John Lescroart - A Plague of Secrets

Getting three new names approved onto his witness list had entailed another small battle with Braun and Stier this morning in the judge’s chambers, but in the end Hardy argued that he had discovered new evidence that, in the interests of justice, the jury would need to hear in order to reach the correct verdict.

Of course, this announcement had aroused Stier’s deep suspicion and ire, and he’d demanded to know the substance of the prospective testimony. Hardy acknowledged that in the first case-Jessica Cunningham-it was fingerprint evidence; and in the second- Jennifer Foreman-Stier already had had access to everything she might know, since she was on his original witness list. Indeed, she was one of the three uncalled old college friends of Maya.

Finally, Hardy said, “You know Chiurco. He’s one of my investigators. And here’s what he’s going to say.” And he handed the prosecutor Chiurco’s short signed statement. Stier grumbled for a moment that he should have gotten these witnesses at the beginning of the trial, but everybody knew that this was a nonissue. The witnesses would be permitted to testify. But, Braun warned him, Hardy had better be sure he was talking about introducing new evidence and not spending a lot of time rehashing.

But-the bottom line-he was going to be able to get it all in. And now, his palms wet, his mouth dry, Hardy lifted his exhausted body from his chair. “The defense would call Jessica Cunningham.”

The bailiff disappeared out through the back door of the courtroom and returned a moment later with a young woman in a police officer’s uniform. She made her way up the center aisle and into the bullpen, where she took the oath and then moved around to the witness seat.

“Ms. Cunningham,” Hardy began, “will you tell the jury what you do for a living, please?”

“Sure.” She turned to look at the panel. “I’m a technician in the police department’s lab here in the city.”

“In that capacity, do you have a special expertise?”

“I do. I do fingerprint analysis.”

“Identifying people by their fingerprints, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been doing that?”

“About six years.”

For a few more moments Hardy established Cunningham’s credentials as an expert in this field. Then he began to bring it closer to home. “Did you have occasion several months ago to analyze the fingerprints found in the home of one of the victims in this case, Levon Preslee?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Can you tell the jury what you found?”

Of course, this testimony had already been cursorily addressed in the testimony of Debra Schiff, but now he had the lab technician herself on the stand, and a completely different approach. Cunningham, enthusiastic and professional, nodded and again spoke directly to the jury. “Well, as in most locations, we found many fingerprints.”

“How many separate prints in all did you locate?”

“Oh, maybe fifteen or so.”

“Could you identify any of them?”

“Yes. Six came back from the victim.”

“Were you able to identify any of the other eight or nine?”

“A few, yes.”

“But not all?”

“No.”

“Is it unusual to find fingerprints at the scene of a crime that you cannot connect to any individual?”

“No.”

“And why is that?”

“Because, first, not everyone has their fingerprints on file. Secondly, sometimes, or really quite often, the fingerprints are not clear enough to match the computerized records. And finally, there are a limited number of databases we typically use to try to get our matches. Most of the time, for example, we’re trying to match a fingerprint to a known suspect, and in that case it’s a simple one-on-one cross-check.”

“Did you compare the defendant’s fingerprints to the remaining unidentified fingerprints at Mr. Preslee’s?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Trying to see if any of those belonged to the defendant?”

“Right.”

“And, just to restate it for the jury, you did not find any of the defendant’s fingerprints at Mr. Preslee’s, did you?”

“No.”

Hardy threw a gratuitous look over his shoulder at Stier’s table, where he and Schiff sat in miserable proximity. “Now, Ms. Cunningham, as far as you knew, back in November when you ran these comparisons, did you compare the unknown prints to anyone’s besides the victim, Mr. Preslee, and the defendant, Maya Townshend?”

“Yes. The other victim, Dylan Vogler, and Mr. Preslee’s friend, Brandon Lawrence.”

“So two more people?”

“Yes.”

“Could you identify any of your unknown prints from the crime scene to any of those?”

“Yes. Two of those fingerprints came back to Brandon Lawrence.”

“Leaving you with seven unidentified prints. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“Were you able to identify any of your remaining seven latents?”

“Actually, we identified four of them because they were in the criminal database, which is our primary tool.”

“So there were three that remained unidentifiable, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Now, Ms. Cunningham”-Hardy closing in on it-“have you had a recent opportunity to revisit the fingerprints you originally lifted at Mr. Preslee’s home?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And when was that?”

“Just this morning.”

Hardy felt some sonic energy begin to shoot through the gallery, but he spoke over it. “And how did that come about?”

“Lieutenant Glitsky of homicide reached me at home this morning and asked me if I would come in early and go back to the unidentified fingerprints and compare them to a specific other single set of fingerprints from another database to see if there was a match.”

“And was there a match?”

“Yes, there was.”

“You mean there was a specific individual who had left his fingerprints in Mr. Preslee’s home and whom this investigation had not discovered until just this morning, is that right?”

“That’s correct, yes.”

Braun gaveled down the now nearly constant, if low-pitched, hum of the gallery. After silence had been restored, Hardy came back at the witness. “Ms. Cunningham, did Lieutenant Glitsky ask you to review any other fingerprint findings this morning?”

“Yes.”

“And what were they?”

“There was a partial fingerprint on the brass bullet casing that was picked up at the scene of the Vogler murder.”

“A partial print? What does that mean?”

“Actually, most prints are partial prints. It’s rare on a forensic sample to get an entire fingerprint from somebody. But this print was a smaller section even than most.”

“And can that be useful for purposes of identity?”

“Often not.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s incomplete. Certainly a computer can’t read it, so you have to have the known prints of an individual, you have to do a manual comparison, and you have to find enough points of identification on the forensic sample to compare to your known prints.”

“Now, Lieutenant Glitsky asked you to run a manual test against the known fingerprint of a single individual whose prints were in Levon Preslee’s home, did he not?”

“Yes.”

“Did you find a match?”

“I’m sorry. The testing is not completed. As I said, it’s a very small sample and I just haven’t had enough time yet.”

Hardy would have given his left arm to know the final results of this test. But this was it. If he was going to spring this trap, it was going to happen right now before anyone got wind of what he was up to. He had to press ahead. “All right. So now, Ms. Cunningham, can you give us the name whose fingerprint you identified in Mr. Preslee’s home?”