Murder One

36

AFTER THE LUNCH BREAK, LaBelle called a series of so-called experts. Ben knew that most of them were required, in order to establish one legal criterion or another, but none of them was very sexy, which was no doubt why LaBelle scheduled them during nap time.

LaBelle called the hair-and-fiber expert who testified to the precautions taken to secure the crime scene after the police arrived. The evidence custodian testified regarding the chain of custody for all prosecution evidence. He was about as interesting as the ingredients label on a carton of milk, but the testimony fulfilled the legal need to establish that the evidence could not have been corrupted. The jury also heard from another DNA expert, an expert on knives, and the civilian who first found McNaughton’s body in Bartlett Square and called in the police.

Just after the midafternoon break, LaBelle called Chester Isaac Bare, Tulsa P.D.’s top man on fingerprints. Ben had heard Bare testify so many times he could have done it for him, but he forced himself to remain attentive, just in case LaBelle tried to slip something past him.

Before they got to any of the evidence relating to the case at bar, LaBelle and Bare gave the jury an almost hour-long lecture on everything you ever wanted to know about fingerprints, but not really. Bare waxed on about latents and patents, curls, smudges, line patterns, the thirty-two key indicia of print matching, the roles computers play in the identification process, the FBI database, and on and on and on. Ostensibly, this testimony was relevant because it would help the jury understand his later testimony—as if there was anyone on earth who didn’t know about fingerprints already. The real purpose, Ben knew, was to establish Bare as the unquestioned expert in his field—so the jury would believe what he said and resist any efforts by the defense to challenge his findings.

Bare actually seemed to bounce up and down in his seat as he extolled the “virtually infallible computerized print extrapolation programs,” which could accurately create an entire print from a smudgy partial. In some respects, Bare, who was balding and wore thick black glasses, was like a Hollywood stereotype of the egghead professor, waxing on enthusiastically about a subject that could not possibly be of interest to anyone other than himself.

Until they got to the McNaughton case. In a fraction of the time it had taken them to establish the man’s credentials, LaBelle and Bare told the jury why this information was important—because both the chains that bound the body of Joe McNaughton and the murder weapon itself bore the fingerprints of Keri Dalcanton.

“Is there any question about your findings?” LaBelle asked, summing up.

“Absolutely not. There were three perfectly clear un-smudged prints on the chains, and two on the murder weapon.”

“Are you saying it’s likely Keri Dalcanton touched those chains?” It seemed LaBelle was learning from the previous cross.

“No. I’m saying that it is an absolute certainty. This isn’t like DNA analysis, where ultimately you can only say that the chances of the sample belonging to anyone but the defendant are astronomical. No two people ever born anywhere on planet Earth have ever had the same fingerprints. Never. Those prints were made by Keri Dalcanton. Period.”

LaBelle continued debunking any theories Ben might advance. “Is there some way those fingerprints could have been … planted?”

“No. Despite what you might have read in Dick Tracy or Batman comics or something, there’s no way to fake a fingerprint. Ms. Dalcanton’s fingers made contact with the chains and the knife. Unquestionably.”

“Thank you,” LaBelle said. “I’ll conclude and let Mr. Kincaid examine the witness. If he thinks there’s any point.”

Hard to turn down an invite like that, Ben thought, as he pushed himself to his feet. He sensed that the jury was not going to be responsive to any Simpsonesque theories of how the police could’ve planted the fingerprints. The expressions on their faces suggested that they believed Bare, and indeed, they had no reason not to trust him. Ben would have to do the best he could with the facts as they were.

“Mr. Bare, were you in the courtroom during the testimony of Corporal Wesley?”

“Yes, I was.”

“Then you heard the evidence regarding alleged sexual activities between the defendant and the deceased.” He hated to keep reminding the jury about the most lascivious aspect of the case, but it was better than letting this damning fingerprint testimony go unrebutted.

“Oh yes. Hard to miss that.”

“Then you understand that there has been a suggestion that chains such as those found on the dead body were used on occasion in these sexual activities.” Somehow, it sounded worse when he used these euphemisms than it would if he just came out with it.

“I kind of got that idea.”

“So it’s entirely possible that the chains used did in fact belong to Keri Dalcanton, or were kept in her apartment. In fact, we saw chains in a photograph taken in her apartment.”

“Okay.”

“For that matter, lots of people keep chains in their homes for other reasons.”

“They do?”

“Ever heard of snow chains?”

“In Tulsa?” He shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”

LaBelle rose. “Your honor … I fail to see the relevance …”

Judge Cable fingered his glasses. “I’m a bit mystified myself, Mr. Kincaid. Could you please get to the point?”

“Certainly. Mr. Bare … if the chains belonged to Keri Dalcanton, is it any big surprise that her fingerprints were on them?”

Bare gave a sidewise glance toward some of his police buddies in the gallery. “It was no surprise to me, that’s for sure.” A mild round of laughter followed.

“I don’t think you quite take my meaning. If I went into your apartment and started dusting your personal belongings, wouldn’t I likely find your fingerprints on them?”

“Yes.”

“And similarly, when you dusted Keri Dalcanton’s belongings, you found her prints. But that doesn’t prove she killed anyone, does it?”

“If you ask me—”

“All it proves is that at some time or another, she touched the chains. Which is hardly unusual, if they belonged to her.”

“But there were no other prints found on the chains or the knife.”

“So the killer used gloves. It hardly takes a rocket scientist to work that out.”

“I don’t think so. Gloves would prevent someone from leaving prints, but would also probably smudge existing prints. I found clear unsmudged prints on both items.”

“Sir, how long was the chain in question? The one on which you found the prints.”

Bare’s expansive forehead crinkled. “Oh, gosh. I don’t know exactly. Twenty or thirty feet.”

“So someone else could have held the chain—in another place—and neither left prints nor smudged the existing ones.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Bare said grudgingly. “But what about the knife? The handle is palm-sized. Keri Dalcanton’s prints are mere, unsmudged, vivid and unmistakable. If someone else had held the knife after she did, even wearing gloves, the prints would be smudged. In fact, I feel comfortable saying not only that Keri Dalcanton held that knife, but moreover, that she was the last person to hold that knife.”

Ben frowned. He needed to figure some way around this. Everything Bare was saying made perfect sense.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye toward the defense table. C’mon, cocounsel, help me out here. Think of something.

A moment later, Christina began making a strange movement with her right hand, under the table where the judge couldn’t see. Was this some sort of obscene gesture? From sweet little Christina? Surely not.

He watched more carefully. She was making a stabbing motion, like she was holding a knife. But when she thrust out, she shook her head. When she moved her hand inward, she nodded.

Ben’s eyes lighted. Clever girl.

“Tell me, Mr. Bare. You say you’re certain Keri was the last person to touch the knife?”

“Definitely.”

“Does that necessarily mean she was the one who stabbed him?”

“I’d say there’s—”

“Let’s think about this before we jump to any conclusions. You say you know Keri touched the knife. But that doesn’t prove she was the one who put me knife into Joe McNaughton’s body.” He paused “Maybe she was the one who took it out.”

Bare frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Why wasn’t the knife in the body when it was found?”

“Well, I’m sure I don’t—”

“Obviously, someone removed it.”

“True, but—”

“And that person—not the killer—would be the last one to touch the knife.”

Bare straightened. “I have always assumed—as would any logical person—that the person who plunged the knife into the body was also the person who took it out.”

“Yes, you assumed,” Ben shot back, “but as we’ve already learned so many times in this trial, what the police assume for convenience is not necessarily what happened. Isn’t it possible that someone else killed Joe McNaughton—and that Keri discovered the body and removed the knife?”

“But why?”

“Maybe he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe she wasn’t thinking logically. Maybe it was her knife and she wanted to prevent the police from making the obvious assumption—the wrong assumption. Or maybe the killer removed the knife but Keri found it and picked it up. My point, sir, is that the evidence doesn’t necessarily lead to your conclusion.”

“I think this is all very far-fetched.”

“No doubt. You’re a policeman. But answer this one question for the jury—and please tell them the truth. Isn’t it possible that the last person to hold the knife—the person who left prints on it—was someone other than the person who killed Joe McNaughton?”

Bare squirmed a bit “I suppose it’s remotely possible—”

“And therefore, the fact that Keri’s prints are on the knife does not necessarily—does not utterly without doubt—mean that she is the killer. Right?”

“I suppose there is a remote—”

“Which is not at all what you said before. But I appreciate the fact that you’ve told us the truth now, sir. And I think the jury does, too.”