inflamed hands. Powder-residue tests are used to determine if a suspect has recently fired a gun. The discharge of trace elements, chemicals, can be detected on the hands, and in the case of a long gun other parts of the body. I sit, taking in air, like being sucker-punched. There is little that will ignite righteous indignation in a jury faster than inferences of evidence being destroyed. “Even assuming she did it, why would she take the rug? If it had blood on it, why not just leave it there?”
“It’s one way to clean her hands and have an excuse for it.” Harry’s tracking on what will surely be the state’s line of reasoning. “Next,” he says. “One gold compact, with the initials MLH . This was found in Laurel’s purse at the time of the arrest.” This means nothing to me.
“ MLH ,” he says. “Melanie Lee Hannan. The victim’s maiden name.”
“Oh.”
Harry can tell by the look on my face that this is daunting, Lama’s case against Laurel beginning to stack up. He gives me an expression, a tilt of the head, like who knows? “Never circle the wagons in defense too early,” says Harry. We’re both beginning to wonder if Jack was not right. That perhaps we should maybe have some early conference with the DA before the tides of temper run high. “Then we have videotapes,” he says.
“More than one?”
He nods.
The most damaging, he tells me, is the security video from the porch of the house, the night of the murder. It has the time and date imposed at the bottom left corner. “I haven’t seen it,” says Harry. “We’ll have a copy in a few days. But the description isn’t good,” he says. He reads from a page prepared by one of the evidence techs. They have pictures but no sound, what is described as a lot of angry and threatening gestures by Laurel toward the victim followed by the destruction of the camera by Laurel after the door was slammed in her face. According to the report, at one point Melanie, in the doorway, threatened to call the police if Laurel didn’t leave. “How do they know that with no sound?” I ask.
“Lip-readers,” says Harry. He’s talking about experts who can read lips with field glasses a mile away. These people can take the art of sounding out words from a tape to whole new levels. “Do they know what Laurel was saying?”
“If they do, it’s not in the report,” he says.
“What time was the tape?”
“Twenty-seventeen hours,” he says. Seventeen minutes after eight, the evening of the murder. “Time of death?” I’m making notes on a pad, the critical elements.
“Ah.” He’s looking. “Eleven-thirty.” This is as close an estimate as the medical examiner can make. A little over three hours between the two events. “You said there were two tapes?”
“Yeah. The courthouse earlier that day,” he says. “There was a security camera in the ceiling when Laurel went after her.”
“All we needed,” I say. It was bad enough that there were a dozen witnesses. On film this attack will take on a whole new meaning. A skillful prosecutor can splice these pictures together with forceful argument. The image for our case is not a pleasant one. A brooding Laurel languishing over thoughts of vengeance for hours before presumably carrying out the deed. Their case is beginning to take form, handed to them on a platter, a blood feud between the two women, with one of them now dead. “The toughest part of their case,” he says, “are the special circumstances.” Harry does not believe that the DA can produce hard evidence that the killer, whoever he or she was, actually lay in wait for the victim. “No lurking in the corners on this one,” says Harry. “Whoever did her came straight at her,” he says. “And they fought. The evidence in the bathroom shows a scuffle. They’re playing it down,” he says. “But the evidence is there. There was a perfume bottle shattered on the floor, like maybe she tried to throw it at the killer.
A
“It’s one way to clean her hands and have an excuse for it.” Harry’s tracking on what will surely be the state’s line of reasoning. “Next,” he says. “One gold compact, with the initials MLH . This was found in Laurel’s purse at the time of the arrest.” This means nothing to me.
“ MLH ,” he says. “Melanie Lee Hannan. The victim’s maiden name.”
“Oh.”
Harry can tell by the look on my face that this is daunting, Lama’s case against Laurel beginning to stack up. He gives me an expression, a tilt of the head, like who knows? “Never circle the wagons in defense too early,” says Harry. We’re both beginning to wonder if Jack was not right. That perhaps we should maybe have some early conference with the DA before the tides of temper run high. “Then we have videotapes,” he says.
“More than one?”
He nods.
The most damaging, he tells me, is the security video from the porch of the house, the night of the murder. It has the time and date imposed at the bottom left corner. “I haven’t seen it,” says Harry. “We’ll have a copy in a few days. But the description isn’t good,” he says. He reads from a page prepared by one of the evidence techs. They have pictures but no sound, what is described as a lot of angry and threatening gestures by Laurel toward the victim followed by the destruction of the camera by Laurel after the door was slammed in her face. According to the report, at one point Melanie, in the doorway, threatened to call the police if Laurel didn’t leave. “How do they know that with no sound?” I ask.
“Lip-readers,” says Harry. He’s talking about experts who can read lips with field glasses a mile away. These people can take the art of sounding out words from a tape to whole new levels. “Do they know what Laurel was saying?”
“If they do, it’s not in the report,” he says.
“What time was the tape?”
“Twenty-seventeen hours,” he says. Seventeen minutes after eight, the evening of the murder. “Time of death?” I’m making notes on a pad, the critical elements.
“Ah.” He’s looking. “Eleven-thirty.” This is as close an estimate as the medical examiner can make. A little over three hours between the two events. “You said there were two tapes?”
“Yeah. The courthouse earlier that day,” he says. “There was a security camera in the ceiling when Laurel went after her.”
“All we needed,” I say. It was bad enough that there were a dozen witnesses. On film this attack will take on a whole new meaning. A skillful prosecutor can splice these pictures together with forceful argument. The image for our case is not a pleasant one. A brooding Laurel languishing over thoughts of vengeance for hours before presumably carrying out the deed. Their case is beginning to take form, handed to them on a platter, a blood feud between the two women, with one of them now dead. “The toughest part of their case,” he says, “are the special circumstances.” Harry does not believe that the DA can produce hard evidence that the killer, whoever he or she was, actually lay in wait for the victim. “No lurking in the corners on this one,” says Harry. “Whoever did her came straight at her,” he says. “And they fought. The evidence in the bathroom shows a scuffle. They’re playing it down,” he says. “But the evidence is there. There was a perfume bottle shattered on the floor, like maybe she tried to throw it at the killer.
A
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