“Fine,” I say reluctantly. “Do my angels have any ideas to get the police department to look deeper into this case without alerting them to the note?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t worry about that. Just force them to do their job and comb through all the evidence. Stay persistent. Be the coyote until the wisdom is learned and the truth comes out,” says Angela.
Minutes after leaving the Airstream, I pull up to the Fingerprint Office. The thirty-second walk from my car to the building feels like a mile in the humidity. The smell of the cow manure and thick air makes me want to gag. We are minutes from an area that used to house chicken farms. The years of chicken poop must have seeped well into the ground to suffocate the next seven generations.
I open the door to the Fingerprint Office and I walk straight through and up to the front desk.
“Hi there, I’m Gaby Ruiz with the Tuckford County Prosecutor’s Office,” I say. “I’d like to talk to someone about a fingerprint comparison in a case I’m investigating.”
After a few minutes of speaking with a white-haired receptionist, I follow Fingerprint Examiner Linda Dean down a hallway. We pass cubicles and other examiners looking into round handheld magnifying glasses examining fingerprint cards.
“Go ahead and have a seat right here,” says Ms. Dean, pointing at two chairs in her cubicle area. “What can I do for you?”
“A forensic technician found a fingerprint in the case I’m investigating. We think the victim was hit in the head with the vase. The technician photographed the print and sent it to you for examination. This is the case number. I just came to see if there were any results.”
“Yes, actually,” Ms. Dean begins. “I just spoke with Investigator Mack on this from the Special Homicide Team. It is actually a very clear print of a thumb. Typically, I look for ten points of comparison on the actual print in order to be confident that I can read it. It appeared there are sufficient points of comparison. I spoke with Investigator Mack and he actually submitted the suspect’s recent booking print to me. I have it right here and I should have the comparison done by Monday.”
“Is there any possible way you can do it right now?” I ask.
“I have higher priority cases right now,” Ms. Dean replies. “I have prints waiting to be examined from a murder and a child kidnapping case. Those get priority. Our office has strict rules on our caseloads. This case is not a high priority. Plus, I understand you already have a suspect in custody, so it doesn’t have the urgency of other investigations where the suspect is on the loose.”
“Look, Ms. Dean,” I say. “We have similar rules at my job. My trials get priority over recently filed cases. My child molestations get priority over adult sexual assaults. I get what you’re saying. But I have a staffing Monday morning and I’m trying to get all my ducks in a row. This is the key piece of evidence. If it doesn’t belong to our suspect, that will be a major issue. Either he had help or the real suspect might be on the loose.”
“I understand what your goal is, but I can’t just drop everything to work on your case,” says Ms. Dean.
I breathe in and out deeply and try to formulate my frustrated thoughts before I open my mouth.
“Ms. Dean, sometimes there is no good reason for doing something, other than just to help a girl out. I’m going to get grilled on Monday for why I couldn’t get you to give me this information. And there will be no good reason why this couldn’t be done sooner than later. You not helping me is going to delay things. It’s just one thumbprint and like you said, it’s a good one. If anyone gives you a hard time about it, you can just refer them to me,” I say.
“Look, I’d really like to help you but…” says Ms. Dean.
“I’m trying to do my job and it’s my job to have every question answered,” I say, interrupting her. “It shouldn’t take you that long to look at it. And then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“I’m not doing it, Ms. Ruiz. This is how my casework gets behind and I get into trouble,” says Ms. Dean.
“I guess this case is not as important to you as it is to me,” I say. “It seems like you have dozens of prints you are waiting to compare and it’s just another fingerprint that comes across your desk. I wish I had your job sometimes, where I didn’t have to look into the eyes of the victims or their family and tell them we are going to have to wait for justice.
“My life would be much easier if I didn’t have to fight to figure out who hurt seventeen-year-old Laura. She’s sitting on her deathbed in a coma at the hospital. I would love to trade jobs with you so I wouldn’t have to look into her mom’s eyes and tell her we still don’t have an answer. But at least I can tell them I tried,” I say, grabbing my purse from the floor and starting to stand up.
“Well. All right. This shouldn’t take long. Let me take a quick look and see if it matches,” says Ms. Dean.
I sit back down as Ms. Dean puts on her black-rimmed reading glasses and takes out a fingerprint magnifier. She positions it over the thumbprint on Clown’s fingerprint card. She looks from his thumbprint to the blown-up photograph of the bloody print, then looks at her points of comparison chart that sits bulletin-pinned on her corkboard inside her cubicle. She takes her glasses off, starts writing some notes down inside her file, and finally puts her pencil down and looks up at me.
“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” she asks.
“The good,” I say.
“We actually have a couple good things here. That print landed in her blood after she was probably hit in the head. It’s called a patent print. Additionally, the thumbprint is facing downwards on the vase as if the suspect held it in a way he could strike her with the most force. See how the ridges curve up and around in the core?” says Ms. Dean, pointing to the center of the bloody thumbprint in the photo.
“Wow. You would testify to that?” I ask.
“That’s my interpretation. So yes,” she says.
“And the bad?” I ask.
“It’s not your suspect’s print.”
Within thirty minutes of leaving the Fingerprint Office, I sit in Department Thirteen. The morning sun’s rays peek their way through the windows as Javier Sanchez shoots his eyes from Dylan, to me, and then the double door entrance of the courtroom. He’s looking for any indication of what’s about to happen. The courtroom clerk, reporter, and deputy do the same before looking at one another as though they are placing bets on what’s about to happen.
I figure I might as well wait to tell everyone at once what’s going on. I don’t feel like dealing with the questions they will have about Laura and the case. Plus, Carol Hernandez, a well-respected local news reporter, is sitting in the back of the courtroom. The media PR person at my office alerted me yesterday that she was getting calls on the case when they discovered Laura was found in the motel.
“When are we going to get the DNA results back?” I ask Dylan.
“They are telling me it will take five months,” says Dylan.
“Geez, will they speed it up if Laura dies and this case becomes a homicide?” I ask.
“Calm down. I know what you’re thinking. But that print can belong to a number of people,” says Dylan.
“‘Like who?” I ask.
“Laura for one,” says Dylan.
I think for a second about whether to tell Dylan about the note.
“Let’s get over to the hospital then the Crime Lab as soon as we’re done here. I want to see Laura’s injuries. And I want to see if the lab will rush the DNA. I’d like everything done before I head out on my vacation. I don’t want to worry about things falling through the cracks after I hand it off,” I say.
“Sure, but we won’t need that stuff for the preliminary hearing. We have more than enough to get a holding order. I think we’re solid,” says Dylan.
Before I can respond, I’m interrupted.
“Come to order, remain seated, court is now in session. The Honorable Samuel Hoffman presiding,” yells the deputy.
“Are we ready to proceed, Ms. Ruiz?” asks Judge Hoffman.
“No, Your Honor, we are not,” I say.
“Have you located Laura?” Judge Hoffman asks.
“Yes, Your Honor. I’m not sure if you’ve had a chance to read the newspaper, but Laura was found unconscious in a motel room in Leafwood. But for the grace of God, she is not dead. She is currently at Tuckford County Memorial Hospital,” I say.
“Is Laura’s condition the same?” I whisper to Dylan.
“Yep,” says Dylan.
“My goodness. I’m so sorry. I realize you may have been close to her,” says Judge Hoffman.
I wonder if Judge Hoffman is speaking in a friendlier tone because someone from the media is in the courtroom actually listening to what he’s saying and will quote him in the paper. I wish I had a media representative following me around court every day.
“What is her expected recovery time?” asks Judge Hoffman.
“We don’t know at this point,” I say.
“I know based on our pretrial motions, she had a difficult life and was making bad choices, and running the streets. I’m assuming that had to do with what happened to her,” says Judge Hoffman.
“I don’t want to comment on that, only because there is a suspect now in custody for her attempted murder. She was unconscious when we found her, but I’m hoping for a full recovery,” I say.
“Well, I admire your optimism, Ms. Ruiz. If anyone knows you well, that would be something we would all agree you have. However, for purposes of this trial, which by the way, we are in the matter of People versus Javier Sanchez, case number TUCK1393, it doesn’t appear that you have sufficient evidence to proceed. Unless, well, wait a minute, did you have Laura testify at preliminary hearing? Or did she call 911?” asks Judge Hoffman.
“No, neither of those things exist,” I say, regretting how the case was handled before I got it. Laura should have testified. She’s a runaway, dabbles in drugs, and is prostituting herself. The reality is that some of these girls wind up staying on the streets, getting pimped out, or become reluctant to cooperate with law enforcement. Some wind up dead. You never know if they are gonna show up or even be around to testify by the time trial rolls around.
Derrick Sandy, an assistant prosecutor who was known for not putting in a whole lot of effort into his cases, had the case before me.
“Do you have any other evidence to present in this case?” Judge Hoffman asks.
“No, Your Honor, I have nothing else,” I say.
“For purposes of this trial, if the People are not ready to proceed, I’m prepared to release the jury. I’d like to bring them in, explain what is going on, and let them go,” says Judge Hoffman.
“I’ll submit, Your Honor,” I say.
“Mr. Sanchez, do you have anything to say about what’s going on here? I would assume you have no objection to what you’re hearing,” says Judge Hoffman.
“Judge, what happens now? Will I get released?” asks Javier.
“Mr. Sanchez, double jeopardy has attached. You can no longer be prosecuted for this crime, you…”
I raise my hand up towards Judge Hoffman to get his attention.
“Your Honor, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt you. Just so we’re clear, the panel was not sworn in yet. So to answer Mr. Sanchez’s question, I do intend on refiling charges this afternoon and he will not be released. Or, let me clarify, he will be released momentarily and then rearrested before he gets out of jail,” I say.
“Okay. I forgot. Yes, you’re right, the jury was not sworn. In fact, you asked me not to swear them in. Thank you for reminding me,” says Judge Hoffman appreciatively.
Double jeopardy attaches to a criminal case forever barring a defendant from being retried for the same acts once twelve jurors are selected and asked to stand up and take an oath to serve on the jury. After we selected the jury yesterday, I asked Judge Hoffman to hold off on swearing them in. I was concerned about Laura’s flakiness and didn’t want jeopardy to attach. So, technically, I have a second bite at the apple to refile on Javier, start the clock over, and just hope and pray that Laura comes out of her coma.
I have nothing to lose by refiling the case. The alternative is letting Javier out of custody to abuse the next victim. Plus, I need to save face at my office. The news reporter has been scribbling down everything that has been said in this courtroom all morning.
“Given all of the circumstances and now hearing from both sides concerning this matter, reluctantly I have no choice other than to dismiss this case for insufficient evidence and allow Ms. Ruiz to refile charges. Bring the jury in,” says Judge Hoffman.
One by one, the jurors file into the courtroom past Dylan and me. I never figured out if the reason they call this county Ole Tucky is because the people here look like the kind of hard-working blue collar people you’d expect to find at a truck stop in Kentucky, or because it actually has pockets of green pastures and farms like Kentucky. Maybe it’s both.
The jurors take the same seats they were expecting to listen to Laura’s testimony from today. The jury learned a little about Laura during my voir dire two days ago. I got to speak with the jury and tell them a little about the case and read the charges to them.