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Judge Stone flicked through the report, as did the DA and Shandler.

‘I’ll allow this to proceed. I can’t rule out a report from the District Attorney’s own witness, however much I think it is irrelevant,’ said Stone.

‘I’ll allow the witness, and the jury to read the report. It’s short. Only two pages.’

One of the envelopes held the jury copies. They were quickly distributed and the jury began to read. Once everyone had finished reading, I saw the confusion on their faces.

‘Professor Shandler, in this report, commissioned by Harper Investigations, you examined two hair-fiber samples. A sample labeled F1, and CD, correct?’

It took a moment for Shandler to answer. He was looking around nervously, as if he was liable to be swallowed up in a trap at any moment.

‘I carried out the analysis.’

‘And your findings were that the samples were a probable match?’

‘Yes.’

‘And your testimony today is that the hair fiber from the victim’s wound is a probable match for my client?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you’ve already confirmed to the jury, earlier, that you stand by the accuracy of all of your reports?’

‘Yes.’

I hit send on the text.

‘The report that you prepared for Harper Investigations, just six weeks ago, confirms the probable match of samples F1 and CD. I can tell you that the hair

sample F1 came from me. It’s my hair. Does that change your opinion?’

‘No, not at all. The sample CD must’ve come from you too,’ he said.

‘Actually, no. This is CD.’

I stood back, pointed to the rear doors of the court and Harry walked in.

Shandler put his hands on the armrests of the chair, and levered himself up so he could see over the heads of the crowd in the public seating area. When he saw

Harry, he sat back down, with a smug grin on his face.

‘That cannot be possible. With respect, microscopic analysis would show a clear differentiation between Caucasian hair and African American hair in many

respects. The sample CD did not come from this gentleman,’ he said, pointing at Harry.

Harry reached the end of the aisle, and stood in the well of the court in open view of the witness stand, the judge and jury. He’d heard what Shandler had just said, and couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

‘You’re correct, Professor Shandler. Sample CD did not come from Mr. Ford.

Sample CD came from him.’

Shandler’s mouth opened as I pointed to Clarence Darrow, who sat beside his master, and licked his chops with a long tongue before eyeing Shandler and letting out a sharp bark.

‘You stand by your analysis in every case, Professor. Yet you can’t tell the difference between my hair and the hair from this dog’s belly. Would you like to change your testimony now?’

‘This is outrageous!’ yelled Shandler, getting to his feet, shaking a finger at me. He was shouting, swearing. I felt sure if I was closer he would’ve hit me.

The crowd burst into laughter, the jury looked at Shandler like he’d just grown another head, and Judge Stone started to bang his fist on his notebook.