The Fifth Witness - Michael Connelly [133]
“It doesn’t make sense. We can’t know these things.”
He held both his hands up in frustration and turned to look at the judge for help. He got none.
“Doctor, you are not answering the question. Let me ask you again. If we did indeed know all of these factors, could we then make assumptions about the attacker’s height?”
He dropped his hands in an I give up gesture.
“Of course, of course. But we do not know these factors.”
“ ‘We,’ Doctor? Don’t you mean you don’t know these factors because you didn’t look for them?”
“No, I—”
“Don’t you mean you didn’t want to know these factors because they would reveal that it was physically impossible for the defendant, at five foot three, to have ever committed—”
“Objection!”
“—this crime against a man ten inches taller than her?”
Luckily they no longer used gavels in California courtrooms. Perry would have smashed his through the bench.
“Sustained! Sustained! Sustained!”
I picked up my pad and flipped over all the folded back pages in a show of frustration and finality.
“I have nothing further for—”
“Mr. Haller,” the judge barked, “I have warned you repeatedly about acting out in front of the jury. Consider this your last warning. Next time, there will be consequences.”
“Noted, Your Honor. Thank you.”
“The jury will disregard the last exchange between counsel and the witness. It is stricken from the record.”
I sat down, not daring to glance at the jury box. But that was okay, I felt the vibe. Their eyes were on me. They were riding with me.
Not all of them, but enough.
Thirty-eight
I spent the lunch hour schooling Lisa Trammel on what to expect during the afternoon session of court. Herb Dahl was not present, having been dispatched on a phony errand so I could be alone with my client. As best I could, I tried to explain to her the risks we would be taking as the prosecution’s case wound down and the defense took center stage. She was scared, but she trusted me and that’s about all you can ask from a client. The truth? No. But trust? Yes.
Once court reconvened Freeman called Dr. Henrietta Stanley to the witness stand. She identified herself as a supervising biologist for the Los Angeles Regional Crime Laboratory at Cal State L.A. My guess was that she would be the last witness for the prosecution and her testimony would have two parts of major significance. She would confirm that DNA testing of the blood found on the recovered hammer matched Mitchell Bondurant’s DNA perfectly and that the blood found on Lisa Trammel’s gardening shoe also matched the victim’s.
The scientific testimony would bring the case full circle, with blood being the link. My only intention was to rob the prosecution of the moment.
“Dr. Stanley,” Freeman began. “You either conducted or supervised all DNA analysis that came from the investigation of Mitchell Bondurant’s death, did you not?”
“I supervised and reconfirmed one analysis conducted by an outside vendor. The other analysis I handled myself. But I must add that I have two assistants in the lab who help me and they do a good portion of the work under my supervision.”
“At one point in the investigation you were asked to have a small amount of blood that had been found on a hammer analyzed for a DNA comparison to the victim, were you not?”
“We used an outside vendor on that analysis because time was of the essence. I supervised that process and later confirmed the findings.”
“Your Honor?”
I was standing at the defense table. The judge looked annoyed with me for interrupting Freeman’s examination.
“What is it, Mr. Haller?”
“To save the court’s time and the jury from going through a long-drawn-out explanation of DNA analysis and matching, the defense stipulates.”
“Stipulates to what, Mr. Haller?”
“That the blood on the hammer came from Mitchell Bondurant.”
The judge didn’t miss a beat. The chance to jump the trial forward an hour or more was welcomed—with caution.
“Very well, Mr. Haller, but you will not get the opportunity to challenge this during