at this time we would like to call a rebuttal witness to the stand.”

“All right, Mr. Norris. Who is your witness?”

“He’s waiting outside in the hallway. I’d like to call Andrew Nicholson.”

Andy Nicholson!
Of all her colleagues and competitors, he was the last one she wanted to see today.

Parsons grabbed Claudia’s arm as she went to move past the counsel table. “Do you know him?”

It was a little late to ask. Without offering written proof that Andy was more or less impersonating an expert, Parsons’ options were limited.

Angling her body so that her back was to the gallery, Claudia leaned close to Parsons’ ear and cupped a hand around her mouth. “You can impeach him, but the materials are in my office. Can you ask for a recess?”

“Mr. Parsons?” The judge prodded, impatience showing in his voice.

“A moment please, Your Honor.” Parsons spoke into Claudia’s ear in a rapid whisper. “Krieger will never allow a recess. You’ll have to coach me during this guy’s testimony. That’s the best we can do.”

Parsons motioned to his paralegal, who gave up her chair at the table and Claudia slid into it.

“Your Honor,” Norris whined, his hands spread in protest. “I’m going to object to this witness sitting at the counsel table. It’s crowded enough here as it is.”

Parsons half stood, leaning on the table. “Judge, I ask leave of the court to allow this witness to assist me. We were not expecting this rebuttal witness. Ms. Rose is an expert. I’m
not
an expert in the field of handwriting analysis.”

Judge Krieger rolled his eyes and spoke in a tone one might use on a four-year-old. “She can sit at the table. Mr. Norris, give counsel a copy of your expert’s curriculum vitae and call the witness.”

Andy Nicholson was a tall, good-looking blond with more Scandinavian blood than his clients, and gossip had it that he would point the finger at his own mother for a big enough chunk of change. His less charitable colleagues whispered that Andy was sleeping his way to success with both genders.

He was dressed in a knockout Hugo Boss charcoal pinstripe suit and pale gray satin tie. Taking the chair Claudia had just vacated, Andy crossed one knife-sharp pleated pants leg over the other and clasped his long, slender hands on the table in front of him.

He’s trying to impress the judge,
Claudia thought, cursing him for looking so relaxed.

“Mr. Nicholson,” Frank Norris began, his tone respectful as it had not been when he questioned Claudia. “Would you please tell the Court about your background in the field of handwriting examination.”

Andy threw a captivating smile at Judge Krieger. “I’d be delighted to, Mr. Norris. Okay, I learned handwriting analysis in Switzerland, and I’ve been doing this for about twenty-five years now. I teach document examination to the CIA and the FBI, and I’ve written several textbooks.”

Listening to the same old lies he’d gotten away with for so many years, Claudia had to fight to contain her rising fury. It shouldn’t have been personal, but it was.

“. . . I have a master’s in psychology, and I’ve been teaching at USC for about twenty years. Let’s see, I’ve been a member of the American Society of Handwriting Examination for ten years. I’m board certified by them.”

Scribbling on Stuart Parsons’ notepad, Claudia shoved it at him.

He took a
tour
of the FBI. No master’s. Taught graphology in adult ed ten years ago, not document exam.

“In those twenty-five years, have you ever been called to testify in court?” Frank Norris asked.

“Oh yes, Mr. Norris, many times.”

“About how many?”

“Oh, I don’t know, hundreds! Maybe thousands.”

“Offer this witness as an expert, Your Honor.”

Judge Krieger nodded. “Any objection, Mr. Parsons?”

All Stuart Parsons could do was shrug. “I’d like to reserve the issue of Mr. Nicholson’s qualifications, Judge.”

The trouble was, Andy’s background
sounded
so good, so confident. With a judge like Krieger, who made it obvious that he would rather be on the golf course than the bench, he was likely to give Andy’s testimony more credence than Claudia’s. Unless Parsons could sweat Andy into admitting his lies, they were dead in the water, no matter how good her testimony had been.

Keeping one ear on the testimony, Claudia took a legal pad from her briefcase and began scribbling a list of questions for Parsons to use in his cross-examination. Meanwhile, Norris was beginning his direct, asking Andy about the signatures he had examined.

“I examined
hundreds
of Mr. Sorensen’s signatures.
None
of them matched the one on the will.” He unrolled the exhibit he had brought with him to the stand: photocopied enlargements of a handful of signatures.

In a rambling fashion Andy explained his rationale for his opinion, concluding, “It was obvious to me that the signature on the will did
not
match the standards.”

Despite the rambling, he sounded convincing.

“Mr. Nicholson, do you find the questioned signature at all similar to the standards?”

“Well, yes, Mr. Norris, and I can understand how Ms. Rose might think it was written by the same person. But you could put the questioned signature next to any one of these other signatures, and they are also very similar, except none of them have exactly this kind of T, as I pointed out in my exhibits. Therefore, I declare that this signature is a forgery.”