He sat slumped on his elbow, but she greeted him cordially, then began leading him through the blood issues, bringing him around to the samples found in the room. 'And what did you find in analyzing these samples?'

A roll of the eyes. Drumm had much more important things to do at this moment. Clearly. He sighed. 'There were two different blood types – Mrs Dooher's and another one.'

'Was the second one Mr Dooher's?'

'No.'

'Do you know whose blood it was?'

'We know it was A-positive. We ran DNA tests and-'

Farrell was up, shot out of a cannon. 'Your honor! This is the first the defense has heard about DNA testing. The prosecution has said they couldn't-'

'Just a minute, just a minute!' This was Jenkins, voice raised.

Thomasino gavelled the room quiet. Jenkins turned to the witness. 'Mr Drumm, you did not, in fact, run DNA on this blood, did you? Perhaps you were thinking of Mrs Dooher's blood.'

He shrugged. 'Maybe that was it. I thought you were talking about her.'

Jenkins looked round at Farrell – what could she do about this idiot? -and then turned back to Drumm. 'No, I was asking about the other blood sample from the murder scene, the blood type of that second sample. What was that?'

'I just said. A-positive.'

Jenkins shook her head. 'No, Mr Drumm, you just said Mrs Dooher's blood type was A-positive. Were they both A-positive?'

Drumm couldn't have cared less. 'Did I say that?'

They wasted another minute or two while the reporter read back what he'd said, and then Drumm asked to see his lab results again and Jenkins got them from her table and brought them to him. He turned a page, turned a page, turned back a page.

'Mr Drumm, have you found the blood type?'

Glitsky wanted to take out his gun and shoot off the guy's kneecap. Wake him up. Or maybe shoot him in the head, put him to sleep.

'I'm looking,' Drumm said. 'Yeah, here it is. A-positive for the second blood.'

'And while we're here, what was Mrs Dooher's blood type?'

As though he hadn't just a second before reviewed the report, Drumm scanned it again. 'She was O-positive.'

'Did you run DNA testing on the second sample?'

'No.'

'And why not?'

'I don't know. Nobody asked me to.' Jenkins was hoping against hope that Drumm would supply the useful information that they hadn't run DNA because they had nothing to compare it to – the blood had belonged to a man who was dead and cremated. But then, certainly without meaning to, Drumm gave her something. 'The DNA didn't matter anyway.'

This brought an audible reaction from the gallery – nothing approaching an outburst, more a sustained hum. Thomasino tapped his gavel and it disappeared.

'Why didn't it matter whose blood was mixed with Mrs Dooher's at the murder scene?'

'Because the blood did not come directly from a body. It came from a vial.' Jenkins questioned him to bring out the EDTA angle and the picture gradually began to emerge.

'In other words, Mr Drumm, the second blood discovered at the murder scene was brought there?'

'Looks like it.'

Farrell's direction was becoming clear. He wasn't going to take up much of Mr Drumm's incredibly valuable time. His cross-examination consisted of two questions.

'Mr Drumm, did you find any of Mr Dooher's blood in either of the two samples you analyzed?'

And: 'Mr Drumm, did you find any of Mr Dooher's blood on either the knife or surgical glove that were found at the scene?'

The answer to both was no.

Peter Harris didn't like testifying for the prosecution against one of his patients. From the witness box, he raised a hand, greeting Dooher. The jury certainly noticed.

But Jenkins needed him to put the tainted blood in Dooher's hands. 'Dr Harris, are you the defendant's personal physician?'

'I am.'

'And on what date did the defendant have his last appointment with you?'

Harris by now knew the date by heart, but he pulled out a pocket notebook and appeared to be reading from it. 'It was a routine physical, Friday, May thirty-first, at two-thirty.'

'Friday, May thirty-first, at two-thirty. Thank you. Now, Doctor, do you draw blood from patients in your office?'

'Yes, certainly.'

'Often?'

A shrug. Ten times a day, sometimes more. It's a routine procedure.'

Jenkins nodded. 'Yes. And when you draw blood, what do you do with it?'

'Well, that depends on the reason we drew the blood in the first place.'

Glitsky saw Jenkins straighten her back, take a deep breath. He was glad she was slowing herself down. Her questions weren't precise enough. She wasn't getting what she wanted. She tried again. 'What I meant, Doctor, is when you draw this blood, you put it in vials, don't you?'

'Yes.'

'And what happened to these vials?'

'We send them to the lab.'

'Good. Before you send them to the lab, do you lock them up?'

'No.'

'Are they within anyone's reasonable reach?'

Harris was uncomfortable with this, but was trying his best to be cooperative. Again, he looked over at Dooher, gave him a nervous, apologetic smile. 'Sometimes.'

'On a counter, or a tray, or by a nurse's station, something like that. Is that what you mean?'

'Yes.'

'Before you can take these vials to the lab, they are often left sitting out in your office, accessible to anyone who wanted to take one, is that right?'

A wry expression. 'Not so much anymore, but yes.'

'Do you lose a lot of these vials, Doctor?'

'No.'

'Have you ever lost a vial?'

'Yes. A couple of times.'

'Did you lose a vial on Friday, May thirty-first?'

'Yes, we did.'

'And whose blood was that, the blood missing from your office on May thirty-first?'

The patient was Leo Banderas.'

'And what blood type does Mr Banderas have?'

'A-positive.'

Glitsky shifted his gaze over to the defense table. This testimony was going to be Dooher's darkest hour. The defense team seemed to know it, too, and the three of them sat, rapt, waiting for what was going to come next.

'Do you happen to know, Doctor, what time Mr Banderas's appointment was for on that Friday, May thirty-first?'

Slowly, though he knew the answer, Harris reached for his little book and checked it one last time. 'One forty-five.'

'Or forty-five minutes before the defendant's appointment?'

For the third time, Harris made eye contact with Mark Dooher. Then he nodded to Jenkins. 'That's right.'

Jenkins glanced up at the wall clock. It was late enough that Thomasino would adjourn for the weekend the minute she let Harris go, and the jury would have a couple of days to live with this most unlikely of coincidences. Thank you, Doctor. That's all.' She turned sweetly to Farrell. 'Your witness.'

But Farrell had barely moved to get up when Thomasino interrupted.

'Ladies and gentlemen, it's a quarter to five and I think we've all had a long week. We'll adjourn now until-'

'Your honor!' There was a shrillness now to Farrell's voice, an edge of panic. 'Your honor, if the court pleases, I just have a few quick questions for this witness and then we can start out fresh on Monday morning. And the doctor won't have to come back downtown to court,' he added helpfully.

The Judge looked again at the clock, shook his head no, and whacked his gavel. He told Farrell and the rest of the room that court was adjourned until Monday morning at nine-thirty.