Scott Turow - Identical

“I mean it, Mark. The judge will be pissed.”

“The judge is a big boy. He knows it’s an election. And you’re dodging Scuds from a billionaire crackpot. He knows you have to make news.” This was typical Mark, thinking he was an expert, even about an environment where he was actually a novice. Crully was caught up in his own slipstream. “Big public announcement that your prints aren’t at the scene,” said Crully. “Lands is going to say no DNA. That’s the end of the line for Kronon. And just in time.”

He asked what “just in time” meant. Crully tried to hold back for a second, then spilled.

“Greenway did some polling for Willie Dixon.” Dixon was the strongest black candidate, a city councilman from the North End, smart, but sometimes too strident for his own good. Still, Willie was running a strong campaign on a shoestring, punching way above his weight. There were two other African-Americans on the ballot, including May Waterman, a friend of Paul’s from the senate, who was in the race because Paul had told her several months ago that he wouldn’t mind at all if she ran. The same paid petition handlers had gathered signatures for both of them, and as Crully had predicted, no one had noticed. “You know there’s a guy over there with Willie playing both sides.”

In a campaign, there were always staffers who were looking over the hill. The mayor’s election would run in two stages, the first trip to the polls April 3, and then another ballot in May between April’s two highest finishers, assuming neither of them had reached a majority in April. If Willie didn’t make the runoff, some of Dixon’s people would want to jump to Paul and they were building their cred with Mark now.

“Anyway,” said Crully, “my guy says we’re only up six.”

Six. He nodded, holding back any panic. Crully was actually making sense. They’d absorbed Hal’s onslaught, the fingerprints would clear him, and the lawsuit, without the DNA test looming, would no longer tantalize the press. Today would be a good day.

Lands strode onto the bench with his face rigid. He knew D.B. well enough to see the judge was put out. Lands asked Mo Dickerman, who was seated in the first row of the courtroom, to step forward, and Mo limped up in front of the bench.

“Dr. Dickerman, I’ve seen your written report. Would you agree that what I read on the front page of the Tribune this morning is a fair summary?”

The courtroom filled with laughter, but Du Bois’s gray eyes shot toward Ray for just a second. He didn’t allow his gaze to drift to Paul, but there was no doubt where D.B. was placing the blame. It was part of this life that you often took a pasting for stuff you’d never wanted anybody to do.

“It seemed fairly accurate,” Mo said. “I could not identify any of the latent prints accumulated in 1982 in Ms. Kronon’s bedroom as being from Senator Gianis. There were a few about which I could not reach any conclusion without also seeing Cass Gianis’s prints, which I’ve suggested to both sides they might want to obtain. But the senator was otherwise excluded on any identifiable print from the scene.”

There was a little riffle from the spectators and the journalists’ row.

“Well,” said the judge, “I’m going to place your report in the court file, so it’s available to everyone else who may not have seen a copy in advance.” Du Bois was laying it on thick.

“Judge, I would just like to say-”

“No need, Mr. Horgan. We all know how this goes. It might be your side, it might be your opponents, it might be someone else whose agenda none of us understands. So I make no assumptions. And even though this was designated as a report to the court, I realize in retrospect that I didn’t explicitly advise the parties against premature disclosure. But let me be clear now. There will be a full investigation of any similar incident in the future. Understood?”

At the podium, Ray nodded several times, virtually bowing, his whole stout upper body canting from the waist like a knight’s before the throne.

“Judge,” said Tooley, “we’ll cooperate in any inquiry you want to make right now.”

“All right,” said Du Bois, ignoring Mel. Like many other people in this courthouse, the judge didn’t seem to hold Tooley in high regard. “So the pending matter is Mr. Kronon’s request to enforce his subpoenas to obtain the blood standards and the other evidence that remains in the hands of the state police, with the express intention that defendant Kronon can attempt to do DNA identification on the blood and any other genetic evidence from the crime scene. In addition, Mr. Kronon asks me to order Senator Gianis to provide a DNA sample by way of an oral swab.”

The judge looked briefly at a folder he had with him, then webbed his hands to address the courtroom.

“I’ve given this a great deal of thought. We know from Dr. Yavem that the DNA results are very, very likely to be inconclusive. And the fingerprint report of Dr. Dickerman reinforces that estimate. I agree with Mr. Horgan that at some point a chance of success that ends up getting measured in basis points makes a test burdensome and oppressive. But that’s not really the problem here. The question I have been wrestling with is whether inconclusive results could be relevant in any way to this proceeding.

“Now, in pondering this, I need to remember that this is Senator Gianis’s case. He sued Mr. Kronon, and in this lawsuit, like any other, it’s the plaintiff’s burden to prove that it’s more likely than not that what Mr. Kronon said on several occasions-namely, that Mr. Gianis was involved in the murder of Dita Kronon-is false, and, further, that in saying that, Mr. Kronon acted with reckless disregard for the truth. If we put the standard of proof in mathematical terms, it’s Mr. Gianis’s burden to prove that as a jury weighs the evidence, 51 percent goes his way.

“It’s also important to reflect on the meaning of the results Dr. Yavem might report. Yavem says that there is no better than a one in one hundred chance that he will get a positive result for either twin. Yet Dr. Yavem’s inconclusive finding won’t be a determination that the DNA present could come from anyone in the world. A result like that would be truly irrelevant. But when Yavem says his test is inconclusive, he is very likely to mean that the DNA might be Senator Gianis’s or it might be his twin’s. Talking only about that result, he’ll be saying it’s 50 percent either way.”

Sitting at the plaintiff’s table, studying Du Bois, he suddenly knew where this was going. He felt the alarm, like sudden nerve damage, rocket to his toes.

“So in trying to prove that 51 percent of the evidence shows Mr. Kronon’s accusations are false, by definition a 50 percent chance that the DNA is the senator’s is relevant. It’s an inconclusive result for the plaintiff, because it doesn’t further his goal of proving that the accusation was false. But for Mr. Kronon it’s quite pertinent to his defense. Because for the defendant to prevail in this lawsuit, a jury need only conclude there is a fifty-fifty chance that what he said was true.

“Now, as a citizen, I will say that I have some strong personal views about the underlying events. But my opinions have no place in this courtroom. I can only follow the law. And following the law carefully, I conclude that the DNA test is relevant to this proceeding. So I will authorize a subpoena to the state police and to the Greenwood County police for any genetic materials they have retained, especially all blood evidence, and I will allow Dr. Yavem to test those materials. And I will order Senator Gianis to produce a DNA specimen by way of oral swab to Dr. Yavem. Mr. Horgan, will you retain your own expert?”