Steve Martini - Undue Influence

‘Besides the absence of tattooing, in your examination of the wound did you find anything else that was in your view peculiar?’

‘Yes. I discovered microscopic pieces of metal in the tissues immediately inside the entrance wound.’

‘Do you have any opinion as to what caused these?’

‘No. Metallurgic reports indicate that the substance in these fragments is composed of a low-quality, low-carbon steel, minute shavings. Since this is not a steel-jacketed bullet, they could not have come from the bullet itself.’

‘Then where did they come from?’

‘It’s hard to say,’ says Angelo. ‘My best guess is from the barrel of the gun itself. Some defect,’ he says.

This is clearly lame. Soft lead does not cut case-hardened steel. Still they leave it at that.

Cassidy then turns her attention to the unborn child, the fact that Melanie Vega was pregnant at the time of her death. It is clear that she would end on a high point. In this case emotion.

‘Was there any way to tell the gender of this child?’

‘It was male.’

‘Doctor, can you tell us how far along fetal development was at the time of death?’

‘From all indications it was in the early stages of the second trimester. I would say about four months,’ he says.

‘And can you tell us the cause of death for this unborn child?’

‘Asphyxiation,’ he says.

‘Please explain?’

‘A fetus in the womb has no independent source of sustenance other than from the mother through the umbilical cord. This carries not only nutrition, but oxygenated blood, which keeps the child alive. If the mother dies, her heart ceases to pump blood, and the child’s oxygen supply is cut off. Unless the child can sustain life outside of the womb and is removed within minutes, it will suffocate.’

‘It must have been an agonizing death,’ she says.

‘Objection!’ I’m on my feet.

‘Is that a question for the witness?’ says Woodruff.

‘Yes, it is, your honor.’ Cassidy scrambles to cover up.

‘Do you have a medical opinion, doctor, would this be an agonizing form of death for the unborn child?’

‘There are no solid medical studies,’ he says. ‘We are not sure how much pain a fetus at that stage of development feels.’

I can think of a score of organizations that would be happy to supply him with literature.

There is a hush of voices in the audience, as if there is some serious division of views on this. Several jurors shake their heads. The only one, it seems, who doesn’t have an opinion is Laurel. She seems to sit, utterly dazed by the evidence of a dead child. Though we have discussed this several times, the effect on Laurel is always the same: to deliver her into a world of her own.

‘Doctor, is there any way to medically ascertain whether the child was potentially viable at the time of the mother’s death?’

‘Potential viability’ as used here means that if left undisturbed, if the mother had not been killed, the fetus would have had every chance of surviving to term, to being delivered healthy and alive.

‘It would be my considered medical opinion that this unborn child, the fetus carried by Melanie Vega, suffered from no deformities, no congenital defects or abnormalities that might have prevented a normal birth. For this reason it must be considered potentially viable,’ he says.

If this stands uncontested, Cassidy will be entitled to a jury instruction at the appropriate time regarding multiple murder — and invoking the death penalty.

When I look over, Morgan is scavenging one more time through the evidence cart, a large manila envelope from which she pulls what appear to be several large color photographs, hues of red and cyanotic blue.

I’m on my feet. ‘Your honor, if Ms. Cassidy has what I think she has, I’m going to request a recess and a conference in chambers.’

‘What is it you have there?’ says Woodruff.

‘Some pictures, your honor.’ She hands them up to the judge, three color glossies from what I can see, eight-by-ten.

The glasses propped on the end of Woodruffs nose nearly drop off on the bench as he gets a gander.

‘We’d better talk,’ he says.

We’re in chambers, Cassidy, Harry, the judge, the court reporter, and myself, all talking at once.

‘There’s no conceivable reason these shouldn’t come in,’ says Cassidy.

‘There’s every conceivable reason.’ I walk on her line.

‘Your honor, highly prejudicial,’ says Harry.

‘These are awful.’ Even Woodruff is on her case.

‘Well, excuse me, your honor, but removing a dead unborn child from the womb of its murdered mother can be a little messy.’ Cassidy leaning on the prerogatives of womanhood, trying to cow the judge. ‘The next time we’ll ask the M.E. to wash it off first, before they shoot pictures.’

‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’ This has Woodruff backpedalling, wondering no doubt what women who vote might think of his comment and whether Morgan might carry the message.

‘The child is dead,’ she says. ‘These pictures evidence that fact. It is a multiple murder and the state is entitled to produce the evidence.’

‘She has a point,’ says Woodruff.

‘The medical examiner has already testified,’ I say.

‘There’s no question that the child is dead. The state already has ample evidence. The question here,’ I tell him, ‘is whether the pictures are prejudicial. There’s no question, they are highly inflammatory.’

‘What about that?’ says Woodruff. He is rubbernecking now, like a zealot at a Ping-Pong tournament, playing for time, looking for some winning point, a backhand smash upon which to hang his decision.

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘We concede we don’t need all three photographs. One will do,’ she says. ‘Surely one of these must be acceptable to the court. Under the law, there is a homicide here, and we are entitled to produce the evidence.’

Woodruff looks at the photos again. He puts one aside quickly and studies the other two, waffling motions with his head, wavering judgment written in his eyes.

Abstract arguments of unborn death I can deal with. Pictures of an embryonic infant, smaller than the palm of my hand, its oxygen-starved body turned the cyanotic blue of a night sky, is another matter. Confronted with such evidence, jurors become myopic. A terrible crime has been committed — not just an adult who could deal in the world, whose conduct may well have brought her own demise, but an innocent, an unborn infant. On such evidence juries are expected to act. They are not likely to be deterred by theories of another killer from whom they cannot exact justice. If these pictures come in, any one of them, the prosecution has become a locomotive moving on a single track, and Laurel Vega is tied to it.

Woodruff has a hand in the air, about to slap one of the pictures on the desk like a trump card in bridge.

‘We will stipulate.’ I speak before Woodruff can drop his hand.

He looks at me. ‘Stipulate to what?’ he says.

‘We’ll stipulate to the elements of multiple murder. In return the state puts on no more evidence regarding the unborn child, nothing until closing argument,’ I say.

Harry’s pulling on my arm — ‘Ullbay itshay’ — talking pig latin in my ear.

I pull away from him.

‘The prosecution insists that the photographs are necessary to establish the elements of multiple murder. We will concede that multiple murder has occurred here. Not that my client did it, but that whoever did is guilty of multiple murder.’

‘Do you understand what you’re offering?’ says Woodruff. ‘Once entered into, you can’t withdraw it. Giving up all right of appeal on the point later. If she’s convicted you’re conceding special circumstances, grounds for a capital sentence.’