Written In Blood (7 page)

Parsons bumped his foot against Claudia’s under the table. “You’ve got smoke coming out of your ears,” he whispered. “Relax. I’ll take care of him.”

Norris said he had no further questions and Stuart Parsons rose from the defendant’s table. He buttoned his jacket, took Claudia’s notebook to the lectern, and turned to face Andy. “Mr. Nicholson, have you taken any courses or workshops specifically related to your duties as a handwriting examiner?”

“Sure, I’ve taken lots of them.”

“Specific to document examination?”

“Well . . . sure.” His eyes darted down and to the left, a sign that he was lying.

“Objection,” Norris said, using the same line that Parsons had earlier used on him. “Mr. Nicholson has already been accepted as an expert.”

Before the judge could respond, Parsons interrupted. “Your Honor, since this witness didn’t appear on the plaintiff’s witness list, I had no opportunity to depose him or check out his credentials ahead of time.”

“All right, Mr. Parsons,” Krieger said. “I’ll give you some leeway, but move it along.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Nicholson, have you ever attended a conference given by the National Association of Document Examiners?”

“I’ve been to Association of Industrial Security meetings.”

“Is that a handwriting examination organization?”

“Many of the members use handwriting analysis.”

“I remind you, Mr. Nicholson, you’re under oath and you have to answer truthfully. I’m going to repeat my question: Have you
ever
attended any conferences of the National Association of Document Examiners?”

Andy fidgeted in his seat, knowing that Claudia attended the NADE conference and would be aware if he failed to tell the truth. “Uh . . . no.”

“Have you attended any meetings where handwriting authentication was taught?”

“I’ve taught handwriting analysis at many meetings.”

Parsons gave him a cold stare. “That was not my question. You are under oath, Mr. Nicholson. Have you ever attended any conferences or seminars where the examination of questioned documents for handwriting authentication was taught?”

Andy squirmed a little. “It’s all part of the same—”

“Answer the question.”

“But I was just—”

“You have to answer the question,” Judge Krieger interjected, frowning at Nicholson over the tops of his glasses. He turned away and typed something into the computer on his desk.

“Are you saying you have
not
attended any professional meetings or conferences strictly for handwritings examiners and that are not related to graphology?”

“Well . . .”

“What scientific journals do you read that are specifically relevant to your job as a document examiner?”

“I, uh . . . there are lots of them.”

Parsons reeled off the list of professional journals Claudia had noted for him, and got Andy to admit that he hadn’t read any of them. She almost felt sorry for him. He would be lucky if he didn’t face a charge of perjury after this.

“Mr. Nicholson, you’ve listed the American Society of Forensic Examination on your curriculum vitae and claim you’ve been a member for ten years. It’s true, isn’t it, that the ASFE has been in existence for less than five years?”

“That’s . . . they . . .”

“It’s also true, is it not, that you claim to have taken courses with the American Society of Forensic Examination?”

“I did take their courses.”

“The fact is, Mr. Nicholson, you never took any of their courses. Isn’t that correct?”

“Of course I did.”

“Isn’t it true that you ordered their basic course, but returned it unopened and requested a refund?”

Andy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, resembling an unhappy trout snagged on a hook. He stared at Frank Norris, helpless. Norris stared back. Apparently this was all news to him.

That’ll teach him for not checking out his expert,
Claudia thought with some satisfaction. She had discovered for herself that every claim he made on his curriculum vitae was grossly inflated or a fabrication. Yet somehow he had gotten away with it for years.

Judge Krieger gave Andy a dark look and ordered him to respond.

“Yes, but I—”

“Mr. Nicholson.” Parsons was on a roll. “Did you happen to bring with you the ‘hundreds of samples’ of Mr. Sorensen’s signature that you claim to have examined in this case?”

Andy looked abashed. “Counsel might have them.”

“Have you listed anywhere all those
hundreds
of signatures in a report so it can be verified that you actually did examine ‘hundreds’ of them?”

Bright splotches of red appeared on Andy’s cheeks and on his neck around his Adam’s apple. “No, but I—”

Parsons spoke over him and Norris didn’t bother to object. “So the handful of exemplars that you’ve produced for us today in your exhibit are the ones that you’ve selected for His Honor to look at. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Then we have no way of knowing that you actually examined ‘hundreds’ of signatures because you brought only these few?”

With a fed-up look at his witness, Norris found his voice. “Objection. Mr. Parsons is testifying.”

“Is there a question in there somewhere for the witness, Mr. Parsons?” Krieger asked.

“Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Nicholson, what method did you use to compare the signatures?”

“I put them under magnification and eyeballed them.”

“Did you take any measurements?”

“I didn’t need—”

“Did you compare the signatures by laying one over the other?”

“With all my experience, I don’t need to do that.”

Parsons raised his eyebrows and made an O with his mouth, pretending to be impressed. “Why, that’s very clever of you, Mr. Nicholson. Other experts in your field feel they need to take measurements and do comparisons, but your testimony is that you do not?”

“Objection. No foundation.”

“Overruled.”

From the corner of her eye Claudia noticed Paige on the other side of Parson’s empty seat trying to get her attention. Turning her head, she caught the tiny smile on the corner of Paige’s mouth, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

“Mr. Nicholson,” Parsons continued. “Are you familiar with the literature in your field? For example,
Scientific Examination of Questioned Documents
by Ordway Hilton, or
Questioned Documents
by Albert Osborne?”

“Of course I am,” Andy said, cocky now that he could answer a question truthfully. “I have both those books. In fact, I brought a list of all the handwriting books I own, if you’d care to see it.”

“Does Ordway Hilton or Albert Osborne, or any other authority in your field suggest that the correct procedure is to simply eyeball a document and make such an important conclusion, Mr. Nicholson?”

“Well . . .”

“You do accept Hilton and Osborne as authorities?”

Andy straightened his tie, looking uncomfortable. “Of course I do.”

“Then how can you say you accept them as authorities if you don’t know what they say on such an important matter?”

Andy struggled for an answer that wouldn’t make him look like a fool. In the end, in a peeved tone he said, “I can’t be expected to know everything they say.”

“No further questions of this witness.”

The judge adjourned the Sorensen hearing for the day at the afternoon break. Paige’s team huddled in the hallway outside the courtroom.

Waiting to be called as a witness, Bert Falkenberg had been relegated to the hallway for most of the day. Shortly before the recess he had taken the stand to testify that he had watched Torg Sorensen sign his will. Claudia, who had remained at Paige’s request, thought Stuart Parsons’ direct went well. Norris had reserved cross-examination for later. Now Bert stood at Paige’s side, looking distracted.

“How do you think it went today?” Paige asked her attorney, linking her arm through his.

Stuart Parsons gave his client a fond smile, patted her hand. “Bert did fine, Claudia was superb, and we beat Nicholson to a pulp. Let’s hope tomorrow goes as well. Now, I suggest you go and have a glass of wine, relax, and forget about the case for the rest of the day.”

“Come with us?”

Parsons shook his head. “I have to get back to the office.”

“How about you?” Paige asked, turning to Claudia. “Buy you a drink?”

“That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Claudia said. Even the check Bert Falkenberg had handed her a moment ago failed to neutralize the stress of testifying. She could as easily have stood in the truck lane of the freeway and waited for a semi to mow her down as face another cross-examination right now.

“See you later, Bert,” Paige said, dismissing him. “Stuart will give you a ride back, won’t you, Stu?”

The attorney leaned over to drop a kiss on her cheek. Bert offered a mocking salute and clicked his heels together like a Nazi general acknowledging his commanding officer.

As the two men and Parsons’ paralegal made their way down the corridor toward the elevators, the door to the courtroom swung open and Diana Sorensen swept through. Andy Nicholson followed, holding the door for Dane, who was piloting his brother’s wheelchair.

Catching sight of Claudia and Paige standing by the long windows overlooking the courthouse mall, Diana strode over.

“You thieving bitch,” she shouted, thrusting her wide, angry face close to Paige’s. “You
won’t
get away with this!”

Dane braked the wheelchair, walked back, and seized his twin’s arm.

“Don’t waste your time on those bloodsuckers, Di. They’re not worth the dynamite to blow ’em all to hell.”

Bloodsuckers.
Including Claudia in the cheap shot.

Diana made an angry huffing sound, but allowed herself to be led away, leaving a spate of insults in her wake. Neil Sorensen remained silent during the exchange, his face hidden beneath the bill of his baseball cap as Dane wheeled him away.

“Nice family,” Claudia murmured, lifting her eyebrows at Paige, who looked furious.

“Yeah, nice like the Borgias.”

Andy Nicholson, who had watched from the courtroom door, sauntered over to Claudia and leaned in close. “Don’t expect to win,” he said in a low voice so that only she could detect the sneer.

She stared back at him with distaste. “Why’s that, hotshot?”

“Remember last time,” he said. “I’ll
always
kick your ass.”

Claudia crooked her finger, beckoning him even closer. When he bent down, she whispered in his ear, “Andy, go fuck yourself.”

His lips twisted into a cocky smirk and she turned away, annoyed with herself for giving in to her temper. She was supposed to be a professional, which meant she shouldn’t have reacted to his goading.

“Let’s take the stairs,” she said to Paige. “I’m not sharing an elevator with him.”

 
The Downtown Brewery was a generic place where lawyers hung out between court sessions—dark, lots of leather, the redolence of liquor.

They settled into a couple of club chairs in the bar. Claudia ordered a screwdriver, Paige, a Jack and Coke, neat.

“I can’t stand that Norris guy,” Paige said with a little shiver. “How could you sit there so calmly and let him go after you like that?”

Claudia laughed, unwilling to admit how uptight she’d been. “I just pictured him naked, with a teeny weenie.” Then she got serious. “I hope the judge saw through Nicholson’s BS.”

“How does someone like that get to testify as an expert? He came off as a total phony.”

“The sad truth is, Andy’s been challenged before, but he’s gotten away with inflating his credentials for years.”

“But
how
?”

“There’s no state or federal licensing of handwriting experts, which means there are no controls. If the opposing attorney doesn’t check out his claims and bring written proof to the judge that he’s perjured himself, or else get him to admit he’s lied, like Stuart did today, an Andy Nicholson can keep on testifying and get away with it.”

“But that’s against the law.”

Claudia’s lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Yes, it is. And it happens all the time.”

“That’s downright frightening,” Paige said, crossing her slim legs as a pair of good-looking suits passed close to their table. Although the movement was subtle, Claudia caught the slight motion of her skirt as it twitched upward just a touch. One of the suits turned and gave her an appreciative second glance.

Claudia speculated that flirting was probably second nature to her. Maybe Torg had reason to be jealous.

The waitress flew by, tossed a couple of cocktail napkins on the table, and left their drinks. Paige raised her glass to Claudia. “You were awesome today,” she said.

Claudia smiled and bumped Paige’s glass with her own. “May the truth win.”

Paige echoed her words and swallowed some of her drink. She put the glass on the table and leaned down to take a pack of unopened Virginia Slims from her pocketbook.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Claudia said in surprise as she watched her companion peel away the plastic wrap and crumple it on the table.

“I don’t anymore,” Paige said. She tapped a cigarette from the pack and put it between her lips, leaving it unlit. “But times like these make me feel like starting up again. This lawsuit is making me twitchy.”

“Court can do that to you.”

Paige grabbed the cigarette from her mouth and broke it in half. “Dammit, I wish Torg had told me about what he was going to do. At least I would have been prepared.”

“How long were you married?”

“We met three years ago in Clovis, up in the Central Valley. Ever hear of it?”

Claudia didn’t mind admitting that she had not. The vodka felt like velvet caressing her throat as she began to unwind.