Chapter 63 Eddie

63

Eddie

The junior associates of Al Parish's offices were waiting for me on the sidewalk.

Soon as I shut the door on the Aztek, I was surrounded by expensive suits, all the way to the front door of the Criminal building.

Today was going to be a reckoning . . .

For New York's Finest. For Angel. For Castro.

And for Ruby Johnson.

As I waited for the elevator, I looked around the lobby, but Ruby wasn't in sight. When the elevator doors opened on my floor, Castro was waiting in the hallway, pacing the floor, a scowl painted across his face.

‘I waited for you for almost an hour last night in that diner,' he said.

‘Sorry, I got tied up,' I said.

‘You ruined my night. And I'm not having a good day either. My secretary, Maura, she quit this morning. She said I should ask you about it.'

‘Good staff are hard to find. If I have anything to do with it, your morning is going to get a hell of a lot worse. Say, do you have any gum? I meant to pick some up at the store this morning.'

‘No, I don't have any gum. Are you telling me your client isn't interested in a plea deal?'

‘Why should he? I'm going to get him an acquittal before lunch.'

Castro stormed off, his handmade Italian heels pounding the tiles.

I followed him into court.

John sat beside Kate at the defense table. Alison behind. The hotel had provided a babysitter for Tomas with impeccable credentials.

Kate knew what had happened last night. I'd called her around one in the morning, told her about my visit to the Jackson house and she had worked all night in preparation for today. She looked a little tired, but buzzed.

‘Do you have any gum?' I asked her.

‘No, I don't chew gum. You nervous or something? I didn't think you chewed gum?'

‘I don't,' I said.

Neither John nor Alison had any gum. I'd get some before lunch, I was sure of it. I checked with Kate, and she had said she'd delivered our new discovery to one of Castro's assistant district attorneys.

I looked over at the prosecution table and watched Castro looking through the documents with an exasperated expression. He was pissed off and confused, the ideal state that any defense attorney wants for a prosecutor.

The judge came into court and we welcomed the jury back to their seats.

Kate stood up, flattened her suit jacket at the hem, took a pen in her hand, and re-called Ansen Bude, the latent print expert. As Bude took his seat in the witness chair, and was reminded that he was still under oath, I watched the man smile at Kate. She was right. He was handsome.

‘Mr. Bude, just to remind the jury of your earlier testimony,' said Kate. ‘You testified that the latent palm print on the gun was not a match for the defendant, correct?'

‘It could not be matched, no.'

‘Please take a moment to look at this . . .' said Kate as she leaned over and began tracing her finger on the mousepad of her laptop.

The large screen facing the witness came to life and displayed a palm print pattern. It was green and four foot wide. So the jury and the expert could see it.

‘Mr. Bude, this is a latent print found last night. The original has been served on the prosecution this morning. You have not seen this print before, correct?'

‘Correct.'

Kate clicked on the mousepad, moved her finger again.

The screen changed. The green print shifted to the left of the screen, and another print, in black, appeared on the right.

‘This print you can see on the right of the screen is the print that you examined and confirmed could not be matched with the defendant, is that right?'

‘Yes.'

Kate tapped the return key on the laptop, then placed two fingers on the pad.

‘Watch what happens when these images are overlaid,' said Kate.

As her fingers moved across the pad, the print on the right moved and overlaid the green image on the left. It was like watching the last piece fall into place on a jigsaw. The whirls, lines and curves on the prints overlaid exactly.

‘I'm not asking you to conduct a forensic examination right now on the stand, but do you agree that the patterns are very similar?'

‘Do you mind if I take a closer look?' he asked.

The judge gave him permission. He came out of the witness stand and stood in front of the screen. His fingers traced the lines of the prints, sometimes placing his thumb on one point and stretching his hand to touch another point on the screen. He muttered to himself as his hands and eyes moved across it.

I held my breath.

He nodded, seemingly in agreement, and returned to the witness stand.

‘Thank you, Your Honor,' said Bude. ‘Latent print comparison, although sometimes done electronically, is better conducted by sight and measurement. There are at least eleven points of similarity between these two prints.'

‘And what does that mean?'

‘It means that these prints, from an expert point of view, would seem to be a good match at first glance. I would need more time to confirm, of course.'

I leaned over to Kate. She leaned down, worried. She thought I was going to tell her that she had missed out on asking a key question. Her concern faded when I said, ‘Bude seems friendly. When he comes off the stand, ask him if he has any gum?'

‘I'm not going to ask him for gum. I'll get you gum.'

‘Thank you, Mr. Bude,' said Kate.

The judge looked to Castro. He was rubbing his temples and staring at the two images. He didn't want this evidence to settle in front of the jury's mind, but asking Bude anything else might only give him a chance to confirm the prints were a match. He told the judge he had no questions.

Bude then left the witness stand.

I re-called Dr. Hopkins, Castro's DNA expert.

A large man with a comfortable suit and comfortable shoes.

‘Dr. Hopkins, you testified yesterday that the DNA you examined in this case was extracted from the latent print examined by Mr. Bude, correct?'

‘That is correct.'

‘And the DNA you extracted from that print did not yield a full set of markers for profile comparison?'

‘Correct, but there were sufficient markers present to conduct a DNA profile analysis. That analysis confirmed, in my mind, the DNA had a high probability of origin from your client.'

Dr. Hopkins wasn't going down without a fight.

‘Just to be clear, so the jury fully understands. Let's say there are one hundred markers you could use for comparison purposes. A cent for each one. A dollar would be a full DNA profile. How much did you have to work with the DNA extracted from the lifting tape?'

Some members of the jury nodded, this analogy was easier to follow.

Dr. Hopkins thought for a moment, then said, ‘Around forty-five cents. Close to half.'

‘Thank you, Doctor. You also testified that there was a 3.93 in a billion chance that the DNA you extracted from the latent print came from someone other than the defendant, John Jackson.'

‘Correct.'

Kate was way ahead of me. She already had a piece of paper in her hand. She gave it to me, and I approached Dr. Hopkins.

‘Doctor, the prosecution has been given a copy of this document. Please examine it.'

Hopkins took the page with some mild trepidation, which quickly turned to confusion when he examined it.

‘This is a piece of handprint art. In green paint. It was taken from my client's refrigerator door last night. Mr. Bude just confirmed to this court that the print pattern on this page matches the latent print taken from the gun. Dr. Hopkins, how much DNA does a child inherit from their father?'

‘Around fifty percent, sometimes more.'

‘So that's around fifty cents?'

‘Yes.'

‘Doctor, the DNA you extracted from that latent print could have come from someone who shared fifty percent of my client's DNA, correct?'

The doctor looked at the page. Looked at the prosecutor. Looked at me.

‘Yes, that's possible.'

‘This piece of art is signed at the bottom of the page. Would you read out the name for the jury?'

‘Tomas Jackson. Aged seven and a half.'