Guilt

'I'm looking,' Drumm said. 'Yeah, here it is. A-positive for the second blood.'

'And while we're here, what was Mrs Dooher's blood type?'

As though he hadn't just a second before reviewed the report, Drumm scanned it again. 'She was O-positive.'

'Did you run DNA testing on the second sample?'

'No.'

'And why not?'

'I don't know. Nobody asked me to.' Jenkins was hoping against hope that Drumm would supply the useful information that they hadn't run DNA because they had nothing to compare it to – the blood had belonged to a man who was dead and cremated. But then, certainly without meaning to, Drumm gave her something. 'The DNA didn't matter anyway.'

This brought an audible reaction from the gallery – nothing approaching an outburst, more a sustained hum. Thomasino tapped his gavel and it disappeared.

'Why didn't it matter whose blood was mixed with Mrs Dooher's at the murder scene?'

'Because the blood did not come directly from a body. It came from a vial.' Jenkins questioned him to bring out the EDTA angle and the picture gradually began to emerge.

'In other words, Mr Drumm, the second blood discovered at the murder scene was brought there?'

'Looks like it.'

Farrell's direction was becoming clear. He wasn't going to take up much of Mr Drumm's incredibly valuable time. His cross-examination consisted of two questions.

'Mr Drumm, did you find any of Mr Dooher's blood in either of the two samples you analyzed?'

And: 'Mr Drumm, did you find any of Mr Dooher's blood on either the knife or surgical glove that were found at the scene?'

The answer to both was no.

Peter Harris didn't like testifying for the prosecution against one of his patients. From the witness box, he raised a hand, greeting Dooher. The jury certainly noticed.

But Jenkins needed him to put the tainted blood in Dooher's hands. 'Dr Harris, are you the defendant's personal physician?'

'I am.'

'And on what date did the defendant have his last appointment with you?'

Harris by now knew the date by heart, but he pulled out a pocket notebook and appeared to be reading from it. 'It was a routine physical, Friday, May thirty-first, at two-thirty.'

'Friday, May thirty-first, at two-thirty. Thank you. Now, Doctor, do you draw blood from patients in your office?'

'Yes, certainly.'

'Often?'

A shrug. Ten times a day, sometimes more. It's a routine procedure.'

Jenkins nodded. 'Yes. And when you draw blood, what do you do with it?'

'Well, that depends on the reason we drew the blood in the first place.'

Glitsky saw Jenkins straighten her back, take a deep breath. He was glad she was slowing herself down. Her questions weren't precise enough. She wasn't getting what she wanted. She tried again. 'What I meant, Doctor, is when you draw this blood, you put it in vials, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'And what happened to these vials?'

'We send them to the lab.'

'Good. Before you send them to the lab, do you lock them up?'

'No.'

'Are they within anyone's reasonable reach?'

Harris was uncomfortable with this, but was trying his best to be cooperative. Again, he looked over at Dooher, gave him a nervous, apologetic smile. 'Sometimes.'

'On a counter, or a tray, or by a nurse's station, something like that. Is that what you mean?'

'Yes.'

'Before you can take these vials to the lab, they are often left sitting out in your office, accessible to anyone who wanted to take one, is that right?'

A wry expression. 'Not so much anymore, but yes.'

'Do you lose a lot of these vials, Doctor?'

'No.'

'Have you ever lost a vial?'

'Yes. A couple of times.'

'Did you lose a vial on Friday, May thirty-first?'

'Yes, we did.'

'And whose blood was that, the blood missing from your office on May thirty-first?'

The patient was Leo Banderas.'

'And what blood type does Mr Banderas have?'

'A-positive.'

Glitsky shifted his gaze over to the defense table. This testimony was going to be Dooher's darkest hour. The defense team seemed to know it, too, and the three of them sat, rapt, waiting for what was going to come next.

'Do you happen to know, Doctor, what time Mr Banderas's appointment was for on that Friday, May thirty-first?'

Slowly, though he knew the answer, Harris reached for his little book and checked it one last time. 'One forty-five.'

'Or forty-five minutes before the defendant's appointment?'

For the third time, Harris made eye contact with Mark Dooher. Then he nodded to Jenkins. 'That's right.'

Jenkins glanced up at the wall clock. It was late enough that Thomasino would adjourn for the weekend the minute she let Harris go, and the jury would have a couple of days to live with this most unlikely of coincidences. Thank you, Doctor. That's all.' She turned sweetly to Farrell. 'Your witness.'

But Farrell had barely moved to get up when Thomasino interrupted.

'Ladies and gentlemen, it's a quarter to five and I think we've all had a long week. We'll adjourn now until-'

'Your honor!' There was a shrillness now to Farrell's voice, an edge of panic. 'Your honor, if the court pleases, I just have a few quick questions for this witness and then we can start out fresh on Monday morning. And the doctor won't have to come back downtown to court,' he added helpfully.

The Judge looked again at the clock, shook his head no, and whacked his gavel. He told Farrell and the rest of the room that court was adjourned until Monday morning at nine-thirty.

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Glitsky, Thieu and Jenkins were at a subterranean table in Lou the Greek's, savoring their moment of glory. Glitsky and Thieu were nursing iced teas, but Jenkins had a double martini half-gone and another full one in front of her. It was Friday, by God, and she'd earned it.

'I love this blood thing,' Jenkins said. 'Even without the DNA on Banderas, it's pretty strong.'

Glitsky finished chewing some ice. 'It could always be stronger,' he said, 'but this is good.'

Thieu hadn't been in court, and as usual wanted to know everything. Glitsky thought if he kept up the way he'd been going, soon he would. He already knew everything about everything else.

When Thieu had been filled in, he said, 'It's a shame old Leo died and got cremated before we knew what was up. A sample of his blood to compare to what we found at Dooher's would sink our boy, wouldn't it?'

Jenkins wasn't going to cry over that spilled milk. 'The story the jury just heard – the missing vial – that's all we needed. Juries don't believe DNA, anyway. They don't understand it.'

'Paul does,' Glitsky said. 'I think he invented it, in fact.'

'What's to understand?' Thieu, in fact, had no problem with it. 'It's a fingerprint. It's there, it's you. It's not, not. Am I wrong here?'

'Nope,' Glitsky answered. 'That's the theory, and a fine one it is, too.' He started to slide out of the booth, then stopped. 'Oh, Amanda? – in the rush I forgot. The second chair, Christina? I talked to her at lunch. She didn't know about it. She's not the motive.'

Thieu leaned forward. 'I was thinking about that this afternoon, Abe, and she still could be the motive, even if she didn't know about it.'

Glitsky was shaking his head. 'Not if the two of them didn't have anything sexual going into it. How's Dooher going to know he can get her, sure enough to kill his wife for it, risk a trial, all of this? It's too much.'

Thieu shrugged. 'The guy loves games. Look at Trang, look at Nguyen, the Price woman. This is who this guy is. I could see him doing it just for the challenge, not even knowing how it's going to come out.'

With anyone else, Glitsky would have been tempted to laugh off this idea as too far-fetched, but Thieu hadn't been wrong very often so far.