The Guardians(93)
On cross, Carmen Hidalgo asks a series of questions designed to cast more doubt upon the chain of custody. No, I do not know how long the boxes were in the attic, nor do I know who put them there, nor do I know for sure if Kenny Taft actually removed them himself before the fire, nor do I know if anyone helped him, nor do I know if he opened the boxes and tampered with the evidence. My responses are polite and professional. She’s just doing her job and doesn’t want to be here.
She presses me on the source of the rumors about Kenny Taft, and I explain that I have confidential sources to protect. Sure, I know more than I’m offering at this time, but I am, after all, a lawyer and understand confidentiality. She asks His Honor to instruct me to answer her questions. Cannon objects and delivers a mini-lecture on the sanctity of a lawyer’s work product. Judge Kumar denies her request and I return to my chair behind Quincy.
Dr. Kyle Benderschmidt is in the courtroom and eager to leave it. Bill Cannon calls him as our next witness and begins the tedious qualification process. After a few minutes, Judge Kumar looks at Carmen Hidalgo and asks, “Do you really want to question his qualifications?”
“No, Your Honor. The State will accept his credentials.”
“Thank you.” Kumar is not rushing anyone and seems to enjoy being in control. With only three years under his belt, he seems quite accomplished and confident.
Cannon bypasses the flawed testimony the jury heard from Paul Norwood—it’s briefed extensively by Mazy—and instead drills into the real proof. Now that we have the flashlight and the spatter, we no longer have to guess. On the big screen Benderschmidt presents photos taken by him recently and compares them to the trial exhibits used twenty-three years ago. The specks have faded in color over time, even though the lens was apparently shielded from light. He identifies the three largest ones and points to his sample. More enlarged photos, more forensic jargon. Benderschmidt launches into what quickly becomes a tedious science lesson. Maybe this is because my gene pool runs shallow with science and math, but whether I’m bored or not is insignificant. His Honor is absorbing it.
Kyle begins with the basics: human blood cells are different from animal blood cells. Two large images appear on the screen and Benderschmidt goes into professor mode. The image on the left is a greatly enlarged red blood cell taken from blood on the lens. The image on the right looks similar and is a red blood cell taken from a rabbit, a small mammal. Humans are mammals and their red blood cells are similar in that they do not have nuclei. Reptiles and birds have nucleated red blood cells, we do not. The professor taps his laptop, the images change, and we are lost in the world of red blood cells. The cell’s nucleus is small and round and serves as the cell’s command center. It controls the cell’s growth and reproduction. It is surrounded by a membrane. And on and on.
Attached to our petition was Benderschmidt’s full report, including pages of impenetrable stuff on cells and blood. I confess that I have not read it entirely, but something tells me Judge Kumar has.
The bottom line: Animal red blood cells vary greatly among species. He is almost certain that the blood on the lens of the flashlight found in Quincy’s car by Bradley Pfitzner came from a small mammal. He is emphatically certain that it is not human blood.
We did not bother with DNA testing the two samples because there was no reason to. We know that the blood on Keith’s shirt was indeed his. We know that the blood on the lens was not.
Watching Cannon and Benderschmidt tag-team through the testimony is like watching a finely choreographed dance routine. And they had never met until yesterday. If I were defending the $50 million lawsuit roaring down the pike, I would start talking settlement.
It’s almost 1:00 p.m. when Benderschmidt finishes off the rote series of lame questions tossed up by Carmen. Judging by his rail-thin frame, His Honor cares little about lunch, but the rest of us are weak with hunger. We break for an hour and a half. Frankie and I drive Kyle to the airport, stopping for a quick drive-through burger along the way. He wants to know as soon as possible when there is a ruling. He loves his work and loves this case and is desperate for an exoneration. Bad science convicted Quincy, and Kyle wants to clean up the mess.
For the past seven months, Zeke Huffey has enjoyed his freedom so much that he’s managed to avoid another arrest. He’s on probation in Arkansas and can’t leave the state without permission from his parole officer. He says he’s clean and sober and determined to remain so. A nonprofit loaned him a thousand dollars for his initial survival, and he’s working part-time at a car wash, a burger place, and a lawn maintenance company. He is surviving and has repaid almost half of his loan. Guardian bought him a plane ticket, and he takes the stand looking tanned and healthier.
His performance in the first hearing before Ole Judge Plank was exemplary. He owned his lies and, while blaming Pfitzner and a bad system, said he knew what he was doing. He had been planted as a snitch and had delivered beautifully. Now, though, he deeply regrets his lies. In a poignant moment that catches everybody off guard, Zeke looks across the courtroom at Quincy and says, “I did it, Quincy. I did it to save my own skin, and I sure wish I hadn’t done it. I lied to save me and to send you away. I’m so sorry, Quincy. I’m not asking for forgiveness, because if I was you I wouldn’t forgive me. I’m just saying I’m sorry for what I did.”
Quincy nods but does not respond. He will tell me later that he wanted to say something, to offer forgiveness, but he was afraid to speak in court without permission.