'Officer Bellew, can you tell the court your assignment at the present time?' Hardy kept the questions simple, non-threatening. One following the other, falling like dominoes. 'Is this assignment a rotating one?' 'How long have you been in charge of the gun room down there?' 'And what is its basic function?' 'Who's allowed down there?' 'Is all evidence assigned to a specific case?' 'Are there other guns kept there?' 'How does that work?'

Hardy got Bellew talking until the overt resentment began to settle out. Now the young officer was sitting back, answering matter-of-factly. 'How does what work? Oh, the other guns? Usually some uniform comes in with a piece… a gun… that he picked up off the street, you know. If it's not registered, he keeps it and brings it on down, no case assigned, so it's not evidence really. It's just a gun nobody should have.'

'So what happens then?'

'Then we log the registration number into this big book and throw the gun in a box.'

'You throw the gun in a box?'

'Yeah. We call it the piece box.'

'The piece box. I see. How many guns are typically in this piece box?'

'I don't know for sure. When it's full, maybe a hundred, something like that.'

'A hundred guns. And this box is just sitting out where anyone can see it, or get their hands on the guns?'

'Yeah, well, yeah.' Bellew sensed a criticism, but couldn't draw a bead on it precisely. 'But it's not like anybody can get in there in the first place. You've got to sign in and then somebody's with you every minute.'

'So a person couldn't come in, for example, and sneak an unregistered gun out in their pocket?'

'No.' Shaking his head. 'No way.'

'You'd say that it would be difficult?'

'Impossible.'

'All right, then. Now these guns. What happens to them eventually, after they've sat in this piece box for however long?'

'It's usually a month, maybe a little more. Then they come and empty the box, we put the serial numbers into the computer, and crush the guns and melt ' em down. Then we start over.'

Hardy had established a nice rhythm, and kept it casual as he strolled back to Freeman and Cole, lifted an ancient heavy book from the cardboard box and brought it to the stand. 'Officer Bellew, at my request this morning, did you bring some documents with you to the courtroom?'

'Sure. First, that's the log-in book I was talking about.'

Hardy wanted to get it completely straight. 'The log-in book for firearms that are turned in by the police department and wind up in the piece box in the guarded evidence lock-up downstairs here in the Hall of Justice, is that correct?'

'Yes.'

'And these entries are handwritten when the gun gets turned in, do I have that right?'

Bellew turned a few more pages, closed it back up. 'Yes, sir. That's right.'

'Excellent,' Hardy enthused. He had the book entered into evidence as Defense K and, still at the evidence table in front of the bench, he found an entry in the log, and pointed to it. 'What happened to that gun, officer?'

Bellew leaned over the entry, then back up to Hardy. 'It was entered into the piece book on…'

'No, I'm sorry,' Hardy interrupted. 'I mean what happened to it after that. Eventually.'

'It was crushed and destroyed.'

'When?'

'That would have been the end of last month. January.'

'January,' Hardy repeated. 'Officer Bellew, would you please describe the weapon we're talking about here and read the serial number to the court?'

'Sure. It was a Clock.38, serial WGA-15443889.'

Thank you.' Picking up the pace. 'And just before this gun was crushed, at the end of January, you entered the serial number into the computer, did you not?'

'Yes.'

'Did you, at my request, bring a printout of the computer log of all the guns crushed at the end of January?'

'Yes, sir, I did.'

'All right, then. Would you please find then, on the list, the Clock.38?'

Bellew went down the list. The courtroom hung in a thick silence. It was obvious when he began looking for the second time. His face had begun to flush. 'It's not here.'

'So this particular Clock.38 was not crushed, is that right?'

Bellew was seeing his career flash before his eyes. 'Oh, it was crushed all right. There's no way this firearm was not crushed.'

'All right,' Hardy said ambiguously. 'Let's leave that for the moment. Let me ask you this – to your knowledge, has Mr Visser been in the gun room in the past month?'

Bellew's eyes went to the gallery. 'Yes.'

'To your personal knowledge, did he handle any of the guns in the piece box?'

'Yes, but he put them back.'

'He didn't take a gun away with him? That would have been impossible? Is that what you're saying? Did you personally see him replace every gun that he picked up?'

'No, but he couldn't…' Bellew stopped speaking.

Hardy had crossed to the evidence table, and now was back in front of the witness. He had picked up the tiny North American Arms.25 caliber derringer. 'I show you now People's Four, Officer Bellew. This gun has been identified as the murder weapon in this case. Would you be so good as to read the registration number of this gun – under the barrel there – to the court?' Hardy handed it to the officer, who turned the gun over, squinting. Hardy moved back toward the evidence table, and Bellew read aloud. 'NA-773422-25.'

'Thank you.' Hardy held out one hand, and Bellew passed him the gun. Hardy then gave him the handwritten log-in book again. 'Now, Officer Bellew, would you please read the entry from November fourteenth of last year, line four. The type of gun and its serial number.'

Bellow got to the page, hesitated, looked up. Hardy nodded. 'North American Arms, twenty-five caliber derringer, serial NA-773422-25.'

The courtroom had been uncharacteristically silent as Hardy had led Bellew on this path, and now that silence ended with a restrained explosion of sound. And this time, Judge Hill acted to quell it promptly, gaveling the gallery down to a rumbling silence. He also gave a signal to the bailiffs, who moved out through the sides of the gallery to the back door. At long last, here was evidence that was both material and relevant. The Cadaver wanted to see where it was leading.

And Hardy was ready to show him. 'Officer Bellew, while you've got that book in your hands, would you please read the second line entry from January twenty-ninth, three weeks ago.'

Bellew found it and was reading as Hardy walked again back to the evidence table, picked up yet another gun. 'Clock.38 caliber automatic, serial number WGA-15443889.'

Hardy stood in front of the bench holding the Glock in his hand. 'Your honor, let the record show that Officer Bellew has read the serial number of the gun marked Defense Exhibit J. This was the weapon retrieved this morning from Eugene Visser's office.' The gallery was buzzing again.

Hill startled everyone with a sharp gavel. 'Bailiffs!' He called out. 'No one is to leave the courtroom!'

Hardy turned to see Visser on his feet, stopped in his tracks a couple of steps up the center aisle. He turned back toward the bench, looked to Torrey and Pratt, to Hardy. One of the bailiffs from the back door came forward, but hadn't gone more than a couple of steps when Visser took his seat and began whispering furiously to Dash Logan.