And the killer had sat informally at a bar stool, not on the red leather couch in Christina’s art-filled living room. To Nina, all signs pointed to someone she knew very well. Like her brother, Alex. Or maybe this rejected boyfriend Paul had just learned about, named Sergey Krilov.
Or maybe a new man in her life. Larry Santa Ana, the burly juror, studied Stefan’s face, and Nina read his: it wasn’t too hard to picture big, hunky Stefan making eyes at a woman. Nina did not like this sort of juror, who fills the holes in testimony with personal life experience. It wasn’t too hard to picture Santa Ana making eyes at a woman, either.
“Using all the standard presumptive tests, we searched for the presence of blood throughout the apartment,” Banta said, and Nina jerked back to her testimony. “We were able to locate traces of blood that did not match the victim’s on a few pieces of glass found on the floor and in the kitchen trash can.”
“Indicating what, if anything, to you as a trained homicide investigator?”
“That the victim hit her killer with a glass, cutting him. She probably threw it.”
“Did you find blood anywhere else?”
“No.”
A hurting Madeleine Frey fidgeted, massaging her left leg. Nina caught her grimacing as Frey crossed it over her right leg. She hoped Frey could pay attention anyway, as Jaime had come to the final and most damning testimony of the day.
“And did you subsequently compare the blood on the kitchen floor and in the kitchen trash with the blood of the defendant in this case?”
“Yes. The defendant gave his permission to have a blood sample drawn so that DNA comparison tests could be made. Those tests were carried out on May second.” Stefan had sworn the tests would clear him, so Klaus, entirely properly, had allowed them without objection. Ginger would be evaluating the prosecution’s results, and continued to run new tests.
“Did you thereafter receive the certified state laboratory results?”
“Yes. In late May.”
“And what were those results?” Klaus had stipulated that Banta could testify about this, although technically Abbott Lumley, the forensics tech and blood expert, should. Many decisions had been made before Nina’s entry into the case, and she didn’t agree with any of them. She chewed on her thumbnail impotently. Beside her, Klaus listened intently with his little smile, as though he already knew all the answers and would bring them forth at the proper time.
“According to the report, there was one chance in about three million that the blood did not match the defendant,” Banta went on.
“What did you conclude from that scientific result?”
“That the blood in Christina Zhukovsky’s apartment had been left by the defendant, Stefan Wyatt.” Crowning the moment with a long, level, accusatory stare at Stefan, Detective Banta had just produced the piece of evidence that Stefan couldn’t explain, the one that made him look like a liar. Stefan put a hand on his cheek but couldn’t hide the anger in his eyes, which wouldn’t look good to Larry Santa Ana, who had followed Banta’s testimony with trustful approval.
“That test was wrong,” Stefan whispered to Nina. “They screwed up.” A lot of lifers had used that line, and Nina hoped he wouldn’t be one of them.
Ginger would be testifying all too soon, when the defense had a chance to present its case, and her testimony would convict or clear Stefan, Nina was sure of it. Ginger had called at seven to say she was awaiting final results and to wish Nina luck.
The blood was Stefan’s. Then he was guilty, the jurors would be thinking, and they weren’t the only ones. The reporters in the seats at the back energetically scratched on pads, preparing to expose his guilt to the world in tomorrow’s Salinas Californian, Monterey Herald, San Jose Mercury News, and San Francisco Chronicle. Of course, while convicting him in the court of public opinion, they would be sure to include a line about innocent until proven guilty.
Not too far from here, a man named Scott Peterson would be tried for the murder of his wife and unborn son. Although the trial had been moved from his hometown of Modesto, the whole country already knew all about the case from the papers. An “unbiased” jury, even in another county, did not really exist.
It worried Nina that Stefan’s case kept blowing up bigger in the papers. Each night, the jury was told to go home and avoid the speculation on TV and in the newspapers. Was Larry Santa Ana really able to do that?
Jaime put the forensics report on the blood into evidence and Judge Salas read it over carefully. The previously marked report became an official part of the case, the monster land mine Klaus and Nina would have to defuse later if they were to win.
“You may cross-examine,” Judge Salas said after the lunch break and a session in his chambers working on jury instructions.
Nina’s turn had come. She stayed at her table, her notes stacked in front of her. She breathed deeply, going for the receptive, open mood Klaus had suggested. “Detective Banta, you have testified that the blood found on small glass slivers at Christina Zhukovsky’s apartment matched the blood of the defendant, Stefan Wyatt; is that correct?”
“Correct. Actually, the lab tested more than one sample.”
“Did the lab do RFLP DNA testing, otherwise known as restriction fragment length polymorphism analysis, on those samples?” She had memorized the words given to her by Ginger just the night before, and hoped she hadn’t scrambled them. Having the terminology correct was important. The jury needed to believe she knew what she was talking about.
“No.”
“You know about this method of testing?”
“Yes.”
“Isn’t that method likely to yield higher statistically individualizing results than the less delicate PCR DNA analysis?”
“Yes.”
“Why wasn’t that done?”
“You need larger samples than we had.”
“You were able to locate only traces of blood on a few minuscule pieces of glass, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“That would be blood in extremely small amounts?”
“In small amounts. Correct.”
“Are the bits of glass found at the scene and tested for blood here in court for the jury to see today?”
“No.”
“Well, can you help us with this, so that the jury can visualize this. How small were they? This big?” She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.
“Not that large.”
“This?” She narrowed the gap.
“Smaller.”
“How about this?” asked Nina. She held a pin up.
“They weren’t that large.”
“No, the samples were about as big as the head of this pin-wouldn’t that be fair to say?” Nina asked, knowing full well they were about that big.
“Yes.”
“Your Honor, may I approach the jury?”
“You’re not going to poke me with that, are you, Ms. Reilly?” said the judge, who didn’t approve of her methods but apparently was willing to sacrifice his prejudice in the service of a little humor.
“No. I’m just afraid some of the jurors might not be able to see the extremely small amount of ‘evidence’ we are talking about unless I bring it up very close.”
Some laughter followed her. She enjoyed the attention, and even the jury made an amused show of studying the head of the pin she held. She laid it carefully down on the table and turned back to face Kelsey Banta. “Did you take into account the possibility of contamination of evidence from such small sources?”
“We did. There is always a possibility of contamination if standard protocols for collection of evidence and PCR DNA testing are not followed. However, we were scrupulous.” She looked smug.
Nina knew they would have to come back to the evidence on the glass again, but she felt good about leaving it for now. “At the time of booking, did you have an opportunity to perform any sort of physical survey, or did you observe the defendant’s body?”