David Kessler - No Way Out

Sarah now assumed control of the presentation system and pressed a button. On the screen a report appeared.

“And is this your report in this case?”

“Yes.”

It was the first page of the report, stating that the suspect, Elias Claymore could not be eliminated as a suspect. Sarah pressed another button.

“And this is the second page?”

“Yes.”

“The second page showed the breakdown of the different fragment lengths at the different locations on the crime scene samples and the equivalent for the suspect.”

Locus

B. Newton (index fingernail)

Elias Claymore (ref sample)

19

17

17

385a/b

16, 19

16, 19

388

12

12

389-1

13

13

389-2

31

31

390

21

21

391

10

10

392

11

11

393

16

16

426

11

11

437

14

14

438

11

11

439

12

12

447

28

28

448

24

24

460

10

10

H4

11

11

YCA2a/b

17, 19

17, 19

450

8

8

456

16

16

458

18

18

464 a/b/c/d

13, 16, 17

13, 16, 17

“Now I see from this table that the lengths of the strands for the suspect and crime scene sample are identical. What does this tell us?”

“It tells us that there were no exclusions. This means that the suspect could not be eliminated as a possible source of the DNA in this sample from the victim’s fingernails.”

An eerie silence hung over the courtroom before the prosecutor spoke again.

“And were you able to establish the probability of a randomly selected male matching this particular DNA profile?”

“Yes. In the general population as a whole, this profile or ‘haplotype’ as we call it, is likely to occur in one in every four thousand males.”

“One in four thousand, is that correct?”

“Yes, one in four thousand.”

“Your witness,” said Sarah Jensen, turning to the defense table.

But as Alex was about to rise, the judge spoke.

“We’ll take a twenty minute recess.”

“Will he live?” asked the driver of the police car as the gurney was raised into the ambulance outside the parking structure.

“Oh yeah,” said the ambulance attendant. “It’s not life threatening.”

“Pity.”

There was a certain amount of macho posturing in this interjection. The cop was not, in fact, as hard as he was trying to sound. He was a rookie and had never killed a man before. Nor was he looking forward to doing so, although he knew that at some point in his career he might have to. Even the sight of Martine and her condition, couldn’t make him wish that the man was dead.

“It’ll be okay,” said his partner.

The rookie backed off as the ambulance crew closed the doors and drove off.

Martine was being treated in situ by a second ambulance crew. Another squad car had been summoned and a victim chaperone was taking her preliminary statement.

“So what do we know?” asked the rookie. His partner had been getting further information while he had stood aside, trying to calm down after the shock of the impact.

“Name’s Manning, Louis Manning. Has a string of priors for possession and dealing.”

“Anything for rape or indecent assault?”

“No. Just dope.”

“I guess that’s gonna change now.”

“Uh huh. He cornered her as she was getting into her car. She’s a reporter on the Claymore case.”

“No shit.”

The rookie looked over to where she was making a statement to the other team.

“She’s cute.”

“She’s gotta be. She does the TV news.”

The rookie looked away embarrassed when Martine noticed him starting.

“That her car?”

“No his. Hers is up on Level Four. She was getting into her car for a change of makeup or whatever and he was getting something out from the passenger side of his when he jumped her.”

“Didn’t she see him approaching?”

“His car was right next to hers.”

“Sounds like a setup.”

“Probably was.”

“She okay?”

“Think so. She maced him in the face so she must be pretty tough.”

The rookie looked at the Mercedes.

“You say he was a dealer?”

“That’s what his rap sheet says.”

“He must’ve been making some serious dough.”

“Oh yeh that’s another thing. She said that one thing that caught her attention just before he jumped her was the car, because it matched the description of the one in the case she’s covering.”

“What the Claymore rape case?”

“Yeah.”

“Well maybe we should check it out.”

“I was planning to.”

The older cop put in a call on his radio. About twenty seconds later the dispatcher replied.

“Those license plates come from a 1993 Pontiac Firebird licensed to one Louis Manning in New Mexico.”

“Okay thanks,” said the older cop. He looked over at his partner to make sure that had heard it.

“So he used his old plates,” said the rookie.

“That’s the way they do it. Steal a top-of-the range Merc to replace an aging Pontiac and transfer the legal plates to the stolen vehicle.”

“But we can check the VIN to trace the real owner.”

“Exactly.”

The older cop smiled. He’d seen it all before: the young, eager rookie showing off how much he’s learned. He’d been like that too, when he was rookie.

They walked over to the car as it was being hitched to the tow truck. The tow truck team stood back while the rookie and his partner opened the driver’s door and looked for the plate on the dashboard with the serial number. The rookie spoke into his radio.

“We need a make on Vehicle Identification Number 4DB-NG-7-zero-JX-9K-234-299.”

The dispatcher came back even more quickly on this one.

“That vehicle is registered with the California DMV as a Mercedes belonging to Elias Claymore.”

“Okay, thank you,” said the rookie, letting out a whoop of delight.

Martine was in the rape suite at the police station in the Frank H Ogawa Plaza. Unlike Bethel Newton, they hadn’t taken any vaginal or oral swabs or even nail clippings. But they had taken photographs of her injuries and tapings from her clothes to show fiber matches with Louis Manning’s clothes.

The victim chaperone dealing with her had told her not to be surprised if Manning tried to use a consent defense, but pointed out that her injuries would be corroborative of her version of events. There seemed to be a sense of gloom however, as if to make her aware of the fact that she could expect her reputation to be attacked by the defense lawyers as a matter of course.

That reminded her about one very particular defense lawyer whom she wanted to call. She asked if it was okay and when the victim chaperone said yes, she whipped out her cell phone and put in a call to Alex. She was expecting to get his message box, because he was in court, but was surprised when he answered in person.

“Martine where are you?”

“I’m at the police station up at the Ogawa Plaza.”

“Why what’s happening there?”

“I was attacked.”

“What?”

“Some one tried to rape me.”

“Holy shit! Who?”

“I don’t know his name. I got him with pepper spray and the cops busted him.”

“Are you all right?”

“A bit shaken, but everything intact.”

“Thank God.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”

“I’m coming round there.”