“If so, I’ll have to prod the appropriate witnesses until someone gives up the ghost, so to speak.”
Not Morgaine, I hope.
“I doubt the jury will be impressed by a psychic. I think the museum curator is our best bet.”
Konrad almost chuckled, but settled for a quick smile.
The attorney finally seemed satisfied that he’d done sufficient damage to the credibility of the defense, and he sat down.
Roz stood and approached the jury. She took a few moments to gather her thoughts, but began with her own compelling argument. “The judge reminded you of the seriousness of your job as jurors, and I’m certain you’ll do your duty to the very best of your ability. But I’d like to quote a statistic that may shock you. More than 230 wrongfully convicted and imprisoned men and women have been exonerated and released from U.S. prisons after conclusively proving their innocence.
“The prosecution mentioned having DNA evidence that would conclusively prove my client guilty. I maintain it’s that same evidence that will prove his innocence.”
When had the DA said that?Konrad realized it must have been when he was daydreaming, imagining his conviction.
“Furthermore, I intend to prove their anonymous tip was faulty and the evidence was planted long after the incident. DNA can be used to convict a guilty man or used to frame an innocent one.
“The district attorney failed to mention the guards’ descriptions of the robbers. These men stood face to face and toe to toe with the perpetrators before they were taken to the basement and bound with duct tape.
“This is what they said on March 18, 1990. ‘One suspect was a white male, late twenties to mid-thirties, between five foot seven and five foot ten. Medium build, dark eyes, and short, cropped, black hair.’
“‘The other suspect was a white male, early to mid-thirties, six feet to six one, broad shouldered but lanky from the waist down, with dark eyes and black hair a little longer in back, rounded off just over the collar.’”
Good girl. Those descriptions couldn’t possibly be me.
“We’re not out of the woods yet,” Roz answered him. “The DA will point out that they were wearing fake mustaches and could have been wearing wigs and dark contacts. He could say you were younger than twenty and must have grown over the years. I’m just hoping he doesn’t, and no one on the jury will think of it.”
Fuck. I’m so screwed.
Chapter 20
When Roz sat down, the district attorney called his first witness, a Boston police lieutenant. She had expected that the DA would use someone credible to introduce and verify the prosecutor’s bullshit evidence.
“What is your role with the police department, sir?”
“I’m a detective.”
“Very good. And are you familiar with this?” The DA held up a plastic bag for the courtroom to see and then handed it to the lieutenant.
“Yes, this is the evidence I collected at the museum.”
“Where, exactly?” the DA pressed.
“It was attached to some shelving in the basement of the Isabella Stewart Gardener Museum.”
“And what exactly is in the bag?”
“A small shred of duct tape and two strands of hair.”
“Thank you.” He returned to his seat.
It was Roz’s turn, and the judge said, “The defense may cross-examine the witness, if you’d like.”
Roz stood and strolled toward the police detective. “Can you describe the hair strands you entered into evidence, lieutenant? I’m not sure anyone in the courtroom could see exactly what they look like. Certainly if I couldn’t from my seat up front, I doubt anyone else could.” She glanced at the DA, who appeared disinterested as he took notes.
“Uh, yes. They were two long, blond hairs.”
“Long and blond, you said, right?”
