Page 128

Moscow, Idaho

K ohberger is clean-shaven, hair neatly trimmed, and dressed in a white shirt, striped tie, and gray jacket.

He enters the courtroom through the side door and takes his seat at the defendant’s table, where he and Anne Taylor appear to chat easily, too easily, almost as if they are discussing the weather.

Sitting in the gallery, Kristi stares at him. She wants him to look at her, make eye contact.

A few months earlier, the Idaho House of Representatives passed a law that would effectively bring back the firing squad as a means of execution if state officials were unable to obtain the chemicals needed to carry out a lethal injection.

Tami’s T-shirt—a photograph of her wearing it is later posted to the Goncalves family Facebook page with the caption Damn it feels good to be a gangster —is a reminder that Bill Thompson has put the death penalty on the table.

If Kohberger sees the T-shirt or the family, he doesn’t react.

Even when the defense’s first expert witness in this hearing talks about the science of investigative genetic genealogy, Kohberger’s expression stays fixed.

His attorneys will later argue in court papers that this is due to his Autism Spectrum Disorder diagnosis, and they will claim it could hurt a jury’s perception of him.

The media’s pool camera keeps zooming in on him as if seeking something, anything. But it gets nothing.

In a preview of what may come at trial, depending on what the judge allows in, Taylor steers the focus to the DNA found on the knife sheath.

She wants the state to hand over to her the precise IGG methodology that was used to construct Kohberger’s family tree—discovery that the state’s lawyers say they don’t have.

And even if they did, they argue, the issue is moot, because they have Kohberger’s DNA from a cheek swab, and it’s an exact match for the DNA on the knife sheath.

The IGG lab work simply gave them a lead.

Judge John C. Judge says he’ll allow Taylor to pursue this avenue, even though it’s “on the edge.” He expresses his desire to be particularly cautious because “this is a death-penalty case. And if I deny… the presentations that one or the other side believe have some bearing on the case, it’s probably more wise for me to allow it.

” Judge adds, “It’s especially important in a case like this to have a record for appeal.

So I’m not saying one way or the other how [my ruling] might fall, but I think it’s important to preserve the record. ”

For the next two and a half hours, the courtroom becomes Taylor’s theater. At least, that’s how Steve sees it.

Thompson seems to have little to ask or say. Taylor calls three expert witnesses and peppers them with questions about the complexity of the science behind creating a family tree from trace DNA. One of them, as far as Steve can see, has no right to call herself an expert at all.

“How are you allowing her to become an expert on the stand and not even cross-examine her?” he complains privately afterward.

The experts discuss the room for error and also the issue of whether online genetic databases were accessed by law enforcement without authorization, which could lead to legal challenges down the line.

When you look at the two lawyers battling, it almost doesn’t seem like a fair fight.

Thompson is retirement age and looks it.

Taylor is in her late fifties, young-looking, blond.

She’s quick on her feet. And she’s aggressive.

She asks the judge, for instance, to toss out the indictment based on numerous, far-fetched-sounding irregularities surrounding the grand jury process.

She argues that too few jurors were called (thirty-two instead of forty-five), in violation of state statute.

That the instructions they were given were inaccurate.

Even that the questionnaires they received were misnumbered.

A former classmate of hers, Moscow lawyer Mike Pattinson, observed that part of Taylor’s job was simply to buy Kohberger time. “It’s a death-penalty case.”

So when the disappointing if predictable news that Kohberger is waiving his right to a speedy trial comes down the pike five days later, on August 23, Steve is prepared.

It’s a reminder, Steve says, that it’s essential that the Goncalves family is there in the courtroom for every single hearing.

He has so little control over the course of justice that his presence in that room, staring at the defendant, feels like the only powerful thing he can do.

It’s the only time he truly feels he’s doing anything proactive for Kaylee and Maddie.