A Reasonable Doubt by Susan Sloan (free novels .txt) 📕

“I can, Your Honor,” Lily said.  The orthopedic surgeon who had performed Jason’s surgery was not on her witness list, but had indicated that, if necessary, he would be more than willing to appear on the defendant’s behalf.

“Then we shall proceed,” Grace said.  “Mr. Morgan, the defense will provide you with the name of this witness, and you will be free to interview him or her, as you choose.”

. . .

Lily and Megan spent the lunch recess tracking down the surgeon, and confirming his willingness to testify.  When court resumed, the judge addressed the jury.

“You are instructed to disregard the statements made by the defendant and his attorney,” she said.  “They were not part of any testimony given under oath.”  Then she turned to Lily.  “You may proceed.”

With that, Fletcher Thurman was called back to the witness stand.

“Now, to continue, Mr. Thurman,” the defense attorney said as soon as he was seated and reminded by the judge that he was still under oath, “if I were to ask you how a six-foot-four-inch tall man could hold a gun to the head of a five-foot-ten-inch man who was kneeling in what, I believe, you called an upright fetal position, and shoot him just above his left ear, at hardly any downward angle -- what would you say?”

“I analyzed the entry wound,” Thurman replied, at a loss to explain what had been made clear to him.  “The photos showed there was gunshot residue indicating a close-range shot, and an angle that would indicate that the perpetrator was standing just to the left side of the victim.  But my analysis did not take into consideration a perpetrator as tall as the defendant.  So I guess I could have been wrong.”

“In what way?” Lily prompted.

“It’s contrary to my analysis,” Thurman said, “but it would appear that either both had to be kneeling, or both had to be standing.”

“Shall we try again?” Lily offered.  “Shall we have the defendant step out and see if the angle is accurate while you’re both standing?”

“Your Honor,” John Henry warned.

“Never mind, Miss Burns, you’ve made your point,” the judge admonished.  “Move along.”

“Yes, thank you, Your Honor,” Lily acknowledged.  “Mr. Thurman, you testified earlier that your own analysis, along with that of the medical examiner, led you to believe that Dale Scott had been shot execution-style, is that correct?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Well then, assuming that the victim was indeed kneeling on the ground in the upright fetal position you’ve described when he was shot, how many execution-style shootings have you analyzed, or read about, or even heard about, for that matter, where both the perpetrator and the victim were kneeling at the time?”

“None.”

“So then, would it be fair to say that your description of this event as an ‘execution-style’ shooting could have been inaccurate?”

“Given the demonstration you were able to put on earlier,” Thurman was forced to admit, “I think it would be fair to say that my conclusion may have been inaccurate.”

“In that case,” Lily pressed, “was there anything in your analysis that would preclude a fight over the gun that resulted in the defendant having shot Dale Scott, let’s say -- in self-defense?”

Thurman shook his head.  ”At this point, I couldn’t rule that out.”

“Thank you.”  Lily began to turn away and then abruptly turned back again.   “Oh, one more thing,” she said. “I believe you testified that the toxicology screen on the defendant had come back with a blood alcohol reading of zero, is that correct?”

“It is.”

“And what about the victim?  What did his toxicology screen indicate?”

The analyst looked blank.  “We didn’t do a toxicology screen on the victim,” he said.

“You didn’t?  Why not?”

“Because we weren’t asked to.  According to the medical examiner, the cause of death was obvious.”

“That’s right, I forgot,” Lily said.  “You said the county doesn’t waste taxpayer money on unnecessary tests, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did say that,” Thurman replied.  “And no, it doesn’t.”

Over at the prosecution table, John Henry could only sit in his seat and seethe inwardly.  He knew he should be objecting to something -- he could see it on the faces of the jurors -- he just didn’t know to what.

“So the victim’s body could have been full of any number of substances that might have been relevant to his death,” Lily suggested.  “He could have had a boatload of, let’s say -- cocaine -- in his system, and it wouldn’t have any bearing on this case simply because no one bothered to order a toxicology screen?”

Fletcher Thurman had no axe to grind.  He wasn’t beholden to either the prosecution or the defense.  He was paid to do a job, no matter what the results turned out to be.

“I’m afraid so,” he said.

“How convenient is that?” Lily said in disgust.

John Henry finally found an opening.  “Objection,” he complained.

“Withdrawn,” Lily declared because, again, she had made her point.  “I have no further questions.”

“Redirect, Mr. Morgan?” the judge inquired.

John Henry remained where he was for a moment, stone-faced, trying to decide whether it would be better just to let this witness go, or to try to rehabilitate him.  Lily Burns had dealt his first-degree murder case a potentially serious blow.

Beside him, Tom Lickliter leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his chin.  She was good, he thought.  Every bit as good as he had heard.  She was deft at putting little ideas into the jurors’ heads, not belaboring them, just slipping them in there, and managing, ever so gently, to shift the jury’s focus.

In one cross-examination, she had been able to suggest police incompetence, a rush to judgment, and prosecutorial disregard.  He wondered what else those involved in the investigation of Dale Scott’s death had overlooked or discarded as irrelevant.  He wondered what else Lily Burns had up her sleeve.

The prosecutor stood, knowing he couldn’t let Lily’s cross-examination stand.

“Mr. Thurman,” he asked, “what killed Dale Scott?”

“A bullet to the head, fired from his own gun.”

“And who fired that gun?”

“All the evidence we have strongly suggests that