“That’s fascinating,” Swain said. “I didn’t know that.”
I’ll just bet, Ben thought.
“Were you able to draw any conclusions about the crossbow and bolts you examined?”
“Yes. The same markings found on both bolts extracted from Vuong’s body were also found on test bolts we fired in the lab from the crossbow found near the crime scene. There’s no doubt about it. This crossbow fired those bolts.”
“I see,” Swain said, holding the crossbow up high so the jury could see it. “So this crossbow is definitely the murder weapon. Well, we’ll be talking about that some more later. Tell me, sir. Did you find any trace evidence on the crossbow when it was first brought to you?”
“Yes, I did.” Stephens glanced at Swain, then continued. Ben got the impression this testimony had been rehearsed many times beforehand. “I found two hairs caught in the mechanism of the crossbow.”
“Really?” Swain said in mock surprise. “Did you run any tests on the hairs?”
“Yes. I conducted a spectroscopic analysis, and compared them to two exemplars removed from the defendant’s head.”
“And?”
“The hairs in the crossbow matched those taken from Donald Vick.”
“I see,” Swain said. “That’s all for now, your honor.”
“Mr. Kincaid,” Judge Tyler said. “Any questions?”
Ben checked the gallery—Mike still wasn’t here. Blast. He would have to wing it without him.
Ben positioned himself at the far side of the courtroom from the jury, one sure way to prevent eye contact between jury and witness. “Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”
Stephens’s forehead wrinkled. “I … don’t quite follow you.
“Don’t you think it’s an amazing coincidence?”
“Think … what is?”
“The hairs in the crossbow.” Ben pivoted and posed his question as much to the jury as the witness. “How did they ever get in the crossbow mechanism?”
Stephens recrossed his legs. “Presumably they fell from the killer’s head—”
“And just happened to get caught in the workings of the crossbow? Now that’s what I call a coincidence.” He checked the jurors for their reaction. “I would think it amazing if one hair managed to fall just perfectly so as to get trapped in the firing mechanism. And your testimony is that two hairs fell there.”
“Well … yes.”
“Sir, doesn’t that strike you as somewhat incredible?”
“Sometimes unusual events occur. …”
“Sir.” Ben approached the witness and hovered over him. “Isn’t it much more likely that someone put those hairs in the mechanism?”
The jury stirred audibly.
“I … suppose that’s within the realm of possibility.”
“And if that happened, Donald Vick might not have even been there at the time, right?”
“Well … I suppose … theoretically …”
“Now, you testified that the hairs in the crossbow matched those taken from Donald Vick. What exactly do you mean by matched?”
“Matched means matched. Same texture, same color, same race …”
“Sir, isn’t it true that at this time there is no absolutely certain method of establishing that a hair came from a particular person?”
The witness squirmed. “We’ve been working with new DNA analysis techniques—”
“Did either of the hairs you found have a live hair bulb?”
“A—what?”
“Hair bulb. You know, the root.”
“Uh, no.”
“But, sir, you can’t take a DNA fingerprint of the hair itself, because the hair is dead, right?”
“I—suppose.”
“And even if the bulb hadn’t rotted, you said it wasn’t intact.”
“That’s true.”
“Well then, isn’t it also true that you cannot say with medical certainty that the hairs in the crossbow came from Donald Vick’s head?”
The witness glared at Ben. “That’s true. When you put it like that.”
“Thank you, sir. No more questions.”
“Redirect?” Judge Tyler asked.
“Definitely,” Swain said. “Mr. Stephens, let’s talk about the scenario Mr. Kincaid just proposed. Do you believe that Donald Vick never came near that crossbow?”
“No. I know he did.”
“How do you know?”
“The hairs weren’t the only trace evidence I found. There was also a bloodstain.”
“A bloodstain!” Swain whirled to face Ben, obviously expecting to see a look of astonishment or surprise. He was greatly disappointed. Thanks to Mike, Ben had seen this one coming a mile away.
“Did you run any tests on the bloodstain?” Swain continued.
“Of course. We typed the blood, then compared it to a sample taken from Donald Vick. They matched.”
“Indeed. And what is Mr. Vick’s blood type?”
“B negative.”
“Is that a common blood type?”
“Not at all.”
“So the crossbow has Donald Vick’s hair and Donald Vick’s blood. Did you find trace evidence belonging to anyone else?”
“No, sir.”
“I guess that’s it, then. No more questions.”
Judge Tyler made a bridge with his hands and rested his chin upon it. “Back to you, Mr. Kincaid.”
“Right.” Ben approached the witness. “Mr. Stephens, you said B negative is an uncommon blood type. Just how uncommon is it?”
Stephens obviously liked having a chance to display his erudition. “About ten percent of the population has B negative blood.”
“And how many people live in Silver Springs?”
“Counting the surrounding country? Oh, I’d say about three thousand.”
“And ten percent of three thousand is how many?”
Stephens coughed. “Well … math was never my best subject … but that would be three hundred.”
“So when you say the blood on the crossbow was Donald Vick’s type, you’re really saying that it was the type of about three hundred people in the immediate area, one of whom was Donald Vick. Right?”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
Ben heard a noise in the back of the courtroom. He turned and saw Mike entering the gallery. Mike was motioning to him, but Ben knew Judge Tyler wouldn’t permit a recess at this critical juncture.
“Did you run any other tests on the blood?” Ben asked Stephens.
“As a matter of fact, I did.”
“You did?”
“Yes. We performed a microscopic analysis of the blood cells. Just got the equipment this year,” he added proudly.
“What were the results?” Just as he finished the question he noticed Mike waving frantically from the back of the courtroom. His message was absolutely clear: Don’t ask that question.
Too late. “The tests showed that the blood on the crossbow was Donald Vick’s. Not that it came from one of three hundred people. That it came from Donald Vick. Beyond any question.”
Ben saw Mike slump down into his seat. The Tulsa tests must have produced the same result.
Ben saw Swain grinning through the hand across his mouth. Swain had suckered him in, and his witness had delivered the punch. Ben knew he was only getting what he deserved. He had violated the cardinal rule of cross-examination: if you don’t know the answer, don’t ask the question.
“Thank you,” Ben said quietly. “No more questions.”
“Any further redirect?” Judge Tyler asked.
“Oh, no,” Swain said happily. “I think everyone understands the forensic evidence just fine now.”
“Very well. Mr. Stephens, you are excused. Ladies and gentlemen”—his stoic face shifted to a sly grin—“I’m hungry. Let’s get some lunch. This trial will resume at one-thirty.”