“Is there any other way to falsify what is essentially supposed to be a moment frozen in time?” I ask him.
He nods, and grins. “There are other ways, actually, including nefarious ones.”
I grin back at him. “Nefarious, sir?”
“Dishonest would be another way of putting it.”
“Perhaps the kind of savvy and dishonest person looking to frame an innocent man?” I ask.
“Objection, Your Honor!”Welsh snaps. “I’m sorry, is this Ms. Smith questioning this witness, or her offering yet another preview, if an unsubstantiated one, of her summation?”
“Sustained,” Judge Horton says. “Ms. Smith, you have made this same point on countless occasions throughout this proceeding. Ms. Welsh is right, in this instance: Save the editorializing for the summation, one I’m sure we all look forward to.”
“I apologize profusely, Your Honor.”
Profusely and insincerely.
To Captain John Kyle I say, “Please elaborate for the court the ways a dishonest person could alter a photograph like this one.”
“You simply change the date and time on a cell phone or digital camera after you’ve unchecked your update tab,” he says. “That alone will make the cell phone appear to have taken a picture on a particular date and time when it was, in fact,nottaken at that time.”
“That will be all, Captain,” I say. “And thank you.”
He’s not quite finished, as it turns out. John Kyle isn’t just not an ex-cop. He’s a rigidly honest ex-cop.
“I’m not saying that’s what happened with this particular photograph,” he says. “But it absolutely could have happened.” He shrugs. “I hope I haven’t sounded too obtuse.”
“Not obtuse at all, sir,” I say. “Because when it comes to thealleged”—I give Katherine Welsh a quick look as I step hard on that word—“authenticity of what was presented as such a damning piece of evidence, you’re really only talking about one important thing here.”
I turn to fully face the jury.
“Reasonable doubt,” I say.
Other than “Not guilty,” the two most beautiful words in the English language.
ONE HUNDRED TEN
JUDGE HORTON ANNOUNCES A longer-than-usual lunch break—no explanation—so Norma Banks and I are having lunch at the Chefs Corner Café on Mineola Boulevard.
I order a salad. Norma orders a cheeseburger with bacon and sides of both onion rings and fries.
“Don’t judge,” she says when the food arrives.
“Hey,” I say. “Whatever you’re doing is working for you. And, let’s face it, I’d make a lousy judge, anyway.”
“How are you feeling, by the way?”
“In general, or today?”
“Today.”
“I’ve had better todays, frankly.”
“You need more color in that face,” Norma says.
“Maybe we can stop and pick some up on the way back,” I say. “I think we passed a CVS.”
I’m having an iced tea. She’s having a milkshake. Now she’s just taunting me.
