“In your expert opinion as a senior homicide investigator, is this a reliable test?”
Gilley nodded. “Yes, ma’am, for its limited purposes. It’s a test designed to be used in the field in an on-site initial investigation. But it only detects the presence of blood. It doesn’t tell you anything else. It doesn’t even differentiate between human and animal blood.”
“So the Hemident test doesn’t type or identify blood.”
“That’s correct. But it did establish that blood of some kind was present in the trunk of the car.”
“Subsequent to this test, what did you do?”
Gilley shifted his weight from one side of the chair to the other. “We requested that the New Orleans Police Department seal and impound the car, and the next day I went down to New Orleans and took it into my possession.”
“You drove the car back?”
“Oh no, ma’am,” Gilley said. “Not at all. I had it trailered back.”
“And what happened after you got the car back to Nashville?”
“We turned it over to our forensic examiners, who performed a standard, routine investigation of the car. They found no other evidence other than the stain in the trunk, which again proved conclusively to be blood. We turned the sample over to the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation for further testing.”
“And how did you do that, Detective Gilley?”
“We literally cut the piece of carpet with the stain on it out of the car, sealed it in an evidence bag, and forwarded it to TBI.”
“Thank you, Detective Gilley. No further questions at this time.”
Taylor watched as Talmadge stood quickly and walked to the podium, with his pressed Armani suit, his hundred-dollar haircut, and his crisp silk shirt, the very picture of a rich, successful lawyer. Everything within her was still, but in the back of her mind, a bubble was forming. Michael must have known that this testimony would be coming, but he hadn’t told her, hadn’t said a word to her about it. But Taylor knew, and she recognized this for exactly what it was-the first real evidence that could tie Michael to the murder scene.
“Detective Gilley, how much time elapsed between the time the defendant rented that car and the time it was discovered in the lot of the New Orleans airport?”
“Just a day or two short of seven weeks,” Gilley replied.
“And how many people had rented that car in the seven weeks that elapsed before the car was discovered.”
“According to the rental car company’s records,” Gilley answered, “forty-two people.”
Talmadge shifted at the podium and turned toward the jury. “So forty-two people rented this car between the time Mr. Schiftmann drove it in Nashville and the time you found it.” Gilley nodded. “That’s correct.”?
“How many people drove the car, Detective Gilley?”?
Gilley’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know the answer to that. ?
There’s no way to tell.”
“And how many people actually rode in the car?”
“Again,” Gilley answered, his voice tightening, “We have no way of knowing that.”
“How many people who rented, drove, or rode in this car opened the trunk?”
“What?”
“How many people opened the trunk and used it?” Talmadge demanded.
“How should I-” Gilley stopped, frustrated. He took a breath and paused for a moment. “I don’t know the answer to that question.”
Talmadge smiled. “Did you obtain a list of the forty-two people who rented this particular Lincoln Town Car over the seven-week period.”
“Yes, we did.”?
“And did you question each of these forty-two people?”?
“No, we didn’t.”?
“Did you do background checks on these forty-two peo-?
ple?”
“We did run their names through the NCIC computers,”
Gilley answered.
“And?”
“Six of the forty-two had prior arrest records. Two others had outstanding warrants.”
“So eight of the forty-two people who rented this car over a seven-week period had previous scrapes with the law. Did you interview those eight people? Did you question them?”
“None of them were from Nashville.”
“I didn’t ask where they were from, Detective Gilley. I asked if you tracked them down and questioned them.”
“No, sir, we did not.”
“So eight people out of the forty-two people who rented that car over a period of seven weeks had arrest records or outstanding warrants, and you decide somehow that the defendant, who has never had a run-in with the law in his life, was the person responsible for the bloodstain in the trunk of that-”
Collier jumped to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! This is totally inappropriate!”
Forsythe cleared his throat, angry. “I agree, General Collier. Objection sustained.”
Talmadge turned back to the defense table. “Question withdrawn, Your Honor. Nothing further for this witness.”
Collier walked to the podium. “One question on redirect, Your Honor. Detective Gilley, of the forty-three people, counting the defendant, who rented that Lincoln Town Car during this seven-week period, who rented it on the night of the murders at Exotica Tans?”
Gilley turned toward the defense table and nodded in their direction. “The defendant, sir. Michael Schiftmann.”
In the gallery, in the row directly behind the defense table, Taylor felt her blood turn cold.
Thankfully, Forsythe declared the afternoon recess. Taylor got up and walked straight out of the courtroom without waiting for Michael and the lawyers. She walked quickly down the hallway, her heels clicking loudly on the marble floor. She went into the ladies’ room and locked herself inside a stall. She held her hand up in front of her and noticed it was shaking. She stared at it a moment, as if it were someone else’s.
Her mind went blank as she stared at the scratched paint covering the metal door in front of her. Then, almost unconsciously, her brain kicked back into gear and she began thinking. There had to be some explanation besides the obvious. This was too easy for the police, too convenient.
She walked out the stall, past a couple of women from the courtroom who looked up in surprise when they saw her.
She rinsed off her hands and wanted to throw water in her face, but then she’d have to repair her makeup. She didn’t want to go back out there looking like she’d been crying.
She ran a brush through her hair, then squared her shoulders and walked back out into the hallway. Michael was a few feet farther down the hall, leaning against the wall, talking to Mark Hoffman, the youngest of the three lawyers.
“Where were you?” Michael asked, his voice low. “You disappeared. I was worried about you.”
“Sorry,” Taylor said, forcing herself to smile. “Call of nature. I sure wish the judge wouldn’t go so long between breaks.”
Hoffman smiled back at her. She hadn’t talked to him much over the course of the trial, but he seemed a little more relaxed, laid-back, than the other two attorneys. “Yeah, he’s intense. A real slave driver.”
“This seems to be moving forward a lot more quickly than everyone thought,” Taylor said, wanting to make small talk about anything so she wouldn’t have to discuss the testimony they’d just heard.
“It’ll start slowing down from here on out,” Hoffman said.
“We’re getting into the really contentious stuff.”
“I gathered,” Taylor said.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked.
Taylor looked up at him and smiled again. “Of course, I’m fine.”
