The portfolio, the top opening of which was unzipped, bore no gloved print marks. Moreover, it was empty. When Prichert turned his attention to these items in the lab, the one he concentrated on was the clean attaché case, which was on the couch in the living room, out of the line of fire from the blood spatter.

“Do you see what looks like a kind of rectangular outline of clear leather, here in the center of the portfolio?” I point to the area with my pen.

He looks more closely. “The distinction is faint,” he says. “Hard to see. But I think I see what you’re referring to.”

“And around the outside of that outline, do you see that?”

“Yes…”

I can tell by the look in Prichert’s eyes that he already knows what’s happened here.

“Can you tell the jury what that is, covering the surface on this side of the portfolio, almost all of it except the inside of the rectangular outline?”

He looks more closely. “I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you, except that I know where that portfolio was located at the time of the murder. While it doesn’t look normal, from the appearance I would say it’s a very fine mist of blood spatter. Though it’s much lighter in color than what you would usually associate with blood evidence.”

“As a trace-evidence expert, you deal with minute amounts of blood fairly regularly, don’t you?”

“I’m not a blood-spatter expert, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, but I assume you’ve attended crime scenes involving traumatic head wounds before?”

“I have.”

“In your experience in dealing with those cases, is there anything unique about the blood in those cases, particularly the density and color of the blood?”

“You’re talking about spinal fluid.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I would say that’s probably a good guess,” he says. “Blood diluted with spinal fluid might very well account for the near transparency of the stains on that leather.”

“So you’ve seen something like this before?”

“Not quite like that,” he says. “No. Every case is different.”

“Could the fine mist also be the result of the distance between the leather portfolio and the point where the hammer was swung?”

“It could.”

The seminal rule in asking any question in court is to know the answer before you ask. Harry consulted two experts with regard to an explanation for the fine film of blood that landed on the portfolio. The first was a blood-evidence expert who told us that distance from the point of origin would be one contributing factor; the farther the distance, the finer the spray. The other expert, a medical pathologist, provided the missing element, cerebrospinal fluid. The human brain virtually floats in this. Puncture the skull and what you get is not only a vigorous flow of deep red blood, often surging with the force of a pump, but a less-viscous, almost clear flow of spinal fluid. It is the reason that blood from massive head wounds often appears to be diluted, almost watery.

“Let me draw your attention back to the clear rectangular area in the leather on that side of the portfolio. Can you tell the jury what might have caused this outline to be formed?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say that something was lying there covering that area when the blood spatter hit the portfolio.” Prichert just says it right out, matter-of-fact, no big point. He knows that to belabor what is now obvious is to be pounded with it.

“Do you have any idea what that item might have been?”

“No.”

“Then I assume you don’t have it?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you know whether the police have it?”

Prichert looks over at Detrick, who is now huddled with Tuchio at the counsel table. The detective gives him a quick shake of the head, then turns back to the prosecutor.

“I think you can be fairly certain that they don’t have it either.”

It’s the only available answer, because if the police have it, they haven’t turned it over to us in discovery.

“So it appears that the item is missing?” I say.

“It would appear so.”

“Earlier I believe you testified that from your examination of the attaché case, while there was evidence of the case having been opened and traces of blood inside, you couldn’t be sure whether anything was taken. Let me ask you now: After looking at the leather on that portfolio, do you think there’s a fairly good chance that whoever killed Terry Scarborough took something from that room?”

“In light of the physical evidence, I’d have to say yes, there’s a pretty good chance that they did.”

16

I am told that the phenomenon on the surface of the leather portfolio is sometimes called “a shadow.” It is similar to what often happens in structural fires where a book, a sheaf of paper, or some other object covers the surface of, say, a wooden table. If the table isn’t destroyed by the flames, its surface will be smoked or charred, except for areas covered by the object. There, the surface will present the precise outline of the item resting on it at the time of the fire.

The difference here is that we’re dealing not with flames but rather with the fine mist of blood cast across the room by the repeated blows of the hammer as Scarborough was beaten to death.

Harry and I have measured the rectangular shadow on the leather portfolio. The only edges that are sharply defined are the bottom-the edge closest to Scarborough’s chair, the edge that caught Harry’s eye-and the shorter right edge of the rectangle. Because of the angled trajectory of the blood, the other two edges were provided a kind of small defilade by the object resting on top of the portfolio, so that the shadow in these areas is less sharply defined. Along the bottom, the sharper and more defined edge, if you look closely, you can see a slight smear of blood. This was probably made when the killer lifted the item from the leather.

Still, when we measure the rectangle, Harry and I come to the same conclusion. The shadow on the leather matches the size of an ordinary business envelope, or perhaps letter-size sheets of paper folded in thirds, in the manner of a letter, the contents you might stuff into a business envelope. To say that this has inspired us is an understatement.

From everything we know, the information from Richard Bonguard, Scarborough’s literary agent, and Trisha Scott, the former Supreme Court clerk who lived with the victim, Scarborough possessed only a copy of the Jefferson Letter. While the original was probably larger, it is likely that a facsimile made on a modern photocopy machine might well have been reduced down to a more convenient size, eight and a half by eleven inches, modern letter-size paper, the size of the rectangle on Scarborough’s leather portfolio.

We are done for the day, finished in court. Harry and I are milling around in the office after hours, collecting our messages and trying to get a grip on what may happen tomorrow. Harry comes into my office.

“News from Herman,” he says. Herman is back in D.C. trying to chase down or get a lead on the whereabouts of Arthur Ginnis.

Harry is holding a telephone slip stapled to a page of typed notes, information I assume Herman dictated over the phone to one of the secretaries while we were in court.

“Has he found Ginnis?”

“No. Not yet.” Harry is reading as he settles into one of the two client chairs on the other side of my desk. He looks at the telephone slip. “It came in just after noon,” he says. “He has gotten the information from the investigators we hired back there, though.

“Interesting stuff,” says Harry, “but no surprises. What I expected. Aranda, full name Alberto Aranda, age thirty-two, Yale Law grad. It doesn’t say here, but I’m guessing Mr. Aranda would be at or near the top of his class,” says Harry.