Page 113 of The Devil's Advocate

‘But you didn’t hear any screaming, or any sound that would’ve been made in that struggle, did you, Mr. Buxton?’

‘I did not.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Buxton. Nothing further.’

Korn had no re-direct, and let Buxton leave the stand. Judge Chandler watched Buxton walk down the aisle, and out of the doors at the back of the court. He called a break, and Kate thought she saw something in his expression as he got up off his seat. There was concern, and doubt. And all of it pointed toward the prosecutor. Kate didn’t want to get her hopes up, but it looked like Chandler was coming around to the notion that Andy Dubois might be innocent. She pushed the thought away for now in case it distracted her, and made a note of the witnesses yet to testify for the prosecution.

The DNA expert Cheryl Banbury who tied Andy’s DNA to the material under Skylar Edward’s fingernails. Deputy Leonard, who would prove the confession and testify to the scratches on Andy’s back. Ryan Hogg, owner of Hogg’s Bar, and finally Skylar’s father – Francis Edwards, who would pull on the hearts of the jury.

No guarantee of the order of the witnesses but Kate guessed Korn would leave Francis until last. He wasn’t even in the courtroom after all.

‘Who’s the next witness?’ asked Kate.

Eddie shook his head, said, ‘I have no idea. Korn is scrambling. He could do anything. We haven’t had our last surprise in this case.’

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

EDDIE

We were close to saving Andy’s life, and I knew Korn was at his most dangerous when he was cornered. Those kind of men always are. He got off on the power of the job. When you hold life and death in your hands, with no checks and balances, and no one to answer to, it’s easy to become a monster. Korn had money, a first-class education and should be representing small countries from behind a marble desk in a twenty-five-thousand square-foot office in Manhattan. Instead, he was in a shitkicker town in Alabama bringing home a hundred grand a year. This wasn’t failure for him. He had sought this job out. He was already a monster when he took the job. It was the power that attracted him.

During the short break Korn had changed his suit. He now wore a thick, navy pinstripe. Something to hide the bleed from his thigh. Either it was a wound that wouldn’t heal, or it was a wound he wouldn’t allow to heal. Some men don’t just get their kicks from causing suffering ; he enjoyed pain itself. If I coldcocked him with a straight right hand, he might not enjoy that so much. Certainly not as much as I would.

The judge and jury filed in, and Korn threw the ball into the air.

‘Call Doctor Cheryl Banbury,’ he said.

A lady in a lemon jacket and black pants came forward. She looked to be in her late fifties, maybe early sixties. Her dark brown hair had thinned, and it was pulled back from her face in a ponytail. There was a pinched look to her features, as if there was a clamp on the back of her head pulling the skin in her face tight across the surface of her skull. Only the pale glaze over her green eyes and the liver spots on her hands gave away her age.

She took the oath, looked sweetly at Korn, and gave him her qualifications as an expert witness when he asked. It looked like a well-practiced routine. They’d had this dance before, many times. The familiarity made me wonder how many men the good doctor had helped Korn execute.

The thought made me shiver.

The sweat on my back was drying, making me cold. I was glad of it. I needed to be super sharp with this witness. She’d been in the wars. Doc Banbury would be a formidable opponent.

‘You were presented with two exhibits to examine and compare, is that correct?’ asked Korn.

‘Yes, as I detailed in my report. Fingernail clippings, and a DNA swab.’

‘Now, I know there’s a lot of scientific detail in your report, but could you explain to the jury, in layman’s terms, the result of your findings?’

‘Of course. I first examined the substances on the underside of the fingernails and took a sample. Some of it was blood and skin. Minute particles. I examined these particles and was able to extract the DNA pattern.’

‘And what is a DNA pattern?’

‘It is like a genetic code, for a human being. Everyone is different. Everyone has their own code.’

‘What did you do with the DNA swab from the defendant?’

‘I extracted the DNA from the swab and identified the markers – the patterns of DNA which help us establish the code. Then I compared the DNA markers from the blood and skin found under the fingernails and the DNA swab from the defendant.’

Doc Banbury left the answer hanging there, pausing, while she took a sip of water. Building anticipation in the jury. She was good.

‘My comparison found that the DNA was a scientific match.’

‘A match.’

‘A scientific match, yes.’