Pop Goes the Weasel

taught me my craft, and he was still there, teaching others. I couldn’t imagine why he would be called as a witness in Patsy Hampton’s murder case.
    Jules Halpern approached the witness with a heavy-looking hardback book open in his hands.
    “I read to you from the textbook Preserving the Crime Scene: A Detective’s Primer , which you wrote twenty years ago and which you still use in your classes: ‘It is imperative that the detective not disturb the crime scene until backup can be brought in to corroborate charges effected by the detective to unearth evidence, lest those charges be misconstrued to be those of the perpetration. Gloves must be worn at all times at a crime scene.’ Did you write that, Sergeant Jamieson?”
    “Yes, I did. Most certainly. Twenty years ago, as you said.”
    “Still stand by it?” Halpern asked.
    “Yes, of course. A lot of things have changed, but not that.”
    “And you heard earlier testimony that Detective Cross wore gloves both inside Detective Hampton’s car and at the Cassady apartment?”
    “Yes, I heard the testimony. I also read the grand-jury transcripts.”
    Halpern turned on the overhead projector in the courtroom. “I direct your attention to prints number one-seventy-six and two-eleven provided by the D.A.’s office. You see the ones denominated?”
    “Numbers one-seventy-six and two-eleven. I see them.”
    “Now, the prints are denominated ‘Detective Hampton Belt Buckle: ID: Alex Cross/Right Thumb’ and ‘Left Side Dashboard: ID: Alex Cross/Left Forefinger.’ What does that mean? Can you explain the markings to us?”
    “It means that Alex Cross’s prints were found on Detective Hampton’s belt as well as on the dashboard of her car.”
    Jules Halpern paused for a full ten seconds before he went on. “And may we not therefore conclude, Sergeant Jamieson, that Detective Cross himself may be our murderer and rapist?”
    “Objection!” Catherine Fitzgibbon stood up and shouted.
    “Withdrawn,” said the defense attorney. “I’m finished here.”

Chapter 91
    LAWYERS FOR BOTH the prosecution and the defense continued to appear regularly on Larry King and other TV shows, and to boast that their cases were “slam dunks.” If you listened to the lawyers, neither side could lose.
    In the courtroom, Jules Halpern had the fierce look and body language of someone brimming with confidence and determination. He was riding the case hard. He looked like a jockey whipping his Thoroughbred to victory.
    The bailiff stood and announced, “The defense calls Mr. William Payaz.”
    I didn’t recognize the name. Now what? Now who?
    There was no immediate response in the courtroom.
    No one came forward.
    Heads craned around the room. Still, no one responded. Who was the mystery witness?
    The bailiff repeated, a little louder, “Mr. Payaz. Mr. William Payaz.”
    The double doors in the back of the room suddenly opened, and a circus-style clown walked in. The gallery began to whisper loudly, and a few people laughed. What a world we lived in; what a circus, indeed.
    The clown took the stand, and both the prosecution and the defense were immediately called forward for a sidebar by Judge Fescoe. A heated discussion ensued that none of the rest of us could hear. The clown issue was apparently resolved in favor of the defense. After being sworn in, the clown was asked his name for the record.
    With his white-gloved right hand raised, he said, “Billy.”
    The bailiff asked, “Last name, please?”
    The clown said, “First name, Silly. Last name, Billy. Silly Billy. I had it legally changed,” he turned and confided to the judge.
    Jules Halpern then took over, and he treated the clown with respect and seriousness. First, he asked him to state his credentials, which the clown did, politely. Then Halpern asked, “And what brings you here today?”
    “I did a party for Mr. Shafer out in Kalorama on the fateful and terrible night of the murder. It was his twins’ fifth birthday. I did a party when they were four as well. I brought a video along. Want to see?” he said, speaking as if he were addressing a crowd of three-year-olds.
    “Of course,” said Jules Halpern.
    “Objection!” Catherine Fitzgibbon called out loudly.
    The video was admitted over the prosecution’s objections and after yet another lengthy sidebar. The newspapers had claimed that Judge Fescoe was intimidated by Jules Halpern, which seemed the case.
    The tape began with an arresting close-up