Naomi held up a document, said, “The defense would like to introduce exhibit—”
“Objection!” Strong said, jumping to her feet. “The prosecution was not made aware of any such tests.”
“Because we ordered them last night and they came in this morning.”
“That’s impossible. The backlog of work at the FBI’s lab is—”
“Quantico did a rush job on the tests as a favor to my uncle.”
The district attorney looked to Judge Varney.
The judge rotated his head around to ease a cramp in his neck, glanced at me and the others in the cheap seats, said, “The court will admit the FBI’s tests.”
Naomi beamed. She handed copies to the clerk, the prosecution, and Detective Frost. Interested now, the jurors shifted in their seats, wondering just what the tests said. I tried not to smile, but I was proud of my niece. She had every person in the courtroom in the palm of her hand.
Naomi said, “You’ll see the necessary stamps, signatures, and so forth on pages one and two. Turn to page three. You’ll see that we submitted Ms. Lawrence’s body fluids at the time of the alleged rape for evidence of illicit drugs commonly used during date rapes, like Rohypnol.”
She walked over to the witness, said, “Can you read us the results, Detective?”
Frost said, “No drugs or alcohol present.”
“No drugs or alcohol present in Ms. Lawrence’s sample,” Naomi said.
Sharon Lawrence looked ready to be sick. She said something to her mother, who shook her head and held her hand tight.
Strong and Brady, meanwhile, were poring over the pages. So were the judge and the detective on the witness stand. The jurors were transfixed. Police Chief Sherman was leaning over the railing trying unsuccessfully to get the prosecutors’ attention.
Naomi said, “Detective Frost, on page four, what are the results of the test on my client’s semen at the time of the alleged rape?”
Frost’s voice cracked before he cleared his throat and said, “Negative for drugs and alcohol.”
“At the time of the alleged rape?”
“Correct.”
“No drugs or alcohol at all,” she said to the jury. “But that goes completely against the story to which Ms. Lawrence testified under oath. She said they were drinking, doing drugs, carrying on, and having a good old time before Mr. Tate slipped her a date-rape drug and had his way with her. Is that a fair summary of her story, Detective?”
“It is,” Frost said.
“Do you now believe my client raped Ms. Lawrence as she described?”
“Objection!” Strong said.
Sharon Lawrence was weeping silently. Her mother looked ready to crawl out of her skin.
Naomi said, “Judge, I’m asking a detective with two and a half decades of experience to evaluate the facts as he knows them now and form an opinion.”
Varney hesitated, said, “Overruled, Ms. Strong. Rephrase the question, Ms. Cross.”
“Does Ms. Lawrence’s story jibe with these FBI tests?”
“No, but she could have just embellished that part of the story,” Frost said.
“Or she embellished the entire story, in which case she can be prosecuted for perjury, along with her mother, and for planting false evidence,” Naomi said. “They’ll both do time.”
“No!” Ann Lawrence cried, getting to her feet. “She…we…”
Varney rapped his gavel, said, “Sit down, Mrs. Lawrence.”
She sat back down, looking wobbly, next to her daughter, who stared at the floor.
Naomi said, “The defense calls Sharon Lawrence to the stand.”
“Are you done with Detective Frost?” Judge Varney asked.
“For the moment, Judge,” Naomi said. “But I’d prefer he remain available.”
Varney instructed Frost to stay and, along with the rest of the crowded courtroom, watched him pass a pale, nervous Sharon Lawrence heading toward the witness stand.
Ann Lawrence’s face had gone flushed, and she sat small in her seat. Cece’s mother and father were staring at the woman as if she were some dark mystery.
“Ms. Lawrence,” Naomi said. “Did you hear Detective Frost’s testimony just now?”
“Yes.”
“And the results of the drug tests?”
Sharon Lawrence nodded feebly.
“Did Coach Stefan Tate drug and rape you?”
The girl said nothing for several long moments. Her lips trembled, and she looked out at her mother and then at Stefan Tate.
“No,” she whispered as tears poured down her face. “It was all a lie.”