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“So you found Mr. Tate’s blood in the drain?” Naomi said.
“Correct.”
“But not Rashawn Turnbull’s?”
“Asked and answered, Counselor,” Judge Varney said.
“Don’t you find that odd?” my niece said to Frost. “I mean, the prosecution has spun this theory about my client entering a drunken, drug-fueled, berserk state to rape and kill Rashawn Turnbull, slashing at the boy’s neck with a pruning saw. And we’ve seen photos of the blood-spatter patterns at the crime scene. So why no blood in the drain? If your theory is to be believed, the boy’s blood should have been all over my client’s clothes and body.”
“We think Mr. Tate got rid of his clothes and washed off somewhere else.”
“But there’s no evidence to back that up.”
Frost said nothing.
“Do you have my client’s clothes with blood on them?”
“No.”
“Did you find the victim’s blood anywhere in that building other than on the pruning saw in the basement?”
Frost shifted uncomfortably, said, “No.”
“Did you find illegal drugs anywhere else in the house besides the vial of methamphetamine in the basement?”
“No.”
“In Mr. Tate’s office at the school?”
“No.”
“In his car?”
“No.”
“And yet you’d have us believe that Mr. Tate is not only a habitual user of meth but a dealer whose wares may have resulted in two overdoses at the high school.”
“Mr. Tate has a history of drug and alcohol abuse,” Frost said. “He got thrown out of—”
“Objection, Judge,” Naomi said.
“Sustained,” Varney said. “The jury will ignore that.”
But it had already been said. You couldn’t take something like that back and expect the jurors to actually eliminate the information from their brains. Stefan had past issues. That was all they would care about. Naomi looked frustrated but pushed on.
“Was there any sign of methamphetamine in my client’s blood the morning of his arrest?”
“Trace levels,” Detective Frost said.
“Trace levels? I thought he was in an alcohol-and-drug-fueled rage that night.”
“Large amounts of alcohol in the bloodstream can mask the presence of meth in certain tests.”
“Really?” Naomi said. “I hadn’t heard that. But again, you’re no expert.”
“Objection,” the district attorney said.
“Sustained,” Varney said before rapping his gavel. “We’ll take a lunch break and resume at one o’clock.”
