“A very good explanation, Doctor. And may I compliment you on not cluttering it up with a lot of technical jargon. So you say the rate of body cooling is a constant?”
“It is.”
“If I’m not mistaken, that rate is one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, Doctor, you stated you took the body temperature at 12:05, approximately an hour and a half after the time you fix as the time of death. Is that right?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well, let’s do the math. We have one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour for an hour and a half. So a half hour would be three-quarters of a degree Fahrenheit, or point-seven-five degrees, if you will. So one and a half plus three-quarters equals two and a quarter degrees Fahrenheit, or two-point-two-five. As you’ve already stated, the body temperature is normally ninety-eight-point-six. So ninety-eight-point-six, minus two-point-two-five leaves ninety-six-point-three-five. So, Doctor, am I to assume when you took the body temperature you got a reading of ninety-six-point-three-five degrees Fahrenheit?”
Dr. Abraham tugged at his shirt collar. “No, sir. That is incorrect.”
“Oh really? I thought we agreed that the body cools at one and a half degrees Fahrenheit per hour.”
“Yes, we did.”
“And did you state that the body temperature is ninety-eight-point-six?”
“Yes, I did. But-”
“I’m a little confused, Doctor. And I’m sure some of the jurors are too.”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“Sorry, Your Honor. I’ll confine myself to my own confusion. Are you telling me, Doctor, that my mathematics is incorrect?”
“No, I’m not. But-”
“I’m not? Then I am correct in saying that if the body cools at one and a half degrees per hour, if you examined the body an hour and a half after death, the body temperature should have been ninety-six-point-three-five. Isn’t that right?”
“No, sir. That is not correct.”
“And why not Doctor? Is there something wrong with my math?”
“No, there’s nothing wrong with your math. The problem is, you’re making a false assumption.”
“Oh? And what is that?”
“That the body temperature of the decedent was ninety-eight-point-six.”
“Oh? I thought you said it was.”
“No. I said that was the general case.”
“Are you saying that was not the case here?”
“Of course.”
“And why was that?”
Dr. Abraham smiled condescendingly. “You’re forgetting, Counselor, that the body was burned. Naturally, that would raise the body temperature.”
Steve Winslow feigned surprise, as if that thought had never occurred to him. “Oh, I see, Doctor. Thank you for pointing that out to me. So, you’re saying the body temperature of the victim was higher than ninety-eight-point-six when he died? Therefore it was higher than ninety-six-point-three-five when you took his temperature?”
“That is correct.”
“What was the actual body temperature when you did your autopsy?”
“Ninety-eight-point-two.”
“Ninety-eight-point-two? Then, if the body had cooled two-point-two-five degrees, then the temperature at the time of death would have been a hundred-point-four-five. Is that right?”
“Approximately.”
“The temperature at the time of death was a hundred-point-four-five?”
“I said approximately. It’s impossible to be that accurate. But the body temperature was somewhere around a hundred and a half degrees Fahrenheit.”
Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. “Wow, that’s interesting, Doctor. A hundred-point-five degrees?”
“Approximately.”
“Gee, Doctor, where did you get that figure?”
“I just told you.”
“Yes, you sure did. Tell me something, Doctor. Isn’t this just like the hot dog?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It’s exactly like the hot dog, isn’t it. You don’t know the temperature at the time of death. You didn’t take the temperature at the time of death. You weren’t there at the time of death. You took the temperature at the time of the autopsy. That temperature was ninety-eight-point-two. Now you say the man died an hour and a half earlier, so when he died his temperature must have been a hundred and a half. In other words, you assume the temperature was a hundred and half because you assume the man died at ten thirty. And you assume the man died at ten thirty, because you assume the temperature was a hundred and a half. Is that right?”
“That’s not fair.”
“I didn’t ask you if it was fair, Doctor. I asked you if it was accurate.”
“It is not accurate. I determined the time of death by medical means.”
“And those medical means include a wild guess as to what the body temperature was at the time of death, don’t they, Doctor?”
“Objection to the characterization, ‘wild guess,’” Dirkson said.
Steve Winslow chuckled. “I’ll withdraw the question, Doctor.” He smiled at the jury before adding. “I can understand why the prosecutor wouldn’t want you to answer it.”
31
“So,” Taylor said. “Why is the time element so important?”
Mark Taylor, Tracy Garvin and Steve Winslow were catching lunch at a small diner near the courthouse. Steve, exhausted from the morning session, had ordered a round of coffee to start, and the waitress had just delivered it and taken their sandwich orders.
Steve took a sip of coffee, grimaced at the bitter taste, shook his head. “It isn’t,” he said.
Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee, made a face, dumped more sugar in. “Why is it none of these places ever wash the pot?” He took another sip, found it only slightly more to his liking. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, it’s not important?”
Steve shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The doctor says he died between ten and eleven. He’s probably right. But even if he’s wrong-say the guy died between nine and ten-what does it matter? Jeremy Dawson could have killed him between nine and ten just as well.”
“So what’s the big deal?”
“No big deal.”
Mark Taylor took a sip of coffee, frowned, shook his head. “I don’t know what’s pissing me off more, you or this coffee. If the time element’s no big deal, why did you make such a big stink about it?”
“Because it’s there.”
“What?”
Steve sighed. “You tell him, Tracy.”
Tracy shrugged. “The way I see it, he couldn’t care less about the time element. He’s just trying to win the sympathy of the jury. Just like with the female transit cop.”
Steve grinned. “Oh, you caught that?”
Tracy gave him a look. “How could I miss it. It was shameless. You got six women and three Hispanics on the jury, so you take an Hispanic woman cop and make a speech about her intelligence and honesty.” Tracy shook her head. “I tell you, when I heard that I said, ‘Shit, he must really be in trouble now.’”
Steve nodded. “Well, you’re absolutely right. Dirkson’s got me by the balls. I’m in a situation where I have to use every trick I can.” Steve turned back to Mark Taylor. “So, no, Mark, the time element don’t mean shit. But tell me, did you like my cross-examination of the doctor?”
“I’ll say,” Taylor said. “It was right on. That’s why I figured it had to mean something.”
“Well, it doesn’t. But you liked it, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, the jury liked it too. I knew they would. I mean, here’s an arrogant, pompous, condescending doctor, and the jury just loved to watch me rip his can off. We scored points for it.
“And that’s what it’s all about now. Dirkson has such a damn good case on the one hand, and such a horrifying one on the other. I mean, you should have seen those pictures. This is not just a murder. This is a gruesome murder. Dirkson’s drenching the jury in horror, and they’re lapping it up. The best I can do now is lighten the mood. It ain’t easy, and I gotta score points any way I can. That’s why I was so brutal with the doctor.”