Blood on the Leaves Part 24

"Yes, Your Honor, just a few questions." Reynolds had already decided he'd need to call two or three additional scientists to compensate for Stokes's unimpressive testimony, but he wanted to make a reasonable effort to rehabilitate this witness.

Stokes reviewed the nature of statistical sampling and discussed the number of tests conducted on thousands of human subjects around the world. He described the sophistication and reliability of the tests and the type of DNA data pool the worldwide scientific community could draw upon in rendering their conclusions. Reynolds asked how many times in his experience mistakes in handling DNA, or outdated equipment, had resulted in the misidentification of a defendant on trial. "Zero times," answered Stokes. "It might exculpate a guilty person, but it would never cause an innocent one to go to prison. Mistakes in the laboratory don't create someone else's DNA."

Reynolds thought he'd done as much as he could to restore credibility to his witness, and finished his redirect.

"Mr. Miller, any recross?" asked the judge.

Miller rose from his seat. "I'll be brief, Your Honor."

Tanner looked at his watch. "I'm sure the jury will appreciate that."

"Dr. Stokes, you indicated that mistakes in a.n.a.lysis could never misidentify a subject and therefore contribute to an innocent defendant's being wrongly imprisoned."

"That's correct," responded Stokes. "As I said, the lab can't create DNA. It can only a.n.a.lyze what already exists."

"But mislabeling occurs all the time, doesn't it? Hospitals operate on the wrong person, remove or replace a healthy organ, or send a baby home with someone else's parents."

Stokes shook his head and waved his index finger. "That's a completely different subject, and you know that, Counselor."

"I realize you're a renowned specialist in your field, Doctor, but I didn't know you could also read my mind." Miller addressed the jury. "I can't even do that with precision, and trust me-I've tried."

Reynolds watched August Cobb and Faraday Patterson nudge each other and smile.

"Do you happen to know how Dr. Matheson's blood was made available so that you and others could conduct DNA tests?"

"I'm not sure I understand your question," responded Stokes.

Miller retrieved two sheets of paper. "Defense introduces exhibits thirty-four-A and -B."

"So marked," ruled Tanner.

"Your Honor, may I approach the witness?"

The judge nodded. Reynolds looked at Sinclair, concerned.

"Dr. Stokes, please take a moment and review that paperwork."

Stokes skimmed the two sheets and looked up at Miller.

"Isn't it true that Dr. Matheson voluntarily provided two blood samples while he was being treated for injuries sustained in an attack?"

Stokes looked at the information again. "It would appear so."

"And where was he when those samples were taken?"

"Based on the information contained in this report, apparently the blood was taken at a police station."

"And you have no way of knowing what happened to that blood after it was in the custody of the police, do you, Doctor?"

"I would have no reason to know, sir."

"You're telling this jury that although you personally a.n.a.lyzed DNA evidence, you don't care what happened to it or how it was handled before it got to you; is that your testimony?"

Reynolds rose angrily. "Objection!"

"That is not my testimony! I said . . ." Stokes exhibited his first real sign of anger and confusion.

"There's an objection, Dr. Stokes," Tanner interrupted.

"I apologize, Your Honor," replied the fl.u.s.tered witness.

Tanner looked at Reynolds. "Your basis."

"Intentionally misstates Dr. Stokes's testimony, and further, Your Honor, I believe Mr. Miller is raising another totally unfounded inference regarding police conduct in this case."

"I'm sure Mr. Miller isn't going to travel down that road, unless he can provide more than mere speculation to this court. Am I rea.s.sured of that fact, Counselor?" Tanner stared at Miller.

"Wouldn't think of doing otherwise, Your Honor."

"As far as your initial objection, Mr. Reynolds, the court sustains it," ruled Tanner. "Mr. Miller, you may proceed with this witness."

"I have no further questions."

"Mr. Reynolds?"

"I have none, Your Honor."

"Very well," remarked Tanner. "The witness is excused."

Stokes left the court in a huff.

"This concludes the session for today. We'll meet tomorrow and attempt to complete as much testimony as we can before we go into our half-day schedules for the remainder of the week." Tanner turned his attention to the jury. "You're reminded of the court's previous admonishment regarding discussing any facet of this case. Have a good evening and try to get yourselves some well-deserved rest."

Miller joked with some of the spectators behind him while Reynolds and Sinclair remained seated at their table in defeat.

Reynolds was preparing to leave when he noticed Regina holding up a large tan envelope and smiling at Matheson, who nodded in appreciation.

It had taken her longer than expected, but she'd finally located the information. Though it had required her to travel to the main library in Natchez, the trip resulted in not one but two articles of interest. The first described the grisly lynching of Thaddeus Edwards, a thirty-six-year-old truck driver and father of six daughters and one son. The victim had been mutilated and stabbed through the heart. His body was discovered still hanging from a tree in the state park just off the main trail leading to the picnic area.

While copying the article, Regina had noticed a small column at the bottom of the page, with a heading that caught her interest: FIVE-YEAR-OLD NEGRO BOY FOUND ALIVE. She skimmed this second story and stopped at the name James Reynolds. She learned that the boy, known at school as "Jimmie," was the only child of Lydell and Sonya Reynolds. She readjusted the microfiche machine, pressed the Print b.u.t.ton, and made a copy.

CHAPTER 47.

WEDNESDAY'S SESSION STARTED with a bang or, more accurately, the threat of one. All occupants left the courthouse in an orderly fashion as members of the bomb squad searched every inch of the facilities, starting on the fifth floor and working their way down to the bas.e.m.e.nt. Miller approached Reynolds and Sinclair, who stood outside near the parking lot at a reasonably safe distance from the main activity.

"Burning down the building won't save you," quipped Miller.

"It's not a fire drill," Sinclair informed him. "We've got a bomb threat."

Miller leaned close to Sinclair and lightly sniffed. "Maybe someone didn't like your perfume."

She gave him a hostile look.

"Although I am rather fond of the bittersweet scent losing prosecutors exude."

She stared at Reynolds. "James, I know he's your friend, but I'm gonna hurt him. I'm really gonna hurt him."

After the court proceedings were canceled for the day, Reynolds and Sinclair returned to their office to regroup. Miller lingered behind and strolled through the festive crowd. With his hectic schedule he hadn't previously noticed the outdoor community that had emerged since the beginning of the trial.

Territories were allotted for various factions and political causes. The media reserved the best locations, setting aside s.p.a.ce for catering and celebrity trailers. Food vendors and artists fought daily for the remaining spots, while entertainers and troubadours roamed freely, accepting donations for each performance, trick, or face-painting.

Miller stopped at a booth and perused so-called Third World propaganda in the form of leaflets, newsletters, and books. He read about the government's "AIDS conspiracy" and their "secret plans at genocide aimed at people of color." He shook his head at the notion that his government could successfully plan anything, let alone manage to keep it secret for longer than seventy-two hours.

He walked to another area and browsed a series of charcoal sketches, original posters, and oil paintings. Some of the exhibiting artists were quite talented, while others simply stamped slogans on canvas or cheap T-shirts and sold their products to the highest bidder, providing discounts for volume purchases.

He headed toward his car after discovering two posters displayed on easels next to each other. Both posters revealed the same basic drawing of a lynching. The first showed a man's black silhouette hanging from a tree; the body cast a long white shadow. The second reversed the images; the hung victim was depicted as a white silhouette that cast an equally long black shadow, perhaps slightly longer.

Miller expressed interest in both until informed by the artist that he'd sold out of the white version but would have more in stock before the trial ended. Miller promised the man he'd come back later, then proceeded to his vehicle without making any more stops.

Sinclair and Reynolds attended a strategy session with Vanzant. They'd listed the names of all their witnesses and discussed the possibility of adding others.

"What about that guy Matheson threatened at the university just before he got arrested?" Vanzant asked. "He's available to testify, and it would show the professor's violent nature."

"What's he gonna say?" responded Reynolds. "*I spat in the professor's face and he should've handled it more serenely'?"

"James is right," agreed Sinclair. "After they learned what he did to Matheson, they'd threaten him, too."

"Maybe we were wrong not to charge him with Arnold Rankin's bombing death," said Vanzant.

"A gas receipt and a year-old purchase of dynamite isn't sufficient to indict him," countered Reynolds.

"Yeah, but c.u.mulative evidence might be enough to sway some of the jurors." Vanzant reached for his pouch of tobacco and discovered it was empty. "When it rains, it pours," he said despondently.

"Had we indicted Matheson on any of the other murders with the evidence we've got, we would've lost all credibility with the jury," argued Sinclair. "We haven't got that much as it is."

Vanzant pulled out a folder and handed it to Reynolds. "Maybe this will help."

Reynolds and Sinclair both studied the contents.

"Let's get him on the stand p.r.o.nto," ordered Vanzant.

"We'll have to b.u.mp the pathologist's report," said Sinclair.

"From what I've been told about this jury," remarked Vanzant, "they've had their fill of scientists and doctors. Let's give 'em a taste of common folk."

Reynolds sat back. "I got a bad feeling about this."

Vanzant looked at the two attorneys. "I've already scheduled him. He'll be your next witness." He walked toward his desk and flicked on his fan.

Reynolds took it as a sign to leave. He picked up his materials and left with Sinclair. Once they reached the safety of the hallway, he pulled her aside.

"We're not gonna have time to meet with this guy or prepare him for testimony or even determine if we should put him on."

"I know." Sinclair nodded sympathetically. "But it looks pretty straightforward. Anyway, our not having had time to interview him means we aren't obligated to give Miller any more information than we've got in that file." She walked with Reynolds down to her office. "If we knew for certain Matheson would take the stand, we'd use it as impeachment and not share it with Miller at all. But we can't afford to take that risk."

"I know Todd too well," Reynolds warned. "When he's prepared, he's dangerous. When he's not, he's a barracuda."

"That explains it," said Sinclair.

"Explains what?"

"Ever since I met him at your home, I've been trying to figure out where I first saw him. It was swimming with the other sharks."

CHAPTER 48.

BOBBY GELON SAT in the witness chair and answered all of the questions posed by Reynolds. Gelon, at five-four in shoes, peeked over the dark wood railing at the jury and spoke in short, gruff sound bites. He rocked back and forth occasionally, which caused his bald pink head to disappear then reappear between responses. He told the jury he was forty-two, but Reynolds knew they didn't believe that, either.

"It's your testimony the defendant purchased a pair of size-thirteen work shoes from you?" asked Reynolds.

"Five months ago, sure did."

"How can you be certain that person was Dr. Matheson?"

"Never forget him," Gelon said indignantly. "Seemed like the man went out his way to be rude and obnoxious. Had a real chip on his shoulder. Thought for sure he wanted to pick a fight."

"No further questions." Reynolds sat with an uneasy feeling.

"Mr. Miller, your witness."

Miller started to rise, but Matheson pulled him down. "Ask him about his employment practices," he whispered, "whether he's had any discrimination lawsuits." He pushed a file toward Miller, who opened it and quickly scanned the pages. He looked up from the file and gave the professor a curious look.

Miller rose and approached the podium, carrying the file. "Mr. Gelon, how long have you owned your shoe store?"

"Been in the family fifty years. My granddaddy trained my papa. He trained me. I'm trainin' my two boys."

"You employ non-family members?"