William Lashner - Fatal Flaw

“How was this examination done?”

“Because of the color of the comforter, a dark blue, and the encrusted blood staining it, it was difficult to see the residue with the naked eye. We took an infrared photograph of the comforter, but that didn’t prove very helpful, which isn’t surprising, since infrared is better at revealing fouling than stippling. Then we made a search for nitrates using a Greiss test. We pressed a series of gelatin-coated photographic papers onto the comforter with a hot iron and then treated the papers to find the presence of nitrates, which would be found if there existed nitrocellulose on the comforter that had been incompletely burned. Nitrates were found in a wide, elliptical pattern, from which we concluded that the firing range was two to four feet.”

“All very technical, Officer Cantwell.”

“Most of our work is. That’s why we’re called technicians.”

“Now, you found these nitrates over a large part of the comforter.”

“Yes.”

“And what you found would qualify as stippling.”

“That’s right.”

“And this stippling would have been found not only over the comforter but also over the exposed surfaces of anything on the mattress.”

“I would assume so, yes.”

“Including the victim herself.”

“Yes.”

“And based on what you testified to earlier, this would have been clearly evident, as particles would be embedded in the skin or, in bouncing off, would have abraded the skin, isn’t that right?”

“That is what you would expect, but I didn’t examine the victim.”

“You examined her clothes, correct?”

“She was wearing a short nightshirt, a teddy, it’s sometimes called. We found blood and some nitrate residue around the bullet hole, what is known as bullet swipe.”

“But no stippling.”

“Yes, no stippling.”

“Now, let’s look at the autopsy report, shall we?”

“Objection. It is not her report.”

“The autopsy report was introduced through stipulation. I’m not asking her to lay a foundation, I’m asking her to use the information she has already provided to help us analyze the actual report.”

“Is this going somewhere, Counselor?”

“I hope so, Judge.”

“Let’s get there soon.”

“In the autopsy report Dr. Regent analyzed many of the organs of the victim in this case, including the skin, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“On the first paragraph on page four he mentions the bruise beneath her left eye, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

“In the second paragraph he mentions the general condition of the skin other than the bruise, doesn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“No other sign of insult to the skin, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, that is what he wrote.”

“Nothing about particles of gunpowder embedded in the skin, is there?”

“No.”

“And nothing about abrasions from particles bouncing off the skin, is there?”

“Not from what I can see.”

“So, in fact, in reading the autopsy, there is no evidence of stippling.”

“That’s right.”

“No evidence that her skin was in any way exposed to the nitrates released by the handgun.”

“Maybe not.”

“Now, here is my question, Officer Cantwell. Based on the test you performed with the photographic paper and the comforter, and based upon the absence of stippling on the victim’s clothes or skin, isn’t it quite possible that all the stippling occurred on the comforter only because her entire body, including her face, was covered by the comforter?”

“That might be one explanation.”

“So, to summarize your testimony, the shooter might have been as far from the victim as six feet, you can’t in any way deny the possibility that it was dark in the room, and you maintain that it is quite possible that the victim was entirely hidden by her comforter.”

“Yes, I suppose…”

“With all that, Officer, isn’t it possible that the shooter didn’t even know who it was beneath that comforter? With all that, Officer, isn’t it possible the shooter murdered the absolute wrong person? Isn’t that possible?”

There was to be no answer, of course. This was one of those obviously objectionable questions that lawyers throw in just so they can sneak in some argument in the midst of a cross-examination. But the point was made. It was the first time the jury had heard the possibility that maybe Hailey Prouix wasn’t the intended victim, and they listened to the whole examination with admirable interest. And so, I could tell, did Troy Jefferson.

“I don’t think they bought it,” he said to me after Judge Tifaro had recessed for the day.

“They don’t have to buy it, they just have to buy the possibility of it.”

“So what are you going to argue, that the lover meant to kill Guy and killed his one true love instead?”

“A sad tale worthy of Shakespeare, don’t you think?” I said. “The tragic story of one who loved not wisely but too well and threw it away by trying to kill off the competition and mistakenly murdering the woman he loved.”

“Sounds like a movie of the week.”

“Yes, it does. Maybe after this is over, I’ll option the story to ABC.”

“We have a new witness to add to our list.”

“Someone interesting, I hope.”

“Oh, yes, interesting as hell. You should never have tried to backstab us like you did on that stipulation. We’re calling the victim’s uncle. He’s known her all her life and he is thrilled as hell to testify against the man who killed his niece. He’s going to identify her, and then he’s got a few more things to say, and I’m going to let him say them.”

“Really?”

“Count on it. He’s going to bury your boy.”

“I certainly hope not. I’d like to speak to him before he testifies, if that’s all right. You know where he’s staying?”

“He’s at the DoubleTree.”

“Nice.”

“But don’t waste your breath. He’s not going to speak to you. He’s not going to say a word until he’s on the stand.”

“It shook you a little, didn’t it?” I said. “The wrong-victim theory.”

“Not really. We had seen the possibility beforehand. We were just wondering what took you so long to figure it out.”

As he walked out of the courtroom, I began to wonder the exact same thing. It must have always been a possibility, a close examination of the forensics reports would have shown it to me as clearly as they showed it to Skink. And if there was to be a parallel with the Jesse Sterrett murder, then it only made sense. The boy Hailey was planning to run away with, murdered. The man Hailey was planning to marry, an attempt on his life. It was so obvious. Why couldn’t I see it?

Because of my obsession. I was obsessed with Hailey Prouix. Call it love, call it lust, call it what you will, but it was an obsession and it colored everything I had done in this case, for better or for worse. She was the focus of my interest, so I assumed she was the focus of the killer’s interest, too. My obsession had been like a set of blinders, but the blinders were off.

Right from the courtroom I called Skink on my cell phone. “He’s at the DoubleTree.”

“All right,” said Skink. “I’ll get my man on it.”

“Any luck?”

“Not yet.”

“You better hurry. He’ll probably go on tomorrow afternoon.”

“It ain’t so easy. It’s a big desert.”

“No excuses, Skink.”

“I understand, mate.”

And he did, we all did. It was no time for excuses, it was no time for sitting back and waiting, no time for mere hope. The blinders now were off and Roylynn had been right all along. There was indeed a primordial evil that had blown through Hailey Prouix’s life and caused a swath of destruction. And now, in a court of law, it and I were coming face to face.