“Not really. Soon after that, Major Morelli from Homicide arrived and he took over the investigation.”

“Thank you. That’s all I have for this witness.”

Ben strode to the podium. There were few things on earth less appealing than cross-examining a witness you knew was essentially telling the truth. Unlike some defense attorneys, Ben didn’t go in for trying to make the police look like bumbling idiots. Still, there were a few points he needed to drive home.

“Sergeant, you are aware, aren’t you, that Father Beale told the police he found the victim already dead when he returned to his office after the wedding? That he approached the victim to see if she was dead.”

“I heard that, yes.”

“In fact, you heard it from Father Beale, that very same day, when he explained the circumstances to Major Morelli, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell the jury about that?”

Cooper didn’t blink. “I wasn’t asked.”

“You didn’t think it was important?”

“I wasn’t asked.”

Ben had to hand it to the man; he was a rock. “I suppose the prosecution was being selective about what information they wanted the jury to have.”

“Objection!” Canelli said.

“Sustained,” Pitcock said. “Counsel, let’s have the questions without the commentary, okay?”

“Yes, your honor.” Ben resumed questioning. “If Father Beale felt the body for a pulse, perhaps even moved the body, it’s certainly possible that he might get some of the blood on him, isn’t it?”

“It’s possible.”

“In fact, it’s more than likely, isn’t it? It’s probable.”

“As I said, it’s possible.”

“Later in the day, you were part of the team that assisted in moving the body to the medical examiner’s hearse, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you get blood on yourself?”

“Some. It was mostly dried by that time.”

“Did you wash it off?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Cooper looked at Ben as if he were dumber than ditchwater. “I would wash my hands any time I came into contact with foreign bodily substances.”

“Understood. You did the natural thing.” Ben glanced at the jury. “And Father Beale did the same exact natural thing when he washed his hands, didn’t he?”

“If you say so.”

Cooper was too smart to get caught up in an argument he couldn’t win. Too bad.

“Now, let’s talk about your interrogation, Sergeant. You said you discovered Father Beale on his knees crying, right?”

“Right.”

“Is it possible he was praying?”

“His eyes were wet-”

“And he was on his knees. Is it possible he was praying?”

Cooper resisted. “It seems unlikely to me that-”

“That a priest would be praying?”

Cooper released his breath. “Okay. It’s possible.”

“You complained to the jury that, at first, Father Beale was confused and had trouble answering questions. Of course, the man had just discovered a woman he knew well-a member of his own parish-dead on his desk. Is it really surprising that he might be a bit confused? Not in a chatty mood?”

“It seemed to me he was not being cooperative.”

“Sergeant Cooper, if you had just discovered the dead and bloody body of someone you knew sprawled across the judge’s bench, do you think you’d feel like playing twenty questions?”

The sergeant’s lips pursed. “Possibly not.”

“But Father Beale did in fact answer questions shortly thereafter, when Major Morelli was on the scene, right? He answered all questions put to him, several times over, right?”

“As far as I know.”

“Thank you. That’s all I have.”

The prosecution called several other police officers who had been at the scene of the crime and a few other vestry members from St. Benedict’s, but for the most part they just rehashed what had been said before. By the afternoon, Canelli had moved to his more specialized witnesses.

“What did you do when the body arrived at your office, Doctor?”

The young man in the white coat leaned forward eagerly. “I performed a full-length autopsy, as is traditional in cases of violent death.”

“Did you notice anything unusual?”

“Other than the fact that she was dead?” He grinned, as if he thought he’d made a rare witticism. “There were two obvious signs of violence-a blow to the side of the head, and strangle marks around the neck.”

“So what did you do?”

“I ran a serious of tests, examining the depth and impact of the blow to the head, examining the lungs for air, that sort of thing.”

“And what did you determine?”

“The cause of death was asphyxiation.”

“And is that your scientific conclusion?”

“Yes.”

“To a medical certainty?”

“Yes. I’m as certain about this as I am about death, taxes, and heavy rainfall right after I wash my car.”

The medical examiner grinned, but alas, once again his humor fell flat. There just wasn’t anything funny about being a coroner, Ben thought, as he watched the hapless performance from the defense table, although Bob Barkley didn’t appear to have figured that out yet. Ben still couldn’t get over having this geeky, hyper twenty-something (who looked younger) as the state medical examiner. After years of the stern and serious Dr. Koregai, Coroner Bob was a startling contrast. Koregai had always believed forensic science was a pathway to higher truths; Bob seemed to think it was a good way to meet girls.

“Can you offer any testimony regarding the time of death?” Canelli asked.

“Yes, more accurate than in most cases, in fact, since the body was discovered so soon after the murder took place. I measured the internal body temperature and examined the contents of the victim’s stomach. I estimated the time of death at about two-fifteen, which I’m told is almost immediately after the wedding ended.”

“You mentioned strangle marks earlier. Could you tell the jury what that means?”

“Finger imprints. Deep impressions around the victim’s throat. Still discernible, even at the time I got the body in my office. Because the blood stops circulating after death sets in, the bruises tend to linger. They weren’t clear enough to take fingerprints or anything, but they were definitely present.”

“So the killer strangled the victim by physically applying his hands to her throat? By choking her to death?”

“That’s correct.”

“That would require a strong man, wouldn’t it?” All heads in the jury turned to scrutinize Father Beale’s six-foot-two frame.

“I would think so.”

“Was the body moved?”

“Absolutely not. There were no indications of movement whatsoever. Not until the police arrived. The victim was DRT, as the cops say. Dead Right There.”

“So the murder took place… in Father Beale’s office?”

“That’s correct.”

“Shortly after Father Beale finished officiating the wedding?”

“Evidently so.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He glanced at the defense table. “Your witness.”

Ben gave Christina a little push. “Go for it.”

She frowned nervously. “Should I mess with all the technical forensic stuff?”

“Only if you enjoy public mortification.”

“Then-?”

“Physical strength.”

Christina grabbed her legal pad. “Got it. Anything else?”

He shook his head. “Make your point and sit down. Experts are dangerous.”

Christina squared herself behind the podium. “Good afternoon, Dr. Barkley.”

“Hey-ya, Chrissy. I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

“Well… thanks.”

“Have you got plans Friday night?”

Christina chose to ignore him. “You testified that the murderer would have to be a big man possessed of serious physical strength to strangle the victim to death.”

“Well, I doubt if she would just sit still and let someone do it to her for fun.”

“But it’s possible the murderer held the victim in an awkward position, isn’t it? Pinned her down in a way that made struggling impossible.”