Detective Leo reached for the plastic baggie. He unzipped it and drew the plastic off the stapler, still holding it by one corner of the bag.
“As you can see, this stapler is constructed of three metal components all hinged at one end. This is the top. For description’s sake, we’ll refer to it as the ‘upper jaw.’” He pulled a pen from his pocket and used it to point at the top section, where the name of the manufacturer was printed in sprawling cursive. “Next, you have a chrome channel where you insert the rows of staples.” He pointed at the silver metal component. “The ‘lower jaw’ if you will.”
“Lastly we have the black metal base. On this particular model, if you press this button, here . . .” He flipped it over, struggling to pull the plastic baggie out of the way, keep hold of the stapler and point with the pen. Somehow he managed. Kali would be impressed. “It swings out of the way so that you can use it like a staple gun. Like for instance to staple papers to a cork board.”
Around the courtroom, people were nodding. The judge looked ready to kick the detective into higher gear.
“Our initial forensics processing revealed that the final prints on the stapler are Shannon Iver’s, as I’ve just said. But we had then sent this stapler to a consulting company with highly specialized equipment. We only received the results this morning along with the stapler itself.”
He now used his pen to pry open the stapler’s evil jaws. The spring-loaded metal clip that forced the staples forward squealed as it retracted, sliding along the metal edges of the “lower jaw.”
Shudders crawled up and down my spine. The back of Theresa’s hand throbbed as if she’d been the one bitten that day in my office.
“The thing we found out was that while there was blood and brain tissue on the outside of the stapler, there was none inside where the staples are housed. So it appears that the stapler’s ‘mouth’ was closed when it was used to bash—I mean, bring an end to Ms. d’Arc’s life. Afterward, the assailant must have then dropped the stapler. The jaws would have sprung open. We experimented with another stapler of the same model and it tended to open when dropped. So, according to the evidence, it was at that point that Ms. Iver picked up the stapler.”
“Objection!” the Crown cried.
The judge rolled her eyes. Unlike Judge Julius, she didn’t remove them first in order to do so. “Is there more, Detective?”
“Yes. Upon examination, we were able to determine that one of Conrad Iver’s fingerprints is divided here. Half on the top part of the stapler—the ‘top jaw.’ And half is on the silver part. The upper and lower jaws were obviously closed when Mr. Iver held it. Where his fingerprints lie, there is neither blood or brain matter.”
“And Ms. Iver’s prints?” Judge Wilson prodded.
“Yes, getting there, Your Honor. Shannon Iver’s prints are only on the top part, actually wrapping around the ‘upper jaw.’ That clearly demonstrates that she held the stapler while it was open. All of her prints overlay the body fluids.”
“And you didn’t notice this the first time.” The judge peered down at him, her face bland while her eyes bore into him.
Detective Leo was also an old hand in a courtroom. He remained unfazed. “We performed all of the required forensic tests within the extremely limited time frame. Normally we have more than ten days to produce results. There are long lead times for the equipment, you know. It’s not like those TV shows where the forensic techs just sit around waiting for evidence to come in or are willing to jump the processing queue as a favor.”
The judge sighed and sat back. “Yes, I do know that, Detective. Thank you for rushing the tests to accommodate this hearing. Mr. Hammerhead, any more questions for this witness?”
Gill rose, shot his cuffs and straightened his jacket. Before he’d been confident, now he was insufferable. “So, to be perfectly clear, Detective. This new forensic evidence—evidence that was derived using highly sophisticated equipment and is therefore irrefutable . . .”
“Yes?” Detective Leo responded. It hadn’t really been a question.
“This new evidence definitively supports my client’s description of events leading up to the unfortunate death of Ms. d’Arc. Is that right?”
“Yes. The evidence shows that it was the late Conrad Iver and not his daughter who bludgeoned Kirsty d’Arc to death.”
“Thank you, Detective. No more questions, Your Honor.”
Judge Wilson made a few notes. Raising her head, she blinked at Detective Leo as if surprised to still find him there. “Thank you, Detective. You may return to your duties.”
She made another note, then focused back on the courtroom.
“Well, gentlemen and Ms. Iver. I’m ready to make my decision now. Ms. Iver, if you would stand. I know we’ve rushed this along, partly for expediency’s sake and partly to get rid of that traffic jam created by the media.” She shot a glance at the small knot of reporters near the exit.
“But I cannot, in good faith, acquit you of the charges of the murder in the first degree.”
The crowd gasped and began to comment to each other. A harsh look from the judge quelled the chatter.
“Nor can I declare a mistrial.”
Again the crowd gasped. Shannon’s face turned bloodless—her living face matching the paleness of her disembodied soul. Would Conrad really faint?
“Instead, I am doing exactly what a preliminary hearing is designed to do. I’m dismissing the case altogether. There isn’t enough evidence here against Ms. Iver to warrant a trial, so I want this going on record as never having happened. Ms. Iver, you are free to go.” She nodded sweetly at Conrad, who still looked as if he might faint, before turning to her court clerk. “Both counsels. You are to read up on Canadian criminal trial procedures since you seem to have forgotten everything you learned in law school. I want a three-thousand-word essay defining the differences between a hearing and a trial on my desk by Monday. And you are not to watch any more courtroom dramas on TV. Either of you. Any questions?”
I watched the words “But, Your Honor!” die on both lawyers’ lips. Their gazes met; once again the two opposing counsels were united, this time in misery.
“Now then.” The judge shuffled her notes before looking over at the court clerk. “Who’s up next, Pam?”
“That would be Ms. Maddy Stryker on one, no, two, no, three charges, Your Honor.” She rifled through her notes. “Two new assault charges have been added to her murder one charge since we last saw her.”
The judge pushed her glasses back up her nose and flipped a few pages in one of those heavy green legal folders. “Oh, goody. Another live one. Seems she likes to strangle people. But let’s have a short recess first, shall we?” Judge Wilson lowered the file and exited by a side door. The rest of the observers began to make their way from the courtroom looking extremely disappointed. No murder meant no murder trial. Don’t you hate when that happens?
I stepped forward to escort Conrad back to his cell before realizing I, in my role as prison guard, had no further business with him. I could go now and meet him as agreed back in the ladies’ room we’d scoped out before the trial—I mean, preliminary hearing.
Something caught my eye. The stapler, still in its plastic baggie, lay on the witness stand where the detective had left it. As Lucy is my witness, I’ll never be bothered by that damn stapler again. I grabbed it by the baggie; no way was I touching my own blood and brainy bits, especially after they’d had ten days to, uh, percolate. I shoved the whole thing in my uniform pants pocket. It stuck out a bit but remained safely lodged there.
I followed Conrad from the courtroom.
Outside in the hall, Dante waited next to Willa. We locked eyes for one moment.