The Night Swim(54)

A nurse or doctor goes over every square inch of skin, photographs every abrasion and bruise. It involves having pubic hair combed through and taken for comparison purposes. It involves being photographed internally and externally. And those photos become evidence for a whole lot of other strangers to pore over.

The thing is, while rape kits are used to collect the evidence of an alleged sexual assault, such as the perpetrator’s semen and pubic hairs, they rarely provide incontrovertible proof of consent. In the case of stranger rape, it’s not really an issue during the trial. It’s kind of a given that a victim didn’t consent to sex with a violent stranger.

In a case like the one in Neapolis, where the alleged victim knew the alleged perpetrator—I guess for want of a better word you could call it a date-rape case—it usually doesn’t meet the “beyond a reasonable doubt” evidentiary threshold just to show there was sexual intercourse. The prosecution needs to prove that the victim did not consent. That’s tough when it’s “his” word against “her” word.

Over the past few days in court, two charismatic criminal lawyers have lined up in a sort of courtroom duel. For the prosecution, Mitchell Alkins. Intimidating, filled with wrath. For the defense, Dale Quinn. Boyishly handsome. Charming. Born with a silver tongue.

Scott Blair, the defendant, has been there, too, listening to the prosecution’s case against him. He is tense. Nervous. What happens in that courtroom over the coming days will determine the course of his life, and his liberty.

The jury solemnly files into court each day. Those twelve ordinary folk will decide whether Scott Blair goes free or goes to jail. That’s how the criminal justice system works. Guilty or not guilty. His word, against her word. You’ll decide at home. But it’s the jury’s decision that will count.

I’m Rachel Krall and this is Guilty or Not Guilty, the podcast that puts you in the jury box.





31



Rachel


Mitch Alkins looked downright annoyed when the jury stumbled into court yawning after the lunch recess. Their eyelids heavy, they slouched in their seats as if settling in for an afternoon nap. Alkins was bringing his forensic expert to the stand. He needed a jury that was alert, not dozing after a heavy meal.

“I hope you all had a good lunch?” Judge Shaw bantered with the jury.

“They gave us fried chicken and corn bread with slaw and all that good stuff,” said the jury foreman, smacking his lips. Laughter erupted.

“Good to hear my staff is pulling out all the stops,” said Judge Shaw, his blue eyes for once twinkling in amusement. Mitch Alkins was the only person in court who did not smile.

Dr. Wendy North was a petite woman in her early fifties. Rachel recognized her from the hotel. Just that morning she’d seen Dr. North eating breakfast at a window table at the hotel cafe.

Dr. North had a natural poise and melodic voice that Rachel thought would endear her to the jury. That is, if they managed to stay awake for her testimony.

Unfortunately for Alkins, Rachel noted, the fried chicken did its work as he moved through his preliminary questions about Dr. North’s experience and credentials. One of the jurors yawned. Another followed. Soon the yawning was like a virus spreading through the jury box. Their chairs creaked. They sighed restlessly. They yawned some more.

“Your Honor,” said Dale Quinn, during a pause while Dr. North took a sip of water, “to save time and reduce the burden on the jury, the defense is willing to acknowledge that Dr. North is a highly qualified forensic expert witness. We are further willing to acknowledge that the defendant had sexual intercourse with the complainant. We’ve already said as much.”

“That’s very thoughtful, Mr. Quinn.” Judge Shaw’s sarcasm stung. “That point could have been made half an hour ago. I suspect Mr. Alkins may have additional questions for his witness, since she went to the trouble of traveling across the country to get here.”

“As it happens, I do, Your Honor,” Alkins said, turning to the witness. “Dr. North, were you able to confirm that Miss Moore had sexual relations with the defendant, Mr. Blair?”

“Yes,” she said. “Semen traces collected during Kelly Moore’s rape kit matched Scott Blair’s DNA, taken from a swab of his cheek. It was a one in a hundred million match. We also found pubic hairs belonging to the defendant and traces of his saliva on her body. They all matched the defendant’s DNA.”

“So we know that the defendant had sexual intercourse with Kelly Moore,” Alkins stated. “In your expert opinion, does the evidence show whether Kelly Moore consented to the sexual intercourse?”

Dr. North leaned into the microphone to answer. “It’s my opinion after a close study of the forensic evidence that she did not consent,” she responded. “That she was sexually assaulted. Raped.”

She rose from her seat and approached an easel brought out by Alkins’s staff. The jury perked up when they saw the visual exhibit. Anything to break the monotony. On the easel was a chart with a black outline of a female body. Dr. North had placed red circles in various areas within the outline of the body.

“We found bruising, here, here, and here,” said Dr. North, pointing at each circle on the diagram to indicate the various locations. “We also found vaginal bruising in the external genitalia and intra-vaginal lacerations. They all indicate nonconsensual intercourse.”