State's Evidence: A Beverly Mendoza Legal Thriller (34 page)

“Yes,” she responded with a straight
face.

Ortega paused, giving the jury the benefit of
a sweeping glance. “Were you able to learn anything else about
Judge Crawford’s condition that could have contributed to his
death?”

Beverly voiced an objection. “The witness has
already testified as to the cause of death, Your Honor!”

“Overruled,” Judge Nunez said weakly. “You
may answer the question.”

Julia Duval looked uneasy as she wrinkled her
forehead. “Judge Crawford had advanced liver disease,” she informed
the attorney. “This would likely have killed him in six months to a
year. But there’s no reason to believe that—”

“No further questions,” Ortega cut her off
expertly.

* * *

“Maybe it would have been better if
you
had gotten Dr. Duval to talk about the liver disease,”
Grant told Beverly after court had been adjourned for the day. “It
was a head’s up counter strike by Ortega.”

Beverly fumed. “It was
dirty
ball,”
she insisted, dismissing Crawford’s prior medical condition, in
spite of the irony. “What killed the judge, plain and simple, were
the three bullets fired into him by Ortega’s client at point blank
range.”

“And I’m sure the jury will see that,” Grant
said coolly. “Give them some credit for having brains, Beverly.” He
put his hand on her breast.

“Don’t,” Beverly said harshly, pushing his
hand away from the front of her blouse, despite feeling a tingling
in her nipple. “Now is not the time.”

“Lighten up, baby.” Grant looked annoyed.
“This isn’t the end of the world, either way. And short of a
smoking gun, there certainly isn’t any reason I can see that you
won’t get a conviction here. Not unless you find a means to
self-destruct and allow Ortega to jump all over it.”

“I have no intention of self-destructing.”
She pouted.

“That’s good to hear.” He grinned
unevenly.

Why am I acting like a first year
prosecutor?
Beverly chided herself. Ortega was only fighting
tooth and nail for his client as any good attorney—or even a bad
one—should do. But that hardly meant she had a
major
fight
on her hands in winning this case.

Not when virtually everything pointed to
Rafael Santiago as the perpetrator of the crimes in which he was
charged.

Any competent jury would weigh the facts
above the innuendoes in rendering a just verdict.

Beverly sucked in a breath and offered Grant
a genuine smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “Just continue to kick
ass in the courtroom. You’re doing fine.”

She kissed him softly on the mouth, and then
used a finger to wipe the lip gloss from his lips. “Can you come to
dinner tonight?” she asked anxiously.

Grant licked his lips appetizingly. “Try and
stop me.”

Beverly smiled wickedly. She wouldn’t even if
she could. If he played his cards right, there might even be
dessert afterwards.

In fact, she was certain of it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

The following morning, criminalist Harold
Bledsoe took the stand. He was in his late forties, wore
gold-rimmed glasses, and had a dark blonde toupee.

“Dr. Bledsoe,” Beverly began deliberately,
“you did a DNA analysis on semen and genital hairs extracted from
Maxine Crawford. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“And these were found where?”

“In and around Mrs. Crawford’s vagina and
anus,” he said tightly.

Beverly moved closer. “I understand that your
tests revealed that the semen and hairs found belonged to two
different individuals, one being the victim’s husband, Sheldon
Crawford. Correct?”

Bledsoe nodded. “Yes.”

“Which could be expected, given that it has
already been established that the Crawfords were engaged in the sex
act when the crime occurred.” Beverly faced the jury, looking
self-assured in a cream blazer and pants. “Can you tell us who the
other semen and genital hair samples belonged to?”

She looked back at the criminalist in time to
see him respond evenly, “They matched the DNA of the defendant,
Rafael Santiago.”

Beverly nodded, satisfied that she had given
herself the set up for the next set of questions.

“Were there also strands of human hair found
on the Crawfords’ bedspread that did not belong to either Judge
Crawford or Maxine Crawford?”

“Objection Your Honor,” Ortega shouted.
“She’s leading the witness.”

Grant dismissed this without even giving the
attorney the benefit of a glance. “I don’t get that impression,
Counselor. Overruled. The witness may answer the question.”

Bledsoe eyed Beverly. “Yes, there were a few
hairs found on the spread that did not match those belonging to
Sheldon or Maxine Crawford.”

“And who did they come from?” she asked
pointedly.

Bledsoe regarded the defense table. “They
matched the DNA of the defendant.”

Beverly paused purposefully. “Dr. Bledsoe,
perhaps you could explain to the jury what it means to have a DNA
match, whether semen, hair, or blood.”

“No problem.” He touched his glasses.
“Without getting too technical, DNA profiling allows us to
differentiate one person from the next by analyzing small segments
of DNA called polymorphisms that make us who we are as individuals.
In DNA criminal profiling, samples of one’s DNA can be obtained
from blood, semen, hair follicles, saliva, or urine. With the
exception of identical twins, the likelihood of two individuals
having the same DNA is by some estimates one in 100 billion.”

Beverly let that sink in with the jury for a
moment. “So what you’re telling us, Doctor, is that there is no
doubt in your mind whatsoever that the DNA testing of the semen and
hair samples collected in relation to this crime belonged to the
defendant, Rafael Santiago?”

“That is correct,” Bledsoe answered without
prelude. “And for the record, the Polymerase Chain Reaction—or PCR
testing method—used to analyze the DNA fragments in this case is
widely respected as a reliable forensic tool in DNA
fingerprinting.”

Beverly couldn’t resist a tiny smile that he
got that in as a further blow to the defense in attacking the DNA
evidence presented. In her mind, even the possibility that Rafael
Santiago had an identical twin in say, Manuel Gonzalez, wouldn’t
hold up in this case, DNA aside. Especially when considering that
Santiago had motive and the witness identified his signature lizard
tattoo in a rather conspicuous place.

“No further questions,” she told the judge
and walked away as the defense attorney rose for
cross-examination.

Ortega wasted little time getting to his
feet. He glanced once at his client and glared at Beverly as she
walked away, before taking looping strides toward the witness
box.

“Dr. Bledsoe, you testified that the odds
that two people could have the same DNA were one in 100 billion,
with the exception of identical twins
.”

“That’s right.” The witness eyed him
carefully.

“So you’re telling us that if two people are
identical twins, their DNA would be identical as well?”

Bledsoe pushed his glasses up,
hesitating.

Beverly sucked in a breath, having
anticipated such a line of questioning.

“Do I need to repeat the question, Doctor?”
Ortega pressed.

“No,” he responded tersely. “Yes, identical
twins do have the same DNA or genotype, in fundamental nature.
However, recent studies have been able to identify minute
differences in identical twins’ DNA—”

Ortega cut him off. “I’m not aware of any
such research being admitted as evidence in a criminal proceeding.
If I’m wrong...”

Bledsoe averted his stare. “As I said, the
research in this area is fairly new.”

“And therefore not relevant to this case,”
argued the attorney. “What is relevant is that the possibility
exists that there may be an identical twin of Mr. Santiago with the
same DNA in this city who could have committed this crime. Isn’t
that right, Doctor?”

Bledsoe sighed. “Well, yes, I suppose so, in
theory, but there are other means to differentiate identical twins
such as fingerprints—”

Ortega interjected brusquely, “But from what
I understand there were no fingerprints found at the scene of the
crime that matched my client’s. Therefore, much of the case rests
with DNA evidence that could very well belong to another
individual!”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Bledsoe protested.
“The chances that Mr. Santiago has an identical twin in Eagles
Landing that no one knows about is—”

“Is
possible
,” Ortega blasted, not
allowing him to finish. With a steady gaze at the jury, he told
them, “They say we
all
have an identical twin somewhere in
this world, whether we’re aware of the person or not. Who’s to say
that Rafael Santiago’s
identical
twin brother isn’t
somewhere in
this
city hoping to get away with rape and
murder while his innocent brother takes the rap?”

Beverly had heard enough, objecting with a
hard edge to her voice while rising. “Your Honor, this is
ridiculous! The witness has already testified that the odds of two
people having the same DNA number in the billions. That should
speak for itself in spite of Mr. Ortega’s pathetic attempt to have
us believe the unlikelihood that his client has an evil twin
walking around Eagles Landing with identical genetic codes.
Besides, I’m prepared to introduce evidence that will further show
that Rafael Santiago did in fact commit these heinous crimes for
which he is charged.”

She gave Ortega the benefit of her frosty
green eyes while fearing that he might have scored some points with
the jury in spite of the weakness of his argument.

Grant narrowed his gaze sharply at the
defense attorney. “I’m warning you, Counselor—you’re skating on
thin ice here. Unless you have something more than sci fi
speculation, I suggest you move on.”

Ortega cracked a wry smile and did just that,
clearly pleased with his performance.

* * *

Beverly next called to the stand Raymond
Kaiser, an expert on firearms and ballistics. He was in his late
thirties, with wavy black hair and misty gray eyes.

“You examined the bullets that were removed
from Judge Crawford’s body, as well as shell casings found in the
room. Is that correct?”

Kaiser blinked. “Yes, I did.”

“Can you tell us what kind of gun was used in
the attack?”

“It was a .25 caliber automatic handgun.”

“What were the results of your analysis of
the bullets and shell casings?” she asked.

Kaiser cleared his throat. “The bullets taken
from the judge were fired from a gun barrel that had five lands and
grooves with a left-hand twist.” He used his hand to illustrate.
“The ejection and firing pin marks found on the shell casings near
the bed were identical and indicative of coming from the same
weapon.”

Beverly met his gaze. “You also examined
shells found in the apartment where the defendant was living when
the crime occurred?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “These were also .25
caliber shells.”

“So they could have come from the same batch
as the ones used to kill Judge Crawford?”

“Yes, I’d say that’s very possible.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kaiser.” She smiled at him
for what Beverly believed was an effective testimony.

Ortega looked at Beverly with contempt as
they crossed paths. He walked up to the witness box. “Mr. Kaiser,
were there any fingerprints found on the bullets or shell casings
that you analyzed from the crime scene evidence?”

“No, there weren’t.”

“Did you find Mr. Santiago’s prints on the
shells you took from his mother’s apartment?”

Kaiser sighed. “No.”

Ortega leaned forward. “Well, were you able
to make a positive match between those shells and the bullets and
shell casings taken from Sheldon Crawford’s body and his
bedroom?”

Kaiser dropped his shoulders. “Actually, no.
But—”

“No buts, sir!” Ortega interjected
triumphantly, then faced Judge Nunez. “I have no further questions
for this witness—”

* * *

“Detective O’Dell, what happened after you
saw the body of Judge Crawford on the night of October
twenty-ninth?” asked Beverly.

O’Dell brushed his nose with the back of his
hand. “I tried to see if there was any sign of a pulse,” he said.
“When there wasn’t, the medical examiner’s office was notified and
the crime scene secured.”

Beverly took a couple of well-practiced steps
toward the jury box, and back again. “When was Maxine Crawford
first able to identify the defendant as the man who shot the
judge?”

“Two days later at her home. It was from a
photo lineup.”

“Can you explain this photo lineup to the
jury?”

“Sure.” He faced them. “They are front and
side color mug shots of people who have been arrested.”

“Was there any reason for showing these mug
shots in particular?”

“They were of people who either fit the
profile for the types of crimes committed that night,” explained
O’Dell, “or men who had been sent to prison by Judge Crawford and
released.”

“Did you coerce Mrs. Crawford into picking
out the photo that she did?” Beverly had to ask.

“Absolutely not!” O’Dell shook his head
adamantly as though he needed to.

“Was there anything about the photograph
lineup that may have unfairly made the defendant stand out?”

“Nothing unfair about seeing and identifying
a rapist-killer among other lowlifes,” O’Dell stated brashly.
“Rafael Santiago murdered the judge and defiled his wife—”

Not surprisingly, Ortega objected vehemently.
“
Highly
prejudicial,” he barked. “It has yet to be proven
that my client did anything, Your
Honor
—!”