Unlucky in Law by Perri O'Shaughnessy

sat there, hoping to express nothing more than a bland nonreaction while Millman said, “The contents fell out on the road. They appeared to be human bones, and pieces of what looked like a man's blue suit.”
    While a few winced, on the whole this was going to be a tough group—most eyes squinted with interest. A murmur traveled around the courtroom. Millman had the rapt attention of every person there.
    “What did you do then?” Jaime asked.
    “I attempted to question the driver about the bag. He said he wanted a lawyer, even though I hadn't Mirandized him or arrested him. I told him he was being detained for questioning and I secured his vehicle and the bones, then put him in the police cruiser and took him to the station.”
    “Did the driver say anything on that drive?”
    “No, sir. Not one word then or after, so far as I know. He made no attempt to explain.”
    “What happened then?”
    “Well, Watch Commander said it was okay for him to make a call, so I let the defendant use the pay phone and he called his girlfriend.”
    “About what time was this?”
    “By then—I would say after three A.M. I escorted him into a witness room for questioning, and Detective Banta took custody.”
    Jaime turned his back on Millman to look at Stefan. “And can you tell us the name on the driver's license you examined that night?”
    “Yes, sir, the name on the license and on the registration was Stefan Wyatt.”
    “And do you recognize the person you took in for questioning early on Sunday morning, April thirteenth, based on the events you have just testified about, here in this courtroom today?”
    “Yes, I recognize the defendant over there. That is the individual I stopped that night.” Millman pointed with his finger.
    “Let the record show Officer Millman has identified the defendant, Stefan Wyatt,” Jaime said. “What, if anything, did you do then in connection with this traffic stop and detention?”
    “I was on shift until eight A.M. that next morning. Officer Graydon and I called the two cemeteries right across the street from where we first saw the driver—the defendant. At about four-thirty A.M. , I got a call on the radio to return to El Encinal Cemetery. Officer Graydon and I returned there and we met Jim Martinez, a groundskeeper. He took us over to a grave in the El Estero Street side of the cemetery, not far from the gate to Pearl Street. In spite of the dark, I could see some evidence of a disturbance there.”
    “What sort of evidence?”
    “A messed-up surface,” Millman said. “It didn't look right.”
    “What happened then?”
    “Jim called in a backhoe operator, who brought floodlights. Oh. I almost forgot. There was a name on the grave. Constantin Zhukovsky. Jim went into the office and called his next of kin on the records and got permission from Alex Zhukovsky, the man's son, to do the digging.”
    So the potential legal issue that the grave had been searched without authority would go nowhere. Nina crossed off her note and waited. Jaime was covering every bet. His examination was a model of careful preparation. Maybe he would get his way this time, and bring Klaus's distinguished career to a screeching halt. That ought to please Jaime.
    “At a little after five-thirty in the morning we—or anyway the backhoe operator—started digging.”
    “You were present? Who else was there?”
    “Jim Martinez, the operator, Officer Graydon, and myself. And cups of coffee all around.”
    “What happened then?”
    “We could just see daylight on the horizon. By six-thirty-five A.M. the operator had dug a couple of feet down. He hit something, a woman's arm, coming out of a trash bag.”
    Well, the moment had arrived. All Nina felt was relief.
    Madeleine Frey, plainly disturbed, retied the bow at her neck. The rest of the jurors chewed on the skin inside their mouths, scratched their heads, or engaged in other activities that expressed disquiet. They had been chosen in part because they were