"No."

"So, in point of fact, it’s entirely possible to dissect a human body and not end up bloodstained from head to toe."

"Under controlled, laboratory condi—"

"Just answer the question, Mr. Feinstein. It is possible in your experience to perform a dissection even as extensive as the one apparently performed on Dr. Calhoun without getting covered in blood."

"It’s possible, I suppose."

"Thank you. Turning now to the diamond-shaped objects — you think those might be Tosok scales?"

"Yes, sir, I do."

"What do you base that on?"

"The fact that they’re the same shape and size as the Tosok scales in the photograph."

"But you’ve never seen loose Tosok scales before, have you?"

"Well, no."

"In fact, you don’t know for sure that Tosok skin is composed of scales, do you? The diamond pattern might simply be made of crisscrossing lines, mightn’t it?"

"I— I suppose."

Dale picked up an object from his desk. "This is a cardboard chess-board. It looks like it’s made up of discrete red and black squares, doesn’t it?" He flexed it. "But it’s really all one piece, isn’t it? The squares can’t be separated, except by deliberate cutting with a saw, isn’t that right?"

"I suppose so."

"And what was it you said? The putative scales are the same size as the objects shown in the photograph?"

"That’s right."

"What do you mean by ‘the same size’?"

"The same size — you know, the same dimensions."

"But the photograph only shows you the length and width of the diamond-shaped markings. This is real life, Mr. Feinstein, not a Saturday-morning cartoon. We live in a three-dimensional world. Yes, objects have length and width, but they also have thickness. How thick are the objects you recovered from the crime scene?"

"Approximately three one-hundredths of an inch."

"And how thick are the diamond-shaped objects that compose the Tosok hide, as seen in the photograph?"

"I— I have no idea."

"That’s right, Mr. Feinstein. You have no idea at all. Further, I draw your attention to photo number eight. Isn’t that one of the putative scales you recovered?"

"Yes," said Feinstein.

"And — speaking again in terms of our three-dimensional universe" — Dale’s deep voice was rich with sarcasm—"the scale is covered with blood here, isn’t it?"

"Yes."

"When you recovered the putative scale, was it bloodstained on both sides?"

"No."

"Which surface was free of blood?"

"The one that was on the bottom."

"In other words, fresh blood had flowed over the top of a scale that was already on the low-pile carpet, is that right?"

"That’s the way it appears, yes."

"So the putative scale was already present before Dr. Calhoun started to bleed, correct?"

"That seems likely, yes."

"In fact, the putative scale could have been dropped well in advance of Dr. Calhoun’s unfortunate demise, isn’t that right?"

"No, sir."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The USC janitorial staff clean the rooms once a week. Dr. Calhoun’s room was cleaned the morning of the day he died."

"Still the scale could have been lying there for a full day." Dale was flustered; he realized after a moment he’d forgotten to say "putative scale." He’d assumed, stupidly, that dorm rooms got no cleaning service — which was doubtless true when they were being used as dorm rooms.

"Actually, sir," said Feinstein, "Dr. Calhoun’s room was cleaned just ten hours or so before he died, so, no, the scale could not have been lying there for a full day."

"I see. But it could have been there for one hour?"

"Possibly."

"Two hours?"

"Yes, possibly."

"Three hours? Four hours? Five hours?"

"Conceivably."

"Six hours? Eight hours? Ten hours?"

"Possibly — but it’s a reasonably big object. Surely someone would have picked it up off the floor."

"Did you know Dr. Calhoun?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

"Would you like to be admitted as a character witness?"

"I— no, sir."

"Would you like to testify to his personal habits? His approach to cleanliness? His fastidiousness?"

"No, sir."

"Then please confine your testimony to areas you’re competent in. You do not know whether or not Dr. Calhoun would have bent over to pick up a small piece of litter on his bedroom floor, and not knowing that, you can only say that the scale was definitely on the ground before Dr. Calhoun started bleeding, and might have been on the ground since — ten hours, you said — since perhaps eleven a.m. on December twenty-second, isn’t that right?"

"I suppose."

"Thank you. Now, speaking of matters about which you are supposedly competent to testify, Mr. Feinstein, you told us your credentials at the outset — no doctorate, but a couple of master’s degrees, correct?"

"Correct."

"And certifications from two different forensics organizations, correct?"

"Correct."

"You are obviously expert in chemistry — one of your master’s degrees is in that subject."

"Yes."

"Any other areas of expertise?"

"I’ve had extensive training in fingerprinting, in fiber analysis, and in glass-shard analysis."

"What about footprints?"

"What about them?"

"Do you have expert qualifications in the area of footprint analysis?"

"Well, no."

"So, when you tell this jury that the U-shaped bloody mark is a Tosok footprint, you’re not offering a considered, expert opinion. It’s just a layman’s observation — of no more value than my own, or anyone else’s, casual comparison."

"I am a trained criminalist."

"But not expert in this specialized area. There are experts in footprinting, are there not? Jacob Howley in Boston is this country’s top person in this field, isn’t he?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"And Karen Hunt-Podborski of the San Francisco PD, she’s probably this state’s top footprint expert, isn’t she?"

"Yes. Her or Bill Chong."

"But you’re not in the league of Doctor — Doctor! — Howley, are you, in the area of footprints?"

"No."

"Nor in the league of Ms. Hunt-Podborski, or Mr. Chong, are you?"

"No."

"So that U-shaped bloody mark might be a Tosok footprint, but then it might be — well, we could have the court reporter read it back, but I believe you yourself likened it to a horseshoe?"

"Yes, I did, but—"

"Indeed, the mark is blurred and indistinct, isn’t it? And the blood that made it was still wet enough to flow a bit, wasn’t it? And so, really, you can’t to a scientific degree of certainty say what made that mark, can you?"

Feinstein let his breath out.

"Can you?"

"No. No, I suppose I can’t."

"Thank you," said Dale. "Thank you very much."

It was pouring rain the next day. The courtroom was filled with the smell of moist clothing, and umbrellas were lined up against one of the wood-paneled walls.

"State and spell your name, please," said the clerk.

"My name is Jesus Perez, J-E-S-U-S, P-E-R-E-Z, and I will ask the court reporter to note with phonetic spelling that Jesus is pronounced ‘Hay-soos,’ not ‘Jesus.’ "

The Latino clerk winked at Perez.

Ziegler rose and moved over to the lectern, depositing a sheaf of notes on it. "Mr. Perez, what is your current job?"

"I’m a detective lieutenant with the homicide division of the Los Angeles Police Department."

"In that capacity, did you have cause to visit the University of Southern California on December twenty-second of last year?"

"I actually arrived after midnight, so it was early on the morning of December twenty-third."

"Why were you called there?"

"A police officer assigned to provide security for the Tosok delegation had found a badly mutilated body there."

"Did you ascertain whose body this was?"