The Viper

“We found them both in the shed behind Slade’s lodge,” Barstow added in response to a follow-up question from Stryker. “Next to a shovel with soil traces matching the chemical composition of the soil at the grave.”

“In addition to all these incriminating facts, did you discover any direct physical links between Ziko Slade and the body of Lenny Lerman?”

“Yes.”

“And what were those links?”

“The jacket found on the body contained contact DNA from both Lenny Lerman and Ziko Slade. Ziko Slade’s DNA was also recovered from a cigarette butt found near the grave.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barstow. I have no more questions.”

Marcus Thorne approached the witness box. “Ms. Barstow, were you able to identify the person who supposedly knocked Lerman down in front of the lodge and dragged him into the woods?”

“No.”

“Or the person who dug the grave?”

“No.”

“Did your tests reveal how Mr. Slade’s DNA ended up on that camo jacket?”

“No.”

“Or who may have placed that cigarette butt where you found it?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Ms. Barstow. That’ll be all.”

For a moment, Stryker looked like she might opt for a redirect examination of Barstow to dilute the impact of those negative replies. Instead, she recalled Detective Lieutenant Scott Derlick to the stand.

“Detective, during your testimony you showed us Lenny Lerman’s route from Calliope Springs to Ziko Slade’s lodge. Did he make that trip in his own car?”

“Yes, a black 2004 Corolla—confirmed by video from two strip mall security cameras along the way.”

“Did you find the car?”

“Yes. Three days later we received a call regarding a burnt-out vehicle in an abandoned quarry less than a mile from Slade’s lodge. We were able to identify it via the VIN number on the chassis.”

“You say it was burnt out?”

“Yes. An empty gas container was found at the site, suggesting arson.”

“Did you find anything else of interest?”

“A key on the floor next to the driver’s seat, where it probably fell from the pocket of whoever drove the Corolla to the quarry.”

“What sort of key was it?”

“A padlock key.”

“Were you able to match the key to any particular padlock?”

“Yes. The padlock on Ziko Slade’s tool shed.”

8

MARCUS THORNE ROSE AT THE DEFENSE TABLE.

“I’m curious about that padlock key, Detective,” he said in an innocent, conversational tone. “Might it have been placed in the car on purpose rather than fallen out of someone’s pocket?”

“There’s zero evidence of that.”

“Just as there’s zero evidence that it dropped out of Mr. Slade’s pocket?”

Derlick’s mouth twitched, but he made no reply.

“In fact, Detective, I’m wondering if you have even a speck of real evidence that Mr. Slade emerged from his lodge at any time that day or night—much less that he killed anyone or drove that car to the quarry or set fire to it.”

Derlick’s jaw muscles tightened. “Based on the facts, those are the only reasonable conclusions.”

“So, you have absolute certainty with zero proof. The sort of certainty that puts thousands of innocent people in prison every year.”

Stryker rocketed out of her chair. “Objection! Counsel is inventing statistics and badgering the witness!”

“Sustained,” said Wartz. “Mr. Thorne, your next inappropriate remark will have consequences.”

Thorne smiled meekly and raised his palms in surrender. “Thank you, Your Honor. I’m finished with this witness.” He made “witness” sound like species of rodent.

Wartz turned to Stryker. “You may proceed.”

“The prosecution rests its case, Your Honor.”

Wartz nodded and asked Thorne if he was ready to present the case for the defense.

“Your Honor, my client and I believe we have no need for a formal defense. We prefer to move directly to our closing argument.”

Wartz’s stolid features registered a touch of surprise—the same surprise Gurney felt, until he guessed that the reason was that Slade had no alibi and Thorne was afraid to put him on the stand.

Thorne approached the jury box. “Ladies and gentlemen, you and I have just witnessed a carefully orchestrated production in which random bits of dubious evidence were cleverly strung together to create a remarkable piece of fiction. The prosecution wins high marks for creativity. But when it comes to addressing the key questions in the case—all those sources of reasonable doubt—they failed miserably.” He shook his head. “So many problems, it’s hard to know where to begin. Take Lerman, for example. Was he a bumbling fool, broadcasting his dumb plan to the world? Or was he a calculating blackmailer? He couldn’t have been both. But the prosecutor wants you to ignore that contradiction.

“We were shown a map with a dramatic red line highlighting his route—to prove what? That Lerman drove to Slade’s property? But his drive has no bearing on the only question that matters: Who killed him after he arrived?