Killer Ambition

69

We still had an hour before the noon recess, so I asked Bailey to bring the New York contingent down to the courtroom. I had to put on the NYPD officers to prove that Averly had been in New York, under an assumed name, and that Hayley’s iPad had been stolen from his hotel room.

“Okay, but who else are you going to call? The New York guys won’t take that long.”

She was right. And I couldn’t afford to incur Judge Osterman’s wrath. His latest edict: “Any party who runs out of witnesses before it’s time to recess will find that they’ve rested their case.” Since he really couldn’t get away with forcing the defense to rest, I knew this warning was for me. “We could put on the airline records person to prove when Averly flew out of LAX and our computer cop to say that Averly used the iPad to buy that ticket to Paris.”

“They’re in the DA lounge, ready to go. But we still might come up short.”

“That’s all I can think of at the moment. We’ll have to put on what we’ve got and hope for the best.”

As it turned out, we were still ten minutes shy of twelve o’clock when I finished with my New Yorkers and records people, but the judge could see I’d done my best to use my court time. He let us go early without a fuss. When Bailey left to round up our next witnesses, I walked Declan to his office, knowing he needed some moral support. Sure enough, the moment I stepped inside and closed the door, he started to apologize for his screwup with Relinsky.

I held up a hand and told him to stop. “It can’t have been the first time you got balled up in a witness and I promise, it won’t be your last. We all have our days. And besides, the jurors loved you.”

His eyes strayed to a small framed photograph on his desk. I looked at it more closely and saw it was a picture of a man who was beaming as though he were holding his newborn baby. Except he was holding an Oscar statue.

“Your father?”

Declan nodded and looked down at his desk. “The only good news about today is he’ll never see it. I think the only reason he even knows I’m on this case is because one of his assistants told him.”

“He didn’t want you to join the DA’s office?”

“He didn’t want me…period.”

“You mean, he didn’t want children?”

“No. My older sister’s the proverbial apple of his eye.” Then he lowered his voice and spoke in a gruff tone that I surmised mimicked his father. “Working with fairies is one thing. But I’m not having any damn homosexuals in my family. And don’t give me that bull about how you have no choice!”

Declan’s admission, the pain in his voice, brought a lump to my throat. How could his father be such a Neanderthal? And how could he not see what a wonderful guy his son was?

“Declan, I can’t say I understand that kind of mentality. I can only say that you’re one of the best people I know. Smart, talented, charming, classy. If I ever have children, I’ll feel like the luckiest woman on the planet if I get to have a son like you. Your father…needs help.” I’d almost said his father was an asshat, but I stopped myself just in time. I could tell that Declan still wanted to find the good in him, still yearned for the day his father would accept and appreciate him for who he was. And who knew? Maybe one day he would.

Declan gave me a tight little smile. “Thank you, Rachel.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Just what you need right now. My bullshit drama. What can I do for you? Is Gelfer up next?”

“Yep. So if you could organize the exhibits, I’ll go back over my notes.” I turned to go, then stopped with my hand on the door. “Thank you for telling me, Declan.”

He gave a rueful smile. “Sure, any time.”

“And that wasn’t bullshit drama. If you want to hear bullshit drama, remind me to tell you about my last fight with Graden. If that doesn’t make you feel like the model of sanity, nothing will.”

I headed back to my office and reviewed Gelfer’s reports for the millionth time. I’d saved our most damning piece of physical evidence for last: the DNA typing of the bloodstain on the trunk, which had shown a mixture of both Hayley’s and Ian Powers’s blood. I knew this would be a pitched battle.

Declan and I headed down to court early so we could get set up. I wanted to make everything as tightly organized as possible. Gelfer’s CV was solid, but from what I’d heard, he wasn’t super-smooth. I had to give him points for promptness, though; he showed up right on time, at one twenty-five. As always, he had that disheveled nutty professor look-badly cut mousy brown hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and a lopsided-looking jacket. I’d noticed before that even his lab coat seemed crooked on him.

“Hey, Tim. Ready to go?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said in a breathless voice.

“Got your reports in there?” I gestured to the file in his hand.

“Uh-huh. Want to see?” He opened the file with shaking hands and started to take them out.

“No, I’m good.” I’d gone over them so many times I could recite his findings in my sleep.

I wished he had time to take a walk around the block to calm down, but it probably wouldn’t have helped. Even seasoned witnesses would find the pressure cooker that was this courtroom daunting. As usual, we were filled to capacity, every row tightly packed. The judge swept onto the bench and called for the jury. When everyone was settled, Judge Osterman asked, “People, ready with your next witness?”

“Yes, Your Honor. The People call Mr. Timothy Gelfer.”

Gelfer moved up to the witness stand with stiff, self-conscious steps.

I took him through his résumé, which was actually fairly impressive. At first his voice quavered as he told the jury that he had a master’s in microbiology and was in the process of getting his Ph.D. But he got a little steadier as he described the four articles that had been published in major scientific journals on various aspects of DNA testing and his work as a criminalist for the FBI.

“So you were stationed in Quantico?”

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Five years.”

“What made you leave?”

“My wife wanted to move back here to be closer to her family.”

“And how long have you been a criminalist for the Scientific Investigation Division here in Los Angeles?”

“Four years.”

Gelfer had calmed down now and seemed to have hit his stride. I established that he’d done the DNA typing on blood samples taken from Brian Maher, Hayley Antonovich, and Ian Powers, then had him describe the procedures for DNA typing. Declan started the disc that showed Gelfer in action in the lab, and Gelfer explained how each photo depicted the steps he’d performed in his testing. The visual aid made the testimony a little less dry and made it easier for Gelfer to break it all down. When he’d finished, I moved on to the crime scene evidence. I signaled Declan to run the disc that showed the photos of the bloodstain on the trunk of Brian’s car and asked Gelfer what his analysis had shown.

“I found a mixture of two DNA profiles. The dominant profile matched the DNA of Hayley Antonovich, and the secondary profile matched the DNA of Ian Powers.”

I briefly scanned the faces of the jurors to see how we stood. All were paying close attention, and a few were taking notes. Excellent.

“With regard to Ian Powers’s profile, can you tell me how many other people might possibly have that same profile? Or to put it another way, what is the statistical likelihood that the bloodstain could have come from someone other than Ian Powers?”

“The odds of that are one in one quadrillion, four hundred and seventy-seven trillion, two hundred thirty-six billion-”

“I can’t even picture a number as long as that, so just to cut to the chase: How many people are there on this planet?”

“Just over seven billion.”

“So when you say the odds of finding another person with the same profile as Ian Powers’s is one in one quadrillion, are you basically saying there’s no one else on this planet with the same DNA profile as Ian Powers’s?”

“In a word, yes. We would have to look through more people than there are on earth to find another person with the same profile.”

“And in plain English, that means the blood that was found on Brian’s trunk was Ian Powers’s, correct?”

“Correct.”

There was no topping that, so I didn’t try. “Thank you, Mr. Gelfer. No further questions.”

When I sat down, I noticed that Bailey was gone. “What happened?” I whispered to Declan.

“She said she had to take care of something and not to worry.”

I wouldn’t-I had enough to keep me busy right here. Terry moved a giant binder to the lectern.

“There are two forms of DNA testing: RFLP and PCR, correct?”

“Well…those are the tests relevant to this case.”

“And you used PCR testing in this case, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it true that PCR testing is more vulnerable to contamination?”

“Well…yes. If proper protocols aren’t followed.”

“When you say protocols, you mean there are things that should never be allowed to happen during PCR testing, right?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s because you need to follow certain procedures in order to ensure that evidence doesn’t get contaminated, right?”

“Right.”

“One of the biggies in terms of things you should never do is bring a suspect’s blood sample into the lab while evidence is being tested?”

“Yes, that would be a very bad thing to do.”

“Tell us why, Mr. Gelfer.”

“Because PCR is a very sensitive testing method. If you bring a suspect’s blood sample into the lab while you’re testing an evidence bloodstain, you run the risk of contaminating the evidence stain with the suspect’s blood sample.”

“And that would make the suspect’s DNA show up in the evidence bloodstain, wouldn’t it?”

“Well…I…it could.”

“To be more specific: If you brought Mr. Power’s blood sample-the blood you removed from his arm-into the lab while you were testing the bloodstain on Brian’s car, you could contaminate that stain with Ian’s DNA. And that would make it look as though Ian’s DNA was in the blood on the trunk of Brian’s car when it really wasn’t. Isn’t that true?”

“Objection!” I’d had enough of this b.s. questioning based on shadows, smoke, and mirrors. “Improper hypothetical, Your Honor. There is no evidence whatsoever that there was any contamination here.”

Terry didn’t wait for the judge to rule. “Actually, Your Honor”-Terry brandished a stapled sheaf of papers-“These are the quality control and proficiency test results that just came in this morning on Mr. Gelfer and his lab.”

“Does the prosecution have these reports?” the judge asked.

This had to be some kind of scam. Some smack written about SID by a defense hack so he could get his name in print and his butt on the witness stand in a high-profile case. I tried to look unconcerned as I answered. “No, Your Honor. I need time to review these reports before cross continues. It’s unfair to allow questioning based on data I’ve had no chance to examine.”

“I’m not going to take up this jury’s time with a recess, Ms. Knight. You can review the documents briefly now and I’ll give you some extra time to go over them during a regular break, before redirect-”

“But Your Honor, this is-”

“I’ve ruled! Ms. Fisk, give the prosecution-and the witness-a copy of the reports and proceed with your cross.”

A law clerk trotted over with the report. The top of the front page showed the ASCLD/LAB emblem-American Society of Crime Laboratory Directors/Laboratory Accreditation Board-telling me this was no sham. This was the real deal. And just issued that morning? How the hell had Terry gotten these reports? My knees suddenly felt like Jell-O. I sank into my seat. Holding on to a neutral expression as best I could, I skimmed the findings. The words “Errors” and “Unsatisfactory” jumped out at me. Oh, God. This was bad. Very, very bad. A roaring in my ears kept me from hearing the beginning of Terry’s next question. I leaned over to Declan and whispered, “What’d she just say?”

Declan looked pale. “Just asked if he’d seen the report.”

Gelfer adjusted his glasses. A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. When he answered, he was short of breath.

“N-no. I didn’t know it was out yet.”

“But you can see that it’s from ASCLD/LAB, right?”

“Yes.”

“Please tell the jury what ASCLD/LAB is.”

He explained that ASCLD/LAB is an organization that sets the standards for lab and tech procedures and administers the testing that determines whether a lab should be accredited.

“And just so the jury understands, Mr. Gelfer. Your lab, and all the criminalists in it, are tested every so often to make sure your labs are being run properly and you’re all following standard procedures, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” Gelfer’s voice cracked.

“Then ASCLD/LAB writes up a report of how you all did on that test, correct?”

“That’s right, yes.”

“And a couple of months ago, all of you techs and your lab underwent blind or undeclared tests to check on whether proper procedures were being followed, right?”

“Right.”

“These pages I’m holding appear to be a report on your last set of blind tests, don’t they?”

“From what I’ve seen…yes.”

“I’m going to let you look at this page for a moment before I ask a few questions.” Terry glanced back at me. “Page seven, Counsel.”

I flipped to the page, fighting the urge to squeeze my eyes shut, and forced myself to read. It was like having to walk through a curtain of razors.

Terry continued. “This page shows that one of your fellow techs didn’t follow enzyme activation and cycling times. Without going into all the gory details, that’s a big no-no, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But it wouldn’t cause the DNA in an evidence sample to change. I mean-”

“Not saying it would, Mr. Gelfer. But it would affect the validity of any result you got, wouldn’t it?”

“It-well, more likely it would prevent us from getting any result.”

“Fair enough. Another tech failed to wipe down the table with ethanol after using lab cleaner-also a big no-no, isn’t that right?”

“It’s…a problem, but-”

“But that didn’t result in contamination, is that what you wanted to say, Mr. Gelfer?”

“Yes.”

“I agree. Now turn to page nine.”

Heart pounding, I found the page. When I saw what was written there, I wanted to bang my head on the table, then put my fist through a wall. Instead, I leaned back and doodled on my notepad. And tried not to look like I knew the biggest case of my career was about to explode in my face. When Gelfer finished reading the page, he looked like he was going to cry.

“That blind test did involve a contamination mistake, isn’t that right, Mr. Gelfer?”

Gelfer swallowed, then answered. “It-it seems so.”

It was almost physically painful to watch him up there. Like a man in the stocks, helpless to avoid the rocks being thrown at his head.

“And what happened was exactly what I mentioned earlier: a suspect’s blood sample-blood that had been drawn from his arm-was brought into the lab where evidence was being tested. Right?”

“Yeah, uh, yes.”

“As a result, the evidence sample did in fact get contaminated with the suspect’s blood. Meaning the suspect’s DNA showed up in that evidence sample, didn’t it?”

Gelfer glanced down at the page again. “It…yes, it did.”

“But it turned out that result couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be the suspect’s blood in that evidence stain, because the evidence pertained to a cold case. The suspect hadn’t even been born when that crime was committed. So when the suspect’s DNA showed up in that evidence stain, there was no question that it had to have been caused by contamination. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Now, please turn to page ten.”

Gelfer obediently turned the page, looking like a whipped dog.

“Tell us. Who is the tech that made that grievous mistake, Mr. Gelfer?”

Gelfer’s eyes moved down the page. His face, already pale, now sagged as he stared at the report, slack-jawed. Without looking up, he replied in a choked whisper, “Me.”

The moment the word left his mouth, a gasp went up in the audience. An unnatural stillness settled over the courtroom, like the calm before a tornado. I sat motionless, holding my body erect with an effort as shock waves ran from my numbed brain to my toes. Seconds later, the silence was broken by the rapid shuffling of feet in the spectators’ gallery behind me. Reporters were running for the door. This was going to hit every television and radio station in the country in about five minutes. By tomorrow morning, it’d be front-page news. I could already see the headlines: “Cornerstone of Prosecution’s Case Crumbles!” And the worst part of it was, I couldn’t even blame the defense. This was all on us. The knowledge was almost too painful to process.

A pot of gold fell into Terry’s lap somehow, and she used it well. Now, she co-opted the only comeback I had.

“You did all the DNA testing in this case, didn’t you?”

Somehow, Gelfer found his voice again. But it was plaintive, pathetic-and entirely unconvincing. Like a child who crayoned the walls and then cried that he “didn’t mean to.”

“Yes, I did. But I know nothing like that happened here. I followed protocol, I-”

“You were very careful in this case. Is that what you want to tell this jury?”

“Yes! I know there was no contamination. I never had the suspect’s blood anywhere near the lab when I was testing the evidence! I know it for sure!”

“But isn’t that what you thought when you contaminated the cold case evidence in the blind tests?”

“I…” Gelfer’s mouth was open but no words came out.

I had to admit, furious as I was, I felt sorry for him.

“Mr. Powers’s life hangs in the balance, sir! After what you did in those blind tests, do you honestly expect this jury to take your word for it that these test results are accurate?” Gelfer stared at her, looking like he was about to cry. “Answer the question, Mr. Gelfer! Do you?”

“I…uh.” Gelfer swallowed, opened and closed his mouth silently, then, his voice barely a whisper, said, “Yes, I guess so.”

Terry looked at the jury and shook her head, her expression both mournful and angry. Her voice was laced with disdain as she said, “I have no further questions for this witness.”

“People?” the judge asked.

Gelfer sent me a pleading look, but there was nothing I could do that wouldn’t make matters worse. This bomb had obliterated the DNA evidence. There was nothing left for me to resurrect. And as I stood to answer the judge, I realized that the damage wouldn’t be confined to the DNA. This case hinged on the physical evidence. We had no eyewitnesses, and our proof of motive had always been thin. A fuckup this gigantic on our most incriminating piece of physical evidence would burn through the credibility of every single expert we’d called-the hair, the prints, the soil. Now all of it would be laid to waste, leaving us with nothing but a few suspicious phone calls. And a sure acquittal.

“No. Nothing further.”