“Correct.”
“You are obviously expert in chemistry—one of your master’s degrees is in that subject.”
“Yes.”
“Any other areas of expertise?”
“I’ve had extensive training in fingerprinting, in fiber analysis, and in glass-shard analysis.”
“What about footprints?”
“What about them?”
“Do you have expert qualifications in the area of footprint analysis?”
“Well, no.”
“So, when you tell this jury that the U-shaped bloody mark is a Tosok footprint, you’re not offering a considered, expert opinion. It’s just a layman’s observation—of no more value than my own, or anyone else’s, casual comparison.”
“I am a trained criminalist.”
“But not expert in this specialized area. There are experts in footprinting, are there not? Jacob Howley in Boston is this country’s top person in this field, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“And Karen Hunt-Podborski of the San Francisco PD, she’s probably this state’s top footprint expert, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Her or Bill Chong.”
“But you’re not in the league of Doctor—Doctor!—Howley, are you, in the area of footprints?”
“No.”
“Nor in the league of Ms. Hunt-Podborski, or Mr. Chong, are you?”
“No.”
“So that U-shaped bloody mark might be a Tosok footprint, but then it might be—well, we could have the court reporter read it back, but I believe you yourself likened it to a horseshoe?”
“Yes, I did, but—”
“Indeed, the mark is blurred and indistinct, isn’t it? And the blood that made it was still wet enough to flow a bit, wasn’t it? And so, really, you can’t to a scientific degree of certainty say what made that mark, can you?”
Feinstein let his breath out.
“Can you?”
“No. No, I suppose I can’t.”
“Thank you,” said Dale. “Thank you very much.”
It was pouring rain the next day. The courtroom was filled with the smell of moist clothing, and umbrellas were lined up against one of the wood-paneled walls.
“State and spell your name, please,” said the clerk.
“My name is Jesus Perez, J-E-S-U-S, P-E-R-E-Z, and I will ask the court reporter to note with phonetic spelling that Jesus is pronounced ‘Hay-soos,’ not ‘Jesus.’ ”
The Latino clerk winked at Perez.
Ziegler rose and moved over to the lectern, depositing a sheaf of notes on it. “Mr. Perez, what is your current job?”
“I’m a detective lieutenant with the homicide division of the Los Angeles Police Department.”
“In that capacity, did you have cause to visit the University of Southern California on December twenty-second of last year?”
“I actually arrived after midnight, so it was early on the morning of December twenty-third.”
“Why were you called there?”
“A police officer assigned to provide security for the Tosok delegation had found a badly mutilated body there.”
“Did you ascertain whose body this was?”
“Yes.”
“How did you do so?”
“Well, initially by the identification found on the body, and—”
“Excuse me, did you say identification?”
“Yes.”
“Where was this identification?”
“In the man’s wallet.”
“This body still had a wallet on it?”
“Yes.”
“Was there anything besides identification in the wallet?”
“Yes, there were four credit cards—Visa Gold, MasterCard, American Express, and Discover. There was also a phone card; an American Airlines frequent-flier card; a library card; a discount coupon for Bo-Jays, which is a pizzeria in Santa Monica; and the deceased man’s driver’s license.”
“Did the wallet contain anything else?”
“Yes. It contained two hundred and fifty-three dollars in cash, plus one British twenty-pound note.”
“Is it unusual to find cash on a murder victim?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because many homicides occur during robberies. Clearly, that was not the motive in this case, and—”
“Objection!” said Dale. “Speculative. Move to strike.”
“Sustained,” said Pringle. “The jury will disregard the detective’s comment as to motive.”
“Lieutenant Perez, you said the wallet was only part of the identification.”
“Yes, the body was also identified by two of Dr. Calhoun’s associates, Dr. Packwood Smathers of the University of Toronto—who was part of the international entourage accompanying the Tosoks—and Dr. Frank Nobilio, science advisor to the president.”
“And who did the dead man turn out to be?”
“One Cletus Robert Calhoun.”
“Detective, were you the person who arrested Hask?”
“Yes.”
“Was the arrest warrant sworn out in your name?”
“It was.”
“Your Honor, we introduce that warrant now, as People’s thirty-one.”
“Mr. Rice?”
“No objection.”
“Introduced and marked,” said Pringle.
“Detective, is it therefore safe to say that it was you who made the determination that Hask was the most likely suspect in this crime?”
Rice nudged Michiko Katayama. “Objection!” she said. “Prejudicial.”
“I’ll rephrase: you made the decision to arrest Hask, correct?”
“In consultation with District Attorney Montgomery Ajax, yes.”
“We’ve already heard compelling evidence that the crime was committed by a Tosok, and—”
Michiko was warming to this: “Objection! Counsel is arguing her case.”
“Your Honor, is Ms. Katayama now—”
“No sale, Ms. Ziegler,” said Pringle. “Sustained.”
“There are seven Tosoks on Earth, Detective. Why did you bring charges against Hask in particular?”
“Three reasons. First, Hask and Calhoun spent considerable time alone together. They interacted in different ways than did Calhoun and the other Tosoks, who never saw him alone.
“Second, the marking I believe to be a bloody footprint at the crime scene is smaller and shaped differently than the one made by Captain Kelkad at the Chinese Theatre—that eliminates Kelkad from suspicion, and we were also able to eliminate Dodnaskak, who at a glance anyone can see has much larger feet.”
“Objection. Facts not in evidence.”
“Sustained,” said Pringle. “The jury is advised that the bloody mark at the scene has not been proven to be a Tosok footprint.”
“You were saying, Lieutenant…?”
“Well, yes, then there’s the fact that Hask shed his skin. The murderer—”
Michiko again: “Objection—there’s no proof that a murder, as opposed to manslaughter, took place.”
“Sustained.”
Perez glowered at the Asian woman. “The perpetrator, then. The perp might very well have gotten covered in blood; shedding his entire outer skin would be a handy way to deal with that fact.”
“Did you make an effort to recover Hask’s shed skin?”
“I did, aided by my colleagues. Hask said he simply bagged it up and put it in the campus garbage.”
“And have you managed to recover the skin?”
“No.”
“Do you in fact believe Hask when he says he simply threw the skin out?”
“Objection!” shouted Michiko.
“Overruled.”
“No, I don’t. If it was blood-spattered, he’d have wanted to dispose of it more completely. It could have been chopped into small bits and flushed down a toilet; it could have been buried; it could have been eaten; it could have been burned—”