I move on. “You testified that you found a knife, wherever it was originally from, three blocks from the bar, where it was sitting in a trash can.”
“That's correct.”
“So let me get this straight,” I say. “Since you just told this jury that your theories follow the evidence, is it your theory that Willie Miller took a knife from where he worked, used it to murder a woman, and then didn't wipe off either her blood, or his fingerprints?”
“Yes.”
“It's rare when murderers are that stupid, isn't it?”
“You don't have to be a college graduate to murder someone.”
“Thank you for making the jury aware of that, Lieutenant. I'm sure they had no idea.” Sorry, Pete, but it helps me if you look arrogant and uncooperative.
He glares at me, but I keep boring in. “Now, Lieutenant, you'll admit it would have to require both stupidity and a poorly developed self-preservation instinct to have done all this?”
Wallace intervenes. “Objection. The witness is not a psychologist.”
Hatchet says, “Overruled. You may answer the question.”
Pete has a ready answer. “When people are drunk they often have a tendency to be careless. And as I said, he was very, very drunk. There is no way he could have been thinking clearly.”
I nod as if he has just cleared everything up for me. “Right. He was smashed. So smashed that he could run from the scene, but not walk to the car. So smashed that he couldn't think clearly enough to wipe off his prints, but sober enough that he could make a conscious decision to hide the knife three blocks away.”
I can see a flash of concern in Pete's eyes; he wasn't prepared for that.
“Murders and murderers aren't always logical.”
“You're absolutely right, Lieutenant. Sometimes things aren't what they seem to be.”
He's getting angry. “I didn't say that.”
“I wouldn't expect you to. Your job is to justify what you've done in this case, no matter how little sense it makes.”
Wallace objects, and Hatchet sustains, instructing the jury to disregard.
“By the way, Lieutenant, how did you happen to locate the knife?”
“A phone call was made to 911. Somebody reported finding a knife with blood on it.”
“Somebody?”
Pete is getting more and more uncomfortable. “A man. He didn't give his name.”
My tone is getting more and more mocking, and I'm making more eye contact with the jury, especially the two people Kevin had picked out. I'm trying to draw them to my side so that we can doubt Pete's credibility together.
“I see. Somebody who didn't give his name called to say he found a bloody knife while browsing through a trash can in the middle of the night.”
“It happens.”
“Apparently so,” I say. “Did this human metal detector touch the knife? Were his own fingerprints found on it?”
“No. No other prints were found.”
I seem surprised, although I knew what his answer would be. “So, somebody was browsing through the garbage, saw a knife with blood on it … by the way, would you describe it as very unusual for a steak knife to have blood on it?”
“Not human blood.”
“Did this mysterious somebody conduct a DNA test on it while it was still in the garbage?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“Do you think the average person who spends his evenings going through garbage cans can tell the difference between human blood and steak blood? In the dark?”
“Objection. The witness couldn't possibly know the extent of other people's knowledge.”
“Sustained.”
I've made my point. “But this anonymous person was smart enough not to touch the knife, is that right?”
“There were no other prints.”
“So this person wasn't looking to take things from the trash can. He was just making sure that everything was in order. Maybe conducting an inventory?”
“I don't know what his intentions were.”
“Does any of this seem unusual to you, Lieutenant?”
“Unusual, but not impossible.”
“Did you ever think to question any of it?”
“I question everything.”
I've gone as far as I can down this road, so I veer off.
“Then let me ask you a hypothetical question. Supposing this was a frame-up?”
“Objection.” It's becoming a steady chorus from Wallace.
“Overruled.”
I continue. “Just for argument's sake, let's say it was a frame-up. Let's say that somebody wanted you to arrest Willie Miller. In that context, wouldn't all these ‘unusual’ things make sense?”
“No.”