Chapter 28 #2
“No. As we’ve established, the bullet did not penetrate the dog’s skin. We found human blood.”
A collective gasp from the public gallery was uncommon in a real courtroom, but Jack heard one then.
The prosecutor continued. “Was a DNA analysis performed?”
“Yes. We compared the DNA in the blood to a DNA sample from the victim, Owen Pollard.”
“Was there a match?”
“Yes.”
“What scientific level of confidence did your team attach to that match?”
“Our analysts would have to test more than one-point-four billion people to achieve the same result.”
“To put it another way,” said Weller, “the chances that the blood on the bullet does not belong to Owen Pollard is less than
one in a billion. Correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Thank you, Deputy Gupta. I guess you might say it takes a sheepdog to prove that sheepdogs don’t commit suicide.”
The witness seemed confused by the snide remark, but it was directed more to Jack, who understood that Owen Pollard had considered
himself a protector—a “sheepdog” of sorts.
“Your witness,” said the prosecutor, as she returned to her seat.
Jack remained seated and quickly considered his next move. The FDLE witness had plugged a major hole in the prosecution’s
case. Owen Pollard had dialed 911 after a nonfatal shot to the head from a .22-caliber handgun. Someone had then finished the job with a shotgun that made it look like suicide.
“Mr. Swyteck,” the judge prodded. “Cross-examination?”
Jack’s only line of attack was to show that the “someone” was not Elliott. He rose and approached the witness.
“Deputy Gupta, you testified that your ballistics team was able to determine that the object removed from Boo, the sheepdog,
was a twenty-two-caliber bullet, correct?”
“Yes.”
“And your ballistics team was further able to determine that the bullet was fired from a handgun. Is that right?”
“Yes. The barrel leaves fewer markings on a bullet fired from a handgun than a bullet fired from a long rifle. It’s not difficult
for a trained expert.”
“Makes sense,” said Jack. “So, where is this mystery handgun?”
“Excuse me?”
“Where’s the gun? You keep talking about it. Where is it?”
Gupta glanced at the prosecutor but got no help. “I—I don’t know.”
“Huh,” said Jack. “That’s curious. Is it your testimony that the FDLE was never asked to perform a ballistics test on a handgun
to determine if the barrel markings matched those on the bullet?”
“No, we were never asked.”
“That kind of standard comparison is something your ballistics team is asked to do quite regularly by local law enforcement
agencies all across Florida, is it not?”
“Yes. If both a bullet and a weapon are recovered.”
“Precisely,” said Jack. “If both are recovered.”
Weller rose, keenly aware of how much more difficult it was to prove murder without a murder weapon.
“Your Honor, the State of Florida will stipulate that no handgun was recovered.”
Jack was surprised by the concession. “Thank you,” he said.
“The stipulation will be noted for the record,” said the judge.
“Of course it was never recovered,” the prosecutor muttered, as she settled back into her chair. “The defendant works for
a gun destruction company.”
The cheap shot annoyed the judge. “A simple stipulation will do, Ms. Weller.”
Jack moved on. “Deputy Gupta, let’s talk about the only gun that was recovered. The shotgun. I noticed that Ms. Weller didn’t
ask you about any fingerprint analysis conducted by FDLE. Did your forensics team conduct a fingerprint analysis?”
Again the witness glanced at the prosecutor, but there was no choice but to answer.
“Yes.”
Ordinarily, Jack would never have asked a question the answer to which could have buried his client, but the prosecutor’s
telling decision not to ask about fingerprints gave him comfort.
“Deputy Gupta, did FDLE examiners find the fingerprints of the defendant, Elliott Stafford, anywhere on the shotgun?”
The witness hesitated, but there was no basis for the prosecutor to object and come to her rescue.
“No. We did not find the defendant’s fingerprints.”
Jack could feel the momentum shifting. “Just to make sure I understand. No handgun was recovered. The defendant’s prints were
not on the shotgun. It sounds to me like the investigation into the death of Owen Pollard has uncovered no firearm of any
sort that is in any way connected to the defendant Elliott Stafford. Is that a fair statement?”
“To the best of my knowledge,” said the witness.
Jack could have taken his seat and left it at that. The biggest mistake a lawyer could make on cross-examination was to score
his points and then ask the proverbial “one question too many,” being hoist with his own petard, in Shakespearean terms. The
fact that Helena failed to return to the courthouse with her son, however, told Jack that in this situation, the risk was
worth taking. He narrowed his gaze, tightening his control over the witness.
“Dr. Gupta, were Helena Pollard’s fingerprints found on the shotgun?”
“Objection,” said Weller, but she was clearly improvising. “There’s no predicate testimony that this witness had anything
to do with the fingerprint analysis.”
The judge made a face. “She’s the deputy director of the forensic division. She can answer.”
“Yes,” said Gupta.
Jack felt a rush of adrenaline. “Yes, Helena Pollard’s prints were on the shotgun?”
“That’s correct.”
It was time for Jack to take his winnings and walk away. “Thank you, Deputy Gupta. I have no further questions.”
Jack returned to his seat. The prosecutor was quickly on her feet, unwilling to let Jack savor his moment.
“Your Honor, I’ve been informed that our next witness, Austen Pollard, is in the building.”
“Very well. In line with my earlier ruling, since this witness is a child, we will move to a smaller courtroom. There will be far fewer seats for the general public, but I believe a more intimate setting is in the best interest. We shall be in recess for fifteen minutes and reconvene in courtroom four.”
The bailiff gave the command on the crack of the judge’s gavel. Jack rose alongside his client, speaking softly as Judge Garrison
walked to his chambers.
“Fifteen more minutes, Elliott. Speak now, or never get released.”