conditions that existed when she arrived on the scene. Walter died from one bullet to the forehead, and Hundley testifies that the gun had been pressed to his flesh as it was fired.
“So would you describe that as execution-style?” Richard asks.
“Usually we consider it execution-style when the bullet enters the back of the head, not the front.”
“So this was perhaps more personal?” Richard asks.
I object that the witness could not possibly know this, and Hatchet sustains.
Hundley then talks about the murder weapon, which was a .38-caliber revolver, but has never been found. Childs used a different gun to shoot Timmerman and Laurie; I assume the Luger he used in the latter case was better for distance.
Hundley goes on to describe the splatter of blood, brain matter, and skull fragments against a wall just behind Walter. I glance over and can see Steven cringing at the testimony, even though I had instructed him to be impassive. I know that Steven is upset at hearing how gruesomely his father died, but the jury might think that he is racked with guilt.
Hundley then talks about the specks of blood that were found in Steven’s car.
“Did you test that blood?” Richard asks.
“We did.”
“Whose blood was it?”
“Walter Timmerman’s.”
Richard spends some more time on this, and then shifts to the house in the aftermath of the explosion. Hundley testifies that the explosion came from the upstairs guest bedroom toward the center of the house, the bedroom that Steven used before he moved out.
“It was an extraordinarily powerful explosion,” she says, and then goes on to describe the extent of the damage. She concludes that “Diana Timmerman, who was in the den at the time, died instantly from massive head trauma.”
I could object a lot more than I do, since Hundley is testifying to some things more properly brought forth by others. For instance, she is not a coroner, and her description of the head trauma as the cause of death is inappropriate. But I know all of what she says is true and Richard can bring in witnesses to prove it, so I don’t want to be seen by the jury as attempting to impede the truth.
I need to make at least a few points in my cross-examination. “Sergeant Hundley, it’s a difficult subject to talk about, but you testified that Walter Timmerman’s blood, brain matter, and skull fragments splattered off the wall?”
“Yes.”
“It was something of a mess?”
“Yes.”
“So whoever did the shooting would have been sprayed by it, either directly or when it bounced off the wall?”
“Absolutely.”
“The blood that you found in the car… when was it left there?”
“It’s impossible to tell.”
“How old is the car?”
“I believe three years old.”
“So from what you are scientifically able to determine, it could have been left there any time in the last three years?”
“It’s possible.”
“Thank you. Who left the blood there?”
Hundley seems slightly taken aback by the question. “Well, it was Walter Timmerman’s blood.”
“Could it have been planted there by someone else?”
“There is no evidence of that,” she says, indignantly.
“Is there evidence against it? Is there anything in what you saw that says that’s not possible?”
“Of course it’s possible, but that proves nothing.”
I smile. “I agree that nothing has been proven.”
Hatchet intervenes even before Richard can object, and tells me to cut out the little digs and move on.
I do. “What about the brain matter and skull fragments that you found? Can you determine how long they had been in the car?”
“We didn’t find any brain matter or skull fragments in the car,” she says.
I feign surprise; over the years I have gotten to be a terrific surprise-feigner. “Only blood?”
“Yes.”
“If Steven Timmerman was splattered with blood, brain, and skull, how come he only transferred blood to the seat of the car?”
“That’s difficult to say.”
“I’m sure it is. Doesn’t it make it far more likely that Walter Timmerman, Steven’s father, had a cut that bled a little in Steven’s car sometime in the last three years? Isn’t it reasonable to assume that, considering the lack of brain and skull fragments in the car?”
“I don’t make assumptions, Mr. Carpenter. I just report the facts.”
I nod. “Just the facts… gotcha. Lieutenant Hundley, how many times have you cut yourself in the last three years after which you’ve bled, even a bit, from a little accident? Could be a paper cut, splinter, torn fingernail, shaving your legs, whatever.”
“I really wouldn’t know.”
“Then guess,” I say.
“Maybe four or five.”
I smile approvingly. “Then you’re very careful; in my case it’s a lot more. How many times have you had a little accident that caused you to lose brain matter or skull fragments?”
“Never.”
I nod. “Same here. So people bleed all the time, but they rarely get their heads blown up. Walter Timmerman could have left traces of blood in his son’s car at any time, but if he had left brain or skull in there, that would have been rather significant. Don’t you think?”
“That’s not for me to determine.”
“And it’s equally significant that those things were not there, don’t you think?”
“That’s not for me to determine,” she repeats.
I nod. “Because you just report the facts.”
“That’s correct.”
“Is it a fact that you found clothing of Steven Timmerman’s that was covered with his father’s blood?”
“No.”
“Did you factually find any of that blood in Steven Timmerman’s house?”
“No.”
“Not in the drains, or the washing machine?”
“No.”
“And that’s a fact?”
“Yes.”
I turn to the scene at the house, though there is little fertile ground for me to cover. As part of my questioning, I ask if all the damage had been done by one explosion, and she tells me that if there were any additional explosions, she is unaware of it.
When I let her off the stand, Richard stands for what I assume will be a redirect examination.
Instead he says, “Your Honor, may we have a discussion in chambers?”
“YOUR HONOR, we believe we have located the murder weapon. I was informed of it moments ago.”
“How convenient for you,” Hatchet says. “Where did you find it?”
