“Lucy,” I said honestly, “I don’t know what to think. You and the evidence are saying two different things.”
“I have never doubted you.” She looked at me as if I had broken her heart.
“You’re welcome to stay here through Christmas,” I said.
11
The member of the North Richmond Gang on trial the next morning wore a double-breasted navy suit and an Italian silk tie with a perfect Windsor knot. His white shirt looked crisp; he was cleanly shaven and minus his earring. Trial lawyer Tod Coldwell had dressed his client well because he knew that jurors have an exceedingly difficult time resisting the notion that what you see is what you get. Of course, I believed that axiom, too, which was why I introduced into evidence as many color photographs from the victim’s autopsy as possible. It was safe to say that Coldwell, who drove a red Ferrari, did not like me much.
“Isn’t it true, Mrs. Scarpetta,” Coldwell pontificated in court this cool autumn day, “that people under the influence of cocaine can become very violent and even demonstrate superhuman strength?”
“Certainly cocaine can cause the user to become delusional and excited,” I continued directing my answers to the jury.
“Superhuman strength, as you call it, is often associated with cocaine or PCP–which is a horse tranquilizer.”
“And the victim had both cocaine and benzoylecgonine in his blood,” Coldwell went on as if I had just agreed with him.
“Yes, he did.”
“Mrs. Scarpetta, I wonder if you would explain to the jury what that means?”
“I would first like to explain to the jury that I am a medical doctor with a law degree. I have a specialty in pathology and a subspecialty in forensic pathology, as you’ve already stipulated, Mr. Coldwell. Therefore, I would appreciate being addressed as Dr. Scarpetta instead of Mrs. Scarpetta. ”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Would you please repeat the question?”
“Would you explain to the jury what it means if someone has cocaine” –he glanced at his notes”–and benzoylecgonine in his blood?”
“Benzoylecgonine is the metabolite of cocaine. To say that someone had both on board means some of the cocaine the victim had taken had already metabolized and some had not,” I replied, aware of Lucy in a back corner, her face partially hidden by a column. She looked miserable.
“Which would indicate he was a chronic abuser, especially since he had many old needle tracks. And this may also suggest that when my client was confronted by him on the night of July third, my client had a very excited, agitated, and violent person on his hands, and had no choice but to defend himself.” Coldwell was pacing, his dapper client watching me like a twitchy cat.
“Mr. Coldwell,” I said, “the victim–Jonah Jones–was shot sixteen times with a Tee-Nine nine-millimeter gun that holds thirty-six rounds. Seven of those shots were to his back, and three of them were close or contact shots to the back of Mr. Jones’s head.
“In my opinion, this is inconsistent with a shooting in which the shooter was defending himself, especially since Mr. Jones had a blood alcohol of point two-nine, which is almost three times the legal limit in Virginia. In other words, the victim’s motor skills and judgment were substantially impaired when he was assaulted. Frankly, I’m amazed that Mr. Jones could even stand up.” Coldwell swung around to face Judge Poe, who had been nicknamed “the Raven” for as long as I had been in Richmond. He was weary to his ancient soul of drug dealers killing each other, of children carrying guns to school and shooting each other on the bus.
“Your Honor,” Coldwell said dramatically, “I would ask that Mrs. Scarpetta’s last statement be struck from the record since it is both speculative and inflammatory, and without a doubt beyond her area of expertise. ”
“Well, now, I don’t know that what the doctor has to say is beyond her expertise, Mr. Coldwell, and she’s already asked you politely to refer to her properly as Dr. Scarpetta, and I’m losing patience with your antics and ploys…”
“But, Your Honor”
“The fact is that I’ve had Dr. Scarpetta in my courtroom on many occasions and I’m well aware of her level of expertise,” the judge went on in his Southern way of speaking that reminded me of pulling warm taffy.