Page 117 of The Devil's Advocate

‘Is this photograph genuine?’ asked the judge.

‘It is, Your Honor. If there is any doubt, I’m sure the original is in possession of the Sheriff’s Department. It can be produced if there is any dispute over its authenticity,’ I said.

‘I’ll admit this evidence,’ said the judge.

‘Your Honor, this is outrageous—’ began Korn, but he didn’t get to finish.

‘No, Mr. Korn. It is not. I have made my ruling, and you should respect it,’ said the judge, right into Korn’s incredulous face.

I turned to look at Kate and Harry. They looked like the judge had just pulled a live rabbit out of his robes. There had been a change in the room. In the temperature. A goddamn battleship like Chandler doesn’t turn around on a dime like he just did. I guessed he saw something in that photograph that struck him personally. A bell had been rung in the judge. One that I didn’t even know he had.

I gave the witness a copy of the photograph.

‘This is a photograph of a letter. It was written by Lucy Lomax, the late wife of Sheriff Colt Lomax. It was probably the last thing he read. He was found shortly afterward, and it is believed by the authorities that he committed suicide. I’ll give you a moment to read the letter, but it’s clear his wife thought he was a good man, but that he had been led down the wrong path.’

Banbury read the letter.

‘Well, I had a good opinion of the sheriff,’ she said.

‘You were aware that the sheriff’s wife, Lucy Lomax, had been suffering from cancer for a long time before her death, just a few days ago.’

‘I was aware.’

‘The document in your hand is the death certificate for Lucy Lomax. At the bottom of that document, as is the custom and practice in the county, is a list of her known medical conditions at the date of death and a list of her prescribed medication. Do you see that?’

‘I do.’

‘At the time of her death, just this week, Lucy Lomax was prescribed Benadryl, Zoloft, morphine sulphate and prochlorperazine. The exact combination of substances found underneath the fingernail clippings you examined, correct?’

Banbury nodded.

‘For the record, we need an audibleyesornofor that answer.’

‘Yes, that’s correct.’

‘You’ll also see in the letter she left behind for her husband, that she thanked him for looking after her. I quote,I love how you’ve taken care of me during this illness. How you’ve rubbed my feet, bathed me, washed my hair, even crushed up my pills and put them in yoghurt when I couldn’t swallow them.The fingernail clippings you examined didn’t come from the victim, did they, Doctor? You examined Sheriff Lomax’s fingernail clippings. He ran his fingers through the skin of the defendant after he’d been beaten unconscious in his cell. That’s the logical conclusion, isn’t it?’

Her face blushed as she said, ‘I can only testify as to the tests I undertook. I did not obtain the samples.’

‘Earlier you said the substances beneath fingernails can tell a story, like who scratched someone on the back. It’s clear who did the scratching in this case, and it wasn’t the victim, was it?’

Doc Banbury looked at the floor, then threw back her hair, shaking it off her shoulders like she was shaking off a conclusion she didn’t want to face.

‘I examined the samples given to me, and reached my conclusion based on the information given to me by the sheriff.’

‘It was too late for Sheriff Lomax. It might not be too late for you, Doctor Banbury. I’ll ask you again, do you now believe that the fingernail clippings you analyzed came from the victim? Or could they have come from the sheriff himself?’

Banbury looked at Judge Chandler. He was staring at her, hard, over the rims of his glasses. His fist underneath his chin.

‘In light of what I’ve heard today, it’s possible they came from the sheriff instead of the victim,’ said Banbury.

Noise is important in a courtroom. It’s never silent, even though it’s supposed to be. Everyone whispers, coughs, mutters and tuts. All the damn time. Right then, the only noise in the room came from the jury. Some of them looked around at their fellow jurors. Others gasped, some swore under their breaths. This was the reaction I was looking for. Hoping for. Maybe half of the two tons of weight that had sat on my shoulders shifted, just a little. I felt my lungs fill properly for the first time since Berlin came into my office and told me about Andy Dubois.

Lomax died because he went looking for redemption. I was sure of that. The judge had seen it too. He probably remembered that young sheriff – the one described in Lucy’s letter to her husband. The young man who wanted to do good, who carried a lucky charm, who wanted to make a difference. Maybe Judge Chandler recognized something of himself in that letter too.

Women have a way of cutting through bullshit like a hot steel knife through a cherry pie.

I told the judge I had no more questions for the witness. I didn’t want to mess it up. I had gotten much more than I’d hoped for and it could only go downhill from here.