Authors: David Kessler
“Now I see from this table that the lengths of the strands for the suspect and crime scene sample are identical. What does this tell us?”
“It tells us that there were no exclusions. This means that the suspect could not be eliminated as a possible source of the DNA in this sample from the victim’s fingernails.”
An eerie silence hung over the courtroom before the prosecutor spoke again.
“And were you able to establish the probability of a randomly selected male matching this particular DNA profile?”
“Yes. In the general population as a whole, this profile or ‘haplotype’ as we call it, is likely to occur in one in every four thousand males.”
“One in four thousand, is that correct?”
“Yes, one in four thousand.”
“Your witness,” said Sarah Jensen, turning to the defense table.
But as Alex was about to rise, the judge spoke.
“We’ll take a twenty minute recess.”
“Will he live?” asked the driver of the police car as the gurney was raised into the ambulance outside the parking structure.
“Oh yeah,” said the ambulance attendant. “It’s not life threatening.”
“Pity.”
There was a certain amount of macho posturing in this interjection. The cop was not, in fact, as hard as he was trying to sound. He was a rookie and had never killed a man before. Nor was he looking forward to doing so, although he knew that at some point in his career he might have to. Even the sight of Martine and her condition, couldn’t make him wish that the man was dead.
“It’ll be okay,” said his partner.
The rookie backed off as the ambulance crew closed the doors and drove off.
Martine was being treated in situ by a second ambulance crew. Another squad car had been summoned and a victim chaperone was taking her preliminary statement.
“So what do we know?” asked the rookie. His partner had been getting further information while he had stood aside, trying to calm down after the shock of the impact.
“Name’s Manning, Louis Manning. Has a string of priors for possession and dealing.”
“Anything for rape or indecent assault?”
“No. Just dope.”
“I guess that’s gonna change now.”
“Uh huh. He cornered her as she was getting into her car. She’s a reporter on the Claymore case.”
“No shit.”
The rookie looked over to where she was making a statement to the other team.
“She’s cute.”
“She’s gotta be. She does the TV news.”
The rookie looked away embarrassed when Martine noticed him starting.
“That her car?”
“No his. Hers is up on Level Four. She was getting into her car for a change of makeup or whatever and he was getting something out from the passenger side of his when he jumped her.”
“Didn’t she see him approaching?”
“His car was right next to hers.”
“Sounds like a setup.”
“Probably was.”
“She okay?”
“Think so. She maced him in the face so she must be pretty tough.”
The rookie looked at the Mercedes.
“You say he was a dealer?”
“That’s what his rap sheet says.”
“He must’ve been making some serious dough.”
“Oh yeh that’s another thing. She said that one thing that caught her attention just before he jumped her was the car, because it matched the description of the one in the case she’s covering.”
“What the Claymore rape case?”
“Yeah.”
“Well maybe we should check it out.”
“I was planning to.”
The older cop put in a call on his radio. About twenty seconds later the dispatcher replied.
“Those license plates come from a 1993 Pontiac Firebird licensed to one Louis Manning in New Mexico.”
“Okay thanks,” said the older cop. He looked over at his partner to make sure that had heard it.
“So he used his old plates,” said the rookie.
“That’s the way they do it. Steal a top-of-the range Merc to replace an aging Pontiac and transfer the legal plates to the stolen vehicle.”
“But we can check the VIN to trace the real owner.”
“Exactly.”
The older cop smiled. He’d seen it all before: the young, eager rookie showing off how much he’s learned. He’d been like that too, when he was rookie.
They walked over to the car as it was being hitched to the tow truck. The tow truck team stood back while the rookie and his partner opened the driver’s door and looked for the plate on the dashboard with the serial number. The rookie spoke into his radio.
“We need a make on Vehicle Identification Number 4DB-NG-7-zero-JX-9K-234-299.”
The dispatcher came back even more quickly on this one.
“That vehicle is registered with the California DMV as a Mercedes belonging to Elias Claymore.”
“Okay, thank you,” said the rookie, letting out a whoop of delight.
Martine was in the rape suite at the police station in the Frank H Ogawa Plaza. Unlike Bethel Newton, they hadn’t taken any vaginal or oral swabs or even nail clippings. But they had taken photographs of her injuries and tapings from her clothes to show fiber matches with Louis Manning’s clothes.
The victim chaperone dealing with her had told her not to be surprised if Manning tried to use a consent defense, but pointed out that her injuries would be corroborative of her version of events. There seemed to be a sense of gloom however, as if to make her aware of the fact that she could expect her reputation to be attacked by the defense lawyers as a matter of course.
That reminded her about one very particular defense lawyer whom she wanted to call. She asked if it was okay and when the victim chaperone said yes, she whipped out her cell phone and put in a call to Alex. She was expecting to get his message box, because he was in court, but was surprised when he answered in person.
“Martine where are you?”
“I’m at the police station up at the Ogawa Plaza.”
“Why what’s happening there?”
“I was attacked.”
“What?”
“Some one tried to rape me.”
“Holy shit! Who?”
“I don’t know his name. I got him with pepper spray and the cops busted him.”
“Are you all right?”
“A bit shaken, but everything intact.”
“Thank God.”
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I’m okay. Don’t worry.”
“I’m coming round there.”
“No need. I’ll probably be through here in fifteen or twenty.”
“I’ll ask for an adjournment.”
“There’s no
need
.”
“But I
want
to.”
She gritted her teeth, but felt a tinge of amusement at Alex’s reaction.
“Did anyone ever tell you, you’re very stubborn?”
“Only Mrs. Sedaka.”
“Melody?”
“No, my mother.”
Martine couldn’t help but smile at Alex’s reaction.
“Okay, you do whatever you must. Like I said, I’ll be here for at least the next half hour.”
“Let me see if I’ve understood this, Mr Sedaka. You want me to grant your request for an adjournment, so you can visit your girlfriend a few blocks away?”
Justice Wagner’s tone was condescending rather than indignant. But Alex was left in no doubt as to how she felt about what he realized might seem like a frivolous request.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Your Honor, just a professional friend. And she’s pretty badly shaken up.”
“But you said yourself that this was only an attempted rape and she hasn’t even been hospitalized.”
“Yes, but she must be in shock. It’ll probably hit her later.”
“And when it does, you can comfort her – this
evening
. But right now, we have a case to try.”
“Your Honor, if I’m forced to conduct my cross-examination while I’m thinking about this, it might affect my performance.”
“I hope you’re not going to try and make your client pay for your concern about your girlfriend – sorry, your ‘professional’ friend.”
“I’m not saying I’ll do anything less than my best. But my concern for Miss Yin is genuine and may affect my performance. And even if it doesn’t, my client might claim that it does. He might claim incompetent representation by counsel and use it as grounds for appeal.”
“Which would hurt your reputation.”
“And threaten to undermine the verdict.”
Sarah Jensen stepped in.
“Why can’t Ms Phoenix conduct the cross-examination?”
All eyes turned back to Alex.
“This is a very complex area of law and science, Your Honor, and my co-counsel may not be sufficiently well-versed in this area to
–
”
“Come off it, Mr Sedaka. Ms Phoenix is an experienced trial attorney. She has been a prosecutor in New York City as well as defense counsel. Unlike you, she’s worked the criminal courts from both sides and she’s more than capable of conducting a rigorous and thorough cross-examination of the witness.”
Alex found himself almost stuttering.
“Well… I don’t know. I mean my client might not agree to it.”
“Oh really?” sneered the judge. “A minute ago you were saying that your client wouldn’t want
you
to cross-examine because you were in emotional turmoil over what’s happened to your
–
to Miss Yin. Now your saying he desperately wants you.”
For once, Alex was lost for words.
“May I confer with my client, Your Honor?”
“Please do.”
Alex went over to Claymore and told him what had happened, prefixing his remarks by telling Claymore not to show any reaction on his face – an instruction with which Elias Claymore proved singularly incapable of complying. But worse than that, Claymore showed no sign of flexibility on this point.
“I don’t want her doing it! I want
you
to cross-examine.”
“But why? She’s a very good lawyer – and in some ways it’ll look better in the eyes of the jury if
she
does it.”
“She doesn’t understand the DNA science as well as you do. She’s too wrapped up in this computer business.”
“She can use my notes. It’s all there.”
“I don’t want it. Look, you pushed me into accepting her as second seat. And she did a good job on the Newton girl. But for this job, I don’t think she’s up to it. I’m the client and I ain’t taking any chances. I want
you
to cross-examine Alvarez.”
Alex could see from the look in Claymore’s eyes that he wasn’t going to give way. But he also noticed something else. Claymore was afraid – it was the DNA that frightened him more than anything else.
Seconds later, Alex was back at the judge’s bench.
“My client doesn’t agree, Your Honor. I’ll do the cross. But may I at least be excused after that?”
“Okay, we’ll adjourn for lunch when you’ve finished and we’ll cancel the afternoon session.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.”
On the way back to the defense table, Alex whispered to Andi.
“I don’t want Elias to hear this, but don’t be surprised if I race through the cross.”
“I understand,” Andi replied.
Seconds later, Andi and Sarah Jensen were seated at their respective tables. Alex remained standing.
“Proceed, Mr Sedaka.”
“Thank you, Your Honor.” He looked down at his notes, flicking through several pages, and then looked up to meet the eyes of Victor Alvarez.
“Dr. Alvarez, you told us in direct examination that the test you carried out looked at twenty two markers on the Y chromosome. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“But is it not a fact that the generally accepted
profile
for the Y-STR Haplotype uses only eleven of those markers?”
“Yes but the more markers you use, the more accurate the test.”
“But is it not a fact that with Y chromosome DNA, to determine the probability of a random match, you don’t multiply the odds of each sequence to calculate the overall probability, but rather look it up in a database according to a mathematical formula?”
“Yes. That’s why it’s only four thousand to one.”
“And is it not also a fact that many of those people actually in the reference database are profiled with only ten or eleven markers?”
“So many of the markers that you tested for are in fact irrelevant and might in fact produce a greater sense of certainty than is realistic?”
Alvarez nodded.
“Yes, that’s true. But in such cases, the markers are simply ignored. So it doesn’t affect the final result one way or the other. Again, that’s why I said one in four thousand.”
“And is it not also a fact that the markers are not
independent
? In other words, men get all their DNA from their fathers so that fathers and sons and brothers – and even some cousins and second cousins –
all have the same
Y chromosome DNA?”
“Yes that’s true. But again, that’s why we use the database method and the mathematical formula that you referred to a moment ago. That’s why I said one in four thousand.”
Alex noticed that Alvarez had put his hand to his mouth when he answered, suggesting that he was if not lying then having to admit something that he didn’t want to admit or possibly that he was holding back part of the truth.
“And is it not
also
a fact that specific Y-STR haplotypes are more common in some
ethnic groups
than in others?”
“Yes.”
“So in other words, even if the probability of this particular haplotype in the population
as a whole
is one in four thousand, it’s somewhat more common in the African-American population.”
“Yes.”
“What is that probability?”
“About zero point two of one per cent.”
He put it this way to make it still seem rare. But Alex had other ideas.
“About zero point two? So you’re saying that one African-American man in
five hundred
has this same haplotype?”
“Yes, if you care to put it that way.”
Alex most certainly
did
care to put it that way. Alvarez was desperately trying to take the sting out of this point. But Alex was not going to let up.
“Well let’s try it another way then. Instead of a
percentage
, let’s look at it as a
number
.
How many
African-American males in the United States would you expect to match this profile?”