The Perfect Alibi Page 13

  “Let’s start with the basics: DNA is a molecule containing genetic material that codes for the unique physical characteristics of human beings. DNA is composed of four chemicals called nucleotides, or bases. The shorthand for them are A, C, G, and T. These bases pair together in the following way: A with T, and C with G. These pairs repeat in varying lengths and form rungs on the double helix that constitutes the DNA molecule.

  “Now, the double helix is wound very tightly into a chromosome. A gene refers to a sequence of base pairs along a given portion of the DNA double helix which code for a certain trait, like blue eyes. Different genes are located in different places along a chromosome.

  “An allele is one of several alternative forms of a gene that occurs in the same position on a specific chromosome. In other words, an allele is a variation in the number of times the base pairs of DNA repeat at a particular location on a particular chromosome. This number of repeats varies among humans. Modern forensic analysis focuses on the number of times the base pairs repeat at a variety of spots along a person’s chromosomes. By measuring and comparing the number of repeats at given locations, an analyst can distinguish one individual from another.”

  “Okay, I get that. But what do you do that the crime lab can’t?”

  “The normal type of DNA analysis is performed in a laboratory, like the Oregon State Crime Lab,” Nilson said. “DNA is extracted from the evidence, which can be a person’s saliva or a sample of semen or blood. I won’t go into the whole procedure, but you can get a graph of the DNA that can be used for comparison purposes.

  “The problem for your crime lab in Mr. Nylander’s case was that the amount of blood found under Nylander’s fingernail was so small that the normal procedures for extracting and analyzing it didn’t work. And that’s where we come in.

  “Nilson Forensics has developed a probabilistic genotyping software program. Probabilistic genotyping software uses computer science algorithms to perform complex mathematical and statistical calculations that are designed to calculate likelihood ratios or LRs. LRs reflect the relative probability of a particular finding under alternative theories about its origin. In forensic DNA analysis, the LR can be stated as, ‘The profile is x amount of times more likely if the prosecutor’s hypothesis is true than the defendant’s hypothesis.’ Your hypothesis is that the defendant contributed the sample, and the defendant’s hypothesis is that someone else contributed the sample.”

  “So, you make guesses about the probability of the DNA in the blood under Nylander’s fingernail matching the DNA of a particular person?” Kellerman said.

  “Exactly.” Nilson beamed like a teacher who has discovered a particularly apt pupil.

  “You told me that the DNA in the sample matched Douglas Armstrong’s DNA.”

  “Not exactly. There is some indication we have a match, but the probability isn’t high enough for me to make a conclusive statement that the blood came from Mr. Armstrong.”

  “That’s too bad,” the prosecutor said. “If you were certain enough to testify that the blood is Armstrong’s, it would give your company a real platform. This case is going to be front-page news. Media coverage is going to be huge.”

  Nilson frowned. “Of course, I’d love the publicity, but I can testify only about what the science shows.”

  “Certainly, but you said you deal in probabilities, not absolute facts. Is there a chance that a retest would show a different result?”

  “I’m not certain what you’re suggesting.”

  “I’m not suggesting anything. Like I said, I’m a real dummy when it comes to science. I was just wondering if it would be worth using your software again to see if you can get a more definitive result. My office would compensate you for the extra work, and I’ll certainly spread the word about your business regardless of the outcome of a retest.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Ivar Gorski parked a block away from the Vosses’ house and got a tire iron and a can filled with accelerant out of the trunk. The lights in the Voss home had gone out shortly after eleven, but Gorski waited until two in the morning to go along the side of the house to the back door. There were no lights on in the houses on either side of Voss’s house, but Gorski didn’t believe in talking chances, so he was wearing dark clothing and a ski mask in case a nosy neighbor got up to go to the bathroom and happened to peek out a window.

  Opening the lock on the back door was child’s play. The door opened into a small kitchen. Gorski waited so his eyes could adapt to the dark interior. When he was ready, he walked down the hall to Leonard Voss’s bedroom.

  * * *

  An officer moved the sawhorses that blocked the street to rubberneckers, and Carrie Anders parked her car behind an ambulance that had pulled up in front of a one-story bungalow. Roger Dillon got out of the passenger side, and the detectives walked over to Miguel Montoya, the first officer on the scene. Montoya was waiting for them on the narrow front lawn.

  “What happened?” Anders asked.

  Montoya shook his head. “It’s not pretty. The neighbor heard screams a little after two A.M. on Saturday. Then she saw the flames and called 911. The fire department reacted very quickly and saved the house. They found Mrs. Voss in the hall in front of her husband’s bedroom. Someone bashed her head in.”

  “Do you have the murder weapon?”

  “No.”

  “Go on.”

  “The husband is in his bedroom. He’s a stroke victim, and he and Mrs. Voss sleep in different rooms. His face was beaten to pulp.”

  “How did the killer get in?” Dillon asked.

  “The back door opens into the kitchen. It was jimmied.”

  “Let’s go inside,” Anders said.

  They found Rita Voss sprawled on her stomach. The detectives studied the body before edging around it and going into Leonard Voss’s bedroom.

  “Jesus,” Dillon said when he saw the damage to Voss’s face.

  After a few moments, Anders and Dillon went into the hall to let the lab techs do their work.

  “I’m guessing the killer went after Mr. Voss first,” Dillon said. “Mrs. Voss hears screams and comes out of her bedroom. The killer chases her down the hall, and bang—” Dillon imitated someone raising a club overhead and smashing it down.

  “Seems right,” Anders said.

  “Then the killer starts the fire to destroy evidence.”

  Anders nodded. “Any sign of a burglary?”

  “Mrs. Voss’s purse was open. There was no cash in her wallet,” Montoya said. “There’s a jewelry box on her dresser, and it’s open and empty.”

  “Okay,” Dillon said. “Let’s talk to the neighbors and see whether anyone saw anything.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Rex Kellerman loved to tell anyone who would listen about the brilliant flash of insight that led to the solution of Frank Nylander’s murder. He thought it was a great story, especially given the fact that Agatha Christie, the Queen of the Mystery Novel, had given him a clue that helped solve the case.

  A week after meeting with Greg Nilson, Kellerman received a report from Nilson Forensics that concluded that there was a high probability that the DNA in the blood sample found under Frank Nylander’s fingernail matched the DNA of Douglas Armstrong. And that was when Kellerman remembered the mystery novels in the bookcase in Douglas Armstrong’s law office. There had been a lot of Agatha Christies in the bookcase, and there had also been a biography of Dame Agatha.

  Kellerman had never been much of a reader. When he did read a book, it was usually a military history. But he remembered something he’d heard or read about Agatha Christie. He did a web search for her on his computer, and his smile grew even wider when he read Christie’s biography. As soon as he finished, Kellerman ran down the hall to the office of his boss, Multnomah County District Attorney Paul Getty.

  Getty was balding and had a sallow complexion. A heart condition brought on by the stress of his job made him look ten years older than his sixty
-two years and had led to his decision to retire before the next election.

  “He’s faking!” Kellerman said as soon as he was admitted to Getty’s office.

  “Who’s faking?” Getty asked as Kellerman dropped into a seat across from him.

  “Armstrong,” Kellerman said, leaning forward in his chair and fixing Getty with a diabolical grin. “The son of a bitch killed his partner.”

  “Slow down, Rex. If I recall correctly, you’re the only one who’s pushing that theory.”

  Kellerman flashed a satisfied smile. “I’ve got proof.” Kellerman told his boss about the result of the low-template DNA analysis of the blood found under Nylander’s fingernail.

  “What kind of method is that?” Getty asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “It’s cutting-edge stuff, Paul.”

  “Can you even get the results into evidence?”

  “Sure, no problem,” Kellerman said with more confidence than he actually felt. “And there’s something else,” Kellerman said in an effort to divert Getty’s attention from the scientific evidence. “Armstrong is still claiming he can’t remember anything about what happened on the day of the murder and the week following. Well, I think he’s full of shit.”

  “And why is that?”

  “He’s a big fan of Agatha Christie. He’s even got some of her mystery novels in his office. And,” Kellerman said, pausing for dramatic effect, “he also has a biography of Christie on his office bookshelf.”

  “So?” asked Getty, who looked genuinely puzzled.

  “Christie’s maiden name was Miller. She married Archibald Christie in 1914. In late 1926, Archie asked Agatha for a divorce because he was in love with another woman. On December 3, 1926, the Christies quarreled and Archie left the house. That same evening, Christie disappeared from her home. Her car was later found on the edge of a chalk quarry along with an expired driver’s license and clothes.”

  “I’m still not following you, Rex.”

  “Christie’s disappearance was big news, Paul. Rewards were offered for information, over a thousand police officers, fifteen thousand volunteers, and several airplanes searched for her. Arthur Conan Doyle even consulted a medium.

  “Then, ten days later, Christie was found at the Swan Hydropathic Hotel registered as Mrs. Teresa Neele, the surname of Nancy Neele, her husband’s lover. Christie never gave an explanation for the missing days, and two doctors diagnosed her as suffering from amnesia.”

  “You’ve lost me,” the DA said.

  “I think Armstrong killed his partner. Then he remembered Christie’s disappearance and decided to fake his own disappearance and claim amnesia like Christie did.”

  “Well, Rex, that’s, uhm, interesting, and a very creative theory, but I don’t see where that gives you probable cause.”

  “What about the DNA? It’s Armstrong’s blood under Nylander’s fingernail. They fought, Paul. Armstrong killed Nylander during the struggle. That’s why he ran away. He panicked and ran. Then he faked amnesia to cover up his crime.”

  “The DNA is interesting.”

  “You learned about Occam’s razor in college, right?”

  “Sure. In a complex situation, the simplest explanation is probably the right solution.”

  “Exactly. Armstrong and Nylander were alone in the office during the time span the ME set out as the parameters for the murder. There’s no evidence anyone else was in the office after the receptionist left. All the employees were at a party, and they can alibi each other. But Armstrong has no alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “What about a motive? As I recall, everyone says that Nylander and Armstrong were the best of friends, and Armstrong repeatedly told people that he owed everything to Nylander. Hell, Rex, I know Doug, and I’ve seen him and Frank together at parties and bar functions. I’ve never heard a word about any animosity between the two of them.”

  “Even good friends fall out.”

  “If they have a reason. According to the receptionist, Armstrong was in a great mood when he came back from Seattle. What made him turn into a homicidal maniac moments later?”

  “I don’t know. But something happened. Think, Paul. Armstrong’s blood is under Nylander’s fingernail, and Armstrong had injuries to his face when he was brought to the hospital. That’s proof they fought.”

  “Or that Doug was attacked by the same person who killed Frank. Doug Armstrong is an influential member of the bar and most probably a victim of the same person who murdered his partner. I’ve got to see more before I let you go after him.”

  “Don’t get hung up on motive, Paul. We don’t have to prove motive to get a conviction. There’s not a scintilla of evidence that anyone but Armstrong and Nylander were in that office when Nylander was murdered. It’s Armstrong, Paul, I know it. Once he’s under arrest, I’ll get his motive out of him. Let me go to a grand jury with this. Let’s see what they say once they hear all the evidence.”

  The stress of being the Multnomah County district attorney had exhausted Getty and destroyed his health. He was tired and he didn’t have the energy to fight with Kellerman.

  “Okay,” Getty said. “Run it by the grand jury. But get someone working on a motive. If you do get an indictment, keep it quiet and don’t make a move before you tell me everything you’ve got.”

  Kellerman stood up, anxious to leave before Getty changed his mind. “Thank you, Paul. You’ll see. You won’t regret this.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Robin worked out before going to the courthouse, where she had a short appearance. Robin had the law on her side and had given the judge a brief supporting her position before arguing. The district attorney didn’t support her argument with a single case, so Robin didn’t have to concentrate too hard while the DA droned on. Instead, she passed the time thinking about last night’s lovemaking with Jeff.

  Robin didn’t sleep around, and she’d had very few lovers, none of whom were as adventurous as her investigator. Actually, when she thought about it, Jeff was as good an investigator in bed as he was in the field. That thought brought a smile to Robin’s face and a scowl to the DA’s, who was insulted by the idea that her argument was amusing her adversary.

  The judge ruled in Robin’s favor. To celebrate her victory, she treated herself to a latte on the way back to her office. When she walked into the reception area at nine thirty, an attractive blond woman stood up.

  “Miss Lockwood?” the woman asked.

  Robin was certain that she’d seen the woman before, but she couldn’t place her.

  “I’m Marsha Armstrong.”

  Robin didn’t think she’d ever talked to Marsha, but she remembered seeing her at a few bar functions. “Of course, Doug Armstrong’s wife. Are you here to see me?”

  “Yes.” It was obvious that Marsha was upset.

  “Come on back,” Robin said.

  While Marsha took a seat, Robin shut the door to her office. Doug’s wife sat up straight, her back rigid and her hands tight on her purse like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline.

  “How can I help you?” Robin asked as soon as she was seated.

  “Doug’s been arrested.”

  “What! Why?”

  “They’re saying he killed Frank.”

  “His partner?”

  Marsha nodded. “Doug told me to ask you to come to the jail.” She opened her purse and took out her checkbook. “I don’t know what you charge, but Doug said to pay your retainer.”

  “Why don’t we hold off on that until I’ve talked to your husband? When did Doug call you?”

  “Around nine. He said that two detectives were waiting for him at his office when he got in.”

  “Did he know the detectives?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did he give you any names?”

  “No. He just said they were taking him to jail to book him in and to have you come as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. I’m going over right now. You give my reception
ist your contact information. I’ll call and let you know what’s up when I get back from talking to Doug.”

  * * *

  Robin thought about Doug Armstrong as she walked to the jail. Her general impression was that Doug was a nice guy and a decent lawyer. She had never co-counseled a case with him. She remembered talking to him at a few continuing legal education seminars, but she couldn’t remember the conversations. Robin had watched Doug try Blaine Hastings’s case because she was representing Randi Stark, but she hadn’t talked to him, because the interests of their clients were adverse. It wasn’t fair to judge Doug on the result in the Hastings case, because the facts were so bad and Doug’s client was so awful on the stand.

  Robin concluded that she really didn’t know Doug very well, and she knew even less about Frank Nylander, who didn’t handle criminal cases. Robin also realized that she knew very little about Frank Nylander’s murder. She rarely read about other lawyers’ murder cases because she tried murder cases for a living. She did recall scanning an article after Nylander was killed, but all she remembered was that the murder had been committed in Nylander’s law office.

  After checking in at the jail reception area, Robin took the elevator to the floor where Doug was being held. A guard let her into the area where attorneys met their clients. While the guard was opening the door to the contact visiting room, Robin studied Armstrong through a wide pane of shatterproof glass that let her see into the room. Doug was wearing an orange, jail-issue jumpsuit that was a size too big for his pudgy body, and he slumped in his chair. When the guard ushered Robin inside, he looked at her with red-rimmed eyes.

  “How are you doing?” Robin asked as soon as the guard was gone.

  Doug just shook his head. “How could they do this?” he asked, choking up as tears filled his eyes. “Frank was my best friend. How could anyone think I would hurt him, let alone kill him?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out, Doug. But it’s going to be a lot harder to do if you don’t pull yourself together and help me.”