Page 86 of Witness 8

‘Your Honor, we would like to play the recording of that call for the jury, People’s exhibit nineteen.’

The DA and his team fussed with a laptop that was connected to the sound system in court. And then the call started to play. I’d heard it already. The caller was disguising their voice. It was low, gravelly, but there didn’t appear to be a great deal of depth to their tone. I got the impression the caller was young and more than likely female, but it wasn’t possible to tell for sure.

‘I know who killed Margaret Blakemore. I was across the street that night, hiding behind a line of parked cars. I watched John Jackson shoot her, then leave and go back to his house. He still had the gun on him when he left . . .’

The line went dead. The caller never acknowledged the call handler, never answered any questions, just made this statement and hung up.

‘What did you do when you received that tip?’ asked Castro.

‘I applied for a warrant to search the home of John Jackson and arrest him for questioning. There was specific corroborating evidence in that anonymous call. We had not released the information to the press that Margaret Blakemore had died from gunshot wounds. The only people who knew that were the killer and the potential witness. The warrant was granted and we made our search and arrest.’

‘What did you find at the home?’

‘Officer Pettifer found a .22 caliber pistol in the defendant’s bedroom closet, high up on a shelf between some spare bedding.’

‘What is the significance of the caliber of the weapon?’

‘It’s the same caliber ammunition found in Margaret Blakemore’s body. She was shot three times. This weapon holds a nine-round magazine. Three rounds had been fired from the magazine in this weapon.’

‘Was a forensic examination made of this weapon?’

‘Yes, an urgent one. A partial latent palm print was found on the gun, but this print wasn’t enough to provide a match for the defendant. However, our forensics lab was able to extract DNA from that same print.’

‘Experts will testify about his forensic examination and DNA testing, however, from your perspective and understanding, is DNA evidencemore accuratethan palm or fingerprint identification?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Chase.

Castro paused for a moment, flicked through the papers on his desk. He was creating tension – building up the finale.

‘Did you ask the defendant about the gun that was found in his closet?’

‘Yes, and I should say, at that time, we didn’t have ballistic evidence to confirm that it was the murder weapon, but we strongly believed it to be so. In any event, I asked Mr. Jacksonabout the gun in his closet and if he could explain how it got there.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said he’d never seen it before.’

‘And it was subsequent to this denial that the DNA found on the murder weapon matched the defendant’s DNA?’

‘Correct.’

‘Do you believe the defendant when he said he’d never seen the gun before?’

‘The gun that we found in the defendant’s home, we believe, is the same gun that fired the rounds which killed Margaret Blakemore. It has the defendant’s DNA on it. There’s a simple explanation for this. The defendant shot and killed the victim. And then he denied it. Like he’s denying it today. He’s lying.’

‘Nothing further,’ said Castro.

I got up, walked round the defense table and stood in the well of the court. The no-man’s land between the judge, the witness, the lawyers and the jury. Center stage. Hands in my pockets. I glanced over my shoulder at John.

He sat at the defense table looking utterly lost. Defeated. His eyes were glazed with fear. A man whose life was about to end too soon. He’d lost weight since I’d first met him, and he didn’t look the better for it. That suit hung off him. Like a death shroud.

This happens every day in America. Innocent people get caught in a machine that destroys them and their families. I didn’t have a magic button to stop the machine. No failsafe device. No cut-off switch. Amid the roar of the grinding steel wheels of justice, I only had words. They were my sole weapon.

The temptation was to scream and rant. And make myself heard over the thunder of the machine.

Yet, I knew, the best thing now was to speak softly. So that those twelve people who could stop the machine might leanin and listen. Really listen. Because, if they didn’t, then the machine would roll right over John and Alison. And Tomas.

I nodded at John. I wanted him to know that I was going to fight for him. That there was hope.