Silent Witness (55 page)

Saul could not conceal his surprise. ‘Sure . . .'

Hanging up, Tony found himself staring at the pizza box, the empty wine bottle, the empty glasses.

The next morning, in court, Tony felt the vibrations of the night before: Saul's new focus as he scribbled notes in the margins of the coroner's report; the heavy-lidded silence of the man next to him, his client and friend, whose wife Tony cared for; his own unsettling sense that he was headed toward some reckoning with himself. When Tony turned to look at Sue, she gazed back at him with a certain fond sadness, not looking away. Then Tony turned his attention to Dr. Katherine Micelli.

Kate Micelli was in her mid-fifties, with deep-set eyes, a beaked nose, and lusterless jet-black hair, which, Tony guessed, came from a bottle. Her lined face bespoke deep seriousness, and when she smiled, it was fleeting and preoccupied, a formal offering. It was clear that she found little humor in her work.

This was understandable. In a flat, unresonant voice, Micelli told Stella Marz that she had responded to the crime scene, and then described the intake process for Marcie Calder's corpse: combing her clothes for blood, hair, and fibers; inspecting her hands and nails for traces of skin; drawing a sample of her blood; undressing the body and taking oral, rectal, and vaginal swabs to determine the presence or absence of semen; carefully assessing the appearance of the body; taking X-rays of Marcie's head; and finally, performing an autopsy to determine the cause of her death. Tony, who had seen several autopsies in his career, pitied Marcie's parents for what they were learning; he would never forget the sound of one human being sawing off the top of another's skull, the sight of gray-white brain matter being placed in a pan and weighed. To judge from Frank Calder's pinched eyes, the way Nancy Calder swallowed, the idea of their once living daughter being systematically disassembled was shocking, then devastating, then numbing. For an instant, Tony imagined Alison lying naked on the autopsy table, the same indignities recorded in the same sterile prose that Saul read now.

‘And did you,' Stella asked, ‘determine the cause of death?'

‘We did.' Micelli's expression was so grave as to appear angry, almost fierce. ‘Marcie Calder died of a cerebral hemorrhage which, in my opinion, was caused by multiple blows to the head with a heavy object.'

‘“Multiple”?' Stella repeated pointedly.

‘Yes. At least three.'

‘Could you describe the fatal wounds, Dr. Micelli, and explain how you came to that conclusion.'

‘Surely.' Micelli turned to face the jury, a professor giving a grim but crucial lecture, which they must not fail to grasp. ‘Miss Calder's scalp displayed severe lacerations – a tearing through the skin. The skull itself was fractured and displayed three concentric rings of compression, indentations in the bone.

‘These concentric rings reflected three blows, in close proximity. We can tell this because the fracture pattern for a later blow – a series of irregular circles, almost like the rings of a tree – intersects with the pattern from an earlier blow, stopping the pattern from spreading. The three concentric rings met in this manner.'

Narrow-eyed, Saul scribbled a note. The jurors listened intently. ‘Did you,' Stella asked in measured tones, ‘form an opinion as to how Marcie Calder received these blows?'

‘Definitely.' Once more, Micelli surveyed the jurors, her hawklike eyes demanding their attention. ‘Marcie Calder died at the hands of another.'

Today, Tony thought, Stella was methodical and undramatic; she would let the sheer weight of the evidence, cloaked in the mantle of science, stand on its own. ‘Did you consider, Dr. Micelli, the possibility that this trauma to Marcie Calder's skull was caused by a fall down the cliff?'

‘I did, Ms. Marz, quite thoroughly. I rejected it.'

‘Why is that?'

Micelli folded her hands. ‘To start, because the three blows
were
in such close proximity. It would be a great coincidence to have a falling body suffer three blows so heavy and so close together. And
were
the body falling, it is difficult to understand how such blows could be caused by a single rock.

‘In fact, I believe that the fatal blows were delivered by someone of considerable strength, on the ground above the beach, and that Marcie Calder was already dead by the time she was thrown off the cliff.'

‘On what do you base
that
conclusion, Dr. Micelli?'

‘Several factors.' Facing the jurors, Micelli began ticking off points with metronomical precision. ‘To start, internal brain injuries are different in a fall than when administered by another.

‘This is a straightforward matter of physics. An injury to the right side of the head, if suffered in a fall, would result in injuries to the opposite side.

‘For example, an
external
injury to the forehead would cause an
internal
brain injury at the back of the head. This is because the force of a fall causes the brain to move to the opposite side; we call this a “contre-coup injury.” Whereas with a blow to the head given by another, one would expect to see a “coup injury” – an internal bruise to the brain which is on the
same
side as the external wound to the head –'

‘And in the case of Marcie Calder . . . ,' Stella interjected.

Micelli frowned at the interruption, then nodded curtly. ‘Both the internal and external injuries occurred on the right side of the head. Therefore, the medical evidence is inconsistent with injuries suffered in a fall and consistent with a homicide.'

Watching the jury, Tony saw the professor leaning forward, intent. It seemed clear that the jurors understood Micelli and were impressed by her authoritative manner; Saul's job would be to crack this veneer and thus cast doubt on everything Micelli said. Saul had stopped taking notes; now he simply watched her.

‘Are there further reasons,' Stella asked, ‘why you believe that Marcie's death was
not
caused by a fall?'

‘Yes,' Micelli told the jurors. ‘On Marcie Calder's face we found several abrasions, scrapes to the skin. These injuries were orange in color, rather leathery to the touch, and involved no hemorrhage. That's what happens when a trauma to the skin occurs
after
the heart has stopped pumping.'

Sam, Tony saw, had a veiled, reflective look, directed at the table. ‘Look at her,' Tony whispered. ‘The jury watches that. . . .'

‘How long,' Stella was asking, ‘does it take after the heart has stopped pumping for injuries to have the appearance you describe – orange, leathery, lacking in any hemorrhage?'

‘As little as two minutes.'

Two minutes, Tony thought, for a murderer to drag Marcie's body from the place of death, her feet leaving skid marks as they dangled lifelessly, then throw her over the edge. ‘Did you form an opinion,' Stella continued, ‘as to the approximate
time
of death?'

‘I did.' Turning, Micelli addressed the jurors directly. ‘My opinion is that Marcie Calder died at roughly ten o'clock on the night she disappeared.'

In the momentary silence, Stella simply nodded: Marcie's death, if Micelli was right, occurred very close to Sam's estimate to the police of the time he had left the park. In the jurors' minds, Tony knew, a picture was forming: Sam Robb bludgeoning Marcie Calder; dragging her body to the edge of the cliff; throwing her over the side . . . This sequence had long since formed in Tony's own mind, like a silent film he could not stop. Glancing at Sue, he saw her downward gaze.

‘Ten o'clock,' Stella repeated. ‘On what do you base
that
?'

‘When we arrived at the scene, rigor mortis had set in and the body temperature was cool – roughly that of the ambient air, sixty-five degrees or so. It was apparent that she'd been dead for hours.' Micelli looked at several jurors, confirming their attention. ‘During the autopsy, we examined the contents of Marcie Calder's stomach. We found the remnants of a tuna sandwich.

‘According to an earlier witness, Mr. Nixon, he gave Marcie Calder a tuna sandwich at roughly eight o'clock. This is consistent with our findings.'

‘And why is that?'

‘It's based on the gastric emptying time.' Pausing, Micelli spoke with didactic self-assurance. ‘A substantial meal will take four to five hours to empty from the stomach – that's how long it takes the acids found there to break down the food. By comparison, a meal of more moderate size will empty in roughly
three
hours. And a small meal – like a tuna sandwich – will empty in about two hours.' Micelli paused, adding more softly, ‘Unless the process of digestion is terminated by death.

‘In the case of Marcie Calder, traces of that tuna sandwich remained in her stomach. Meaning that she died within two hours after ingesting the sandwich. Or less.' She faced the jury, her tone newly harsh. ‘If Mr. Robb was with her until ten, Marcie Calder had very little time left.'

Next to Tony, Saul stirred but did not object. The damage was done, the relentless accretion of fact upon fact. Even Sam seemed sluggish, battered.

As for Micelli, she appeared more severe, a portrait by El Greco. ‘Were you able to determine,' Stella asked, ‘what had happened to Marcie Calder in the hours before she died?'

‘Yes.' Micelli's voice was flat. ‘We determined that she'd had anal intercourse.'

Stella was silent for a moment. ‘How did you conclude that?'

‘There were lacerations in the anus and tears to the mucosa, indicating anal penetration. As did the blood on her external sphincter.'

‘Did the swabs show any semen in the anus?'

‘No.' Once more, Micelli faced the jury. ‘The swabs yielded traces of a petroleum-based lubricant found in a commonly used brand of condom. One with a ridged surface, called Adam's Rib.'

Sam gazed at Micelli blankly, a flush coming to his face. Sue stared at her folded hands; the Calders had a bitter, sickened look.

From the bench, Karoly's eyes followed Stella. ‘Did you form an opinion,' she asked, ‘as to whether this anal intercourse was consensual or forced?'

Micelli frowned. ‘That determination isn't easy. But I formed definite impression, yes.'

‘And what is that?'

‘From our examination, it appeared that Marcie Calder had little, or any, prior experience of such an act. Therefore, any penetration, even consensual, would cause trauma. Even the ridges of the condom might aggravate that.' Pausing, Micelli gave Stella a narrow look. ‘If this were rape, Ms. Marz, I would expect to see more trauma. My impression is that this was consensual anal intercourse, involving a girl to whom this was new.'

Stella folded her arms. Softly, she asked, ‘In the course of the autopsy, Dr. Micelli, did you make any other findings with respect to Marcie Calder?'

‘One. She was pregnant.'

With flickering quickness, the beautician glanced at Sam. ‘How did you determine that?'

Turning, Micelli addressed the jurors. ‘She was carrying a fetus,' she told them softly. ‘At death, it was between one to two months in development. It had died with the mother.'

The beautician seemed to wince; Tony sensed that for her, as for Stella and for Tony himself, the sadness of this was both personal and moral. ‘Was there sufficient fetal material,' Stella asked, ‘to determine the probable father?'

‘Yes. With the help of DNA testing.'

‘And did you direct that this testing be performed?'

‘I did. By our office. I also asked the lab to run DNA testing on the blood sample taken from Mr. Robb by the police.'

‘What was the result, Dr. Micelli?'

Micelli's deep-set eyes were somber. ‘That the genetic material in the fetus reflected that found in Mr. Robb's blood.' She paused, facing the jurors. ‘Within a probability of ten million or so to one, Mr. Robb was the father of that child.'

Sam, Tony noticed, seemed not to breathe. Approaching Micelli, Stella appeared almost tentative, as if reluctant to break the silence. ‘Did you also, at the request of our office, attempt to determine whether there was any possibility that the father of this child was African-American?'

‘Yes.' Micelli's voice was flat again. ‘Based on the genetic material, there was
no
possibility.'

Stella paused for a moment, eyes downcast, hands folded in front of her. Then she looked up at Karoly, quietly saying, ‘I have nothing more, Your Honor.'

Karoly nodded and then, as if it were an afterthought, remembered the clock. ‘At this time,' he told the jury, ‘we'll take our noon recess, until one-thirty.'

A heavy half-silence ensued, the jurors rising with a look of preoccupation, little noise coming from the gallery.

Glancing at Saul, Sam turned to Tony. ‘I want to talk to you,' he said. ‘Alone.'

Tony and Sam sat alone in the witness room – small, cramped, and windowless, with a bare wooden table and hard wooden chairs. Even had the room not reminded Tony of the interrogation room of the Lake City police, Sam's demand would have made him edgy.

‘What is it?' Tony asked.

Sam regarded him with open blue eyes. ‘Are you going to let that old man cross-examine her?'

So that was it – not Sue, or some last-minute confession.

‘I'm tired,' Tony answered. ‘A tired lawyer makes mistakes –'

‘Better your mistakes than
his
.' Sam's voice rose. ‘That ugly bitch is full of shit, all right? I don't know when Marcie died, or how, but it was after I left. Micelli
crucified
me in there.'