Fatal Vision (93 page)

"Why did you put your pajama top on top of Colette's chest?" "I guess it was an attempt to try to treat my wife—cover my wife."

"For possible shock?"

"It was sort of an attempt to do something, I guess. I can't really explain why I put it on her."

"That night, did you ever touch the bedsheet and the bedspread depicted in that photograph behind you?"

"I have no recollection at all."

"Are you saying you did or you didn't?"

"I am saying neither."

"Dr. MacDonald, if the jury should find from the evidence that there is a fabric impression or contact print matching the right cuff of your blue pajama top on it, do you have any explanation for that?"

"If the jury should find?"

"Uh-huh."

"No."

"If the jury should find from the evidence that there is a fabric impression or contact print of handprints and the left shoulder on that sheet, do you have any explanation for that?"

"It is hard to answer, because the evidence that you claim to be evidence has been disproven. You want me to make a supposition based on something that—"

"Well, suppose the jury disagrees with you, and does find that it has not been disproven, and finds what I said—do you have any explanation for that?"

"No."

"Suppose the jury finds from the evidence that in that bedspread there is a seam thread matching your blue pajama top entwined around a hair with blood on its shaft matching that of your wife Colette—do you have any explanation for that?"

"No."

"Suppose the jury should find from the evidence that pieces of rubber or latex are found in that bundle of bedding on the floor. Do you have any explanation for that?"

"I have none."

"Suppose the jury should find from the evidence that the word
pig
on the headboard over where your wife slept was written in Type A blood with a gloved hand. Do you have an explanation for that?"

"I have no explanation for that."

"Doctor MacDonald, should the jury find from the evidence that on debris from the sheet of the bed in your master bedroom there are fifteen purple cotton sewing threads microscopically identical to those in your blue pajama top and seven blue polyester cotton yarns identical to the yarns of the blue pajama top— assuming that the jury should find evidence to be true, do you have any explanation for that?"

At this, Bernie Segal stood to object. "Your honor," he said, "I do not believe the defendant has to explain the government's case for them. I object to that. It is not proper to make a continued line of questioning on this. I object to the question. I suggest that it rises to the point of suggesting that the defendant has some burden to prove away facts that the government has raised in the first instance."

"I will overrule the objection," Judge Dupree said.

"May I ask your honor then," Segal retorted, "to give an appropriate instruction in regard as to what burden the defendant does or does not have? I would request that at this time."

"I will say to the jury," Dupree said, turning toward them, "as you have heard from time to time and as you heard during the course of your selection, the burden is always on the government to prove each essential element of the crime charged in the indictment by evidence convincing the jury beyond a reasonable doubt. That is the rule of law under which all criminal cases are tried in this court or courts of this country, and it is in full force and effect from the inception of the trial right on through to the final verdict."

The judge then permitted Blackburn to continue his cross-examination. "Doctor MacDonald, would you like for me to repeat the question?" Blackburn said.

"No."

"What is your answer?"

"Is this the sheet that Mr. Ivory scooped up and stuffed in the plastic bag?" "No, sir."

"Which sheet are we talking about?" "The one that was found on the bed." "I have no answer for that."

"Assume, Doctor MacDonald—or suppose—that the jury should find from the evidence that in the master bedroom as a whole, there were sixty or more purple cotton sewing threads found which microscopically matched your blue pajama top and eighteen blue polyester cotton yarns which microscopically matched the pajama top and one blue-black sewing thread which matched your pajama top. Assume for a moment that the jury should find that evidence to be true, do you have, sir, any explanation for that?"

"With the understanding that they have not matched those fibers and threads against the pajama bottoms, no, I don't have any explanation for it."

"Assume for a moment that the jury should find from the evidence that no purple threads or blue polyester cotton yarns matching any of those found in your pajama top were found in the living room, do you have any explanation for that?"

"It would lead me to feel that the shirt was pulled over my head rather than ripped from around my back."

"Do you remember it being pulled over your head?" "No; neither do I remember it being torn." "Okay, when you left the master bedroom and Colette, you went then to Kimberly's room, is that correct?" "That is correct."

"Were you wearing your pajama top at this particular time?" "Not that I recall."

"What did you do; did you just sort of lean over and give her mouth-to-mouth, or check her?" "I don't specifically recall." "You didn't get on the bed with her?"
"Get on the bed with her?"
"Yes, sir." "No."

"Well, suppose the jury should find from the evidence that on Kimberly's bed on top of the covers, and also inside under the covers and on the pillow closest to the wall that there were fourteen purple cotton sewing threads, microscopically identical to your pajama top; and approximately five blue polyester cotton yarns, microscopically identical to your pajama top—suppose the jury should find all of that from the evidence. Do you have any explanation for that?"

"Not unless they came from my arms. I can envision threads hanging on to my arm hairs and dropping off at some later time. That seems like a rational explanation."

"Suppose the jury should find, Doctor MacDonald, that Type AB blood, the same as that of your daughter Kimberly, was found on the blue pajama top; and that you were not wearing that pajama top when you went to see Kimberly. Do you have, sir, any explanation for that?"

"Pure conjecture."

"Is that your answer?"

"Pure conjecture that any of us can make."

"Well, is that—do I take it then that any answer that you give would just be, as you said, conjecture on your part?"

"That is correct."

"With respect to Kristen's room, suppose the jury should find from the evidence that there is a purple cotton sewing thread and a blue polyester yarn microscopically matching that of your blue pajama top on the bed in her room, do you have any explanation for that?"

"It's pure conjecture, again."

"Doctor MacDonald, suppose the jury would find from the evidence that splinters matching the club on the table over there were found in Kimberly's room and Kristen's room, do you have any explanation for that?"

"Do/?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nothing more than the obvious."

"Which is that they were struck in there with the club or someone struck them with the club?" "Correct."

"With respect to Kristen's room, supposing the jury should find from the evidence that blood—Type A blood, Colette's blood type—is found on the wall over the bed in Kristen's room, and also that Type A blood is found, through direct bleeding, on the top sheet in Kristen's bed. Do you understand what I have said so far?"

"Sort of."

"Let me rephrase it. Suppose the jury should find from the evidence that Type A blood—Colette's blood type—is found on the top sheet of Kristen's bed in massive amounts and also on the wall over the side of the bed, splattered; do you, sir, have any explanation for that?"

"Making the very large assumption that the CID could type blood, no."

"Do you know your wife's blood type?"

"A."

"Do you know Kimberly's blood type?"

"We have been told here many times."

"Did you know it in 1970?"

"No."

"Kristen's?"

"No, I don't believe so. I don't believe I knew any of ours."

"Doctor MacDonald, suppose the jury should find from the evidence that all the blood on the floor in Kristen's room, with the exception of the footprint, is that of Type O—Kristen's type—and suppose further that the jury should find from the evidence that that is your footprint exiting that room, and suppose the jury should find further that that footprint is made in Type A blood—Colette's blood type. Do you have any explanation?"

"Well, I would probably agree that that was my footprint since I was there. As far as the blood-typing, again assuming the CID accurately typed the blood, I am not—you know—I have no explanation for the blood-typing and patterns, assuming they are correct."

*
*
*

At the lunch recess, Bernie Segal and Wade Smith worked with MacDonald as if they were seconds tending to a prizefighter between rounds.

"Your general tone is very good," Segal assured him. "Just don't piss on the CID any more. And watch the facial stuff—it's getting bad. I know you're getting tired of playing Mr. Nice with him, but you've got to be more inert: less feeling revealed. You can't start with nonverbal communication because the jury will be very alert for that."

"Blackburn has lost you," Smith said. "This afternoon, he is going to be a desperate man. He will know he's only got an hour and a half to win the case. You're ahead. Way ahead."

"Just like in a fight," Segal said. "You are ahead on points, be like Muhammad Ali—keep backpedaling. You're in round eleven of fifteen. Just take him the last four. Yesterday, we poured our hearts out. Our blood is all over the floor. Today, we simply want you weary after nine and a half years. No anger, no sarcasm, but no more tears: after yesterday, they would seem anticlimactic."

"Doctor MacDonald," Jim Blackburn resumed quietly, "when we broke for lunch, as I recall, I had just asked you, and I think you answered the question about the footprint and the blood in Kristen's room. Now, again, sir, should the jury find from the evidence that that is your footprint as you indicated it probably is and that the blood in that footprint is Type A blood, can you tell us at all where you got that Type A blood from?"

"I have no idea." MacDonald's manner was openly hostile.

"Doctor MacDonald, did you take the bedspread and that sheet from the master bedroom off the floor, place Colette on the bedspread, step in blood on that bedspread, and pick Colette up and carry her out of that room?''

"I did not."

"Doctor MacDonald, with respect to the Hilton bathmat that you have seen in the courtroom, do you recognize that?" "Yeah. Yes, I do."

"You all had a Hilton bathmat, I take it?" Blackburn's courtly Southern manner was standing out in bolder relief against MacDonald's sullenness as the day wore on.

"Apparently so."

"Well, do you recall where it was the night of the murders?" "I do not."

"Did you place it on Colette?"

"I don't recall doing that." "Could you have done that?" "I could have done that."

"Should the jury find from the evidence that the blood on the Old Hickory knife was wiped off on that bathmat, and also that the icepick that was found outside the house was wiped on it, do you, sir, have any explanation for that?"

"Not unless the assailants did that."

"Doctor MacDonald, suppose the jury should find from the evidence that the blood in the bathroom sink is Type B, your blood. Do you have any explanation for that?"

"No."

"Doctor MacDonald, at any time, did you in any way take a scalpel, or any instrument, and inflict any injury on yourself while at the bathroom sink?"

"I did not."