The judge read the document I’d just handed to him, and the crowd murmured and whispered like a soft ripple of water on a midnight lake. The sound of the crowd was broken by the rhythmic slap of David’s heel on the floor as his knee bounced with anxiety. Holly put a hand on his shoulder and cut off the noise.
Gripping the pages between his forefinger and thumb, as if they were toxic, he handed me back the report with a sigh. “Very well. Make sure Mr. Zader has a copy of this.”
Cooch flung a copy at Zader, which sailed through the air and landed expertly on the prosecution table.
“Next time, hand it to him, Mr. Coucheron,” said Judge Rollins.
I waited around fifteen seconds to allow Zader to skim-read the report. When his grip spasmed and tore the corners of the pages, I knew he’d finished reading it. I gave my copy to the witness.
“This is a report written by an FBI field agent named Theo Ferenze. It details an examination of the floor of the panic room located in David Child’s apartment. At the back you will see two photographs that have been printed on plain paper and appended to the report.”
“I see them,” said Noble, through tight lips.
“The annotation for photograph one reads, ‘Panic room floor, treated with luminol.’ Now, what is luminol?”
Judge Rollins raised an eyebrow—I got the feeling crime scene analysis didn’t feature heavily in his limited experience.
“Luminol is a chemical agent that, when applied to surfaces, highlights bloodstains when a black light is shined upon the area,” said Noble.
“Thank you. You didn’t search the panic room?”
“I wasn’t aware that there was a panic room.”
I held up the Claudio, the architectural drawing clearly showing the panic room, which I’d taken from the wall of David’s apartment.
“This was hanging on the wall. Didn’t you notice it?”
“No. We don’t pay attention to the wall hangings. Anyway, panic rooms are for the occupiers. We understood from building security that the occupier, Mr. Child, had left the building.”
“Turning back to the FBI report, it states that a large volume of recent blood staining was found on the floor of the panic room in Mr. Child’s apartment, as we can see from the purple patch on the floor, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And in addition, photograph two is a close-up of a notch in the concrete floor, in or around the center of the bloodstain, which, according to the FBI expert, is consistent with a bullet having ricocheted off the floor?”
“Correct.”
“According to Agent Ferenze, the bloodstained fibers found in the damaged part of the floor are similar to the T-shirt the victim was wearing that day?”
“According to this report, that’s correct. I have not had an opportunity to—”
“Just a second,” said Judge Rollins. “What does this all mean, Mr. Flynn?”
“It means that the victim was shot in the back in the panic room. She likely died there. It means that sometime after this, her body was dragged to the kitchen, where she was shot twelve times in the back of the head. Isn’t that right, Mr. Noble?”
His mouth clammed up, lips drawn up under his nose.
“That appears likely,” said Noble.
“If that is the case, then considering the accuracy of the other shots, the killer deliberately fired into the window?” I asked.
“That’s possible.”
“Perhaps to attract Mr. Gershbaum’s attention and have him call security?” I said.
“Objection, Your Honor. This is speculation,” said Zader.
After a beat Judge Rollins said, “Sustained.”
I ignored the hit. The idea had been planted in Rollins’s head. One last question.
“You offered the conclusion that the victim had suffered the multiple head shots because of the sheer rage of her attacker, but there is another explanation. Could it be that the damage was deliberately inflicted to wipe out the victim’s face, making her impossible to identify from her facial features or dental records?”
“I can’t rule that out,” said Noble, shifting in his seat.
I took a moment. Evaluated. I wondered if I’d done enough. The judge looked confused more than anything else. I decided to quit while I was ahead. I thought I’d save my best shots for the last witness, Detective Andy Morgan.
“No further questions,” I said. Zader didn’t want any more of this witness.
Noble almost fell over getting out of the stand. He didn’t want to stay there a moment longer.
“I suggest we take a short break, gentlemen. Who is your next witness, Mr. Zader? You can prep them during the recess.”
“Your Honor, we’ll be calling the driver of the car that was involved in the RTC with the defendant, a Mr. John Woodrow.”
No, you won’t, I thought.
I got up, looking for Christine, and as I passed the Lizard, I palmed his cell phone.