“Thanks for calling me back, Nora,” Carmen said. “Benny with you?”
“Happy Friday, chief,” he said looking at the phone sitting between him and Nora. “All hands are on deck. Well, in the kitchen, actually. What’s up?”
“Just got off the phone with Demi Kofatos from Westport. She called to tell me that the blood on Nora’s car is a DNA match to Helen Carmichael’s.”
“There’s a shocker,” Benny said, glancing across the table at Nora, who was looking down at her hands.
“And they got mitochondrial DNA from the hairs found on the body. They aren’t Helen’s and they want to know if Nora will submit a sample. They also want to know if Nora will sit for an interview.”
There was silence in the kitchen. Benny broke it. “Remind me what the mito whatever is?”
Nora looked up, the light coming back in her eyes. “Mitochondrial DNA is from a different part of the cell than the normal DNA you read about, which is called ‘nuclear.’ Unless a hair is found with the root attached, it’s hard to get normal nuclear DNA out of it. But you can get mitochondrial DNA and compare it to a suspect’s hair. It doesn’t identify the person for sure but it tells you the hair came from someone with the same mother or grandmother.”
Benny looked confused. “Grandmother? And how are you some kinda hair expert?”
Carmen’s voice came through the phone. “Mitochondrial DNA is passed down by females so the lab could only say it belongs to Nora or her mom or to her grandmother. And she knows a lot about it because we had postconviction challenges to old cases in SDNY where FBI lab people said stuff about microscopic hair comparisons that wasn’t accurate.”
Nora picked it up, smiling at Benny. “In the nineties—where people sometimes get stuck, as you know—they didn’t have mitochondrial DNA testing, so the FBI lab would look at hairs and try to compare them using a microscope. It was bullshit, like reading the bumps on your head, and led to a lot of bad testimony. That’s how I know.”
“Okay, now my head hurts,” Benny said. “So where are we on Nora giving them a hair?”
“She could refuse,” Carmen said, “but they’ll easily get a warrant. My vote would be to give it to them. And politely decline the interview.”
Nora began to speak, but Carmen cut her off. “But, I don’t think we should decide today. I told Kofatos I needed time to think about it. I think we should use that time to line up Connecticut counsel. I want to make sure there isn’t some local practice angle we’re missing, even on something like this, which seems straightforward.
“And, look,” Carmen continued, “she didn’t say it, but I’m sure she’s going to be coming to your house with a search warrant. She’ll probably do the same for your spaces at Saugatuck. They’ll look for the murder weapon, seize your phones and computer. They have to at this point.”
Nora was nodding as she stared at the phone in the middle of the table. “Yup, it’s what I would do. And I agree on hiring local counsel. At least I can afford it for the first time in my life. You have any ideas?”
“I do,” Carmen said. “I think I found the perfect person—Porter Raleigh, out of Hartford.”
“The name’s familiar,” Nora said. “Where do I know him from?”
“Longtime AUSA in the District of Connecticut. Did a bunch of mob stuff, so maybe that’s where you heard the name. Or maybe from his last federal job. He was a special prosecutor in DC, supposed to look into allegations of corruption at the Department of Homeland Security. Became a total clusterfuck. His operation fell in love with some political conspiracy theory, leaked like the Titanic, and then he charged a few people, using speaking indictments to make it sound like he’d solved the Kennedy assassination.”
Nora chuckled. “I remember now. Total shitshow.”
“Yup,” Carmen went on, “the cases ended with door-slamming acquittals on everything and he was chased out of town, although he remained a saint in some conspiracy-nut circles.”
Nora looked up at Benny, her eyes wide. “I can’t wait to hear how this story ends with him being the answer to our problem.”
“See, that’s just it,” Carmen answered. “I’ll give him some credit. He was always a little grouchy and gung ho for my taste, but the DC experience turned him into a scorched earth defense lawyer when he left the government. Seems he found out—maybe from the mirror?—that there are overzealous prosecutors and wrongly accused defendants. Better late than never, I suppose.”
“I suppose,” Nora echoed.
“But I think he’s our guy. He’s not just a flamethrower. He also knows everyone in Connecticut. I’m going to reach out and see if he can meet us at your place this weekend, ideally tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Nora said tiredly, “but it’s got to be before noon tomorrow. My mom and Sophie will be back after lunch.”
“Got it,” Carmen answered. “Be back to you soon.”