A buzz rose up in the room as Yuki entered the blade into evidence. She then handed the closed plastic envelope to the jury foreperson. While the jurors passed the sealed glassine envelope among themselves, Yuki brought two photos over to her expert witness.
“Director Hallows, let me show you two photographs. Can you describe them?”
“Photo one is an enlargement from the video of Melissa Fogarty’s murder. It’s the face of the assailant in the school parking lot. Number 2 is the photo of the defendant, Lucas Burke, taken when he was arrested five months ago. Because the facial details of number 1 are hard to discern without a trained eye, even with facial recognition software, we contacted a highly respected forensic photographic analyst, Dr. Werner Stutz. We asked Dr. Stutz to compare photo 1, with photo 2.”
Yuki taped both enlarged photos on the whiteboard under their respective labels.
“Director, can you explain the similarities and differences between the two photographs?”
“Surely. What we’re looking at is the result of a process of measuring and comparing facial features that’s been in use for over two thousand years. However, Dr. Stutz’s digital instruments are more precise than those used in antiquity.”
Hallows continued. “You’ll note his measurements written on the photos. Here and here, the distance between the corners of the eyes. Here, the distance from center of the eyes to tip of nose. Here, length of the bridge of the nose, point-to-point measurement between the cheekbones, and here, cheekbones to ear tips and lobes. As you can see, there are additional facial measurements.”
“For the record, did Dr. Stutz reach a conclusion?”
“Yes. With 95 percent certainty, his expert judgment is that the two photos are of the same man.”
“Not a hundred percent?” Yuki asked. She was ‘drawing the sting,’ bringing out the weakness in the evidence before opposing counsel could do it and nail her witness.
Hallows said, “The figure on the video was wearing a knit cap to his eyebrows covering the tips of his ears. That’s the 5 percent. In the comparison photo, the defendant is not wearing a hat.”
“Thank you, Director Hallows. Your Honor, the prosecution rests. Your witness, Mr. Gardner.”
Chapter 99
Alvarez and I were in the back of a squad car speeding down the Strip from the Bellagio to the airport.
I couldn’t wait to get home, but the job wasn’t done. I said, “Sonia, I’m feeling lucky.”
“Yeah. He was in surgery either very late last night or this morning. He can’t have lawyered up. I know people in the ER.”
I spoke through the grill.
“Officer, changing our destination to Sunrise Med. Can you take us there and wait?”
“Chief says we’re yours, sergeant. Whatever you need.”
Minutes later we were parked to the side of the ambulance bay that led to the hospital’s emergency room. Alvarez and I were in our work clothes, badges pinned to our lapels. At our approach, the automatic sliders breezed open and we had a clear view of the ER, only moderately busy that morning.
“Crap,” Alvarez said, looking to the head nurse at the admissions desk. “I don’t know her.”
“You be the good cop. If that fails, I’ll be the badass.”
The nurse looked up to see the two of us at her desk with badges on display.
“How can I help you, officers?”
Alvarez said, “My partner and I are San Francisco police working a case with LVPD. We need to speak with a patient who came in around midnight with a shoulder wound.”
“Name?”
“Last known as William Marsh.”
She ran her finger down the list, found him.
“Stay here. Let me get the attending.”
A moment later, a tall thirtysomething man in a white coat over blue scrubs appeared at the desk.
“Marco, hey,” said Alvarez.
“Hey to you, Yorkie. You back already?”
“No, no. This is my colleague, Sergeant Lindsay Boxer, SFPD. Boxer, this is Dr. Marco Ganz. Marco, we’d like to talk to our subject for a minute. William Marsh.”
“He’s out of surgery. Sleeping it off down the hall.”
“Just need a couple of minutes, doctor,” I said. “He killed someone last night, a girlfriend or a pickup. We need him to give us her name.”
“Come with me.”
We followed the doctor down the corridor to a room where cops stood on either side of the door. Dr. Ganz opened it. Burke was alone in the room, lying in the narrow hospital bed, IV in his arm. Monitors beeped out his vital signs.
Ganz said, “Mr. Marsh, you have guests for a couple of minutes. I’ll be outside.”
Burke had kicked off his blanket. He wore an open-backed hospital gown, white patterned with blue dots, matching socks, and his right arm was in a sling crossing his chest.
“How sweet,” he said. “I appreciate the visit. Especially from you, Sergeant Boxer. You’re worried about me.”
“Anyone you want me to call for you?” I asked without inflection.
He didn’t answer.
I said, “Okay, then. We’re taking the next flight home. Anything you’d like to offer our DA? For instance, a confession to the murders of Tara and Lorrie Burke, and Melissa Fogarty. Make it convincing and I think he’ll ask a favor for you with the Las Vegas DA.”
“Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse.”
Sarcasm. Burke was cogent and awake, but his voice was slow. That would be from the Demerol dripping into his veins.
“Here’s something for your DA, sergeant, dear. You’re going to like it. I’ve been sleeping with Luke’s child bride. For years. Luke didn’t know. I even went to the wedding.”
Was he making this up?
Burke smiled. I felt him padding around inside my head.
He said, “Lorrie was my daughter. Even you can trust me on this. I wouldn’t kill that little girl. What do I think happened? I think Tara told Lucas the whole story, about Lorrie being my baby and all. And Luke lost it. My son has a murderous temper.”
Damn it. He was lying, wasn’t he? So why did I believe him? Had Lucas really killed his own loved ones as charged? Or had Evan Burke?
I could argue both sides—and I didn’t like it.
Alvarez swiped at her
