The Defense: A Novel by Steve Cavanagh Page A

method of analysis.”
    “I don’t know what that means, Doctor.” I turned to the jury and put my hands in the air to let them know that even the high-paid lawyer didn’t know what this guy was talking about. They smiled.
    “Let’s see if we can have a practical demonstration.”
    It was time to load up the base without the doc seeing. I pulled out my blowup of a letter “G” that I’d made in the photocopier upstairs and held it up for the jury. I turned it so the doc could see it and then placed it on the easel next to the “G” from the one-ruble note. With both the blowups side by side, they looked identical. Most prosecutors would object at this point, and we’d have an argument on whether I could test the expert’s findings. Normally the judge gives a little leeway to cross-examine. Miriam didn’t object because she knew I’d get my way and that it might appear to the jury that she was shielding her witness. When she could, Miriam liked to let witnesses stand on their own feet.
    “Doctor this ‘G’ is constructed in a similar way to the letter ‘G’ in the disputed note and the known samples of my client’s signature, correct?” I hoped he would agree. It seemed like a minute had gone by with just him and the jury staring at the large letters in front of them. Goldstein screwed up his face as he carefully examined the letters.
    I had to give him a nudge. “The ‘G’ on this blowup does appear to be similar to the letter ‘G’ in the note, doesn’t it?”
    “It could be, yes.”
    “It is similar, isn’t it?”
    “Yes.”
    “And this one?” I pulled up another big sheet of paper. The “G” looked similar, but it was a different sample; part of another letter was visible on this copy. A long laborious stare from Goldstein, but not as long as the last.
    “Yes. It’s very similar.”
    “Graphologists make judgments about people based on the way a person might construct the letter ‘G,’ correct?”
    “Correct.”
    “And isn’t it correct that a graphologist would say that the person who wrote this letter ‘G’ is a sexual deviant ?” I let the last two words dominate the sentence by increasing my volume and letting those words boom and echo around the courtroom—a great way to wake everybody up. Handwriting is dull. Sex is interesting. Sexual deviancy is damn interesting.
    “Yes,” he said. “The author, or whoever wrote those letter ‘Gs,’ would have tendencies toward deviancy in their sex life.”
    I paused. I wanted the jury’s mind working, questioning this statement.
    “You have met the acting district attorney for this part of the world, Miriam Sullivan?”
    He was suddenly nervous. “Yes. Of course I have.”
    “Is Miriam Sullivan a sexual deviant?”
    “What? Of course not!”
    “Your Honor…” Miriam cried.
    “Yes. It’s okay, Ms. Sullivan,” said Judge Pike. “Mr. Flynn, please behave yourself.”
    “My apologies, Your Honor, but might I just ask if Your Honor indulges in any sexually deviant practices?” Now, this was totally outrageous. I was in danger of losing all my jury points and ending up in the cells below the court for contempt.
    Judge Pike dragged her glasses to the end of her cosmetically corrected nose and looked at me over those rims, like a serial killer surveying her prey over the hood of a hot Chevy before running over the little maggot. “Mr. Flynn, you’ve got ten seconds before I throw your ass in jail.” The jury looked physically shocked.
    I felt two blasts of vibration across the small of my back. Arturas had triggered the device. I remembered what he’d said earlier about the remote detonator: two buttons, one to arm, one to detonate. I figured the bomb was now armed and live.

 
    CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    Arturas looked at me like I held a knife to his mother’s throat. I was certain that arming the bomb was a warning—if I got sent to custody, Arturas would trigger the device.
    Judge Pike seemed to rise from her chair as if