responsible for all the evidence?'
'Yes, sir, I was.'
'Mr. Deeks, the criminologist, testified that he found three sets of unidentified prints in the Rawlins house- one on the kitchen counter, one on the headboard of the bed in the crime scene, and one on the full-length mirror in the victim's closet, is that correct?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And he testified that he handed those prints over to you?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And you subsequently determined that the set on the kitchen counter belonged to Pete Puckett?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And how did you do that?'
'You gave me a number of items bearing fingerprints of possible suspects. I ran all those prints, including an item with prints on it which you said were Mr. Puckett's. I ran the prints and they matched those on the counter.'
'Did you subsequently determine to whom the set of prints on the headboard belong?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And how did you do that?'
'On a hunch, I obtained the subject's fingerprints and ran them. They matched.'
'And who was this subject?'
'Renee Ramirez.'
The courtroom audience gasped. It hadn't been Hank's hunch. After Scott's meeting with Renee at the Hotel Galvez pool bar, he had taken her Mimosa glass and given it to the D.A. for prints. Renee had interviewed Trey at his house only a few weeks before his death. She had given him more than a nice profile on the news.
'Renee Ramirez's fingerprints were found on the headboard of Trey Rawlins' bed?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Interesting.'
'I thought so.'
Unlike in federal court where the lawyers must stand at a podium to question witnesses, in state court counsel may stand next to the witness, if they so chose. Scott walked over and stood next to Hank but faced the judge.
'And what about the last set-the prints on the mirror in Trey's closet?'
'Yes, I've identified those as well.'
The judge's eyes came up.
'And to whom do they belong?'
'Well, Mr. Fenney, you're gonna have to tell me that.'
'Why is that?'
'Because all I know is that the prints on the mirror match the prints on the bourbon bottles.'
The judge interrupted. 'Bourbon bottles? What bourbon bottles?'
Hank reached into his coat and removed the baggie with the miniature bourbon bottles. 'These bourbon bottles. Kind they give you on airplane flights.'
Hank handed them up to the judge. She looked closely at them, and when her face came up, Scott knew she had recognized them.
'Are these in evidence?'
'No, Your Honor, they're not. Not yet, anyway.'
'And what is the point of this testimony?'
'If I may, Your Honor, that will become evident.' Scott turned back to the witness. 'Mr. Kowalski, where did you get those bottles?'
'From you.'
'And what did you do with them?'
'I had them checked for fingerprints. Which were found. I then ran the prints against the prints on the mirror. They matched. I then ran them through the FBI's fingerprint database. There was no match.'
'What does that mean?'
'Means that whoever these belong to has never been arrested and fingerprinted or otherwise had their fingerprints taken by law enforcement and put into the system.'
'On what occasions other than an arrest would someone have their fingerprints taken by law enforcement?'
'Oh, if you want to work with children, say in child care or as a coach, you have to have a criminal background check. If you want to be a cop or work for the Feds, you've got to.'
'Really? Most federal employees are fingerprinted?'
'The important positions.'
'Such as?'
'FBI, DEA, border patrol agents… White House personnel… persons nominated for federal judgeships, that sort of thing.'
'Mr. Kowalski, what would happen if the person to whom the prints on those bourbon bottles belong was now fingerprinted by law enforcement?'
'Well, the prints would be put into the system and would be spit out as a match to these prints because they were involved in a murder case.'
'But no one would ever know the identity of that person unless that person were to be fingerprinted at some time in the future?'
'That's correct.'
Scott turned to the judge. Their gazes met for a long moment. The nameplate on the bench read 'Hon. Shelby Morgan.' He wondered if she was. Honorable. He passed the witness. The D.A. gave Scott and the judge suspicious glances, but he knew better than to ask any questions.
The judge recessed the trial for the day. She seemed flustered when she stepped off the bench. Scott walked out of the courtroom. Renee Ramirez was not in her booth. She would not return to the trial. The Trey Rawlins murder trial proved to be her ticket off the Island after all.
Scott seldom slept well during a trial. That night was no exception. But there was a good reason for his restlessness that night: Rebecca would testify the next day.
He drifted off to sleep around one, but woke just before four. He thought he had heard a noise. He got up and checked on the girls then went downstairs. The sliding glass door leading out to the back deck was open. Rebecca was standing at the far railing, staring out to sea. Scott went to her.
'I couldn't sleep,' she said.
She was wearing a short white nightgown tight against her body in the breeze and holding onto the railing as if afraid she might be blown off the deck.
'I had a nightmare-I was in prison.' She hesitated. 'Scott, if the jury acquits me, can the D.A. charge me with murder again?'
'No. It's called double jeopardy. Means the government can't try you twice for the same crime. But they can charge you with perjury if you testify and lie under oath.'
'Will I?'
'Lie?'
'Testify.'
'Only if you don't want to go to prison. Your prints on the knife, that alone is enough to get the case to the jury. They want to hear you explain why your prints are on the murder weapon, they want to hear you say, 'I didn't kill Trey. I loved him.' '
'I did. Love him.'
She stared down at the waves, almost as if mesmerized. The moon offered the only light. All the color was washed out by the night. The world was painted only in shades of gray.
'I've lived my life in shades of gray,' she said.
