Free Skeleton Justice by Michael Baden, Linda Kenney Baden Page A

longer wore a robe on the bench. But make no mistake: He was a highly respected jurist, one you weren’t late for unless you were dead, who mandated preparedness and honesty.
    “So in other words, Doctor,” the judge said, addressing the expert witness, “for the laypeople in the audience, what you are saying is that a forensic odontologist is a fancy word for … dentist?”
    “Well, it’s from the Greek, Your Honor.”
    “I see.” A cross between a snort and a chuckle emanated from the bench. “Do you get to charge the government more in Greek?”
    Touché . Old, retired, on senior status, Freeman took the words right out of her mouth.
    Satisfied that Judge Freeman was going to give her fair latitude in cross-examination, Manny sat back and let Lisnek walk the witness through his evidence. “The average set of permanent teeth in an adult numbers thirty-two, including the four wisdom teeth,” Olivo informed them.
    Yada yada yada. She forced herself to listen to every word and make careful notes, only daydreaming for a split second about the Carramia case, where she had cross-examined Jake. Jake had been a charismatic expert witness in a geeky, scientific kind of way. Almost sexy, talking about vomit and death. His brown hair, interspersed with gray strands, complemented his big frame and professorial tone. Olivo was no Jake. Thank God for that.
    “In short,” Olivo finally opined, “the gap between the upper right lateral incisor and the adjoining canine tooth, also called a cuspid, along with the snagglelike characteristics of that canine tooth, establishes within a reasonable degree of medical scientific certainty that the impression in the apple is consistent with the bite dentition of Travis Heaton.” He demonstrated his testimony with digital pictures of the subject apple.
    Olivo sat back in the witness chair and folded his hands over his paunch. Manny smiled. How nice to see a witness so confident and comfortable.
    She rose and walked toward the witness stand. Today’s hairstyle, red mane caught back in a tortoiseshell clip, left the strand of pearls at her neck and the simple pearl studs in her ears exposed. She looked younger than her nearly thirty years, and too demure to cause trouble for a respected scientist.
    Pompous old fart .
    “Good morning, Dr. Olivo.” She beamed at him. “Thank you for that fascinating information.”
    He nodded. “I’ve been at this a long time.” He left the “Not like you, girlie,” unsaid.
    “Tell me: Were you present at the crime scene after the explosion?”
    “No, of course not.” I’m too important for that, you stupid twit .
    Manny smiled. Maybe the government’s witness was so well rehearsed he would know the chain of custody of the oh-so-important piece of forensic evidence he wanted to use to damn her client to hell.
    “So, who collected the apple?” she continued. “Was it the FBI’s crime scene technicians?”
    “No.”
    “Perhaps it was the CSI team from the Hoboken Police Department?”
    “No.”
    “Then it must have been a tristate terrorist response unit?”
    “Uh, no.”
    “So, who did pick up the apple, Dr. Olivo?”
    “Uhm, I believe it was a police detective who returned to the scene later to look for it.”
    “And what did he do with it? Did he put it in a brown paper bag so that moisture wouldn’t collect and bacteria wouldn’t grow on it?”
    Olivo shifted in his seat and straightened his triclub tie. “No, it was in a plastic Baggie when I got it.”
    “I see. Do you know what the temperature was on the night in question, Doctor?”
    “I don’t know the exact temperature,” he snapped.
    Manny walked back to the defense table and accepted a sheet of paper from Kenneth. “National Weather Service records show that at one a.m. on May seventeenth, the temperature at the monitoring station in Hoboken, New Jersey, was seventy-five degrees. Pretty warm for May, huh?”
    “Yes.” Olivo stared straight ahead.
    “Did you