‘Some of it, yes. Several fragments of grass had blood on them.’
‘And does that mean that the grass and the blood got onto the shoe at the same time?’
‘It … could mean that, yes.’
‘But it doesn’t necessarily mean that, does it? I mean, if the grass was already lodged on the shoe when the blood fell on it, the blood would still stain the grass, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Ms Ferguson agreed hesitantly.
‘So, from your evidence, it’s not possible to say whether this grass got onto the shoe at the same time as the blood, or at a completely different time, is it?’
‘No …’
‘Nor is it possible to say when this blood got onto the sole of this shoe?’
‘No.’
‘Or where, either, surely. I mean, the blood could have got onto the sole of the shoe in the house, when the household dust got there; or out in the roads, when the road grit got there; or perhaps on a path where there was sandy soil. Is that right?’
‘I suppose that’s right, yes,’ Ms Ferguson agreed, frowning thoughtfully. ‘I mean, all I can say is that the blood was there. I can’t tell you when or how it got there.’
‘Exactly.’ Sarah let the words hang in the air, and looked at the young woman with some warmth. ‘Now let’s think about these drops of blood you found on top of the shoe, if we may. How big were they?’
‘The largest was two millimetres across.’
‘Big enough to see with the naked eye?’
‘Oh yes. The size of a small drop of ink.’
‘I see. And the others?
‘One was about the same size. The rest were smaller. The size of a large grain of dust.’
‘Five drops of blood, three of them the size of a grain of dust. But you examined the shoe very carefully, I suppose? The top and the sides, the laces and the tongue, you looked inside too? With special scientific equipment, I take it?’
‘Yes, of course. I spent hours examining this shoe. There were plenty of other marks, mud and grass stains chiefly, and some paint and coffee; but there were just these two stains on the sole and five on the upper surface near the toe.’
‘And the other shoe? Any blood on that?’
‘None at all, no.’
‘No blood anywhere on the left shoe. Very well. Would you turn to photo number three, Ms Ferguson, and tell the jury what you see there, please.’
‘It’s … a photograph of a dead body.’
‘Yes. It’s a photograph of the murder victim, Jasmine Hurst. It was taken at the crime scene, where she was discovered. I want to draw your attention to the blood in the photograph, Ms Ferguson. Is there a lot of blood?’
‘A lot, yes.’
‘I’m sorry if this is distressing, but could you describe to the court, in your own words, just how much blood you see in the photograph, and where it is?’
‘Well … there’s a lot on her throat, where it’s been cut, and … all over her chest and upper body. It’s on her arms too … her left arm seems to be cut and there’s blood on her legs too.’
‘Is there blood on the grass beside the body?’
‘Yes. Some of the grass looks a reddish colour.’
‘There was blood on the grass; the scene of crime report confirmed that. Now, Ms Ferguson, when someone’s throat is cut, the blood doesn’t just leak out, does it — it sprays out everywhere, pumped out by the heart because an artery has been severed. Is that right?’
‘Well, I’ve never seen it …’
‘You’re a scientist, aren’t you? A forensic scientist — you know how an artery works?’
‘Yes, of course. You’re right — the blood would spray everywhere.’
‘Yes. And we can see that in the photo, can’t we? Blood on the victim’s chest, blood on her arms and legs and all over the grass. A lot of blood, you said. Blood everywhere. Am I right?’
‘Yes, that’s right. There’s a lot of blood in this photo.’
‘Very well. Now you’re a forensic scientist; so what would you expect to find on the shoes of the person who committed this horrible crime? Someone who struggled with the victim, stood close enough to cut her throat?’
‘Blood …’
‘Yes, of course. You’d expect to find blood on those shoes, wouldn’t you? Not just blood on the top of the shoes, from the spray you’ve described, but blood on the soles too, from that bloodstained grass. You’d expect to find blood in all the little cracks of the soles, wouldn’t you? The soles of both shoes?’
Laila Ferguson hesitated. The girl was far too intelligent not to see where this was going. Sarah had noticed her talking quite intimately to Will Churchill outside the court; she must know how vital her evidence was to his case. What would she do? Prevaricate and attempt to spin the evidence to support the police? Or value her own reputation as an independent scientist? She was very young — it could be the first time she had been in a situation like this.
She fiddled with the plaits of her afro haircut, then looked directly at Sarah.
‘If the shoes had walked in that grass, yes, I would.’
Good girl, Sarah thought. ‘The only way to get the blood out of the soles would have been to wash them, wouldn’t it? I suppose you’d have to wash them quite thoroughly?’
‘Yes, you would. Blood is notoriously hard to get rid of.’
‘Did these shoes look as though they’d been washed?’
Laila Ferguson smiled — a flash of white teeth in her striking black face. ‘Not recently, no. They were filthy.’
Sarah smiled back. She was getting to like this girl. ‘All right. What about the upper surface of these shoes? Given the amount of blood we saw in those photographs, most of which came from the victim’s throat, wouldn’t you have expected to find some of that spray on top of the murderer’s shoes, too? Not just five tiny drops, but quite a lot of it?’
‘If the victim was standing up when her throat was cut, certainly. I suppose it’s possible she might have been lying down. Or the murderer stood behind her.’
There’s such a thing as being too clever, Sarah thought grimly. Or in my case, not clever enough. I should have thought of that first.
‘Even then, he would have to step carefully to avoid it, wouldn’t he? Given how much blood we can see.’
‘There’s a lot of blood in the photo, yes. It would probably get on the killer’s shoes.’
‘And yet there was no blood at all on one shoe you examined, isn’t that right?’
‘Yes.’
‘And on the other one, just two tiny stains on the sole and five drops, two of them the size of — what did you say? — a grain of dust on the upper surface. That’s all you found, isn’t it?’
‘That’s all the blood I found, yes.’
‘Very well.’ Again Sarah paused, looking at her notes, to let the impact of the last few questions sink in. She had a clear sense that the jury was interested, and intrigued. This had been her best morning so far. She looked at Laila Ferguson again.
‘Now, what about the blood on the breadknife. Were these stains any bigger?’
‘No. There were just a few small specks, trapped in between the blade and the handle. There isn’t much room in there.’
‘What about the rest of the knife? Were there any stains on the blade, or the handle?’
‘No. The knife was quite clean; it looked as though it had been washed recently.’
‘Very well. But that’s a normal thing to do with a breadknife, isn’t it?’
Laila Ferguson shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’
‘What was the handle made of?’
‘Plastic.’
‘Did you find any blood on the handle? Anything to suggest that a person with a bloodstained hand had gripped it, for instance?’
‘No. But then blood wouldn’t stain plastic, if it was washed soon enough.’
‘I see. Now, what can you tell us about the age of this blood?’
‘I’m sorry?’ The question clearly came as a surprise to Miss Ferguson.
‘How old was it?’
‘I … it’s impossible to tell. It was dried blood, so obviously it was more than a few hours old, but beyond that there’s no way of saying.’