“Would you please describe what you’re seeing?” asked Ziegler.
“It’s a U-shaped or horseshoe-like mark, measuring about five inches across.”
“What could have made such a mark, Mr. Feinstein?”
“Well, I’d never seen anything like it myself, but Detective Schmitter—”
“Objection! Hearsay.”
“Goes to effect on the listener,” said Ziegler.
“Overruled,” said Pringle.
“Detective Schmitter’s comment’s led directly to me checking this matter out for myself,” said Feinstein, glaring at Dale and carefully measuring his words. “I have since with my own eyes seen a similar impression.”
“Where?” asked Ziegler.
“At the suggestion of Detective Burt Schmitter, I went to 6925 Hollywood Boulevard.”
“Which is what building?”
“Mann’s Chinese Theatre.”
“Go on.”
“Outside the theater, I saw a pair of similar impressions. They were Tosok footprints made in the cement.”
“Thank you. One final thing: the amount of blood spilled at the crime scene. Was it copious?”
“Objection. Leading.”
“The jury has already seen the crime-scene photos, Mr. Rice,” said Pringle. “No harm, no foul, in stating the obvious.”
“Yes,” said Feinstein. “ ‘Copious’ is a suitable word.”
“In your estimation, what would have likely happened to the cleanliness of the person or persons who performed this dissection?”
“Objection. Speculation.”
“Overruled.”
“Given the rough nature of the work—the rib cage was spread by hand, remember, and the heart had a deep vertical gash in it made as part of the initial slicing of the torso—the person or persons doing this would have likely ended up covered in Dr. Calhoun’s blood.”
“Thank you. Your witness, Mr. Rice.”
“Mr. Feinstein,” said Dale, rising slowly to his feet and moving over to the lectern, “you say the perpetrator would likely have ended up covered in blood?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the previous witness, Dr. Anne Flemingdon?”
“Yes.”
“She’s chief medical examiner for the county, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever had cause to visit her at work?”
“From time to time.”
“When she greets you at the door to her lab, is she covered with blood?”
Feinstein snorted. “No.”
“Not some monster-movie apparition, is she? Dripping crimson all over the carpet?”
“No.”
“So, in point of fact, it’s entirely possible to dissect a human body and not end up bloodstained from head to toe.”
“Under controlled, laboratory condi—”
“Just answer the question, Mr. Feinstein. It is possible in your experience to perform a dissection even as extensive as the one apparently performed on Dr. Calhoun without getting covered in blood.”
“It’s possible, I suppose.”
“Thank you. Turning now to the diamond-shaped objects—you think those might be Tosok scales?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“What do you base that on?”
“The fact that they’re the same shape and size as the Tosok scales in the photograph.”
“But you’ve never seen loose Tosok scales before, have you?”
“Well, no.”
“In fact, you don’t know for sure that Tosok skin is composed of scales, do you? The diamond pattern might simply be made of crisscrossing lines, mightn’t it?”
“I— I suppose.”
Dale picked up an object from his desk. “This is a cardboard chess-board. It looks like it’s made up of discrete red and black squares, doesn’t it?” He flexed it. “But it’s really all one piece, isn’t it? The squares can’t be separated, except by deliberate cutting with a saw, isn’t that right?”
“I suppose so.”
“And what was it you said? The putative scales are the same size as the objects shown in the photograph?”
“That’s right.”
“What do you mean by ‘the same size’?”
“The same size—you know, the same dimensions.”
“But the photograph only shows you the length and width of the diamond-shaped markings. This is real life, Mr. Feinstein, not a Saturday-morning cartoon. We live in a three-dimensional world. Yes, objects have length and width, but they also have thickness. How thick are the objects you recovered from the crime scene?”
“Approximately three one-hundredths of an inch.”
“And how thick are the diamond-shaped objects that compose the Tosok hide, as seen in the photograph?”
“I— I have no idea.”
“That’s right, Mr. Feinstein. You have no idea at all. Further, I draw your attention to photo number eight. Isn’t that one of the putative scales you recovered?”
“Yes,” said Feinstein.
“And—speaking again in terms of our three-dimensional universe”—Dale’s deep voice was rich with sarcasm—“the scale is covered with blood here, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“When you recovered the putative scale, was it bloodstained on both sides?”
“No.”
“Which surface was free of blood?”
“The one that was on the bottom.”
“In other words, fresh blood had flowed over the top of a scale that was already on the low-pile carpet, is that right?”
“That’s the way it appears, yes.”
“So the putative scale was already present before Dr. Calhoun started to bleed, correct?”
“That seems likely, yes.”
“In fact, the putative scale could have been dropped well in advance of Dr. Calhoun’s unfortunate demise, isn’t that right?”
“No, sir.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The USC janitorial staff clean the rooms once a week. Dr. Calhoun’s room was cleaned the morning of the day he died.”
“Still the scale could have been lying there for a full day.” Dale was flustered; he realized after a moment he’d forgotten to say “putative scale.” He’d assumed, stupidly, that dorm rooms got no cleaning service—which was doubtless true when they were being used as dorm rooms.
“Actually, sir,” said Feinstein, “Dr. Calhoun’s room was cleaned just ten hours or so before he died, so, no, the scale could not have been lying there for a full day.”
“I see. But it could have been there for one hour?”
“Possibly.”
“Two hours?”
“Yes, possibly.”
“Three hours? Four hours? Five hours?”
“Conceivably.”
“Six hours? Eight hours? Ten hours?”
“Possibly—but it’s a reasonably big object. Surely someone would have picked it up off the floor.”
“Did you know Dr. Calhoun?”
“No, sir. Not at all.”
“Would you like to be admitted as a character witness?”
“I— no, sir.”
“Would you like to testify to his personal habits? His approach to cleanliness? His fastidiousness?”
“No, sir.”
“Then please confine your testimony to areas you’re competent in. You do not know whether or not Dr. Calhoun would have bent over to pick up a small piece of litter on his bedroom floor, and not knowing that, you can only say that the scale was definitely on the ground before Dr. Calhoun started bleeding, and might have been on the ground since—ten hours, you said—since perhaps eleven a.m. on December twenty-second, isn’t that right?”
“I suppose.”
“Thank you. Now, speaking of matters about which you are supposedly competent to testify, Mr. Feinstein, you told us your credentials at the outset—no doctorate, but a couple of master’s degrees, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And certifications from two different forensics organizations, correct?”