“That’s what I mean. Why are you? What’s the big deal?”
“If there’s any chance at all, I want to be able to show you typed on the keyboard of David Castleton’s machine.”
“Why? What’s the point?”
Steve took a breath. “Sooner or later we gotta make a big decision. The decision is whether you tell your story. If you do, we need all the corroboration we can get.”
“What do you mean,
“Just that. A murder trial’s a funny thing. There’re no set rules. You can play it any way you want.”
Kelly’s eye’s blazed. “Damnit. Don’t give me half-assed rhetoric. Talk about me.”
“I’m talking about you.”
“No, you’re not. You’re talking bullshit. Now cut it out and give me a straight answer. Are you gonna let me tell my story? If not, why not? What the hell is going on?”
Steve took a breath. “Okay,” he said. “Am I gonna let you tell your story? Right now I don’t know. I know that’s no answer, but it’s the way things stand. It depends on what the prosecution does. But the way things look, yes, I am going to put you on the stand. You’re gonna have to tell your story and you’re gonna have to tell it straight, and then you’re gonna take the biggest beating you ever took in your life. Dirkson may not look like much, but so far you’re only seen his good side. He’s puttin’ on his case, those are his witnesses, he’s bein’ nice to ’em. You get on the stand, you’re in for a jolt, ’cause that sarcastic son of a bitch is gonna tear you apart.”
“I can take it.”
“Great, wonderful, I’m proud of you,” Steve said dryly. “But that’s not the point. Dirkson’s gonna make you look like a scheming, lying slut. If you can take that, bully for you, but in the eyes of the jury you’re still gonna look like a scheming, lying slut.”
Steve paused and ran his hand over his dead. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rough on you, but I gotta make you understand. The thing is, you’re so wrapped up in this you only see it from your point of view.
“Now, the disk that you left with David Castleton disappeared. And the disk you left in your apartment disappeared. Which leaves nothing. A big fat zero. You’re telling your story with nothing to back it up.
“Now you see why I want to be able to show you typed on that keyboard?”
“I see that, but-”
“But what?”
“You say I got nothing to back it up. You’re wrong. I got Herbert.”
“Yeah,” Steve said flatly.
Kelly’s eyes blazed. “Damnit-”
Steve held up his hand. “Hey, let’s not get into it. Herbert’s your brother, you love him, you trust him, you believe him. Fine. I’m not going to say a word against him. But the fact is, in the eyes of the jury he’s a convicted embezzler and he’s your brother and his testimony ain’t worth a damn. Now that may not be fair, but that’s the way it is. The bottom line is, I need something to corroborate your story, and Herbert’s testimony doesn’t count.”
Kelly glared at him but said nothing.
“Okay,” Steve said. “Now, if you go on the stand and tell your story, you got one shot and that’s it. So it better be the truth. Every bit of it. You let Dirkson catch you in one lie, any lie, no matter how small, and you’re through. If we can’t prove everything you say, well, that’s all right. But if Dirkson can
“Yes.”
“So I gotta know you’re telling me the truth.”
“I’ve told you the truth.”
“You did find a memo in the backup file?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And copied it?”
“Yes.”
“And gave a copy to David Castleton?”
“Yes, I did.”
“That’s the truth?”
“Yes, that’s the truth.”
Steve Winslow stared at her a few moments. He sighed. “It better be.”
33
When court reconvened the next morning Dirkson recalled Detective Oswald of the Crime Scene Unit.
After Oswald had taken the stand and Judge Wallingsford had reminded him he was still under oath, Dirkson walked up to the witness, smiled and said, “Detective Oswald. You recall yesterday you were asked if you had ever photographed the keyboard of the computer in David Castleton’s apartment?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And what answer did you make at that time?”
“I said I had not.”
“I ask you again if you have ever photographed the keyboard of the computer in David Castleton’s apartment?”
Oswald smiled. “Yes, I have.”
Dirkson raised his eyebrows. “Oh? And when did you do that?”
“Last night after court was adjourned. I went to David Castleton’s apartment and took photographs of the computer in general and the keyboard in particular.”
“I see,” Dirkson said. “And what was the condition of the computer and keyboard last night when you went to the apartment to take those photographs?”
“They had already been processed for prints.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Fingerprint powder had already been dusted on the computer and keyboard in order to bring out any latent prints.”
“Do you know who did that and when?”
“Yes. I did it myself on June twenty-ninth when I originally processed the apartment.”
“The powder was still there?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Did it show any latent prints?”
“No, it did not. There were several smudges on the keyboard, but not even remotely clear enough to classify.”
“But you photographed them anyway?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Do you have those photographs with you?”
“Yes, I do.”
When the photographs had been produced and marked for identification, Dirkson said, “That’s all.”
“No questions,” Steve said.
Dirkson then recalled Phillip Riker of the crime lab.
“Mr. Riker, I hand you these photographs marked People’s Exhibits Seven A-F and ask you if you have ever seen them before.”
“Yes, I have.”
“And just when and where was that?”
“They were delivered to me at eleven o’clock last night at the crime lab.”
