“So what is the title of your book, Dr. Grammatikos?”

“Forensic Science for Mental Midgets.”

Dalton turned to the jury and watched as they laughed. I told myself they were laughing with my expert and not at my expert, although my expert wasn’t laughing.

“How is it selling, Doctor?” said Dalton.

“Not so good.”

“Any idea why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not quite the right title for Harvard.”

“I wouldn’t think so,” said Dalton.

“But you should read it, Counselor,” said Anton, leaning forward, nodding his head sagely. “It’s right up your alley.”

Mia Dalton’s jaw tightened as the jury laughed again.

“No objection,” said Dalton.

“Dr. Grammatikos is hereby qualified as an expert in the forensic sciences,” said the judge. “Go ahead, Mr. Carl.”

“I want to ask you now, Doctor, about the E-Zee Self Store just outside Exton, Pennsylvania. Are you aware of that facility?”

“Now I am, sure.”

“How did you become aware of it?”

“You gave me a call, asked me to examine one of the units there, number twenty-seven.”

“Did you ever learn who had rented that unit?”

“Yeah, I did. I examined the records at the self-store office.”

“And whose unit was it, Dr. Grammatikos?”

“It turned out to be rented by the defendant sitting over there, François Dubé. He rented it out about the time he and his late wife separated, but before the murder. According to the books, he paid for five years of storage in advance.”

Every head in the courtroom swiveled to stare at François, who looked up at me with a quizzical expression. I gave him a look that said it was going to get worse before it got better.

Slowly, carefully, I took Anton into the storage locker, let him describe the strange scene, with the lounge chair, the television and VCR, the box of videos, the six-pack of beer. He had taken photographs of the locker, and after a long bit of legal wrangling, I was able to introduce those into evidence. He testified, based on the amount of dust, the state of insects trapped beneath the recliner, the self-store records, that the locker had been set up in this weird way at least two years before he examined it but after the date François Dubé was first arrested.

“Now, Doctor, it’s important to know if this was indeed set up after François was in jail, because he has not been out since his arrest. Are you sure about your analysis?”

Anton shrugged. “I been doing this for a while, Counselor. I even wrote that book. Besides, I had something a little more concrete as to date.”

“What was that?”

“The beer bottles had dates printed on them based on the day and date they were brewed. That batch was brewed two months after the defendant’s arrest.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” I said. “Now, you mentioned a box of videos, is that right?”

“Sure, there was a box. You can see it in a couple of the pictures.”

“What kind of videos were in the box?”

“It was a rather eclectic selection. There were two types of commercial videos. There were some kids’ videos, about five or six, and then a number of commercial pornographic tapes. You want me to give you the titles?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Aim to Please, Succubus, Oh My Gush 7-”

“Is this necessary, Mr. Carl?” said the judge.

“Not really, sir, I just get a kick out of the titles.”

“Then that’s enough.”

“Fine. Now, Doctor, were there any noncommercial videos?”

“Yes. There was the defendant’s wedding video, they made a beautiful couple, and one family video, with shots of the defendant and his wife and his very young daughter. And then there were three homemade videos of, how should I put it, a more prurient nature.”

“Sex videos?”

“There you go.”

“Who was in them?”

“The defendant and a number of other persons I couldn’t identify. Along with some objects and masks that were also in the storage locker.”

“I want to show you some videocassettes,” I said as I brought three cassettes, each in its own plastic bag, to the witness. “Do you recognize these?”

“These are the sex videos I was talking about. I recognize the labels with the spots, and I put a tape on each of them with my initials.”

“Now, after you took the photographs and examined the videos, did you examine the storage unit for fingerprints?”

“That’s what you told me to do.”

“Did you find any?”

“Sure. The place was thick with prints.”

“Even after all those years?”

“A place like that, a storage locker with little air circulation, almost zero foot traffic, and a layer of dust over everything, is a perfect place for the maintenance of prints. There’s no limit to how long they could stay in such an environment.”

“Were you able to match up any of the prints you found?”

“Sure I was. Some of the prints, I am sorry to say, were yours. You got to be more careful, Victor. In fact, I found two of your prints on the one opened bottle of beer.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I also found prints on certain of the stored objects that matched the defendant and the victim. This was not unexpected, since some of the stuff in the locker apparently came directly from the apartment they shared.”

“Were there any prints that you were not able to identify?”

“Absolutely. There were a number of prints that I couldn’t account for. This was to be expected also, especially since the guy in the self-store office had records that movers were used to transfer the stuff from the defendant’s apartment to the unit.”

“Were you able to match up any of those unidentified prints?”

“One.”

“Go ahead.”

“You provided me police records that showed certain unidentified prints found at the scene of Mrs. Dubé’s murder. One of the prints found on the light switch at the crime scene matched up with a print found in the storage unit. It appears to be a right index finger.”

“How confident are you in the match?”

“Very confident. I found twelve matching ridge characteristics in the two prints. I’d like more, but I found no dissimilarities, so it looks pretty solid. I also found the same print on one of the homemade porno videos.”

“Any idea who belongs to the print?”

“None.”

“But based on your testimony, some unidentified person was in the locker, held the video at some point, and was also at the crime scene.”

“That’s right.”

“The murderer, perhaps?”

“Objection,” said Dalton.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “This is not argument, Counselor.”

“I am so sorry, Judge,” I said, staring at the jury, who could tell I was not sorry at all. A few of the jurors had dazed expressions on their faces, as if nothing was getting through one way or the other, but some were looking at Anton with creases of concentration spreading across their foreheads. They saw the possibilities, and they would tell the others. This case all along had begged for another suspect. I had intended to use Sonenshein to create one for me, until that blew up in my face. Now I was using a fingerprint to do it. Whose fingerprint? Who else’s? Dr. Bob, come on down.

“Now, back to the videos,” I said. “I notice that these labels are spotted and stained.”

“That’s correct.”

“Were you able to identify the stains on these labels?”

“Sure.”

“What were they?”

“Blood,” said Anton Grammatikos. “Human blood.”

I let the murmur in the courtroom rise and swell and recede again, like an ocean wave, before I continued.

“Whose blood was on the label?” I said.

“I took a small sample from each of the labels and came up with a DNA signature. Then I matched that signature with the police forensic reports for this case. I’ve concluded that the blood on these labels is the blood of Leesa Dubé.”

I looked at the jury. Puzzled expressions all around. Mia Dalton had the same puzzled expression. She seemed to want to jump up and object, but she couldn’t quite find something to object to. It was fun to watch her search and fail.