Corrupted Page 31

  Bennie didn’t see the relevance, but didn’t object. The more medical the examination got, the less dramatic would be its impact, and Dr. Chien had a professorial bent, happy to slide into jargon.

  “As you may recall, arteries carry oxygenated blood, which is bright red, and veins carry deoxygenated blood, which is blue. Take a look at your hand and rub the top, where you see those bluish veins.” Dr. Chien rubbed the back of her hand, and the jurors followed her example. “If you look on your own hand, you can see your veins and they look bluish, because they carry deoxygenated blood. Many people think their veins look bluish because they’re older, but that is simply not the case. Interestingly, veins also are different from arteries in that veins have very thin walls. An artery, in contrast, has a very thick wall. In the case of the carotid artery, for example, there are three layers to the arterial wall. The inside layer is the intima, the middle layer is the muscularis, which contains muscle fibers, and the outermost layer of the artery is the endothelium. In layman’s terms, I would say that arteries are very important vessels, and when one is severed, blood will spurt from it in a rhythmic fashion, gushing. In the case of a severing of the common carotid artery, there would be gushing that would reflect the beating of the heart and the pressure of the blood flowing from the heart to the brain.”

  Martinez blinked. “Dr. Chien, turning to this case, could you please describe the stab wound to the victim?”

  “Certainly.” Dr. Chien pointed to the neck on the diagram. “The knife made an upward-stabbing motion on the left side of the victim’s neck, from underneath the jawline to the trachea. The initial motion would have incised the internal carotid artery and the common carotid artery—”

  “Excuse me, are those two different things?”

  “To be precise, yes, they are two different structures. The common carotid artery carries approximately ninety percent of the oxygenated blood from the heart to the brain, and it branches into the internal and external carotid. That common carotid incision alone could have been lethal, but the knife did much more damage in this case.” Dr. Chien continued moving her elegant finger across the diagram’s neck. “It also sliced through the exterior jugular vein, which as you recall, carries deoxygenated blood, not oxygenated blood like an artery. It also severed the vagus nerve, which controls the heartbeat.”

  “Dr. Chien, how deep was the wound?”

  “About four inches, which is more than deep enough to be lethal.”

  “Dr. Chien, what, if anything, did you observe about the angle that the knife went into the victim’s neck?”

  “I observed that the angle of entry was approximately forty-five degrees.”

  “And did you draw any conclusion from that angle of entry?”

  “The angle of entry tells me that whoever stabbed the victim was shorter than he was.”

  “Dr. Chien, did you measure the height of the victim in this case?”

  “Yes, I did. The victim was exactly six feet tall.”

  “Dr. Chien, did you have an opinion to a reasonable degree of certainty about the height of the perpetrator of this crime, that is, the person who stabbed the victim to death?”

  “It’s hard to say with specificity, but I would say somewhere between four and six inches shorter.”

  Bennie tried to keep her face forward as some of the jurors looked at Jason, evidently double-checking his height.

  “Thank you.” Martinez reached behind him on counsel table and held up the bagged knife. “Dr. Chien, I’m showing you the murder weapon and asking you if your findings during the autopsy are consistent with the wound made from a weapon like this?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “In other words, this knife would’ve made that wound?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Chien, in your opinion, would that stab wound have taken much force?”

  “No, not in such a vulnerable area.” Dr. Chien shook her head. “A stab wound to the front of the throat would’ve taken force, but not to the side.”

  “Dr. Chien, was it the initial wound that caused the victim’s death?”

  “Only partly. The initial puncture and slicing would have done lethal damage in time, but the ripping motion produced by the withdrawal of the knife, as well as the withdrawal itself, created more bleeding.”

  “Dr. Chien, is that because there was more tearing of these delicate internal arteries?”

  “Please, use the term ‘structures.’ Only the carotid is an artery.”

  Martinez blinked. “Okay, structures.”

  “That’s part of the reason, but not all of it. When a knife, or any foreign object, is removed, it creates more bleeding. It’s counterintuitive, but very true. If the knife had been left in, it could’ve acted as a tamponide on the wound, which is a form of compression that can control or slow bleeding. But the fact that it was withdrawn negated that possibility and death was a certainty.”

  Martinez paused. “Dr. Chien, you testified that the victim died because he exsanguinated, which means bled to death, is that correct?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Chien nodded, warming to her topic. “However, when someone exsanguinates, death does not occur because there isn’t enough blood to pump through the heart, as is sometimes thought. What happens as a physiological matter is something completely different. Think of blood as a freight train carrying fuel to a destination, and the fuel is oxygen. Red blood cells live about one hundred twenty days, then they get consumed by the spleen and reused. The tissues have to have oxygen, and why is that? Because oxygen is the final hydrogen acceptor.”

  Martinez looked like he was about to interrupt, but didn’t. The jury looked interested, but no longer emotional, which satisfied Bennie.

  Dr. Chien continued, “Any metabolism needs fuel to live, but when the fuel is spent, you have something like spent fuel rods. Unfortunately, these are toxic and the body has to get rid of them. The spent fuel rods are an acid and when they’re used up, they leave you with a product which is a hydrogen ion, and that is what lactic acidosis is. If the blood level drops too quickly, like it did in this case, then the body has no way to get rid of lactic acid, and death results. The cells are essentially poisoned. We are merely biological engines and we’re not very well designed, in many particulars.”

  “Dr. Chien, how quickly would death have resulted, in this case?”

  “Death would’ve resulted in a matter of minutes.”

  “Thank you, I have no further questions.” Martinez turned away, and Bennie rose slowly, not to appear disrespectful.

  Judge Patterson motioned her forward. “Ms. Rosato, I assume you have cross-examination.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.” Bennie walked toward the witness box, but stopped in front of the diagram on the easel. “Dr. Chien, I wanted to direct your attention to your diagram. The diagram shows the pen mark at Mr. Grusini’s neck, and that represents the only stab wound on him, isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “However, I noticed that the only other pen marks you made on the diagram occur on Mr. Grusini’s right hand, here.” Bennie pointed to pen marks on the knuckles of the right hand. “Did you make these pen marks on Mr. Grusini’s knuckles?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Dr. Chien, what did you find during his autopsy that caused you to make these pen marks?”

  “There were contusions on the knuckles of Mr. Grusini’s right hand.”

  “Dr. Chien, ‘contusions’ means bruises, does it not?”

  “Yes, bruises.”

  “Dr. Chien, what conclusion did you draw about the cause of those bruises, if any?”

  “I concluded that the victim had bruised his hand by impact injury, i.e., impact with a hard object.”

  “Dr. Chien, wouldn’t the forehead of another person qualify as a hard object?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dr. Chien, do you have a conclusion about how close in time that impact injury occurred in relation to Mr. Grusini’s death?”

>   “I concluded that the injury to his hand was close in time to the mortal wound.”

  “Dr. Chien, isn’t that the kind of hand injury that you typically see from someone who had punched someone?”

  “Objection,” Martinez said, half-rising. “There is no basis for that conclusion.”

  Bennie looked at Martinez like he was crazy. “You qualified this witness as an expert. She can give an opinion to that effect.”

  Judge Patterson shook her head. “Overruled. You may answer, Dr. Chien.”

  Dr. Chien nodded. “Yes, that is typically the kind of injury we see when there has been a punch thrown.”

  Bennie switched gears. “Dr. Chien, did you run tests on Mr. Grusini’s blood?”

  “Yes, I did, typical panels.”

  “Which panels are typical?”

  “We always run an initial test for general screening purposes and blood alcohol content. Beyond that, for prescription drugs or other controlled substances, you have to request a test. No such request was made in this case.”

  “Dr. Chien, what was the blood alcohol content of Mr. Grusini’s blood?”

  “It was .16.”

  “And isn’t that above the legal limit?”

  “It’s twice the legal limit. The legal limit in Pennsylvania is .08.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Chien. I have no further questions.”

  Judge Patterson looked over at Martinez. “Mr. Martinez, if you have redirect, please get on with it. I think we can break for lunch after this witness.”

  “I’ll make it brief, Your Honor,” Martinez said, succumbing to judicial pressure. No trial lawyer wanted to be the one who kept the jury from their free lunch.

  Bennie returned to counsel table, sneaking a glance at Karen, who was leaving the courtroom with a distraught Doreen and Declan. She shot Lou a look, and he knew exactly what to do, rising.

  The lunch break couldn’t come soon enough.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Bennie met with Jason in the secure meeting room, huddled at the tiny table and wolfing down her cheese sandwich. She had to eat quickly because she had other plans for the rest of the lunch break. Lou was still outside, presumably spying on Karen and Doreen. He would be back any minute, if only for his roast beef special with extra Russian dressing.

  “Jason, how you doing?” Bennie asked, between mouthfuls.

  “How do you think I’m doing?” Jason had barely touched his sandwich, sipping Coke from a warm can.

  “You should eat something. It’s going to be a tough afternoon.”

  “Who are they putting on the stand?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Then how do you know it’ll be tough?”

  “That’s what’s tough, that we don’t know. So, eat.” Bennie felt like his mother all over again, between answering his questions, encouraging him to eat, and dealing with his moodiness in general.

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Okay, so tell me what’s going on with you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Jason, you know.” Bennie wanted to stay patient, but it wasn’t easy. “Tell me what’s happening. Was there something in the testimony you have a question about? Or do you have a reaction to anything?”

  “I don’t want to get on the stand.”

  “We’re going to table that discussion for now. What else?” Bennie sensed his new mood was about the gory crime-scene photograph. “How did you feel when you saw that photograph of Richie in the alley?”

  “What are you, my shrink?”

  “No, your lawyer, trying to save your ass.” Bennie met his gaze hard, and Jason looked away.

  “I felt funny, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “Don’t tell me what I want to hear. Tell me the truth. How do you feel?”

  “Like I said, funny,” Jason shot back, setting his soda can on the table.

  “What else? Pick more words.”

  “Weird, strange.”

  “How about sad?” Bennie wasn’t coaching him, she wanted to know.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s try another approach.” Bennie popped the tab of Diet Coke. “When you went to the police station after Richie was killed, you said you were glad he was dead. When you looked at the photograph today, did you still feel that way?”

  “No.” Jason swallowed hard, finally meeting her eye, and the first word that came to Bennie’s mind was, haunted.

  “Okay, that’s a start. You didn’t feel glad. So you’re not happy he’s dead?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, how do you feel if you’re not happy and you’re not glad?” Bennie sensed that Jason was inching toward something important, but she didn’t want to put words in his mouth.

  “I feel bad.” Jason’s thin lips turned down at the corner, twitching slightly. “I feel bad that it happened. I wish it were different. I wish…”

  “Go ahead, Jason. Finish the sentence.”

  “I don’t know, I just wish it were all different. I wish it never happened. I felt bad when I heard his mom cry. I know she’s wacky and all, but I felt bad when I heard her crying.” Jason’s eyes filmed suddenly, and Bennie fought the impulse to comfort him because she didn’t want the emotion to vanish.

  “Good, I understand that feeling. I felt the same way you did.”

  “It’s sad that she’ll never get him back. It’s sad for his mom.” Jason’s pale skin flushed, and he blinked his eyes clear.

  “You know the way you feel now, sad for them all? Even for Richie? I want you to remember this feeling, because if I put you up on the witness stand and I think I’m going to have to, I want you to be able to say that.”

  “No, Bennie—”

  “Yes, if you get up there, I’m going to ask you to say it to her and I’m going to ask you to mean it, from the heart. And you do, I know you do. I knew you did in that courtroom, and I know it now.” Bennie spoke softly, but with conviction, feeling better about him again. “Hold on to that sadness. No matter what kind of a jerk Richie was, he was a human being and he didn’t deserve to die in an alley like that. And if you’re a human being, you should feel sad about that.”

  Suddenly there was a knock on the door and they both turned as the sheriff opened it and let Lou inside. He closed the door only partway, agitated. “Bennie, you need to get out there.”

  “What’s going on?” Bennie grabbed her napkin, wiped her mouth, and stood up.

  “Doreen got upset, and Karen took her into the ladies’ room.”

  “Oh boy.” Bennie gestured at Jason. “Please eat if you can, ask Lou any questions you have, and I’ll see you back in the courtroom.”

  “Where are you going?”

  Lou sat down, reaching for his wrapped sandwich. “She has to powder her nose.”

  “Nobody says that anymore, Lou.” Bennie slipped out of the door, hurried down the tile hallway, where she knocked until the sheriff let her into the courtroom. It was partly empty, with the staff eating lunch at their desks, and Bennie left the courtroom and let herself out into the wide corridor, which was emptying for lunch.

  She passed through the elevator bank, entered the vast lobby, and made a beeline for the ladies’ room. She opened the door to find Karen next to the sink with Doreen, who had stopped crying, but was holding a paper towel underneath her mascaraed eyelashes. Both women looked up, surprised at Bennie’s appearance, and Doreen’s mouth dropped open in outrage as she took the towel from her eyes.

  “Get out of here!” Doreen spat out, her eyes burning in a way that took Bennie back over a decade.

  “I’m here to speak to Karen.” Bennie turned to the reporter. “Karen, I have half an hour right now, if you want to meet.”

  “Fine, great. Doreen, we’ll continue this later.” Karen gave Doreen’s shoulder a final squeeze, then followed Bennie out of the ladies’ room.

  “Karen, I’m so glad we could grab a minute to talk,” Bennie said, heading back toward the courtroom.


  “Good, I’m glad, too.” Karen fell into step beside her, toting a massively oversized messenger bag, standard issue for every reporter.

  “Let’s go to the attorneys’ conference room, this way. It’ll be more private.”

  “Great.” Karen looked up at Bennie, hurrying along. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you, but I know how you are with the press.”

  “That was then, this is now.” Bennie walked her back toward the courtroom and entered the attorneys’ conference room, another white windowless box with orange-padded chairs and a small Formica table. “Please, sit down.”

  “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?” Karen dug in her bag, pulled out a small bronze-toned tape recorder, switched it on, and set it on the table.

  “Not at all.” Bennie sat down, easing into her mission. She wanted to plant their side of the story and block Karen from spending more alone time with Doreen.

  “Okay, so.” Karen tucked a strand of dark, straight hair into a practical ponytail at the nape of her neck. “Why are you being so forthcoming? God knows, it’s not like you.”

  “I’m not going to bullshit you, Karen. I’ve been watching you all morning, sitting with Doreen Grusini. I don’t like that you’re getting only one side of the story.”

  “Wow, okay.” Karen’s dark brown eyes lit up, and she flashed a smile that wasn’t especially warm. She had on a plain brownish cotton sweater, jeans, and flats, a practical girl after Bennie’s own heart.

  “So ask me anything. I’m yours. Here, I can give you the background and information that I could never get into evidence in there.”

  “Are you gonna put Lefkavick on the stand?”

  “Ask me anything except that.” Bennie smiled. “You know I can’t discuss the particulars of this case with you, not while it’s ongoing.”

  “If you’re not going to put him on the stand, who are your witnesses?”

  “I’ll get you a copy of my witness list, if you haven’t seen it already.”

  “I got a copy of the witness list, but all you do is list their witnesses.”

  “It’s an old habit of mine. I used to do it all the time in civil cases, and most civil lawyers do. You never know who you’re going to need to call from their side and you don’t want to be caught without a name on the list.” Bennie shifted gears. “Now, let’s get to what I wanted to talk to you about, because this case is not just a simple murder case, though it looks that way.”