William Lashner - Falls The Shadow

The D.D.S. giveth, the D.D.S. taketh away, blessed be the name of theD.D.S.

I sat back down at my table and was thinking it through, the breakup, the warning, the sacrifice of my tie, the increasing amount of pressure being brought to bear, when the waitress appeared at the table.

“There’s only one of you now?” she said.

“Afraid so.”

“So what will it be?”

I looked up at her. She was pretty cute actually, short orange hair, black lipstick, a stud in her nose. She looked like she might be fun. I know she was only a waitress, and men are helplessly attracted to waitresses, it is something in our jeans, but still, it was a pretty good sign. I guess it hadn’t taken me too long to get over Carol.

“Let me have a hamburger,” I said, “and burn it.”

They have damn good hamburgers at Rembrandt’s, and I suppose, after being pushed around once again by Dr. Bob, I was in the mood for charred red meat.

A professor in law school used to tell us that we, as lawyers, were like gods of creation in the courtroom. Nothing existed unless we chose to show its existence. We picked the evidence, we picked the witnesses, we framed the questions, we created the universe of the trial. The next day in court, I was one angry deity, ready to shift that universe on its very axis, and I felt, strangely, up to the task.

I was feeling more myself than I had for weeks. I was bursting with energy, my mood was brighter, I had a little bounce in my step. What was the cause of my newfound confidence? Let’s put it this way: Popeye needs his spinach, Queeg needs his strawberries, Sauron needs his ring. And me, I suppose I need my red polyester tie. With my old friend rescued from the bottom of the sock drawer and back around my neck, I was ready to rumble. And my tag team partner that day was our criminalistics expert, Dr. Anton Grammatikos.

You want your expert witness to be tall and gray and well spoken, or maybe short and energetic and familiar to the jurors from the O. J. Simpson trial, or at least someone who doesn’t look like he’s ready to sell you a used car at a steep discount. Which is why Anton was available at a moment’s notice and a pauper’s price. But the thing about Anton Grammatikos, despite the underwhelming impression he made on the witness stand, was that he really knew his stuff.

“Your Honor,” I said after I had exhaustively questioned Anton on his credentials, which, despite his checkered sport coat, unshaven face, and truck driver’s manner, were quite impressive, “I move to qualify Dr. Grammatikos as an expert in the forensic sciences.”

“Any objection, Ms. Dalton?” said the judge.

“Could I ask just a few questions on his qualifications, Judge?”

“Go ahead.”

Mia Dalton winked at me as she stood up. “Dr. Grammatikos,” she said, “I understand you have written a book on the forensic sciences, isn’t that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “It’s like one of those educational books, you know, like Golf for Idiots and Piano for Dummies .”

“And your book is in one of those series, Doctor?”

“Nah. When I pitched them, they said they wanted someone a little more famous, like that Dr. Lee guy, who doesn’t really know as much as he thinks, believe me. So instead I decided to start my own series. Well, you know, the idiot thing and the dummy thing had all been copyrighted, so I had to come up with something new, something fresh.”

“So what is the title of your book, Dr. Grammatikos?”

“Forensic Science for Mental Midgets.”

Dalton turned to the jury and watched as they laughed. I told myself they were laughing with my expert and not at my expert, although my expert wasn’t laughing.

“How is it selling, Doctor?” said Dalton.

“Not so good.”

“Any idea why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not quite the right title for Harvard.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Dalton.

“But you should read it, Counselor,” said Anton, leaning forward, nodding his head sagely. “It’s right up your alley.”

Mia Dalton’s jaw tightened as the jury laughed again.

“No objection,” said Dalton.

“Dr. Grammatikos is hereby qualified as an expert in the forensic sciences,” said the judge. “Go ahead, Mr. Carl.”

“I want to ask you now, Doctor, about the E-Zee Self Store just outside Exton, Pennsylvania. Are you aware of that facility?”

“Now I am, sure.”

“How did you become aware of it?”

“You gave me a call, asked me to examine one of the units there, number twenty-seven.”

“Did you ever learn who had rented that unit?”

“Yeah, I did. I examined the records at the self-store office.”

“And whose unit was it, Dr. Grammatikos?”

“It turned out to be rented by the defendant sitting over there, François Dubé. He rented it out about the time he and his late wife separated, but before the murder. According to the books, he paid for five years of storage in advance.”

Every head in the courtroom swiveled to stare at François, who looked up at me with a quizzical expression. I gave him a look that said it was going to get worse before it got better.

Slowly, carefully, I took Anton into the storage locker, let him describe the strange scene, with the lounge chair, the television and VCR, the box of videos, the six-pack of beer. He had taken photographs of the locker, and after a long bit of legal wrangling, I was able to introduce those into evidence. He testified, based on the amount of dust, the state of insects trapped beneath the recliner, the self-store records, that the locker had been set up in this weird way at least two years before he examined it but after the date François Dubé was first arrested.

“Now, Doctor, it’s important to know if this was indeed set up after François was in jail, because he has not been out since his arrest. Are you sure about your analysis?”

Anton shrugged. “I been doing this for a while, Counselor. I even wrote that book. Besides, I had something a little more concrete as to date.”

“What was that?”

“The beer bottles had dates printed on them based on the day and date they were brewed. That batch was brewed two months after the defendant’s arrest.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “Now, you mentioned a box of videos, is that right?”

“Sure, there was a box. You can see it in a couple of the pictures.”

“What kind of videos were in the box?”

“It was a rather eclectic selection. There were two types of commercial videos. There were some kids’ videos, about five or six, and then a number of commercial pornographic tapes. You want me to give you the titles?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Aim to Please, Succubus, Oh My Gush 7-”

“Is this necessary, Mr. Carl?” said the judge.

“Not really, sir, I just get a kick out of the titles.”

“Then that’s enough.”

“Fine. Now, Doctor, were there any noncommercial videos?”

“Yes. There was the defendant’s wedding video, they made a beautiful couple, and one family video, with shots of the defendant and his wife and his very young daughter. And then there were three homemade videos of, how should I put it, a more prurient nature.”

“Sex videos?”

“There you go.”

“Who was in them?”

“The defendant and a number of other persons I couldn’t identify. Along with some objects and masks that were also in the storage locker.”

“I want to show you some videocassettes,” I said as I brought three cassettes, each in its own plastic bag, to the witness. “Do you recognize these?”

“These are the sex videos I was talking about. I recognize the labels with the spots, and I put a tape on each of them with my initials.”