The Underground Man

30

For his first witness,Dirkson called Maria Martez, who cited six years’ experience as an officer for the transit police.

“Now, Officer Martez,” Dirkson said. “On the night of February 26th, between the hours of ten and eleven, could you tell us where you were stationed?”

“Yes, sir. I was patrolling the uptown Number Two express on the Broadway line.”

“Did you observe anything out of the ordinary at that time?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Could you tell us when and where this happened and what it was?”

“Yes. I was riding uptown on the Number Two train. We went through the 66th Street Station. That’s not an express stop, so the train doesn’t even slow down. Well, actually, it slows down a little, because the track curves right after that. You know, there’s that big curve between there and the station at 72nd. Which is an express stop. So the train is slowing down for that too.

“Anyway, going through the station-I was standing in the car on patrol. And out the window I saw what looked like a fire in the station.”

“Where in the station?”

“On the uptown side. The extreme north end of the platform.”

“And what did you see?”

“A fire.”

“And what can you tell us about the fire?”

“Not much. I saw flames and that’s all. You gotta understand. This is the far end of the station. The very end of the platform. After the train passes that, it goes right into the tunnel on the way up to 72nd Street. See what I’m saying? If the fire had been in the middle of the station, I could have looked back down the platform and watched it as we went by. But this was the very end of the platform. I see it, and the next second we’re by it and into the tunnel. So when I look back, I can’t see a thing.”

“I understand. But in that short amount of time, just what did you see?”

“I saw fire on the platform. That’s all I could tell.”

“Let me ask you this. Did you see any people on the platform?”

“No, I did not. And I don’t think there were. ’Cause if there had been, they’d have seen the fire and reported it, and nobody did, and-”

Judge Grimes held up his hand. “One minute.” He looked down at the defense table. “Mr. Winslow, you’re not objecting here.”

“No, Your Honor.”

“Yet this witness is testifying to opinions, surmises and conclusions which she has drawn that are obviously based on hearsay testimony.”

“I understand, Your Honor. But this officer strikes me as a competent and honest witness, and her opinions seem sound, logical and reasonable to me. I find it hard to object to something I agree with.”

Judge Grimes frowned. “Well, the court will interpose an objection for you. I don’t intend to have the record cluttered up with testimony of this type.” To the court reporter he said, “Leave in where she said she didn’t recall seeing anyone in the station. Everything after that can go out.” He looked up again. “Proceed, Mr. Dirkson.”

“Yes, Your Honor. Officer Martez, what did you do then?”

“I left the train at 72nd Street, called the token clerk at 66th, and called the police and the fire departments.”

“What did you do then?”

“Took the local back down to 66th.”

“And when you got there, what did you observe?”

“The police and fire departments had already arrived.”

Dirkson smiled. “Thank you. No further questions.”

Steve Winslow did not cross-examine.

For his next witness, Dirkson called Leon Dokes, who testified to being one of four firemen who responded to a report of a fire in the 66th Street Station.

“And when you got there,” Dirkson said, “what did you see?”

“There was a fire going on the north end of the uptown platform.”

“How big a fire?”

“Not that big. Perhaps the size of a small bonfire. But it was burning steadily. And the flames were high.”

“Was there anyone there at the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was that?”

“Two radio patrol officers who had already responded to the call.”

“Were the officers attempting to put out the fire?”

“No, sir. They are not equipped to do so, and that’s not their job.”

“So what were they doing?”

“Blocking off that area of the platform and making sure no one got too close.”

“You say making sure no one got too close-then there were other people in the station?”

“Yes, sir. There were about a half a dozen passengers there waiting for the train.”

“And the police were keeping them away from the fire?”

“That’s right.”

“I see. And what did you do then?”

“The four of us proceeded to put out the fire.”

“And how did you do that?”

“With the portable extinguishers we wear on our backs.”

“You were able to do so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You had no particular problems putting out the fire?”

“No, sir.”

“How long did it take you to do so?”

“Not long. Two, three minutes.”

“Fine,” Dirkson said. “Now, let me ask you this. Could you tell what it was that was burning?”

“No, sir.”

“And why was that?”

“As I said, the flames were high. That made it hard to see what they were consuming. There was a small mound on the platform, and that’s what was burning. That was the best we could tell.”

“Before you extinguished the fire?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And after you extinguished it?”

“Then I looked closer, and was able to distinguish that what had been burning was the body of a man.”

“A man?”

“That’s right.”

“What did you do then?”

“Alerted the police officers and told them to phone for an EMS unit.”

“Emergency Medical Service?”

“That’s right.”

“Were you there when the EMS unit arrived?”

“Yes, I was.”

“When was that?”

“Approximately ten minutes later.”

Dirkson nodded. “Thank you. That’s all.”

Again, Steve Winslow declined to cross-examine.

Next, Dirkson called Phil Kestin of the Emergency Medical Service unit, who testified to responding to the call from the 66th Street Station.

“And what time was it when you arrived?” Dirkson asked.

“Approximately 10:55.”

“And what did you find when you arrived?”

“The police and fire departments were already on the scene. The section of the platform had been cordoned off.”

“What section was that?”

“The north end of the uptown platform.”

“And what did you find there?”

“I found the body of a man.”

“Was he alive?”

“He was not.”

“The man was dead?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know he was dead?”

“I examined him.”

“You yourself?”

“That’s right.”

“How did you make that determination? You felt for a pulse and there was none?”

The witness hesitated, frowned, said, “I determined that there was no heartbeat. But in response to your question, I think I have to explain my answer.”

“Certainly,” Dirkson said. “Please explain to the jury in your own words, how you determined the man was dead.”

The medic turned to the jury. He was a young man, with a boyish, open face. His manner radiated sincerity. From Dirkson’s point of view, he was a good witness.

“What you have to understand,” he said, “is the extent of the injuries. The body had been badly burned. It had not just been burned. It had been charred. It was barely recognizable as that of a human being. So to feel for a pulse under those circumstances-well, the question is not really applicable. I determined that there was no heartbeat. I determined that there was no breath. I determined that there was no life. But frankly, one look was enough to see that there couldn’t have been.”

It was effective. Steve Winslow watched the faces of the jurors as the young medic spoke, and he could see that they were shocked and moved as they drank in the horror of the scene.

Dirkson prolonged the effect by pausing a moment before asking, “And did you take the body to the hospital?”

“No, I did not.”

“Why not? Because you’d already determined the man was dead?”

“No, sir. I didn’t have to make that decision.”

“Why not?”

“Because the medical examiner arrived and took over.”

“Thank you. No further questions.”

Judge Grimes said, “Mr. Winslow?”

“No questions, Your Honor.”

Jeremy Dawson tugged at Steve Winslow’s arm. “Hey man,” he hissed, “aren’t you gonna do anything?”

“Not till it’ll do some good.”

“But-”

“Shhh.”

Dirkson called Robert Oliver of the Crime Scene Unit to the stand. Officer Oliver testified to arriving at the 66th Street Station and processing the crime scene for evidence, which consisted largely of taking pictures.

“And do you have those photographs in court?” Dirkson asked.

“Yes, I do.”

“Would you produce them please?”

“Certainly,” the witness said. He reached in his briefcase and pulled out a file folder of eight-by-ten photographs.

“Object to the pictures,” Jeremy hissed.

“Why?” Steve whispered back.

“They’re gonna piss off the jury.”

“That they are.”

“So object to them.”

“I can’t. They’re legal evidence. They’re admissible.”

“Can’t you even try?”

Steve took a breath. “Look,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “The pictures won’t do you half as much harm as you’re doing yourself by constantly grabbing me by the sleeve and looking like your world just collapsed. Now sit back and shut up. The bottom line is, if we act like we’re afraid to let the jury see those pictures, you might as well change your plea to guilty right now.”

Jeremy glared at Steve, but subsided in his seat.

Judge Grimes, noting the byplay between them, said, “Did Counsel hear the question? The prosecutor has asked that these pictures be marked for identification.”

“May I see them, Your Honor?”

“Certainly,” Dirkson said. He took the pictures, passed them over.

Steve leafed through them. They were truly gruesome. Jeremy, looking at them over Steve’s shoulder, seemed about to say something, but managed to sit still.

Steve handed the pictures back. “No objection, Your Honor. And if the witness will testify that these are indeed the pictures he took, I will stipulate that they may be received in evidence.”

“Very well,” Judge Grimes said. “The photographs may be considered in evidence as People’s Exhibits One A through- what have you got there?” he asked the court reporter, who was marking the photographs.

“One minute,” the court reporter said. “That would be A through K.”

“Fine,” Judge Grimes said. The pictures are now in evidence as People’s Exhibits One A through K.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Dirkson said. “With the court’s permission, I would like to show the exhibits to the jury at this time.”

“No objection, Your Honor,” Steve said.

“Very well,” Judge Grimes said. “Bailiff.”

The bailiff took the file of photos, handed them to the first juror, who looked at the top one, pulled it off the stack and passed it along. Within minutes the eleven photos had been spread out and were snaking their way through the twelve jurors and four alternates in the box.

Dirkson watched this with satisfaction. The reaction of the jury was exactly as he had anticipated. Some winced. Some scowled. And by the time they had finished, all of their faces were hard.

When the photographs had been returned, Dirkson again approached the witness.

“Now then,” he said, “did you examine the clothing of the decedent?”

The witness frowned. “Yes and no.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, as you can see by the photographs, the clothing had all but been consumed by fire. I examined what remnants remained.”

“Could you describe them, please?”

“Yes, sir. The decedent had been dressed in a long, heavy overcoat. Most of it had burned away, leaving only the charred outline of the fabric. However, there was a discernible bulge that remained. On investigation it proved to be-or at least at one time had been-a pocket.”

“I see. And was there anything in this pocket?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was that?”

“The charred remains of what appeared to be a leather object.”

“And did you retrieve that object?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And identify it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what was it?”

“On inspection, it proved to be a wallet.”

“A wallet?”

“Yes.”

“And do you have that wallet here in court?”

“Yes, I do.”

The witness reached into his briefcase again and produced a plastic evidence bag. In it was what might have been a wallet, though it was now impossible to tell.

“I ask that this wallet be marked for identification and received in evidence as People’s Exhibit Two.”

“No objection.”

“So ordered.”

“Now,” Dirkson said. “Did you examine the contents of that wallet?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did you find?”

“Several papers too charred to be legible, and a gooey mass of what appeared to be plastic.”

“Referring to the gooey mass of plastic-do you know what that proved to be?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Could you tell us please?”

“Yes, sir. The plastic came from several credit cards, which under the extreme heat had melted and fused together.”

“Were you able to distinguish between the credit cards?”

“In most cases, no. But one in the middle of the pack was not so badly damaged and I was able to separate it from the rest.”

“And what did it prove to be?”

“It was a Visa card.”

“And was the name on the card still legible?”

“Yes, it was.”

“And what was that name?”

“Jack Walsh.”

“Do you have that card here in court?”

“Yes, I do.”

The witness reached in his briefcase, produced another evidence bag holding a credit card.

“I ask that this card be marked for identification and received in evidence as People’s Exhibit Three.”

“No objection.”

“So ordered.”

The court reporter marked the exhibit.

“That’s all,” Dirkson said.

“Mr. Winslow?” Judge Grimes said.

“No questions.”

Jeremy Dawson gave Steve a look, but held his tongue.

Dirkson next called the medical examiner to the stand. A thin, white-haired, bespectacled man, he gave his name as Murray Abraham, cited his rather extensive qualifications, and testified to being summoned to the 66th Street Station on the night of the crime.

“And what time did you get there?” Dirkson asked.

The medical examiner pushed his glasses up on his nose with a long finger. “Eleven-oh-two,” he snapped.

Some of the jurors smiled. After the horrors Dirkson had been dragging them through, they were ready for any relief. The prissy preciseness of the medical examiner was affording them the opportunity, and they were gratefully seizing it.

“I see,” Dirkson said. “And can you tell me what you found there?”

“I found the body of a man.”

“Was he alive?”

“He was dead.”

“You pronounced him dead at the scene?”

“Yes, I did.”

“There was no question in your mind?”

“None at all. Nor would there have been any question in yours. The man was dead.”

“Now listen carefully, Doctor. What was the apparent cause of death?”

“The man had apparently burned to death.”

“I see. Did you make that determination then?”

“Certainly not,” the medical examiner snapped. “You said apparent cause of death, and that is how I answered the question. The man had apparently burned to death.”

“Did you subsequently determine the actual cause of death?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Fine. We’ll get to that in a moment,” Dirkson said. “First, can you tell me what you did at the scene of the crime?”

“Yes. As I said, I made a preliminary examination of the body and pronounced the man dead. I indicated to the officers of the Crime Scene Unit that it was highly likely that the man had met his death by criminal means. Then I waited while the Crime Scene Unit investigated and took photographs, and then ordered the body transferred to the morgue for autopsy.”

“And who performed that autopsy?”

“I did.”

“You performed the autopsy personally?”

“That is correct.”

“And had the decedent met his death by burning?”

“As I’ve already stated, he had not.”

“And did you determine the actual cause of death?”

“Yes, I did. The cause of death was a bullet which had penetrated the back of the skull and lodged itself in the decedent’s brain.”

“A bullet?”

“That’s right.”

“And did you remove this bullet from the brain of the decedent?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I see. And tell me, Doctor, would you know this bullet if you saw it again?”

“Yes, I would.”

Dirkson strode back to the prosecution table, picked up a small evidence bag.

“Your Honor, I ask that this be marked for identification as People’s Exhibit Four.”

When the court reporter had marked the exhibit, Dirkson handed it to the witness.

“Doctor, I hand you a bullet and ask you if you have seen it before?”

The medical examiner took the plastic evidence bag in his hands. He turned it over, examining the bullet.

“Yes, I have.”

“Can you tell us when and where?”

“Yes, sir. That is the bullet I removed that night from the brain of the decedent.”

“And how do you identify the bullet, Doctor?”

The medical examiner held up the plastic bag and pointed. “By my initials, which I scratched on the base of the bullet with a small etching tool.”

Dirkson nodded his approval. “Very good, Doctor. Now then, you’ve stated that this bullet was the cause of death?”

“That’s right.”

“How do you know that? How do you know he died from the bullet wound rather than the burning? Or in other words, how do you know he was first shot and then the body burned, rather than the other way around?”

“I know that from my autopsy. An examination of the body showed that the man was dead before the body was set on fire.”

“Oh really? And how could you tell that?”

“There were several factors, easily recognized by a trained pathologist.” The medical examiner sniffed and said somewhat condescendingly. “I shall point out those most easily understood by a layman. For one thing, live flesh burns differently than dead flesh. Even more conclusive was the condition of the lungs.”

“What about them?”

“There was no smoke in them. And if the man were alive when he was set on fire, there would have to be. He would have inhaled, and smoke would have gotten in the lungs. But he didn’t inhale. Therefore he wasn’t breathing. Therefore he wasn’t alive.”

“I see. So the bullet wound had to come first?”

“That’s what I just said.”

“And was the bullet wound extensive enough to cause death?”

“Absolutely. There was severe trauma to the brain. The man simply could not have lived.”

“Not even for a little while? What I’m getting at, Doctor, is it possible that the bullet merely rendered the man unconscious, put him into a coma, and it was the fire that actually killed him?”

The doctor shook his head impatiently. “A comatose man still breathes. Smoke would have entered the lungs. That didn’t happen.” Dr. Abraham held up one finger. “There is no question. The bullet killed him. The body was dead when it was set on fire.”

Dirkson nodded gravely, as if attaching great weight to the doctor’s remarks. “I see, Doctor. Tell me, did you determine the time of death?”

“I did.”

“And what was the time of death?”

“The decedent met his death between the hours of ten and eleven P.M. on February 26th.”

Dirkson nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. No further questions.”

Judge Grimes looked at the defense table. “Mr. Winslow?”

Steve hesitated just long enough to let the doctor think he was going to get away. Then he rose to his feet. “I have one or two questions, Your Honor.”

Steve stepped out from behind the table and crossed to the witness stand.

The jurors watched with some interest. This was the first witness Steve Winslow had seen fit to cross-examine, which magnified its importance.

“Between the hours of ten and eleven, Doctor?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s a rather precise time frame, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“How were you able to be so accurate?”

“Because I saw the body so soon after death. I was on the scene at 11:02. I performed the autopsy shortly after midnight.”

“I see. And when did you determine the time of death? At 11:02 when you first saw the body, or shortly after midnight when you performed your autopsy?”

“When I performed my autopsy, of course.”

“You determined the time of death solely from medical factors?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Doctor, I’m just a layman, but as I recall, one of the factors in determining the time of death is post mortem lividity, is that right?”

“It is, but-”

“Just answer the question, Doctor. Post mortem lividity is one of the factors used in determining the time of death, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Now, as I understand post mortem lividity, a dead body has no pulse, therefore after death, the blood stops circulating and tends to gravitate to the lower portions of the body, causing a reddish tinge to appear on the skin. Is that right?”

“Yes, but in this case-”

“In this case that would not be a factor, am I correct? Because it takes time for post mortem lividity to develop and sufficient time had not elapsed, and even if it had, the body was so badly charred the lividity would not have shown. Is that right?”

“Yes,” Dr. Abraham snapped. “That was what I was about to say before you interrupted me.”

“So,” Steve said, “in this case post mortem lividity told you nothing, and was not a factor used in determining the time of death?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Then there’s rigor mortis, also used in determining time of death. As I understand it, when the body has been dead for a sufficient time, rigor slowly sets in and the body becomes stiff. Then after sufficient time, rigor leaves the body, and it slowly relaxes again. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is. But-”

“But in this case sufficient time had not elapsed for rigor to even begin to set in, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“So, rigor mortis was not a factor in determining the time of death?”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I believe another means is by stomach contents. Since digestion ceases when a person is dead, by examining the contents of the stomach and determining how far digestion has progressed, one can determine fairly accurately how soon a person died after eating a particular meal, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Did you examine the stomach contents of the decedent?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What did you find?”

“I found the partially digested remnants of a frankfurter with mustard and sauerkraut.”

“I see. Were you able to determine when the person died relative to when they ate the hot dog?”

“Yes, I was.”

“And how long was that?”

“Based on the progress of the digestion, I was able to postulate that the decedent ingested the food approximately four hours before his death.”

“Four hours?”

“That is correct.”

“I see. And you estimate the time of death between ten and eleven. The median time would be ten-thirty. Four hours prior to that would be six-thirty. So then is it your opinion that the decedent ate the hot dog at approximately six-thirty P.M. on the night of the murder?”

“Approximately six-thirty.” The doctor smiled a thin smile. “Six-thirty is a median time, as is ten-thirty. I would say my findings indicate the man ingested the food sometime between six and seven o’clock, just as I say he died sometime between ten and eleven. Six and seven and ten and eleven are, of course, extreme limits, the times within which the events might have occurred. However, as to when the events are most likely to have occurred, the optimum time of ingestion of the frankfurter was around six-thirty, and the optimum time of death around ten-thirty.”

“I see, Doctor. Thank you for you clarification. Now let me ask you this. Do you know of your own personal knowledge when the man ate the hot dog?”

Doctor Abraham shifted in his seat. “I do not know when the food was ingested, no.”

“Well, aside from your own personal knowledge, did anyone tell you when the decedent ate the hot dog?”

“Objection, hearsay,” Dirkson said.

“I’m not asking what the man was told,” Steve said. “I’m asking if anyone informed him.”

Judge Grimes frowned. “Sustained as to form. You may rephrase the question.”

“Very well,” Steve said. “Doctor, aside from your personal knowledge, did you learn when the man ate the hot dog from any other source?”

“No, I did not.”

“I see,” Steve said. “That’s very interesting. So when you say the man ate the hot dog between six and seven, you are deducing that from your examination of the stomach contents alone, is that right?”

“That is correct.”

“You are saying, this man died approximately four hours after eating the hot dog. I fix the time of death between ten and eleven and therefore he ate the hot dog between six and seven. Is that right?”

“Exactly. As I have already stated.”

“I know you have, Doctor. But what I’m getting at is this. Since you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog, the stomach contents really tell you nothing in terms of time of death. In other words, in reaching your conclusions, you are taking the time of death as a given, and using it to determine when the man ate the food. You’re saying the man died between ten and eleven, therefore he ate between six and seven. Instead of the other way around, which would be, the man ate between six and seven, therefore he must have died between ten and eleven. Is that right?”

“That’s essentially correct.”

“Essentially? I think it’s totally correct, Doctor. Is it not true that if you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog, the stomach contents cannot tell you the time of death?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“And is it not true that you don’t know when the man ate the hot dog?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“So is it not true that in this case the stomach contents do not tell you the time of death?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Gee, Doctor,” Steve said. “Then I guess that my assumption was essentially correct.”

“Objection, Your Honor,” Dirkson said.

“Sustained. Mr. Winslow, if we could avoid these side remarks.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. So, Doctor, in this case is it not true that you could not determine the time of death from the stomach contents?”

“Objected to as already asked and answered.”

Judge Grimes frowned. “I’ll allow it.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“So,” Steve said, ticking them off on his fingers. “You could not determine the time of death by post mortem lividity, you could not determine the time of death by rigor mortis, and you could not determine the time of death from the stomach contents. Tell me, Doctor, how did you determine the time of death.”

“By body temperature.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Dr. Abraham snapped. “As I would have pointed out in the beginning, if I’d been allowed. Those three methods you mentioned are factors in determining the time of death, but they are relatively unimportant factors. Post mortem lividity is a factor, but a relatively negligible one. Rigor mortis is of some importance, but still not that accurate. Examination of the stomach contents can be of great help in determining the time of death if the time of ingestion of the last meal is known. But far and away the most accurate method of determining the time of death is by body temperature.”

“And that is how you determined the time of death in this case?”

“It is.”

“You took the body temperature of the decedent?”

“That’s right.”

“And when was this done?”

“When I performed my autopsy. At approximately 12:05, after midnight on the morning of the 27th.”

“That would be approximately an hour and a half after the time you determine as the optimum time of death?”

“That is correct.”

Steve paused, scratched his head. “Well, that’s mighty interesting, Doctor.” He turned to include the jury. “And now, for the benefit of us laymen, who have not had the benefit of your medical experience, could you perhaps explain how you use body temperature to determine the time of death?”

“Certainly,” Dr. Abraham said. “Humans are, as you know, warm-blooded. During life, the body temperature is approximately ninety-eight-point-six. After death, the body begins to cool. Since the rate of cooling is constant, by taking the body temperature it is possible to determine when the body began cooling. Which is, of course, when the person died.”

“A very good explanation, Doctor. And may I compliment you on not cluttering it up with a lot of technical jargon. So you say the rate of body cooling is a constant?”

“It is.”

“If I’m not mistaken, that rate is one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, Doctor, you stated you took the body temperature at 12:05, approximately an hour and a half after the time you fix as the time of death. Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, let’s do the math. We have one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour for an hour and a half. So a half hour would be three-quarters of a degree Fahrenheit, or point-seven-five degrees, if you will. So one and a half plus three-quarters equals two and a quarter degrees Fahrenheit, or two-point-two-five. As you’ve already stated, the body temperature is normally ninety-eight-point-six. So ninety-eight-point-six, minus two-point-two-five leaves ninety-six-point-three-five. So, Doctor, am I to assume when you took the body temperature you got a reading of ninety-six-point-three-five degrees Fahrenheit?”

Dr. Abraham tugged at his shirt collar. “No, sir. That is incorrect.”

“Oh really? I thought we agreed that the body cools at one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour.”

“Yes, we did.”

“And did you state that the body temperature is ninety-eight-point-six?”

“Yes, I did. But-”

“I’m a little confused, Doctor. And I’m sure some of the jurors are too.”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“Sorry, Your Honor. I’ll confine myself to my own confusion. Are you telling me, Doctor, that my mathematics is incorrect?”

“No, I’m not. But-”

“I’m not? Then I am correct in saying that if the body cools at one and a half degrees per hour, if you examined the body an hour and a half after death, the body temperature should have been ninety-six-point-three-five. Isn’t that right?”

“No, sir. That is not correct.”

“And why not Doctor? Is there something wrong with my math?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with your math. The problem is, you’re making a false assumption.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“That the body temperature of the decedent was ninety-eight-point-six.”

“Oh? I thought you said it was.”

“No. I said that was the general case.”

“Are you saying that was not the case here?”

“Of course.”

“And why was that?”

Dr. Abraham smiled condescendingly. “You’re forgetting, Counselor, that the body was burned. Naturally, that would raise the body temperature.”

Steve Winslow feigned surprise, as if that thought had never occurred to him. “Oh, I see, Doctor. Thank you for pointing that out to me. So, you’re saying the body temperature of the victim was higher than ninety-eight-point-six when he died? Therefore it was higher than ninety-six-point-three-five when you took his temperature?”

“That is correct.”

“What was the actual body temperature when you did your autopsy?”

“Ninety-eight-point-two.”

“Ninety-eight-point-two? Then, if the body had cooled two-point-two-five degrees, then the temperature at the time of death would have been a hundred-point-four-five. Is that right?”

“Approximately.”

“The temperature at the time of death was a hundred-point-four-five?”

“I said approximately. It’s impossible to be that accurate. But the body temperature was somewhere around a hundred and a half degrees Fahrenheit.”

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. “Wow, that’s interesting, Doctor. A hundred-point-five degrees?”

“Approximately.”

“Gee, Doctor, where did you get that figure?”

“I just told you.”

“Yes, you sure did. Tell me something, Doctor. Isn’t this just like the hot dog?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s exactly like the hot dog, isn’t it. You don’t know the temperature at the time of death. You didn’t take the temperature at the time of death. You weren’t there at the time of death. You took the temperature at the time of the autopsy. That temperature was ninety-eight-point-two. Now you say the man died an hour and a half earlier, so when he died his temperature must have been a hundred and a half. In other words, you assume the temperature was a hundred and half because you assume the man died at ten thirty. And you assume the man died at ten thirty, because you assume the temperature was a hundred and a half. Is that right?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I didn’t ask you if it was fair, Doctor. I asked you if it was accurate.”

“It is not accurate. I determined the time of death by medical means.”

“And those medical means include a wild guess as to what the body temperature was at the time of death, don’t they, Doctor?”

“Objection to the characterization, ‘wild guess,’” Dirkson said.

Steve Winslow chuckled. “I’ll withdraw the question, Doctor.” He smiled at the jury before adding. “I can understand why the prosecutor wouldn’t want you to answer it.”