Dr. Perez stepped down from the stand, gave a smile to Brent as he passed by, and Chernow called his next witness.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

"I call Detective Roland Tomassi."

Detective Tomassi approached the witness stand, faced the clerk, took the oath, and sat down.

"Mr. Chernow, you may inquire."

"Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, will you please state your full name?"

"My name is Roland Tomassi."

"And you are a California Peace Officer?"

"Yes, I am."

"What is your current assignment?"

"I am a detective in the Homicide Division of the Santa Barbara County Sheriff's Department."

"And how long have you been serving as detective in the Homicide Division?"

"About 20 years, give or take a few months," said Tomassi, dryly.

"And you are also the officer who was first on the scene at Barbara Densmore's house after her death, is that correct?"

"Yes."

Tomassi described the scene, his interview with Nancy, the search of her house and the arrest, in detail, as well as the positive test for ricin on the cellophane wrapping and flower food package.

"Cross examination, Mr. Marks?"

"Thank you, Your Honor. Detective Tomassi, isn't it true that the forensic team you described made a thorough search of Barbara Densmore's residence for evidence?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you specifically instructed them that you were looking for some type of poison, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And isn't it also correct that, all the interviews of witnesses that you have conducted indicated that Barbara Densmore was at home all day before being taken to the hospital in the ambulance?"

"That is correct, sir."

"So there is no doubt in your mind that she would have ingested the poison at her residence, isn't that correct?"

"Objection, calls for speculation," Chernow interjected.

"He can answer if he has an opinion," said the Judge. "Detective Tomassi, answer the question if you can."

"No, sir, there is no doubt in my mind that it occurred at her residence."

"Is it also true that, at her residence, your forensic team found no traces of ricin?"

"Yes, that is true."

"And they also found no traces of any poison of any kind, isn't that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"You testified, Detective Tomassi that, as a result of a search of Mrs. Haskin's house that you did find cellophane wrapping in her garbage can with traces of ricin on it, is that correct?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"And this cellophane wrapping had no fingerprints besides the victim's, isn't that correct?"

"That is correct."

"This means that, if anyone had wiped the cellophane clean, they would have done so only before Barbara Densmore handled it, isn't that correct?"

"Objection, calls for speculation," Chernow called out.

"It does call for speculation, but the inference is there," said the Judge. "And this is just a preliminary hearing. You can answer."

"It seems that, if fingerprints were wiped, they were done before Ms. Densmore handled it, yes."

"And, by the same token, they could not have been wiped clean after because that would have also wiped Ms. Densmore's prints off, isn't that correct?"

"It seems so, yes. But the suspect could have used gloves to handle the cellophane to avoid leaving prints."

"One more question, Detective Tomassi. Did you find any flowers at Ms. Haskin's residence?"

"No."

After the short cross examination, Chernow tried to introduce Barbara Densmore's sister to identify a picture of her body, but Brent stipulated and agreed that it was, indeed, a photograph of Barbara Densmore. He didn't see the need of putting the sister through that.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Jack set upon the boring task of following the leads on the neighbors, no matter how cold he thought they were. He had done a background check on each one of them. Gary Goldstein had a minor criminal record back in New York. Seems he had an anger management problem and not only had slapped his wife around a couple of times, he had gotten into it with one of his neighbors in the Queens neighborhood they lived in.

Jack had set up surveillance on Goldstein. It was pretty uneventful during the daytime. He went to his nine to five office job in a Santa Barbara accountancy firm, and had lunch every day with a female co-worker. Maybe he was having an affair with her.

He had a few hours today before Goldstein would come home, so he decided to interview Jean Goldstein. Jean was a housewife. One kid was deceased, the other grown, and since then, she never had transitioned from being a mother/housewife to anything else.

"I told everything to the police, Detective Ruder," she said to Jack.

"I'm a private detective, ma'am. I work for Brent Marks, the defense counsel for Nancy Haskins."

"Oh, I heard about that. Isn't it awful? To think that there's a murderer living in our own development?"

"Exactly, ma'am. We're just trying to uncover the truth."

"Well isn't it pretty clear? I read that she was charged with murder and the judge found her guilty."

"No ma'am, that was just a preliminary hearing. There's going to be a murder trial."

Jean offered Jack a cup of coffee, something that he found impossible to refuse, since he had been living on it night and day during his stakeouts. He learned the story of the death of their son as well as the battle with the Homeowners Association over his memorial. He learned that Jean's husband, Gary had had a few scrapes with Densmore, and that he had actually threatened her a couple of times. Suddenly, everything started to make sense to Jack. He gingerly pressed her for what she may know about the Densmore case.

Jean didn't seem to know much of anything about the Densmore murder. Either she was completely innocent, or a pathological liar. In Jack's business, you could never be sure. Human nature being what it was, the only time you could really be sure you weren't being lied to was when you were talking to yourself.

As Jack pulled out to head back to Goldstein's office to pick up the surveillance trail, he noticed Gary Goldstein pulling up. At least he knew where Goldstein would be for at least the next few hours. To avoid being made, he circled around the block, and parked about half a block away and stopped. He sat in his car and killed the time going over the surveillance files he had compiled on all the neighbors. He was already stoked up by the coffee that Jean had served him during their talk. It would be a long night.

It didn't take long for Goldstein to be on the move again. He had developed some late night habits, apparently waiting for his wife to go to sleep so he could pursue his affair. All this late night surveillance had also developed some poor late night habits in Jack as well.

Jack followed Goldstein to an apartment complex in Santa Barbara and was munching on a Wendy's chicken burger when he noticed Goldstein leaving. Jack set the burger down on the passenger seat and took off after Goldstein. Halfway down Garden Street, Goldstein stopped in the middle of the street.

Shit, he made me! Thought Jack to himself. Sure enough, Goldstein slammed his Ford F-250 into reverse, wheels burning against the asphalt, and screeched to a halt inches away from Jack's bumper. Leaving the car running, he ran to Jack's car and pounded against the driver's side window. His wild, chestnut eyes looked empty and his mouth was open so wide, Jack could have sworn Goldstein's intention was to take a bite out of him, or his car.

"Come on! Come on!" he screamed, saliva spraying from the side of his mouth. Jack jammed his car in reverse and Goldstein ran after it for a couple of seconds, then got back in his car and took chase. After weaving through a couple of streets, Jack either lost the tail or Goldstein gave up.

When Jack got home, he called Brent right away and left a message on his voice mail.

"Hey Brent, it's Jack. I know you're probably asleep already but I think I've developed a good lead on Gary Goldstein. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night? Give me a call."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

Brent had sequestered himself in his office to make the last minute preparations. He had organized the entire trial into notebook binders binders containing all the exhibits, binders with the briefs and jury instructions, and binders with Brent's direct and cross examination outlines, opening statements and closing arguments. A criminal trial had a higher standard of proof than a civil trial. The state had to prove every element of its case beyond a reasonable doubt, or Nancy would be acquitted. And the verdict of the jury had to be unanimous. All twelve jurors had to vote for a conviction, or Nancy would be acquitted. The jury system was somewhat of an anomaly, like everything else in the law. A defendant put his or her fate in the hands of twelve strangers, who had no legal training, but who were expected to carefully listen to the evidence from two points of view, get a one hour education on what highly complex principles of law to apply to the evidence, and then make a unanimous decision. The lawyers always had a chance to talk to the jury members after a trial was over. After doing it many times, Brent usually opted out because most of the time, nothing they said made any sense. It was ridiculous for Brent to think that twelve people could "turn off' all their biases and prejudices and make a logical decision based on the evidence they were allowed to hear in the trial. But, however strange it seemed, Brent knew that sometimes you had a better shot with a jury, that body of ones "peers" who make decisions with their emotional brains; especially if your client was guilty.

Nancy was not obligated to say anything; she had the Fifth Amendment privilege against self-incrimination. But Brent knew that the jury would need to hear her side of the story, even though the judge would instruct them that the burden was entirely on the prosecution to prove 100% of its case. It was human nature. He took extra time to prepare Nancy. It almost didn't matter what she said. She could say anything at all; the jury just had to get a feel for her as a real person; they had to care about her.

Trials for lawyers are like bills. It seems that you finish paying one, and have that feeling of relief, then it's time to pay it again. It had been a while since Brent's last criminal trial, but he was confident. It was like swimming you never really forget how to do it no matter how long it's been. No clear cut alternative suspects could be presented to the jury, nor he did have any evidence of a frame to present, the D.A.'s case was all based on circumstantial evidence. Brent's job was to poke as many holes in their case that he could.

Brent left the office on foot for his meeting with Jack at Sonny's on downtown State Street. It wasn't too long a distance and a walk was better than anything to clear the mind for new thoughts.

Sonny's was always packed. Being at the end of State Street, the cops had parked several squad cars in the neighborhood, perhaps as a deterrent for drunk drivers, or to give them something to do around closing time.

As Brent rolled into Sonny's, he felt a nostalgic, melancholic feeling. This was the favorite bar of his good friend, Rick Penn, who had been gone for a couple of years now. Rick was also a private detective and ex-FBI man, and they had spent many a night here going over cases, among other things. So, as sad as it may have been, perhaps it was also a good place to work. A lot of ideas had been thrown back and forth between Brent and Rick through the years, and it happened right there at Sonny's.

Brent found Jack at the bar, looking pretty worn out. Jack smiled as Brent approached and took a seat next to him.

"Hey Brent," Jack greeted him.

"What's up Jack, have you solved my case yet?"

"Unfortunately, no. I've been running surveillance on Gary Goldstein. I told you he had a minor criminal record in New York."

Brent waved to the bartender and ordered a margarita, and Jack recounted the incident with Goldstein.

"So, anything promising on Mr. Road Rage?" asked Brent.

"Not yet. We've got some pretty vivid descriptions of him threatening Densmore, but that's about it so far."

"Yeah, well he is from New York."

"Right. His idea of saying hello is 'fuck you.'"

The comment made Brent burst out in laughter, and the funniest part was that Jack said it so straight-faced. Brent couldn't stop laughing and Jack caught the laugh and belly laughed until tears came to his eyes.

"Damn Jack," said Brent, taking a generous sip from his Margarita, "I honestly didn't think you had it in you. What's that you're drinking, coffee?"

"Yeah, I'm going back to pick up Goldstein's trail. Can't drink and drive."

"Well, I'm taking a cab home, but I'm going to take it easy too. Trial starts tomorrow."

"I'll get something. I never give up."

"I know, Jack."

Brent paid the bar tab, they both got up from the bar, and Brent slapped Jack on the back.

"Want a ride, Brent? My car's out back in the parking lot."

"No buddy, I think I'll walk back to the office before I go home. Walking's a great way to create. The ideas seem to fall from the sky sometimes, and the fresh air is great too."

"Suit yourself."