A murmur ran through the gallery, and members of the jury sat up even straighter. They knew this was important, they just didn’t know exactly why yet.
“Did you just say you found this bullet in the defendant’s bed?” Lily repeated for effect.
“That’s right.”
“Under what circumstances?”
“The defendant slept on a large round dog bed in a wooden box. On Monday, I was asked to retrieve a photograph that he kept zipped inside that bed, and in the course of retrieving that photograph, I came across the bullet.”
“Where was this box?”
“At the time of Detective Scott’s death, it was wedged between two sections of the stone wall that runs along the seaward alley.”
Lily picked up a handful of photographs and passed them to the clerk. “Defense 17 through 28,” she said. The clerk marked the photographs into evidence and Lily again ran them by the prosecutors before handing them to the witness. “Will you tell us what these photographs show?”
“The first five photos show a bullet hole going through the bed in a downward trajectory, and then through the carpet beneath the bed,” Joe described. “The next photo shows a dent in the metal plate that was fastened to the bottom of the box. The next three photos show the process I followed to dig out the bullet, and the final three photos show the bullet itself.”
Lily collected the photographs and passed them to the jury, and waited as they were handed from member to member, each one studying them carefully before sending them on.
“And what can you tell us about this second bullet?” she asked, turning her focus back to the witness.
“It’s a forty caliber Smith and Wesson -- the same kind of bullet used by Detective Scott.”
“Was anyone with you when you discovered this bullet?”
“Yes,” Joe replied. “Billy Fugate, the owner of The Last Call Bar & Grill was with me.”
“Thank you,” Lily said with a nod. “I have no further questions.”
. . .
Tom Lickliter stood. “Can you tell the jury, with any assurance, when this so-called second bullet was fired?” he asked.
“No, I can’t,” Joe said.
“Thank you. I have no further questions.”
. . .
“Defense recalls Edward Padilla,” Lily said. The ballistics expert from the State Patrol Crime Lab returned to the courtroom. “Mr. Padilla, as you have previously testified, you performed the ballistics test on the bullet that killed Dale Scott, did you not?”
“I did,” Padilla confirmed.
“And you determined that the bullet was a forty caliber Smith and Wesson, and that it was fired by the Sig Sauer P250 that had been issued to Detective Scott, is that correct?”
“It is.”
“Did you also perform a ballistics test on a second bullet that was brought to you yesterday morning?”
“I did.”
“And what did you determine from that test?”
“I determined that the second bullet had been fired from the same gun as the bullet that killed Detective Scott,” Padilla confirmed.
“Thank you.”
. . .
“Mr. Padilla,” Tom inquired, “can you tell the jury when this second bullet was fired from Detective Scott’s gun?”
“No, I can’t,” the ballistics expert responded. “The bullet was consistent with the other rounds that were found in the magazine of Detective Scott’s gun at the time of his death, but there was no way for my analysis to determine when that particular bullet was fired.”
“So, it could have been there for a month or even a year?”
“Yes, it could have.”
“Thank you,” Tom said. “Nothing further.”
. . .
“Redirect, Your Honor,” Lily said immediately. “Mr. Padilla, you’ve just testified that there is no way to prove that the second bullet was fired the night of Dale Scott’s death, is that right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Then isn’t it just as correct to say that there is no way to prove that it wasn’t fired that night?”
“I guess so,” the neutral Padilla said. “There’s nothing to prove, with any concrete accuracy, when it was or wasn’t fired.”
“Thank you, I have no further questions,” Lily said, and moved on. “Defense recalls Kent McAllister to the stand.”
The Chief of Police was scowling as he returned to the witness box. The integrity of his department was on the line here, and he wasn’t about to let one son-of-a-bitch loose cannon sink his ship. Whatever the defense lawyer wanted to know, he would tell her, and it would be the truth.
“Chief McAllister,” Lily began, “since your first appearance here, we’ve heard testimony from a private detective that there was a second bullet found at the scene of Detective Scott’s murder. And we’ve also heard testimony from a ballistics expert that he cannot confirm when that bullet may have been fired.”
“I’m aware of that,” McAllister said.
“Will you tell the members of the jury what your department’s firearms protocol is?”
“All department episodes involving the firing of a firearm are required to be documented,” McAllister replied.
“If that’s the case, and since you have already testified that Detective Scott was very good at keeping up with his paperwork, will you tell the jury when he reported firing this particular bullet into Jason Lightfoot’s bed?”
Lily held her breath, because she knew her whole case might hinge on the response he was about to give.
“Detective Scott filed no such report,” McAllister said. “The minute I heard about this second bullet, I ordered a thorough search. There was nothing in the records.”
“What does that indicate to you?”
“Knowing Dale, as well as I did, it indicates that there was no episode that involved firing the bullet under discussion prior to the night he died.”
“Anything else?”
The chief of police’s career was potentially at stake here, and he was no fool. “It also indicates that we might not have done a very thorough job of investigating this crime.”
Lily let out her breath, as much in surprise as in relief. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much. I have nothing further.”
. . .
“Mr. Morgan?” the judge inquired.
John Henry Morgan and Tom Lickliter looked at each other. Both men knew it might be next to impossible to rehabilitate this witness, but John Henry knew he had to try. There was no
