“The worst was a slash that proceeded halfway across her throat. At one point, this slash was so deep it touched her spinal column. There was also a gash four and a half by two and a half inches running from left to right on the side of her face.”
“Was that … all?”
“No. There were numerous wounds on the right side of her face and several punctures at the back of her head. It was as if the assailant had been trying to eliminate her face. To erase her existence.”
“Any other wounds, Doctor?”
“Yes. She also suffered several slashes to her hands. The wounds went vertically down her palms”—he held up his hands to demonstrate—“suggesting that she was trying to defend herself.”
“But not very effectively.”
“No,” Koregai echoed. “Flesh is a poor defense against a knife.”
“I assume then that these wounds were the cause of Caroline Barrett’s death?”
Koregai concurred. “No single one of these blows would necessarily have been fatal, not even the one to the throat. But the cumulative effect of the massive hemorrhaging was deadly.”
“Would that have been a sudden death, Doctor?”
“No,” he replied solemnly. “It would have been a slow death. Slow and painful.”
Several jurors lowered their eyes or clutched their stomachs. In his own emotionless way, Koregai was painting a picture more horrifying than the crime-scene photographs.
“Can you tell us the time of death, Doctor?”
“I cannot say with absolute certainty—” He glanced quickly at Ben. Experience had taught him not to presume to know things he really couldn’t prove. “I can narrow the time of death to between four and six o’clock on the afternoon of March 11.”
“I think that’s good enough,” Bullock said, reminding the jury in his own way that Barrett’s neighbor saw him racing out of the house just before six. “Thank you for your help. I have nothing more.”
Ben approached the podium in a quiet, almost reverent manner. He would have to be respectful and serious with this witness. There was no way he could seriously impeach any of Koregai’s conclusions. His best shot was to hammer on all the things Koregai didn’t say.
“Dr. Koregai, I’m surprised you weren’t able to identify the time of death more accurately. Why is that?”
“Unfortunately, in this instance, the forensic indicators necessary to ascertain the time of death with a greater degree of accuracy were not available.”
What goobledygook, Ben thought. He’s hiding something. “Dr. Koregai, didn’t you preserve the contents of the victims’ stomachs?”
“Uh … no.”
“No?” Ben was genuinely surprised. “If you had, wouldn’t you have been able to more narrowly nail down the time of death?”
“It is … possible, yes.”
“Well then, why didn’t you?”
“At the time, that was believed to be an unnecessary procedure.”
“Because the police had already decided who they thought did it. And since they knew when he left the house, and weren’t planning to consider any other suspects, there was no reason to preserve the contents of the stomach.”
“I wouldn’t put it that way,” Koregai said, but his discomfort was clearly growing. “However, it is true that the prevailing feeling at the time was that there was no need to take extraordinary investigative measures, as the case was already considered to be solved.”
“In other words, they already had someone to pin it on, and they didn’t want a bunch of extraneous evidence messing up their case.”
“Objection!” Bullock said with a decided air of contempt.
“Sustained.” Judge Hart removed her glasses and stared at Ben sternly. “Counsel, I’ve already warned you about these kinds of remarks. Do it again and you’ll be in contempt of court.”
“Sorry, your honor.” Ben glanced down at his notes. “I also noticed, Doctor, that you did not identify a murder weapon.”
Koregai bowed his head slightly. “Since no murder weapon has been discovered, it would be impossible for me to identify it as the actual weapon used.”
“So in fact you cannot say with certainty what the cause of death was.”
“I can say that the cause of death was a thin instrument with a single sharp cutting edge. That description could fit innumerable knives or, for that matter, other sharp instruments. Every home has knives in it. Why must I point to the specific one that was used?”
“And besides, knowing the specific murder weapon might eliminate suspects, including the one on trial, which is exactly what the prosecution doesn’t want.”
Judge Hart didn’t wait for an objection. “Mr. Kincaid!”
“I’m sorry, your honor. But it’s frustrating to see time and time again that the prosecution and police failed to follow up leads or even to investigate possible alternatives because they were so determined to put one man behind bars.”
“Counsel, this is cross-examination, not closing argument. Either ask your questions or sit down!”
“Right, right.” Ben pulled out his copy of Koregai’s autopsy report. “Speaking of not pursuing possibilities, you didn’t perform a rape test on Caroline Barrett, did you?”
Koregai looked up suddenly. “What?”
“Isn’t it standard procedure in cases of murder involving women to perform a rape test?”
Koregai looked slightly puzzled. “But there was clear evidence of sexual congress.”
Ben was caught totally flat-footed. His eyes widened. “There—there was?”
“Indeed. Whether it was a forcible assault I cannot say, because of the great amount of damage resulting from wounds inflicted after the sexual contact. But the witness had engaged in sexual intercourse prior to her death.”
“How soon?”
“That is impossible for me to say with precision. Within twenty-four hours.”
“But she—” Ben struggled to get a grip. He knew what everyone would assume from this. That she must’ve been with her husband. “But you don’t know who her partner was?”
“No. I found no traces of semen or other trace evidence from which I might make an identification.”
“And I suppose you did nothing to follow up this lead, either.”
“Actually, I did.” Ben suddenly felt a cold clutching at his heart. What had Bullock told him so many times? If you don’t know the answer, don’t ask the question. “I performed a pregnancy test.”
Ben’s brain was racing. The case seemed to be spiraling out of his reach. “And—the result?”
“Caroline Barrett was pregnant.”
The reaction in the courtroom was like none before. First, there was a harsh, almost unnatural silence, followed by a sudden eruption so loud Judge Hart was forced to resort to the gavel.
“Order! Order!” Reporters jumped out of their seats and raced for the back. All three cameras zoomed in for closeups.
“She was pregnant?” Ben repeated. “You mean from—”
“No, not from the recent incidence of sexual activity. The embryo was almost two months old.”
Ben knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes twisted round to look at Wallace Barrett, just as every other eye in the courtroom did. As it happened, Barrett seemed just as stunned as everyone else. His lips parted; his eyes went wide, then blank. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.
Pregnant?
“She was carrying a child,” Koregai stated flatly. “A boy.”
Barrett’s head dropped to the table. Judge Hart continued pounding her gavel. The courtroom was in an uproar.
“Your honor,” Bullock shouted above the hubbub, “this is a truly startling development.” So he said, but Ben noted he didn’t seem all that startled. “The State moves for an immediate amendment of the indictment. The defendant should be tried for four murders, not just three.”