Shatter My Rock (17 page)

“Rudy
says things are looking good,” he tells me. “You could be home in a week or
so.”

Tim
and I have done little serious talking about the future—or even the past—the subjects
of our burnt home and the significance of Eric Blair having been compartmentalized
and shunted aside. “I hope so,” I say to his optimistic remark on my chances of
release. Then I ask, “How’s work going?” Because he has accepted the toll
collector job on the very bridge his engineering firm once helped reinforce.

“It’s
not bad.” He gives me a weak shrug. “Monotonous as hell, though.”

I
glance around the visitation area. “Tell me about it.”

We
risk a brief burst of laughter. “It’s almost over,” he says. “Can you believe
it?”

A
year in jail changes a person, and I am so fundamentally altered that I may
never believe in anything again. “What if I’m convicted?” The words ring of
heresy, yet I am compelled to set them free.

Tim
only shakes his head.

“Hypothetically,”
I say, “it could happen.” I know this train of thought stings him, as it does
me, but we’d better get prepared, just in case. “The sentence for murder is
twenty-five years to life.” At my age, I’d likely die in prison. 

“Stop…”
he says, his gaze lingering on the door. “That’s not…”

“Don’t
wait for me if it happens. Live your life. Make things right for Ally. I can’t
be anything from here. If I’m convicted, I’m dead. That’s the way you have to
look at it.”

He
waits a long while before speaking, his throat probably as tense and achy as
mine. “You didn’t kill Owen, Claire. If they screw this up, you’ll appeal. And
you’ll win.”

“You
weren’t there, so you don’t know what I did,” I say. I stare him dead in the
eyes. “And I’m tired of fighting.”

The
sheriff’s deputies require me to wear a bulletproof vest to court the next day,
on the chance some fringe nut decides to take God’s will into his or her hands.
By the time I am seated at the defense table, the heft of such a protective
device has cemented a number of sloppy-looking wrinkles into my otherwise
court-appropriate blouse and lightweight sweater.

Zoe
appears distracted, and I can’t help noticing that both Rudy and Paul are missing.
Charlotte Tupper’s half of the courtroom, however, is fully stocked with
members of the media, their pencils and notepads itching to record the events
of the day.

The
prosecutor waits for the jurors to settle and then calls her next witness, the medical
examiner, a petite Asian woman with an English-sounding name. The bailiff swears
in Dr. Elizabeth Cook, who strides to the witness stand as if she has done this
dance countless times before.

Every
twenty-four hours, Charlotte Tupper’s radiance doubles. Today her hot-pink,
baby-hugging maternity dress perfectly offsets the chunky strand of pearls
looped around her neck. “Good morning, Dr. Cook,” she says with a winning
smile. “Can you tell the court about your duties as Chief Medical Examiner for
the State of Maine?”

“Certainly,”
the doctor says. She swivels to face the jurors and, in a professorial tone,
explains, “I perform autopsies, conduct toxicology tests, consult with
detectives in criminal investigations.”

“On
May 28th of last year, did you perform the autopsy on nine-month-old Owen
Fowler?”

“I
did.”

“What
did you determine to be the cause of Owen Fowler’s death?”

“Asphyxiation.”

“Not
drowning?”

“No.
None of the signs I would’ve expected to find in a drowning were present.”

“Could
you please explain to the court what signs you’re referring to?”

“Certainly,”
the doctor says again. “The first thing I look for in suspected drownings is the
presence of fine white froth in the lungs, airways, nose, and mouth of the
decedent.”

“Was
there froth in Owen Fowler’s body?”

“There
was
some blood-stained froth and mucus in his windpipe and bronchial
tubes, but it was thicker than it should have been, and there wasn’t enough of
it for me to conclude that it was a product of drowning.”

“Thank
you,” Ms. Tupper says. “What else caused you to conclude that Owen Fowler’s
death was not due to drowning, as the defendant claims?”

“The
decedent’s lungs were not water-logged, as they should’ve been if he’d drowned.
And his stomach and intestines were also free of fluid—another indicator he was
deceased before he entered the water. To be blunt about it, a dead body does
not breathe or swallow, where a live person would. Hence, the lack of significant
water in the decedent’s lungs and digestive tract indicates he died from a
cause other than drowning.”

“Is
there anything else that convinced you Owen Fowler hadn’t drowned?”

“Yes,”
the doctor says with self-assurance. “Another key thing I look for in suspected
drownings is the presence of microscopic plants called diatoms. When a person drowns,
he inhales these plants, and the cardiovascular system circulates them
throughout the body, bringing them to distant organs, such as the liver and
kidneys.”

“Did
you find any of these microscopic plants, these ‘diatoms,’ in Owen Fowler’s
body?”

“Yes,
I did. But only a minimal number in the lungs.”

“And
why is that significant?”

“If
the decedent’s heart had been pumping when he entered the water, there should’ve
been diatoms not only in his lungs but in his other vital organs as well. In
the case of Owen Fowler, the fact that the diatoms were limited to the lungs suggests
he was deceased before he entered the water.”

“Any
other signs you were looking for that you didn’t find?”

She
nods. “There’s a phenomenon called cadaveric spasm that we often see in
drowning deaths that was not present in Owen Fowler’s case.”

The
prosecutor’s eyebrows pinch together. “What is ‘cadaveric spasm’?”

The
doctor smiles. “It’s a type of muscle contraction that freezes a person’s
actions at the moment of death. In the case of drowning victims, we often find
weeds or stones clenched in their fists, evidence they were alive and grasping
at whatever was within reach when they succumbed.” 

“But
Owen Fowler had no signs of cadaveric spasm? No weeds or stones clenched in his
fists?”

“He
did not.”

“Thank
you, Doctor. You’ve told the court about the lack of evidence supporting the
defendant’s claim that her son drowned, but could you now explain what led you
to conclude that Owen Fowler was asphyxiated?”

“Death
by suffocation, particularly at the hands of a careful assailant, is difficult
to prove with a high degree of certainty,” the doctor explains. “That said,
there are a number of elements in Owen Fowler’s case that support such a
finding.”

I
glance at the jurors, who are nothing short of riveted.

“Go
on,” Ms. Tupper prods.

“Well,
first of all, the decedent’s lungs were swollen. This is a typical finding in
asphyxiation deaths.”

“To
clarify, the lungs were not water-logged, though, correct?”

“That’s
correct. Just the sort of edema I’d expect to find in deaths by suffocation, strangulation,
and choking.”

“What
else?”

“There
was some bruising to the decedent’s face, particularly his lips and nose, which
suggests force having been applied to obstruct his breathing. Also, there were
some petechial hemorrhages—small red dots resulting from ruptured
capillaries—in the facial areas corresponding to the bruising.”

The
deputy State’s attorney ducks behind the prosecution table and hauls out a
poster board-sized exhibit I knew was coming but still stuns me. He hands it off
to Ms. Tupper, who persuades the judge to admit it into evidence. “Are these
the physical findings you’re referring to?” the prosecutor then asks, a collage
of photographs of my dead baby balanced against the witness box.

Dr.
Cook nods. “Yes.” 

Ms.
Tupper arranges the collage on an easel before the jury. “In your opinion, what
caused the bruising and hemorrhaging seen here?”

I
study the floor and think of nothing.

“The
findings are consistent with a suffocating object—a pillow, for example—being held
over the victim’s face.”

“Are
you aware of a deck pillow that was recovered from the scene of Owen Fowler’s
death aboard the yacht,
Lucy in the Sky?
” Ms. Tupper asks, the volume of
her voice decreasing as she drifts away from the witness stand.

“Yes,
I am.”

In
my peripheral vision, the fuzzy, red outline of a pillow floats by. The
prosecutor introduces it into evidence and asks, “Is this the pillow?”

“Yes,
that’s it.”

“And
DNA tests have been conducted on this pillow?”

“They
have.”

“Was
any DNA found?”

“Owen
Fowler’s DNA was found, in the form of saliva and skin cells.”

“What,
if anything, were you able to conclude regarding the significance of the deck
pillow in this case?”

“In
my opinion, the pillow containing Owen Fowler’s DNA is the object that
suffocated him.”

“Was
there DNA on the pillow belonging to anyone other than Owen Fowler?”

“We
were able to extract a partial profile, but it wasn’t suitable for comparison
and was thus deemed inconclusive.”

“Without
that DNA match, were you able to reach any conclusions regarding Owen Fowler’s
manner of death?”

“As
I said, his
cause
of death is asphyxiation. Due to the bruising and
hemorrhaging, and in light of the decedent’s DNA on the deck pillow, I’ve
classified his
manner
of death as homicide.”

“So
Owen Fowler was murdered?”

“Yes,
I believe he was.”

“Oh…one
more thing,” Ms. Tupper says lightly. “What did you determine to be the
time
of Owen Fowler’s death?”

I
lock eyes with the doctor. “Between three and four a.m., on the morning of May
28, 2011,” she says.

“Not
seven a.m., as the defendant reported to police?”

“No.”

“And
how did you determine this?”

“Calculating
time of death is one of the most basic functions of a medical examiner’s job,”
the doctor explains. “We utilize multiple means of assessment, including
evaluation of body temperature, muscle rigidity, and the chemical composition
of bodily fluids—in combination with a detailed analysis of the scene where the
body was found—to arrive at an accurate time of death.”

“And,
in the case of Owen Fowler, these analyses and calculations established a time
of death between three and four a.m.—
hours
before the 911 call came in?”

“That’s
right.”

“Thank
you for your time, Doctor. I have nothing further.”

Zoe’s
sleek, stainless-steel pen flies across her legal pad as if it’s possessed by a
rambunctious poltergeist. “Ms. Blanchette, your witness,” Judge Parsons says.

For
a moment I wonder how my lawyer will approach the doctor, but soon I know. “Are
you familiar with the term
dry drowning,
Ms. Cook?” Zoe asks as she
rises to her feet.

“I’m
familiar with it.”

“Please
explain to the court the process of dry drowning.”

The
doctor draws a breath. “In rare instances, a drowning victim’s larynx may spasm
shut, inhibiting water from entering the airways.”

“How
rare are these instances?”

The
doctor squints, frowns and shakes her head. “Probably less than five percent of
drownings, but I’d have to consult the literature to be sure.”

“What
differentiates a
dry drowning
from a
wet drowning?
” asks Zoe.

“In
a dry drowning, as the term implies, there would be little water in the victim’s
lungs, as the cause of death is asphyxiation by way of laryngospasm and,
secondarily, from airway obstruction by mucus and froth.”  

Zoe
raises an eyebrow, gives the jury a confident smile that borders on a smirk. “So,
in a dry drowning, there would be little water in the victim’s lungs, correct?”

“That’s
right.”

“And
there would be evidence of mucus and froth in the victim’s airways, correct?”

Dr.
Cook sighs. “Yes, that’s what I said.”

“There
was little water in Owen Fowler’s lungs, correct?”

The
doctor grudgingly nods. “That is correct.”

“And
there was mucus and froth present in Owen Fowler’s airways, correct?”

“I’ve
already testified to that.”

“Isn’t
it true that the diatom test you conducted, the test for microscopic plants, is
considered controversial and unreliable as an indicator of drowning?”

“It
has its drawbacks, like any other test. And it shouldn’t be relied upon in
isolation. But as part of a comprehensive approach, I believe it yields
valuable forensic insight.”

“But
some experts consider the diatom test controversial and unreliable, don’t they?”

The
doctor sets her jaw. “I’m sure they do. That’s their opinion. Many experts
share my opinion as well.”

“So
you admit that there is disagreement among experts on the validity and
reliability of this test?”

“Sure.
That’s science.”

“What
about the phenomenon of cadaveric spasm? Does the absence of cadaveric spasm
exclude drowning as a cause of death?”

“Not
necessarily,” says the doctor. “But the evidence must be considered
in
totality.
With the bruising and the DNA…”

Zoe
interrupts, “Thank you, Doctor. You’ve answered my question.” She crosses her
arms over her chest and baby-steps toward the witness stand, her heels clicking
each time they hit the floor. “Can you tell the court, statistically speaking, what
level of confidence you have in your determination that the manner of Owen
Fowler’s death was homicide?”

“Objection!”
Ms. Tupper declares. “Calls for speculation and conclusion.”

Judge
Parsons swivels to face Zoe, who argues, “If the witness isn’t permitted to
reach a conclusion regarding the reliability of her investigation, how can the
jurors be expected to do so?” 

“Overruled,”
Judge Parsons grumbles. “Proceed, Ms. Blanchette.”

Zoe
tilts her head. “Statistically speaking, how certain are you that the manner of
Owen Fowler’s death was homicide and not, for example, accidental drowning?”

“There’s
no way to measure that,” the doctor says with exasperation.