My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(77)

“No,” Tracy said. “They’re not.”

Dan replaced the earrings on the evidence table and sat. The murmuring had reached a sufficient volume for Meyers to rap his gavel. “I’ll remind those seated in the gallery to maintain the decorum I discussed at the opening of these proceedings.”

Clark stood and approached the witness stand with a seeming sense of urgency, his voice defiant. “You testified that your sister was fashion conscious, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, she was.”

“You said she wore any number of different ensembles to these competitions, multiple shirts and pants and hats, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Did she take additional clothes with her to these competitions and change her mind about what she was going to wear?”

“Sometimes more than once,” Tracy said. “It was an annoying habit.”

“Including changing her mind about what jewelry to wear,” Clark said.

“I can think of occasions she did that, especially if the tournament was more than one day long.”

“Thank you.” Looking partially relieved, Clark quickly sat.

Dan stood. “Briefly, Your Honor.” He crossed to the lectern. “Detective Crosswhite, the times you recall your sister changing her jewelry, do you recall a single instance in which she ever changed to the jewelry presented at Edmund House’s initial trial? The pistol-shaped earrings identified as State exhibits Thirty-Four A and Thirty-Four B?”

“I never saw her do that, no.”

Dan gestured toward Clark. “The State’s question intimates that could have been a possibility; could it have been a possibility?”

Clark objected. “Again, the question asks this witness to speculate. She can testify as to what is in the photograph.”

“The question does call for speculation, Mr. O’Leary,” Meyers said.

“If the court will indulge me, Your Honor, I believe Detective Crosswhite will explain why it does not.”

“I’ll give you some leeway but make it quick.”

“Could it have been a possiblity that your sister wore these pistol-shaped earrings?” Dan asked.

“No.”

“How can you be so emphatic given your testimony that your sister had a propensity to change her mind?”

“My father gave Sarah the pistol earrings and the necklace after she won the Washington State Cowboy Action Shooting Championship when she was seventeen. The year, 1992, is engraved on the back of each earring. Sarah wore them once. They gave her horrible ear infections. She couldn’t wear anything but twenty-four-carat-gold or sterling-silver posts. My father thought they were sterling silver, but they clearly weren’t. Sarah didn’t want to upset him, so she never told him. She also never wore them again to my knowledge.”

“Where did she keep them?”

“In a jewelry box on her dresser in her bedroom.”

Meyers had stopped rocking. The gallery too had stilled. Out the windows the ethereal dark fingers reached further down from the sky and the snowfall had grown heavier.

“Thank you,” Dan said and quietly returned to his seat.

Clark sat with his index finger pressed to his lips as Tracy left the stand. Her heels clicked the marble floor as she made her way across the well to the gallery. As she did, a sudden gust of wind rattled the windows, spooking those in the gallery who were sitting nearby them. One woman gasped and flinched. Otherwise, no one moved. Even Maria Vanpelt, resplendent in a royal-blue St. John pantsuit, sat still, looking pensive.

Only one person looked as if he’d enjoyed the morning’s events. Edmund House rocked onto the back legs of his chair, smiling like a man who had just had his fill at a fine restaurant and had savored every last bite.





[page]CHAPTER 47





At the start of the afternoon session, Judge Meyers retook the bench looking resigned. “It appears the weathermen got it partially correct,” he said. “The third storm is approaching, though they expect it to hit sooner than anticipated, as early as late this afternoon. I am going to push counsel to finish the hearing today, if at all possible.”

Dan immediately stood and announced that Harrison Scott would be the defense’s last witness.

“Let’s get to it, then,” Meyers said.

Tall and lean, Scott took the witness chair in a steel-gray suit. In quick order Dan went through Scott’s educational background as well as his credentials. Scott had been head of the Washington State Crime Labs in Seattle and Vancouver, Washington, before he had gone into private practice to start Independent Forensics Laboratories.

“What type of work does IFL specialize in?” O’Leary asked.

Scott pushed sandy-blond hair off his forehead. Except for the patches of gray at his temples, he looked too young for his impressive resume. He looked like he should be riding waves off the beaches of Southern California. “We do all disciplines of forensic work, from DNA analysis to processing latent fingerprints, firearm and tool-mark analysis, crime scene analysis, and micro-analysis of things such as hairs and fibers, glass, paint.”

“Would you explain to the court what I asked your laboratory to do in this particular case?”

“You sought a DNA analysis on three blood samples and thirteen hair samples.”