The Judge

CHAPTER 23

Today Kline is using the state’s trace evidence expert to further reinforce the view that Hall did not have sex, either consensual or forced, before she was killed. For some reason unknown to us, he anticipates this will be our theory, that some lover killed her. He wants to dispel any thought of this in order to focus attention on what he claims is the true motive for this crime, the silencing of a judicial witness.

Kline seems a growing presence in the courtroom, even if he knows that the strength of today’s evidence is too general-common hairs and threads-to be overwhelming. It is still one piece that fits in his puzzle.

Today he has Harold Stinegold, the state’s foremost expert on hair and fibers, a career civil servant of the State Department of Justice, on the stand. If it fits under a microscope, Stinegold has probably looked at it.

He testifies that fingernail clippings and scrapings from Hall show no foreign tissue, and that pubic combings of the victim confirm there was no evidence of foreign hair, which would be present if there had been sexual intercourse.

Stinegold is a man in his early sixties, affable and confident. I have had him in court on several occasions, and have found that he is exceedingly conservative. He will not usually stretch the evidence.

Kline uses high drama, having Stinegold remove the blanket with its blotches of dried blood from a paper evidence bag, cutting the seal open on the stand. He does the same with a second, smaller bag containing hair, and a third with fibers.

“Can you tell us about these?” says Kline. “How were they collected and analyzed?”

“The hair and fibers were lifted off the surface of the blanket by use of cellophane tape, as you might lift lint from a suit. They were transferred to a slide and first examined under a microscope.”

“Let’s stick with the carpet fibers first,” he says. “Were you checking these against samplers taken from another source?”

“Yes. Carpet fibers from the defendant’s county-assigned vehicle.”

“And what did you find?”

“I looked first to determine if there were comparisons of color and diameter. I found that there were.”

“What did you do then?” says Kline.

“A more detailed examination,” says the witness, “for other morphological features.”

“What do you mean, morphological?”

“Form and structure,” says Stinegold. “In particular, I was looking for striations on the surface of the fibers or pitting with delustering particles. Principally titanium dioxide,” he says. “These are sometimes added in the manufacturing process with synthetics to reduce the amount of shine.”

“And what did you find?”

“I observed the presence of similar delustering particles both on the carpet fibers from the defendant’s vehicle, and the fibers retrieved from the blanket used to wrap the victim’s body.”

“You considered this to be a significant point of comparison?”

“I did.”

“What did you do next?”

“I examined for color,” says Stinegold. “Color would be the most important differential.”

“Why is that?”

“Because most colors are composed of a mixture of dyes to obtain a desired shade. Finding the same dye composition would be a significant marker. It would be a unique distinguishing characteristic,” says Stinegold.

“And how would this be done?” says Kline.

“With the use of a microspectrophotometer.” Stinegold has to spell it for the court reporter.

“It’s a kind of microscope that compares colors of fibers through their spectral patterns. Without getting too technical, different fibers not only have different colors, but they emit differing light refractions, which can be measured with the proper equipment.”

“And you did this?” says Kline.

“Yes.”

“And what did you find?”

“That the fibers found in the defendant’s vehicle, his county-assigned sedan, were identical in form, color, and composition to the fibers found on the blanket used to wrap the victim’s body.”

Kline takes him through the specifics, that there are five different types of nylon used in such manufacture, one of these being what is known as “nylon 11.” In this case it is finished with a pigment that is ocean blue in color. These are two points of comparison-the type of nylon and a dye lot-that the witness says match the fibers on the blanket with those found in Acosta’s car.

“In your professional opinion, would you consider such a comparison significant?” Kline tries to close the door.

“Objection. Vague,” I say.

“Sustained. Rephrase the question,” says Radovich.

The issue here is how significant. Kline does a little circle in front of the stand, thinking before he rephrases.

“If you examined those carpet fibers and compared them to another sample taken randomly from another carpet, in your professional opinion, would you expect to find a match similar to what you found here?”

I raise the same objection, but this time Radovich overrules it.

“No.”

“If you compared it to ten other random samples would you expect a match?”

“No.”

“A hundred?”

“Not likely.”

“A thousand?” says Kline.

“The type of nylon perhaps,” says Stinegold. “But the color pigment, particularly the dye lot, would set it apart. I would call it a more significant characteristic.”

“Not responsive to the question,” I object.

“Overruled.”

“So in your opinion this is significant?”

“Yes. Unique to that dye lot. The manufacturer seldom if ever mixes two dye lots resulting in precisely the same pigmentation.”

“So that would be a unique characteristic of these fibers?”

“I would say so. Yes.”

Kline then turns his attention to the hair, which Stinegold identifies as animal in origin.

He goes into some detail on the myriad of distinctions between human and animal hair, the color banding that is distinctive in animal hair, while human hair is uniform in color throughout the shaft.

“The medulla at the center of the hair of a human is amorphous in appearance, seldom more than a third the width of the entire hair shaft,” says Stinegold, “whereas in animals it is much wider and can consume nearly all of the shaft. Also, the outer cuticular surface varies markedly between humans and animals, the difference being quite apparent.”

“So there’s no question in your mind that the hairs collected from the surface of the blanket used to wrap the body of Brittany Hall were animal in origin?”

“None whatever,” says Stinegold.

“Could you determine what kind of animal?”

“That was more difficult,” he says. “But through process of elimination I was ultimately able to determine that the hairs in question were equine.”

It is clear from the looks in the box that the jury had suspected a dog or cat. Kline plays along with this and in feigned surprise gives the witness arched eyebrows, a silent question.

“Horse hair,” says Stinegold in reply. “Probably sloughed off during shedding. There was a considerable amount of it.”

“Do you have an opinion as to how this hair came to be deposited on the blanket?”

“Probably a secondary transfer,” says Stinegold.

Prodded by Kline, the witness explains.

“In general terms, what this means is that the blanket itself did not come in contact with a horse. Instead it is likely that someone else got the hair on their clothing and either carried it to the blanket or perhaps to their residence, where it got on other things, furniture, bedding. The blanket could have become impregnated with the hair there, or it is even possible that the killer picked it up on his own clothing at that point, and by rubbing the blanket against his clothing while wrapping the body, may have left the hair on the surface of the blanket.”

This is a necessary mechanism for the state to show since they now know that Acosta never went near the stable. That was Lili’s province. She is particularly concerned by this, and as the trail of the hair is developed, I can see her physically recoil in the row directly behind her husband, just beyond the railing. She gives me a look, a pained expression.

“This is possible?” asks Kline. “This secondary transfer?”

“Oh, yes. Hair of that kind, in the quantities that I’m talking about, when a horse is shedding, is extremely pervasive. You couldn’t help but to track it into your home. Even if you brushed yourself off carefully, I would think that I could find significant traces of it where you lived.”

“Even if the person changed their clothing after riding or leaving the stables?” says Kline.

“It’s possible,” says Stinegold. “It’s likely that they would carry some of it in their own hair, or on some rougher surfaces of the skin. It’s very difficult to get rid of.”

“That leads us to the next question,” says Kline. “Did you in fact find traces of horse hair that matched the hair removed from the blanket used to wrap the body of Ms. Hall?”

“I did.”

“And where did you find these?”

“Three locations,” he says. “In the apartment of the decedent, Brittany Hall. In the residence of the defendant, Armando Acosta. And from the trunk in the defendant’s county-assigned vehicle as well as the passenger compartment of that car.”

Kline plays this for effect, a proper period of silence to accent the significance of this finding, before he anticipates our attack. He has Stinegold explain that the hair came from a stable frequented by the defendant’s wife, and that it was possible that it was picked up by the defendant on his clothes. He then concedes that hair is not one of those elements of physical evidence that is conclusive in its provenance. It is not like fingerprints, to be matched, in this case, to a specific horse.

“Still,” says Kline, “based on your scientific knowledge and experience, were you able to form any conclusions regarding the hair found on the subject blanket, and that found in the defendant’s residence and his vehicle?”

“In my professional opinion,” says Stinegold, “the specimens of hair taken from the blanket matched in all microscopic characteristics, color, texture, structural surfaces, and thickness the samples of hair combed from various items of furniture and carpeting at the defendant’s home and his vehicle.”

“In your professional opinion were they the same?”

“In my professional opinion they were,” says Stinegold.

Hair and fibers may not be definitive elements like fingerprints, but at this moment it seems to produce a quantum shift of momentum in the jury box that is nearly palpable. It is something you gain from experience in a courtroom, the perception that if you are to survive, particular evidence demands a response.

There are several things that are not helpful to the state regarding trace evidence, and Kline has made the mistake of trying to ignore them, so on cross examination I start with these. The first is the metallurgy report.

“Mr. Stinegold, did you not find microscopic scrapings of precious metal on the edge of the coffee table in Brittany Hall’s apartment, near the point where the victim’s head made impact?”

“There were some,” he says.

“Why didn’t you talk about these during your direct examination by Mr. Kline?”

“I wasn’t asked,” he says.

“Fine. Then perhaps I should ask now. Were these significant?” If he says “yes” it compounds his avoidance of the issue on direct, so Stinegold says, “No.”

“The scrapings, in your opinion, weren’t significant?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We examined them and determined that they were probably old, something that could have been deposited on the table months before the murder.” He spouts some garbage about the bloodstains being on top of the metal, which he quickly abandons when pressed.

“Can you tell the jury what these scrapings were composed of?”

“Traces of gold, twenty-four karat, with some alloys.”

“Something from a piece of jewelry, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” he says.

“But not significant?”

“Not in my view,” he says.

“Then perhaps you can explain to the jury why you examined every piece of gold jewelry belonging to my client?”

“Just to be thorough,” he says.

“Just to be thorough?” I ask.

“Right.”

“And in being thorough did you take microscopic scrapings of each piece of my client’s jewelry for comparison with the scrapings found on that table?”

Stinegold nearly pouts. “What we could find.”

“Move to strike as not responsive. Stinegold would have the jury believe that Acosta discarded the incriminating piece, when there is no evidence of this.”

Radovich sustains my motion.

“Did you or did you not take microscopic scrapings from each piece of my client’s jewelry for comparison with the scrapings found on that table?”

“We did.”

“And did you subject those samples to metallurgic analysis?”

“Yes.”

“And did you find that the metal on that table matched any of the scrapings from my client’s jewelry?”

“No,” he says.

“It did not match?” I turn with a look of wonder toward the jury.

“No,” he says.

“Oh. So I can assume that we would have heard about it during your direct examination if there had been a match?”

“Objection. Calls for speculation,” says Kline.

Not in the jury’s mind. They are now wondering why Kline has hidden this. Stand up and take a bow, fool.

“Rephrase the question,” says Radovich.

“Happy to, Your Honor. Mr. Stinegold, tell the jury, isn’t it a fact that, in your mind, these metal scrapings didn’t become old and insignificant until after you failed to identify a match with Mr. Acosta’s jewelry?”

“That’s not so,” he says.

“But you have absolutely no scientific basis for your judgment that the scrapings on that table were old?”

“We believed they were,” he says.

“What is this, an article of faith?” I ask him.

“Badgering the witness,” says Kline.

I ignore him. “I asked you about a scientific basis. Did you have one?”

“No.”

“Thank you. So, based solely on the scientific evidence, on what we know about these metal scrapings, that they were found near the point of impact with the victim’s head, and that they did not match any of the jewelry belonging to the defendant, in your professional judgment wouldn’t this be evidence that could be viewed as tending to exonerate my client? Tending to show that he is not guilty?”

“Objection. That’s a matter for the jury,” says Kline.

“Sustained,” says Radovich. “I think you’ve made your point,” he says.

I turn next to the numbers game, the carpet fibers presumably from Acosta’s vehicle. I press Stinegold on the dye lots, asking him if he can tell us how many vehicles GM made that year that might have used the same carpet from the same supplier. He has no idea, so when I ask him if he would be surprised if that number were in the thousands, he is forced to admit that it is a possibility.

“Still,” he says, “not all of those vehicles would use carpet of the same color or dye lot.” He looks at Kline with some satisfaction as he says this.

I press him on the county fleet, the fact that the motor pool purchases cars in lots, several at a time from the same manufacturer, and that these might roll off the assembly line in sequence.

“Assuming that this might be so,” I say, “is it possible that vehicles with the same color and representing the same dye lot might be found in that motor pool?”

Stinegold is not as happy with this. “It is possible,” he says.

“Would you be surprised if I told you that records from the county motor pool reveal that nine vehicles were purchased by the county from the same manufacturer, each one the same vintage as the defendant’s county-assigned car, and that seven of these were produced at the same assembly plant, with the same color carpet?”

He gives me no answer.

“Did you know that?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

I have been busy with a special master, a former prosecutor, a lawyer assigned by the court to receive evidence from our own experts in this regard. We have been busy running these vehicles down and collecting carpet fibers.

This opens the door a crack, and I turn to horses.

“So did you find it?” I ask him.

“Find what?” he says.

“The horse whose hair this is?”

He laughs. “No.”

“Did you look?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We didn’t see the point,” he says. “We had the hair in the defendant’s house and his car. Besides, as I stated, it would not be possible to trace the hair to a specific horse.”

“Did you check any of the other people who ride at that particular stable to see if there was similar hair at their houses or in their cars?”

“No.”

“Why not?” The lawyer’s bag of bones, all the things the prosecution didn’t do.

“Again, we didn’t see the point.”

“Wouldn’t it have been instructive to know how many horses at that stable might have provided a match to the hair found on that blanket?”

“Not really.”

“Mr. Stinegold, isn’t it a fact that, except for color, and some exotic breeds that have unique textural characteristics, that one horse hair is likely to look very much like another?”

“Color would be a differentiating element,” he says. The one he grasps for here.

“Do you know what color the horse was who dropped the hair found on the blanket?”

“Brown,” he says. “What you would commonly call chestnut.”

“A common color among horses, isn’t it?”

“Objection. The witness is not an expert on horses,” says Kline.

“No. Just what comes out of them,” I say.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” says Kline.

There’s some sniggering in the jury box.

“Hair,” I say. “What were you thinking?”

Kline is left to look at a laughing jury.

“I object, Your Honor. There’s nothing humorous about this.”

Radovich tells me to get on with it.

“Come on, Mr. Stinegold, isn’t it common knowledge that chestnut is not a rare color among horses?”

“Objection,” says Kline.

“Overruled. The witness can answer the question,” says Radovich.

“It’s not rare,” says Stinegold.

“In fact, if we went out today and visited stables in this county, isn’t it likely that chestnut would be the predominant color found in them?”

“It’s possible,” says Stinegold. It is more than that, but I accept the concession.

“And if we collected hair from all of those chestnut horses and gave it to you to examine under your microscope, would you be able to tell us which of those horses was responsible for the hair found on that blanket?”

He smiles. The point is made. “Probably not.”

“Because chestnut horse hair is not that unique, is it?”

“No.”

“The other elements you testified to, the texture, surface structure, and thickness from one chestnut horse is very much like another, isn’t that right?”

“That is probably true,” he says.

“So the hair on that blanket could have come from almost any chestnut horse?”

“They would be similar,” he says.

“Sufficiently similar that you would have a difficult time telling one from another?”

“Perhaps,” he says.

“So that the jury understands,” I tell him, “there’s no way that you can specifically identify the horse hair found in the defendant’s house or his vehicle with the hair found on that blanket other than to say that they look alike, is there?”

“No.”

“Mr. Stinegold, are you familiar with the concept of transference as it applies to the science of trace evidence?”

“I am,” he says.

“Can you explain that concept to the jury?”

He looks at me first as if I’m digging my own grave, as if this is not helpful to our case. Then he turns to the jury.

“Transference is the theory that microscopic evidence from one moving object will, all things being equal, transfer either all or part of itself to another object with which it comes in contact.”

“Sort of like bees pollinating a plant?” I ask.

“That’s a fair analogy,” he says.

“So that if I rub up against you, we would expect that fibers from my clothes would be left on your clothes and fibers from yours would be left on mine?”

“Allowing for differences in fabrics,” he says. “Some might not leave any trace fibers.”

“Of course. But assuming they did, you would expect to find transferred fibers, some cross-pollination?”

He thinks about this, but is already nodding his head.

“Yes.”

“And you believe that this is how the hair in question came to find its way into the defendant’s vehicle?”

“Yes.”

“And into the victim’s apartment?”

“Correct.”

“And onto the blanket used to wrap the victim’s body?”

“That’s right.”

“And did you find anything else on that blanket?”

“A few other fibers, bits of wood, microscopic refuse from the trash bin where the body was found,” he says.

“But in your view the only significant substances detected are the carpet fibers and the horse hair?”

“In my opinion, yes.”

“Was there a lot of hair on that blanket?” I ask him.

“A fair amount,” he says.

“Your Honor, I would like the witness to demonstrate the transference of hair onto the blanket,” I say.

Kline has a problem with this. I have cut several small pieces of nylon carpet, and he objects that they may not match the carpet in Acosta’s car.

“They are close enough for demonstrative purposes,” I argue. “We’re not going to ask the witness to compare samplers of hair and fibers,” I say.

“With that understanding,” says Radovich.

I hand a piece of the carpet to Stinegold. I’ve gathered some horse hair for this purpose in a small envelope, and I hand this to the witness.

“The hair is black in color,” I tell the court. “They should be easily distinguishable from the others on the blanket.”

Stinegold looks at them and agrees with this. He spreads some of the hair on the carpet, wiping it along the cut bristles with his hand.

I have the clerk retrieve the blanket from the evidence cart and hand it to him. It is mauve in color. Stinegold places it in a puffed-up ball on the railing in front of him, part of it draping over the edge and down onto the floor.

He takes one corner of the blanket and wipes it briskly with the carpet, as you would a brush. Then he lays the carpet facedown on the railing and examines the blanket.

“There,” he says. Stinegold holds the blanket out for me to see, a victorious look in his eyes. It is covered with black horse hair in the area that he has rubbed.

“If you have some tape I can show you how we retrieved the samples,” he says.

“That’s not necessary,” I tell him. I pick up the blanket and the piece of carpet from the railing.

Kline is sitting with a self-satisfied smile at his table.

I walk several steps away from the stand, the blanket in one hand, the carpet swatch in the other, before I turn and face the witness in the stand. I have already looked, so I know it is there, before I hold this up for Stinegold to see on the stand-the small swatch of carpet.

“And what is that?” I ask him.

Stinegold sits looking at the carpet, wincing from the stand.

There, on the small swatch of carpet, are a dozen balled-up pills, fibers from the mauve blanket caught on the sharp bristles of the carpet.

“Mr. Stinegold, in your examination of my client’s vehicle did you find any trace of fibers from that blanket, either in the trunk or the passenger compartment?” It is a question to which I already know the answer, contained in Stinegold’s report.

It is not as if they are surprised by this. They have known from the inception that it is a problem with their case. But the manner in which it is presented makes it look as if Stinegold has been hiding it from the jury. All the ways to make a bad impression.

“Mr. Stinegold. Did you find. .?”

“No.” It is the final thing that he offers to the jury. That and a plaintive look that is worth a thousand words.