Blind Man's Alley

42
DUNCAN HAD come down to court by himself. Blake was no longer pretending to show any interest in the Nazario case; he’d made it clear that the hearing on the gunshot residue was Duncan’s to win or lose. Not that Duncan was complaining: he enjoyed having the freedom to operate without a more senior lawyer constantly peering over his shoulder, something he didn’t get in cases with hundreds of millions of dollars at stake.
Rafael had been brought down from Rikers for the hearing, the first time Duncan had seen his client in a few weeks. He met with Rafael in the visiting area on the twelfth floor, one of a row of lawyers lined up, their clients brought to sit across from them, reinforced glass in between. It was loud, and Duncan did his best to tune out the grim room, focus on Rafael. If this was the part of imprisonment that the system allowed the lawyers to see, Duncan couldn’t imagine what the actual daily reality of incarceration was like. He thought of his half brother, violated on parole and back in prison. There was nothing he could do for Antoine; it was Rafael he could help.
“So is everything okay?” Duncan asked as he sat across from Rafael.
“They got me in hell out there,” Rafael said, speaking quickly, his usual enthusiasm taking on a manic edge. “Somebody put a blade in the vent above my cell, so now I’m in solitary for thirty days.”
“Shit,” Duncan said, feeling once again out of his league. “Did you have a hearing or anything before they moved you to solitary?”
Rafael’s administrative hearing had been the same day the shiv had been found. The adjudication captain, a middle-aged black woman, had at least been polite, hearing Rafael out as he insisted that the blade was not his and that he didn’t know who had put it in the vent (Rafael feeling like he had no choice but to lie about that). She’d taken notes on a form, rarely looking up, although she’d looked Rafael in the eye when asking if he had any idea who’d hidden the weapon.
He’d been put in the Central Punitive Segregation Unit, what prisoners called the bing. Inmates were kept in lockdown twenty-three hours a day, with one hour for the exercise yard and the shower. Even that hour was basically just another form of solitary: Rafael was not exactly interested in mingling with the hard-core prisoners who made up the CPSU population. There were some freaky people in the bing—the gangbangers had nothing on the guys who were just out of their heads. Rafael had thought life in the cell block had been tedious, but that was nothing compared to solitary. Time crawled when it moved at all, each day an endurance test.
“The hearing was bullshit,” Rafael said.
Duncan wanted to offer to do something about it, but he wasn’t at all sure he could. He wondered if Rafael was telling the truth about the shiv. Duncan didn’t know how much violence there was at Rikers, or how unsafe Rafael might feel. “Is there any way to appeal it?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” Rafael said. “Seems like they can do what they want to me out there.”
“Were you having some kind of problem before they found the blade?”
“What do you mean?” Rafael asked.
Duncan shrugged, feeling awkward talking about it. “Just, is there a problem you’re having in the jail, anything I could maybe help you with?”
Duncan saw the hesitation in Rafael, the flicker of something. “Nah,” Rafael said. “I’ll get through Rikers. What’s going to happen here in court?”
Duncan wondered if he should let it go, but the fact was, he didn’t know how to help Rafael with any problems at the jail. He decided to just turn to the task at hand. “I think we’ve got a real good chance here,” he said. “I’ve got some surprises up my sleeve for the DA’s so-called expert.”
“I didn’t shoot nobody that night, so what that man’s saying has got to be a lie,” Rafael replied. Duncan understood the logic, even if he knew things were never quite that simple in a court of law.
“We may not find out today how the judge is going to rule,” Duncan said. “And even if we win, the case won’t be over.”
“I hear you,” Rafael said. “Least it gets me up out of Rikers for a day.”
“Have you heard the news from your grandmother about the eviction?” Duncan asked, wanting to cheer Rafael up.
Rafael shook his head. “She can’t talk to me while I’m in the bing.”
“There was a newspaper article a little while back raising questions about whether the security guards were planting drugs on people at Riis. It mentioned you, in fact, and Fowler. Anyway, the city has announced it’s suspending all eviction proceedings where the security guards played a role while they look into it. So your grandmother doesn’t have to worry about losing her home, at least not anytime soon.”
Rafael brightened. “So if they know Fowler set me up, what’s that mean for the murder charge?”
“Honestly, probably very little,” Duncan replied. “My guess is the DA’s going to feel like you might even have more of a motive to shoot Fowler if he was lying about you. We’ll see, but I wouldn’t assume it changes much in this case. But still.”
“It’s good, though, yeah. I mean, it was crazy that they were trying to kick her out.”
“She’ll be in court today,” Duncan said. “Hopefully you’ll get a chance to talk to her. I should go get ready to do this thing. I think we’re about to have a good day.”
WHEN DUNCAN entered the courtroom fifteen minutes before the scheduled noon hearing, another set of lawyers were arguing a motion before the judge, Jacob Lasky. The judge was red-faced, his voice raised as he berated the defense lawyer. Not a welcoming sight, Duncan thought.
Lasky was in his sixties, had been on the bench for about a decade. Before that, he’d spent most of his career in the district attorney’s office. His reputation was for being both prickly and law-and-order, a gruff no-nonsense judge who ran a tight ship. Not a good draw for a criminal defendant, but not the worst one out there either.
Duncan saw Dolores Nazario in the second row—the front row reserved for lawyers and cops—and sat down beside her, smiling hello. He noticed Candace Snow and the other Journal reporter as he walked past, but didn’t acknowledge them, nervous enough without worrying about the press.
Once the other argument was finally over, the judge took a fifteen-minute recess, so it was well past twelve thirty by the time Lasky returned to the bench. Even though it was the defense’s motion, the burden of establishing the evidence’s admissibility was on the prosecution, so they would go first. Each side was going to be presenting one witness, Professor Cole for the defense, and for the DA the police lab worker who’d conducted the GSR testing, Kevin Logan. Duncan and Cole had spent much of the weekend together in a firm conference room preparing for the hearing, and Duncan was confident he was ready to go.
Logan was sixty or so, mostly bald, with stray wisps of white hair crossing the top of his head. He was dressed in a sports jacket and tie. ADA Bream handled Logan’s questioning. He started with a brief summary of the witness’s background and experience, followed by a step-by-step recounting of the process by which he’d tested for gunshot residue using a scanning electron microscope. Duncan listened carefully, taking detailed notes. But the show wouldn’t really start until it was his turn to ask the questions.
Judge Lasky made no effort to pretend he was paying attention. The judge had brought some papers to the bench with him; he appeared to be marking up a document, rarely looking up. ADA Bream, perhaps sensing the judge’s lack of interest, kept things short, taking only about twenty minutes to run Logan through his paces.
When he was finished Duncan stood, slowly making his way to the podium directly in front of the witness. The courtroom was fairly small, no more than ten feet or so between Duncan and Logan. Duncan was nervous, but a good nervous: he was full of adrenaline, ready to do battle. Dr. Cole had guided him in preparing for his cross, giving him a lot of scientific ammunition. He hoped to be able to pretty much destroy Logan on the stand.
“How many GSR particles did you find on my client’s hands, Mr. Logan?”
“Six.”
“Were particles found on both of his hands?”
“No, just the left hand.”
“Do you know whether my client is left-handed?”
“I have no idea.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that he is, in fact, right-handed?”
“Not at all.”
“The fact that the GSR was found on my client’s nondominant hand, that wouldn’t surprise you?” Duncan asked. He’d expected Logan to deny that this was significant, but it was part of the broader picture he intended to paint about the validity of the GSR finding.
“Not really, no,” Logan replied, smiling, looking like he was relaxing a little, which was fine with Duncan. He hoped Logan was thinking this was all Duncan had to hit him with.
“Why not?”
“A number of reasons. GSR is easily transferable from one hand to the other, for one thing. If the defendant had touched the gun with his nondominant hand near the time of firing it, that could easily be the cause of the GSR. It’s also not uncommon for a gun to be held in both hands when being fired.”
“You mentioned that GSR is easily transferable. Is it possible to pick up GSR not from a gun, but from another surface that has GSR on it?”
Logan glanced over at the prosecution’s table, as if needing permission to concede even this. “That’s possible,” he said.
“So, for example, could the back of a police car have GSR in it? Say from someone who’s fired a gun having previously been put into the car?”
“It could.”
“And someone could then pick up that residue off the seat?” Duncan asked, trying to establish a brisk pace, get Logan in a rhythm of answering his questions.
“I suppose. They’d probably have to rub their hands into the seat cushion.”
“If your hands were handcuffed behind your back, they might be rubbing into the seat cushion, right?”
“I don’t really know.”
“As a matter of common sense, it’s certainly possible, right?” Duncan asked with a little smile, no trace of confrontation, wanting to suggest that he was simply asking Logan to admit the obvious. He was totally focused on Logan now, everyone else in the room forgotten.
“It seems possible.”
“What about a police station interview room? Is that a place where GSR could be?”
Logan scoffed. “I don’t think people generally fire guns in police interview rooms,” he said.
Duncan wondered if Logan was purposely being obtuse. “I’m not talking about GSR being there because a gun was actually fired in the room. I’m talking about GSR that someone carries in on their person or clothing, which then comes off in the room.”
“That could happen, maybe a single stray particle, but I don’t think more than that, not unless someone walked in right after firing a gun.”
Duncan had read up enough on GSR to know that what Logan was saying wasn’t accurate, though he didn’t know if it was out of ignorance or deliberate. “In fact, Mr. Logan, police stations are widely regarded as containing stray GSR particles in the manner I’ve just described, correct?”
Logan shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘widely regarded.’”
“Are you aware that studies have repeatedly found a high level of GSR contamination in police stations?”
“I don’t recall seeing such studies.”
“Are you aware that in many jurisdictions, a suspect’s hands are bagged when he is first taken into custody if the police are planning to perform a GSR test, precisely to avoid such contamination?”
“We encourage the police to bag hands here,” Logan said. “But unfortunately it doesn’t always happen.”
“In your written report, you state that, quote, ‘six particles of gunshot powder residue were found on the hands of the subject.’ Do you recall writing that?”
“I recall that’s in my report, yes.”
Duncan was moving in for the kill, but he doubted that anyone in the courtroom could tell. “But in your lab bench notes, you are more specific about the six particles you found, correct?”
Logan frowned, taking a moment. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.
“You note that you found one particle that was a fusion of lead, barium, and antimony, and that the other five particles were just a fusion of lead and barium, correct?”
“I’d have to review my notes.”
Duncan handed Logan a copy of his lab notes, then gave a copy to Bream, who looked a little uneasy. Duncan suspected the ADAs hadn’t taken much of a look at the underlying forensic work behind Logan’s report, had assumed it was solid and that Duncan was just using this hearing to draw the case out. If so, they were in for a surprise.
“Yes,” Logan said. “That’s what I found.”
Duncan could feel his nerves grow taut as he got ready to ask the next question. “Are you aware, Mr. Logan, that a fusion of lead and barium is not sufficiently unique to be considered gunshot residue?”
The courtroom was dead silent, Duncan savoring the pause while Logan considered his response. Duncan could tell he had Logan completely off guard. “I believe that particles showing a fusion of lead and barium can accurately be classified as GSR,” Logan finally said stiffly. “Especially when found in conjunction with a fused particle of lead, barium, and antimony.”
“Are you aware that your belief is not shared by the FBI?” The question hung there for a moment in the silent courtroom. Duncan had them in the palm of his hand; he could feel it. He reminded himself to remain stoic, not let any sense of triumph show.
“I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“In 2004 you went to a forensics training conference held by the FBI at Quantico, correct?”
Logan was clearly surprised by the change of direction. “I did.”
“Do you recall going to a session about GSR?”
“Yes.”
“Do you recall whether there was a discussion at that session regarding the fact that the FBI considered only the three-element fusion of lead, barium, and antimony to be sufficiently unique to be called GSR, not the two-element fusion of lead and barium?”
Logan was shrinking on the stand, his shoulders hunching as he leaned into himself. “I don’t recall.”
“I have a copy of the written materials for that presentation,” Duncan said, entering the exhibit into evidence. “Mr. Logan, could you please read the highlighted passage?”
Logan squirmed in his chair as Duncan approached him. “‘Because a fusion of lead and barium is not unique to GSR, but can also be found in certain paints, in brake linings, and in other industrial materials, the FBI considers only a three-element fusion of lead, barium, and antimony to be sufficiently unique to be considered gunshot residue.’”
“Does reading that passage refresh your recollection regarding what you learned at that FBI training session?” Duncan asked. He hardly cared how Logan answered: the point was made. He had the state’s expert boxed in, and he didn’t see the guy coming up with a way out.
“I don’t work for the FBI, so even if that’s their standard I wouldn’t be required to follow it,” Logan said, looking over at the prosecutor’s table for rescue.
Duncan took a step away from the podium, wanting to draw Logan’s attention back to him. “Because you personally view the two-element fusion as being sufficiently unique to be considered GSR?”
“When found in conjunction with three-element particles as well, absolutely,” Logan replied, glancing back at Duncan.
“What’s your support for this belief?”
“My own professional experience,” Logan said, his eyes downcast.
“Are you aware of any secondary sources, any scholarly materials, any law enforcement agencies, or anything, for that matter, outside of your own experience, that supports the idea that your view is right and the FBI’s view is wrong?”
“I’m a trained expert in this area.” Logan was finally showing at least a little bit of fight.
“I see,” Duncan said mildly. “Is that because you go to training sessions like the one at Quantico?”
“In part.”
“It doesn’t seem like you paid a whole lot of attention there, did you?” Duncan said, allowing himself to put some edge into it.
“Objection,” Bream said sharply.
“Sustained,” Judge Lasky said, but his voice was muted. Duncan glanced at the judge, who had put his papers down and was peering over his glasses at the witness.
“Do you know what Mr. Nazario does for a living, Mr. Logan?”
“I do not.”
“So you don’t know if he works with industrial materials?”
“I don’t.”
“So you don’t then know whether he might’ve been exposed to the two-element particles by using, say, a scouring pad in a kitchen, or an industrial-strength dishwashing unit?”
“I have no idea.”
“Putting aside the two-element particles you found, you also found one particle of fused lead, barium, and antimony, correct?”
“That’s right,” Logan said, looking relieved that Duncan was shifting ground.
“Are you aware, Mr. Logan, that according to FBI protocols a finding of one particle of GSR is insufficient to be considered an indication that the person has handled a discharged gun?”
Logan paused, as if waiting for inspiration, or perhaps rescue. “I don’t recall being aware of that, no.”
“Were you aware that, again according to the FBI, finding one particle is as likely to be caused by contamination as by firing a gun?” Duncan said, trying to stay methodical, keep any reaction out of his questions. He didn’t want to seem like he was gloating; Duncan wanted to be gentle about eviscerating Logan—he’d watched Blake do this a number of times, and was trying his best to emulate his boss’s technique.
“No,” Logan said flatly, the last dregs of resistance draining out of him. Duncan decided he’d gotten everything he could out of Logan. All that was left was to use Cole to nail down the coffin.
“No further questions,” Duncan said to the judge, turning to go back to his seat. He walked slowly, wanting to take in the room. Duncan had rarely gotten to actually question a witness in court; he’d never had the chance to really take someone apart on the stand like that. At the DA’s table, neither Castelluccio nor Bream was making much effort to hide their frustration with how badly Logan’s testimony had gone. He saw that Dolores Nazario looked pleased, and that behind her the reporters were intently engaged in their note taking. Candace glanced up at him, and to Duncan’s surprise she smiled. At the defense table Rafael was grinning broadly.
The DA didn’t have any other evidence to put on, so Duncan called Cole. The professor had testified dozens of times as an expert; Duncan guessed that Cole made more money from testifying than he did from his day job.
Once Cole was on the stand, Duncan led him through his credentials, which were far better than Logan’s. ADA Bream offered to stipulate to Cole’s expertise, an offer Duncan declined, wanting to stress the professor’s bona fides. He then turned to Logan’s report.
“Dr. Cole, have you reviewed the GSR report prepared by Mr. Logan regarding Mr. Nazario?”
“I have,” Cole said. The professor was leaning back in his seat, his legs crossed, appearing thoroughly at ease.
“And do you have an opinion on the merits of that report?”
“I do,” Cole said. “In my view it is so flawed as to be entirely worthless as a piece of scientific evidence.”
“And in coming to that conclusion, are you relying on generally accepted principles in the area of GSR testing?”
“I am applying the standards of the FBI, as well as numerous states that have set formal minimum standards for when GSR results are acceptable.”
“After reviewing Mr. Logan’s report, were you able to glean the facts on which Mr. Logan’s opinion was based?”
“Not from his report, no,” Cole said. “I had to review his underlying bench notes in order to clearly see the actual facts and not just Mr. Logan’s conclusions.”
“And were you able to form your own expert opinion, based on those facts?”
“I was, yes. In my opinion there was only one genuine particle of gunshot residue found on Mr. Nazario’s hands. Given that he’d been in a police car and a precinct house, as well as around numerous armed police officers, it is far more likely that he picked up the particle as incidental contamination, rather than from actually handling a recently fired gun himself. In my opinion it would be utterly inappropriate to infer that Mr. Nazario had shot a gun based on these GSR results.”
“As to the five other particles, the two-element particles, do you have a theory as to where those came from?”
“It’s impossible to determine,” Cole answered. “They could also be incidental contamination, say from the police car. They could be from something Mr. Nazario handled at his job in a restaurant, some industrial product he came into contact with in the kitchen. That’s the problem with the two-element particles—nobody can say what their origin is.”
“Thank you, Dr. Cole,” Duncan said.
Bream and Castelluccio were huddled together at their table, Castelluccio looking furious, Bream like he’d just been kicked in the balls. Duncan offered them a bright smile as he walked to his table.
“Your Honor, if we could just have a short recess to prepare our cross-examination of Dr. Cole,” Bream said.
“What’s there to cross-examine Dr. Cole about?” Lasky said irritably. “Are you challenging his description of the general scientific consensus in the areas of his expertise?”
Bream, at a loss, looked over to Castelluccio for rescue, but she was glaring at the judge and didn’t so much as glance Bream’s way. “We would like to confer with Mr. Logan regarding that,” Bream finally said.
“Thank you, Dr. Cole,” Lasky said to the witness. “You can step down now.”
“Your Honor—” Bream protested.
“You just put on the record that you didn’t have any basis to cross-examine this witness. I’m an hour behind schedule as it is, Mr. Bream. This hearing is adjourned; I’ll reserve my ruling. And I’ll see counsel in chambers. Now.”
Duncan felt disappointed that the judge had reserved decision; he thought he’d done more than enough for Lasky to rule right from the bench. He had no idea why they were being summoned to chambers, but hoped it would be good news. He was charged up from demolishing Logan, and allowed himself a momentary fantasy that he’d been so effective that the judge was going to propose ending the case, though he knew realistically that wasn’t about to happen.
He followed Bream and Castelluccio to the door in the back of the courtroom, which the courtroom deputy was holding open for them. “You know why he wants to see us, Mike?” Castelluccio asked the deputy.
“Who knows?” Mike replied. “The old guy’s just full of surprises today.”
He ushered them into Judge Lasky’s chambers. Rather than going to his desk, the judge had sat at the head of a small table at the front of the room, where he gestured for them to join him. He’d unzipped his robe, underneath which was a rumpled gray polo shirt. Duncan had never seen a judge in a polo shirt before. Duncan sat by himself on one side of the table, the two ADAs on the other.
“How many cases has this Logan testified in for your office?” he asked Castelluccio as soon as they were all seated.
“I’ve no idea,” Castelluccio said after a second, clearly thrown by the question. “Dozens, though, I would think, if not more.”
“Don’t pretend that you don’t see the can of worms this just opened up.”
“I’m not sure I understand,” Castelluccio said carefully.
“How many other cases you think this joker has found this two-element thing and said it was gunshot residue? I write an opinion in this case, say what really just happened out there, everybody ever convicted where Logan testified is going to be asking for a hearing.”
“I don’t think his testimony went that badly,” Castelluccio protested.
“Give me a break,” Lasky said. “The guy ID’d stuff as GSR that wasn’t actually GSR. It’s as simple as that. And I guarantee you this wasn’t the first time.”
“I would have to respectfully disagree with your characterization, Your Honor,” Castelluccio said. “But I understand that your opinion’s the one that counts.”
“You’re damn right it is. I don’t need any more enemies, including your boss. And the district attorney isn’t going to like it if I write up what just happened to your witness.”
Castelluccio was squeezing her hands together so hard the knuckles were turning white. “So what do you suggest, Your Honor?” Castelluccio said.
“You drop him as a witness,” Lasky said. “And your office doesn’t use him again, at least not until he’s cleaned up his act.”
Castelluccio looked aghast, but she kept eye contact with the judge. Duncan couldn’t quite believe what was happening, but he understood that there was nothing for him to do but keep out of the way. “But his report—”
“Obviously you can’t use his report if you can’t use him.”
“So you’re saying we withdraw our GSR evidence?”
“If you don’t, you’re just going to make me throw it out,” Lasky said. “And believe me, that’s going to be far worse for everyone.”
DUNCAN STROLLED out of chambers, Castelluccio storming off in front of him with Bream in tow. He followed them down the hall and back to the courtroom, hoping to have a chance to update Rafael on what had just transpired. But the courtroom was now empty, which meant Rafael had likely been shipped back to Rikers. Duncan decided he’d settle for calling his client’s grandmother later, filling her in. When he walked out of the courtroom back into the main hallway he found Candace Snow leaning against the wall.
“That was pretty hot,” she said.
“Excuse me?” Duncan said after a moment, hoping his reaction wasn’t showing.
“I mean, as somebody who asks people questions for a living myself,” Candace said. She was smiling at him, looking far warmer than Duncan had previously seen her. Candace was dressed relatively casually, black jeans and a dark purple shirt under a suit jacket that was her sole concession to being in court. Duncan assumed she was aware of being pretty, knew that it let her get away with things she otherwise couldn’t. “Once, maybe twice in my whole career I’ve really gotten somebody like that in an interview. You know, where you’ve just exposed them for what they are. It’s the best high in the world.”
Duncan smiled without meaning to, that high still pumping through his blood. “Are you writing a story about the hearing?”
“I’m not, but somebody else from my paper was here. He went back to write it up.”
“He didn’t even want a quote from me?” Duncan said, intending it as a joke but realizing as he said it that there was some real disappointment there too; he wanted recognition for his knockout of Logan.
“Oh, no, he does,” Candace said. “I agreed to stick around to get one. You can talk to me now, right?”
Duncan felt pleasantly surprised that she’d asked without either challenge or sarcasm. “The libel suit is over, so yeah, you’re not off-limits anymore.”
“Speaking of the libel suit, you hear about William Stanton? The DOB canned him.”
“Why, ’cause he talked to you?” Duncan retorted after a moment. He felt bad at hearing that Stanton had lost his job, but he wasn’t going to let the reporter guilt him over it.
“That’s not fair,” Candace protested.
“The city sent along a lawyer when Stanton was deposed. I’m guessing the DOB didn’t like him airing its dirty laundry.”
“I protected William,” Candace said. “He only got outed because you went after him.”
“I had nothing against Stanton. Sorry if he got a raw deal, but I had a job to do.”
“William thinks the whole point of the libel suit was to get him fired.”
Duncan remembered what Leah had said about the libel case as a warning shot about bad-mouthing her family, but pushed it out of his mind. “I don’t blame a guy for being self-centered when it comes to losing his job,” he said, not wanting to concede anything.
“Can you tell me for a fact that wasn’t the point of the case?”
Duncan thought he probably shouldn’t be talking to Candace, even without the libel suit. Leah had forbidden him to, for one thing. Duncan also didn’t think Blake would like him going around spouting off to the press about the Nazario case, but he decided a single quote about the hearing wouldn’t kill him. The judge’s decision to bury the larger problem with the GSR evidence hadn’t sat well with Duncan; if Logan had given similar testimony in other cases, those defendants should have the chance to challenge it. The judge and the DA might be too invested in keeping the system going to worry about that, but Duncan had no such obligations. He decided to try to come up with something that would put some pressure on the DA to fix the broader mess.
“I don’t think we should talk about the libel case. I’ll give you a quote on the Nazario hearing, but that’s the only on-the-record chat you and I can have.”
“If that’s how you want it,” Candace said.
Duncan looked at Candace, who wasn’t holding paper or pen. “You ready?”
“Fire away.”
“Give me a second,” Duncan said. He closed his eyes, went back into his courtroom mode, let himself take his time. The paper wouldn’t print the pause. “Okay, here goes: I have serious concerns that Mr. Logan’s scientific testimony was not only inaccurate in this case, but that his larger ability to perform his job duties was also called into question. There can be no doubt that the so-called scientific evidence against my client is nothing of the kind, and I fully expect the district attorney’s office to decide not to bring it forward on its own accord. It wouldn’t surprise me if they launched their own review of other cases in which Mr. Logan has presented evidence.”
“Okay, thanks,” Candace said. She was still standing with her hands at her sides. “That’s it?”
“You got all that?” Duncan asked skeptically.
“I got it.”
“But you didn’t write anything down.”
“I’m recording.”
Duncan frowned at her. “You’re tape-recording us right now?”
“Technically it’s digital, but yes.”
“Are you serious?” Duncan asked, though he realized as he said it that she obviously was. “Is that even legal?”
“Of course it’s legal,” Candace said. “New York’s a one-party-consent state. For recording your own conversations, that is.”
“Well stop,” Duncan said, not liking the idea of being recorded, even though he wasn’t sure what difference it made when speaking to a reporter.
“Sure,” Candace said. She reached into the inside pocket of her suit jacket and turned off the recorder. “Now can we go somewhere to talk?”
Duncan hadn’t been expecting this. He didn’t want to talk to any reporter if he could help it, and Candace least of all. “What do we have to talk about?”
“I want to ask you about a couple of things. One to do with your firm, the other to do with this case.”
“What about this case?”
“I want to run a theory by you.”
“A theory about what?”
“Why somebody might have wanted Sean Fowler dead.”