Page 81 of The Right to Remain

“Excuse me?”

“The dog’s name is Boo. In any event, I can strengthen the connection.”

“Please do,” said the judge. “Proceed.”

Jack felt a killer question coming. He didn’t even bother to ask his client what it might be.

“Deputy Gupta, did your forensic team examine the bullet in question for any foreign substances?”

“Yes. And we found traces of blood.”

“Dog blood?”

“No. As we’ve established, the bullet did not penetrate the dog’s skin. We found human blood.”

A collective gasp from the public gallery was uncommon in a real courtroom, but Jack heard one then.

The prosecutor continued. “Was a DNA analysis performed?”

“Yes. We compared the DNA in the blood to a DNA sample from the victim, Owen Pollard.”

“Was there a match?”

“Yes.”

“What scientific level of confidence did your team attach to that match?”

“Our analysts would have to test more than one-point-four billion people to achieve the same result.”

“To put it another way,” said Weller, “the chances that the blood on the bullet does not belong to Owen Pollard is less than one in a billion. Correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Thank you, Deputy Gupta. I guess you might say it takes a sheepdog to prove that sheepdogs don’t commit suicide.”

The witness seemed confused by the snide remark, but it was directed more to Jack, who understood that Owen Pollard had considered himself a protector—a “sheepdog” of sorts.

“Your witness,” said the prosecutor, as she returned to her seat.

Jack remained seated and quickly considered his next move. The FDLE witness had plugged a major hole in the prosecution’s case. Owen Pollard had dialed 911 after a nonfatal shot to the head from a .22-caliber handgun.Someonehad then finished the job with a shotgun that made it look like suicide.

“Mr. Swyteck,” the judge prodded. “Cross-examination?”

Jack’s only line of attack was to show that the “someone” was not Elliott. He rose and approached the witness.

“Deputy Gupta, you testified that your ballistics team was able to determine that the object removed from Boo, the sheepdog, was a twenty-two-caliber bullet, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And your ballistics team was further able to determine that the bullet was fired from a handgun. Is that right?”

“Yes. The barrel leaves fewer markings on a bullet fired from a handgun than a bullet fired from a long rifle. It’s not difficult for a trained expert.”

“Makes sense,” said Jack. “So, where is this mystery handgun?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where’s the gun? You keep talking about it. Where is it?”