CHAPTER 35

“It’s not an ethical dilemma,” I say. “It’s a strategic dilemma.”

I shift in Jake’s ratty old client chair, as he rolls a chewed-up pencil back and forth across his desk. Tomorrow it will be two full weeks since the fire at the Kupulupulu Beach Resort and this case is already choking the life out of me.

“The murder weapon,” Jake says quietly. “I think this one’s a no-brainer, son.”

Jake and I have called a temporary truce to whatever has been transpiring between us these last two weeks. Looks as though Alison Kelly is out of his life for good and he’s finally coming to accept that. It also appears—surprise, surprise—that representing a defendant in a high-profile murder case is good for business. Over the weekend we received calls from three prospective clients, each asking us to take on their respective cases, each having been charged with at least one class-A felony. Hoshi returned the calls early this morning. And what do you know? Two of the three prospects actually have money. Harper & Corvelli is effectively back in business.

Knowing this—and feeling alone and desperate—I stepped into Jake’s office earlier and asked for his advice.

“There’s a lot to consider,” I say.

I haven’t spoken to Milt Cashman, and I don’t dare trust the phones on something like this. If I do call him it’ll be from a pay phone, and I’ll ask him to find a safe landline, too. Paranoid? Maybe. But in criminal law it’s always best to err on the side of caution.

“You’re pretty sure it’s her knife?” Jake says.

“Pretty damn sure. Erin described it to me and I downloaded a few photos of the specific model from the Internet. I was underwater but I’d bet the house on it.” I down a slug of Red Bull. I didn’t sleep very well again last night. “Besides, how many switchblades do you think we’d find at the bottom of the lagoon abutting the Kupulupulu Beach Resort two weeks after the fire?”

“That would be one hell of a coincidence,” he says.

“My first thought was, of course, you don’t hand over the murder weapon to the prosecution. Then I thought, what if it actually helps to exonerate her?”

“How in damnation would it do that?”

“Prints,” I say.

“After the knife’s been underwater for two full weeks?”

I nod. “I spoke to Baron Lee, who I’m retaining as our forensics expert. He said, theoretically, there could still be prints on the knife.”

“Say again?”

“It’s a long shot, but Baron tells me he’s used the procedure in the past and a few times he’s gotten results.”

“Lifted prints off an item that’s been submerged in water?”

“Using Small Particle Reagent,” I tell him. “If there’s a latent fingerprint on the knife, the oily components of the fingerprint residue may have been held in place by the surface tension of the water.”

“Then once the weapon is exposed to air…”

“Exactly,” I say. “The oily residue that’s retaining the shape and details of the fingerprint will spread out or run, and we’ll have nothing but a smudged print. But,” I add, “if the Small Particle Reagent is applied immediately after the knife is retrieved from the water, it might work.”

“You mean right at the scene? Right there at the lagoon?”

“In front of all those people, yeah. That’s the problem,” I say. “Even if we retrieve the knife at night, someone’s going to see us. If not a set of eyes, then certainly the resort’s video surveillance.”

“Doesn’t sound like a thirty-second operation either.”

“The knife will need to be sprayed with this reagent immediately after it surfaces. Then the knife has to be rinsed off with clean water before it begins to dry.”

“What then?”

“All that should remain on the knife after rinsing should be the reagent which has adhered to the latent print.”

“Powder particles.”

“Right,” I tell him. “Gray prints should appear. We’d have to photograph them, then wait until the knife is dry. Once it’s dry, we can lift the prints from the surface with tape, just as we would if the weapon were never submerged.”

“Assuming the knife is the same one that the defendant used to cut herself, her prints are going to be on it, son.”

“Even so, there may be another set of prints on the knife,” I say. “What if Erin didn’t stab Trevor? What if someone else did, and then she set the fire to conceal it?”

Jake holds a finger to his lips as he thinks about this. “Then the killer’s prints might be on the knife.”

I nod. “And that might be all we need. Maddox is going to accuse Erin of putting a knife in her husband’s gut. If we can show otherwise, his whole case falls apart. We tell the jury if Maddox is wrong about this, then he’s wrong about the fire. It’s all or nothing. Absent evidence to the contrary, the State can’t have it both ways.”

Jake half smiles at this revelation. “If someone else’s prints are on that knife…”

“Then, Jake, we have reasonable doubt.”