Written In Blood Read online

  Claudia saw it on Norris’ face when he realized he had shot himself in the foot. Smart lawyers never ask a question to which they don’t already have the answer. He frowned. “All right now, Ms. Rose. You received the California Statutory Will with the alleged signature of Mr. Sorensen—the questioned document—from where?”

  “From my client, Mrs. Sorensen.”

  “And do you know where Mrs. Sorensen obtained it?”

  “No.”

  “So it’s possible that Mrs. Sorensen could have signed it herself, isn’t it?”

  “Objection!” Stuart Parsons snapped. “There’s no foundation for counsel to draw that conclusion.”

  Judge Krieger gave a big sigh, took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sustained. Grandstanding isn’t called for, Mr. Norris. There’s no jury here, and if there were, you’d be in trouble.”

  “I’ll withdraw the question.” Norris’ lips curled into a smirk. “Ms. Rose, isn’t it true that you’re not a real handwriting expert at all. You’re just a graphologist, aren’t you?”

  Claudia waited for Parsons to object, but he was whispering to Paige and had failed to hear the attack. She was on her own.

  “I’ve been accepted as a handwriting expert in more than fifty trials in superior, criminal, and federal courts,” she said, looking Norris directly in the eye. “Graphology is a specialty of handwriting examination concerned with behavioral profiling. It’s a separate part of my practice from document examination, and I did not use graphology in forming my opinion in this case.”

  He showed an insincere flash of teeth. “I see. Tell us, have you had any law enforcement training? Or training in an accepted forensic document-examining laboratory?”

  Despite the pleasure it would have given her to knock the shit-eating grin off his face, she kept her tone cool. “There is no state or federal requirement to train in a specific lab.”

  “Objection.” That was Parsons, finally tuning in. “Your Honor, it’s my recollection that Mr. Norris already stipulated to Ms. Rose’s expertise. It’s not fair for him to question it now.”

  Judge Krieger’s hangdog features sharpened. “That’s right, he did. Mr. Norris, do you have any other questions of this witness?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, thank you. Ms. Rose, if you don’t even know where your client obtained the document, how can you testify as to its authenticity?”

  “I was given a series of signatures that were represented to me as undisputed to use for comparison to the questioned signature. As far as I know, no one has suggested that those signatures were not genuine. It was my job simply to compare the handwriting, not to identify where the documents came from.” She used the authoritative tone she sometimes adopted when guest lecturing a college class.

  “I formed a preliminary opinion based on a photocopy, but later I visited the courthouse where the original will was filed and looked at it under a portable microscope. I photographed it; then I redid my examination and found that it supported my earlier opinion.”

  “No further questions of this witness.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Rose. You may step down.”

  Claudia gathered her things and stepped off the dais, almost giddy with relief that Norris had let her off easy. His next words dispelled the notion that it was because she’d done such a bang-up job.

  “Your Honor, at this time we would like to call a rebuttal witness to the stand.”

  “All right, Mr. Norris. Who is your witness?”

  “He’s waiting outside in the hallway. I’d like to call Andrew Nicholson.”

  Andy Nicholson! Of all her colleagues and competitors, he was the last one she wanted to see today.

  Parsons grabbed Claudia’s arm as she went to move past the counsel table. “Do you know him?”

  It was a little late to ask. Without offering written proof that Andy was more or less impersonating an expert, Parsons’ options were limited.

  Angling her body so that her back was to the gallery, Claudia leaned close to Parsons’ ear and cupped a hand around her mouth. “You can impeach him, but the materials are in my office. Can you ask for a recess?”

  “Mr. Parsons?” The judge prodded, impatience showing in his voice.

  “A moment please, Your Honor.” Parsons spoke into Claudia’s ear in a rapid whisper. “Krieger will never allow a recess. You’ll have to coach me during this guy’s testimony. That’s the best we can do.”

  Parsons motioned to his paralegal, who gave up her chair at the table and Claudia slid into it.

  “Your Honor,” Norris whined, his hands spread in protest. “I’m going to object to this witness sitting at the counsel table. It’s crowded enough here as it is.”

  Parsons half stood, leaning on the table. “Judge, I ask leave of the court to allow this witness to assist me. We were not expecting this rebuttal witness. Ms. Rose is an expert. I’m not an expert in the field of handwriting analysis.”

  Judge Krieger rolled his eyes and spoke in a tone one might use on a four-year-old. “She can sit at the table. Mr. Norris, give counsel a copy of your expert’s curriculum vitae and call the witness.”

  Andy Nicholson was a tall, good-looking blond with more Scandinavian blood than his clients, and gossip had it that he would point the finger at his own mother for a big enough chunk of change. His less charitable colleagues whispered that Andy was sleeping his way to success with both genders.

  He was dressed in a knockout Hugo Boss charcoal pinstripe suit and pale gray satin tie. Taking the chair Claudia had just vacated, Andy crossed one knife-sharp pleated pants leg over the other and clasped his long, slender hands on the table in front of him.

  He’s trying to impress the judge, Claudia thought, cursing him for looking so relaxed.

  “Mr. Nicholson,” Frank Norris began, his tone respectful as it had not been when he questioned Claudia. “Would you please tell the Court about your background in the field of handwriting examination.”

  Andy threw a captivating smile at Judge Krieger. “I’d be delighted to, Mr. Norris. Okay, I learned handwriting analysis in Switzerland, and I’ve been doing this for about twenty-five years now. I teach document examination to the CIA and the FBI, and I’ve written several textbooks.”

  Listening to the same old lies he’d gotten away with for so many years, Claudia had to fight to contain her rising fury. It shouldn’t have been personal, but it was.

  “. . . I have a master’s in psychology, and I’ve been teaching at USC for about twenty years. Let’s see, I’ve been a member of the American Society of Handwriting Examination for ten years. I’m board certified by them.”

  Scribbling on Stuart Parsons’ notepad, Claudia shoved it at him.

  He took a tour of the FBI. No master’s. Taught graphology in adult ed ten years ago, not document exam.

  “In those twenty-five years, have you ever been called to testify in court?” Frank Norris asked.

  “Oh yes, Mr. Norris, many times.”

  “About how many?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, hundreds! Maybe thousands.”

  “Offer this witness as an expert, Your Honor.”

  Judge Krieger nodded. “Any objection, Mr. Parsons?”

  All Stuart Parsons could do was shrug. “I’d like to reserve the issue of Mr. Nicholson’s qualifications, Judge.”

  The trouble was, Andy’s background sounded so good, so confident. With a judge like Krieger, who made it obvious that he would rather be on the golf course than the bench, he was likely to give Andy’s testimony more credence than Claudia’s. Unless Parsons could sweat Andy into admitting his lies, they were dead in the water, no matter how good her testimony had been.

  Keeping one ear on the testimony, Claudia took a legal pad from her briefcase and began scribbling a list of questions for Parsons to use in his cross-examination. Meanwhile, Norris was beginning his direct, asking Andy about the signatures he had examined.

  “I examined hundreds of Mr. Sorensen’s signatur
es. None of them matched the one on the will.” He unrolled the exhibit he had brought with him to the stand: photocopied enlargements of a handful of signatures.

  In a rambling fashion Andy explained his rationale for his opinion, concluding, “It was obvious to me that the signature on the will did not match the standards.”

  Despite the rambling, he sounded convincing.

  “Mr. Nicholson, do you find the questioned signature at all similar to the standards?”

  “Well, yes, Mr. Norris, and I can understand how Ms. Rose might think it was written by the same person. But you could put the questioned signature next to any one of these other signatures, and they are also very similar, except none of them have exactly this kind of T, as I pointed out in my exhibits. Therefore, I declare that this signature is a forgery.”

  Only the judge can declare it a forgery, asshole.

  Parsons bumped his foot against Claudia’s under the table. “You’ve got smoke coming out of your ears,” he whispered. “Relax. I’ll take care of him.”

  Norris said he had no further questions and Stuart Parsons rose from the defendant’s table. He buttoned his jacket, took Claudia’s notebook to the lectern, and turned to face Andy. “Mr. Nicholson, have you taken any courses or workshops specifically related to your duties as a handwriting examiner?”

  “Sure, I’ve taken lots of them.”

  “Specific to document examination?”

  “Well . . . sure.” His eyes darted down and to the left, a sign that he was lying.

  “Objection,” Norris said, using the same line that Parsons had earlier used on him. “Mr. Nicholson has already been accepted as an expert.”

  Before the judge could respond, Parsons interrupted. “Your Honor, since this witness didn’t appear on the plaintiff’s witness list, I had no opportunity to depose him or check out his credentials ahead of time.”

  “All right, Mr. Parsons,” Krieger said. “I’ll give you some leeway, but move it along.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Mr. Nicholson, have you ever attended a conference given by the National Association of Document Examiners?”

  “I’ve been to Association of Industrial Security meetings.”

  “Is that a handwriting examination organization?”

  “Many of the members use handwriting analysis.”

  “I remind you, Mr. Nicholson, you’re under oath and you have to answer truthfully. I’m going to repeat my question: Have you ever attended any conferences of the National Association of Document Examiners?”

  Andy fidgeted in his seat, knowing that Claudia attended the NADE conference and would be aware if he failed to tell the truth. “Uh . . . no.”

  “Have you attended any meetings where handwriting authentication was taught?”

  “I’ve taught handwriting analysis at many meetings.”

  Parsons gave him a cold stare. “That was not my question. You are under oath, Mr. Nicholson. Have you ever attended any conferences or seminars where the examination of questioned documents for handwriting authentication was taught?”

  Andy squirmed a little. “It’s all part of the same—”

  “Answer the question.”

  “But I was just—”

  “You have to answer the question,” Judge Krieger interjected, frowning at Nicholson over the tops of his glasses. He turned away and typed something into the computer on his desk.

  “Are you saying you have not attended any professional meetings or conferences strictly for handwritings examiners and that are not related to graphology?”

  “Well . . .”

  “What scientific journals do you read that are specifically relevant to your job as a document examiner?”

  “I, uh . . . there are lots of them.”

  Parsons reeled off the list of professional journals Claudia had noted for him, and got Andy to admit that he hadn’t read any of them. She almost felt sorry for him. He would be lucky if he didn’t face a charge of perjury after this.

  “Mr. Nicholson, you’ve listed the American Society of Forensic Examination on your curriculum vitae and claim you’ve been a member for ten years. It’s true, isn’t it, that the ASFE has been in existence for less than five years?”

  “That’s . . . they . . .”

  “It’s also true, is it not, that you claim to have taken courses with the American Society of Forensic Examination?”

  “I did take their courses.”

  “The fact is, Mr. Nicholson, you never took any of their courses. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “Isn’t it true that you ordered their basic course, but returned it unopened and requested a refund?”

  Andy opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, resembling an unhappy trout snagged on a hook. He stared at Frank Norris, helpless. Norris stared back. Apparently this was all news to him.

  That’ll teach him for not checking out his expert, Claudia thought with some satisfaction. She had discovered for herself that every claim he made on his curriculum vitae was grossly inflated or a fabrication. Yet somehow he had gotten away with it for years.

  Judge Krieger gave Andy a dark look and ordered him to respond.

  “Yes, but I—”

  “Mr. Nicholson.” Parsons was on a roll. “Did you happen to bring with you the ‘hundreds of samples’ of Mr. Sorensen’s signature that you claim to have examined in this case?”

  Andy looked abashed. “Counsel might have them.”

  “Have you listed anywhere all those hundreds of signatures in a report so it can be verified that you actually did examine ‘hundreds’ of them?”

  Bright splotches of red appeared on Andy’s cheeks and on his neck around his Adam’s apple. “No, but I—”

  Parsons spoke over him and Norris didn’t bother to object. “So the handful of exemplars that you’ve produced for us today in your exhibit are the ones that you’ve selected for His Honor to look at. Am I right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we have no way of knowing that you actually examined ‘hundreds’ of signatures because you brought only these few?”

  With a fed-up look at his witness, Norris found his voice. “Objection. Mr. Parsons is testifying.”

  “Is there a question in there somewhere for the witness, Mr. Parsons?” Krieger asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor. Mr. Nicholson, what method did you use to compare the signatures?”

  “I put them under magnification and eyeballed them.”

  “Did you take any measurements?”

  “I didn’t need—”

  “Did you compare the signatures by laying one over the other?”

  “With all my experience, I don’t need to do that.”

  Parsons raised his eyebrows and made an O with his mouth, pretending to be impressed. “Why, that’s very clever of you, Mr. Nicholson. Other experts in your field feel they need to take measurements and do comparisons, but your testimony is that you do not?”

  “Objection. No foundation.”

  “Overruled.”

  From the corner of her eye Claudia noticed Paige on the other side of Parson’s empty seat trying to get her attention. Turning her head, she caught the tiny smile on the corner of Paige’s mouth, and gave a slight nod of acknowledgment.

  “Mr. Nicholson,” Parsons continued. “Are you familiar with the literature in your field? For example, Scientific Examination of Questioned Documents by Ordway Hilton, or Questioned Documents by Albert Osborne?”

  “Of course I am,” Andy said, cocky now that he could answer a question truthfully. “I have both those books. In fact, I brought a list of all the handwriting books I own, if you’d care to see it.”

  “Does Ordway Hilton or Albert Osborne, or any other authority in your field suggest that the correct procedure is to simply eyeball a document and make such an important conclusion, Mr. Nicholson?”

  “Well . . .”

  “You do accept Hilton and Osborne as authorities?”

/>   Andy straightened his tie, looking uncomfortable. “Of course I do.”

  “Then how can you say you accept them as authorities if you don’t know what they say on such an important matter?”

  Andy struggled for an answer that wouldn’t make him look like a fool. In the end, in a peeved tone he said, “I can’t be expected to know everything they say.”

  “No further questions of this witness.”

  Chapter 6

  The judge adjourned the Sorensen hearing for the day at the afternoon break. Paige’s team huddled in the hallway outside the courtroom.

  Waiting to be called as a witness, Bert Falkenberg had been relegated to the hallway for most of the day. Shortly before the recess he had taken the stand to testify that he had watched Torg Sorensen sign his will. Claudia, who had remained at Paige’s request, thought Stuart Parsons’ direct went well. Norris had reserved cross-examination for later. Now Bert stood at Paige’s side, looking distracted.

  “How do you think it went today?” Paige asked her attorney, linking her arm through his.

  Stuart Parsons gave his client a fond smile, patted her hand. “Bert did fine, Claudia was superb, and we beat Nicholson to a pulp. Let’s hope tomorrow goes as well. Now, I suggest you go and have a glass of wine, relax, and forget about the case for the rest of the day.”

  “Come with us?”

  Parsons shook his head. “I have to get back to the office.”

  “How about you?” Paige asked, turning to Claudia. “Buy you a drink?”

  “That’s an offer I can’t refuse,” Claudia said. Even the check Bert Falkenberg had handed her a moment ago failed to neutralize the stress of testifying. She could as easily have stood in the truck lane of the freeway and waited for a semi to mow her down as face another cross-examination right now.

  “See you later, Bert,” Paige said, dismissing him. “Stuart will give you a ride back, won’t you, Stu?”

  The attorney leaned over to drop a kiss on her cheek. Bert offered a mocking salute and clicked his heels together like a Nazi general acknowledging his commanding officer.

  As the two men and Parsons’ paralegal made their way down the corridor toward the elevators, the door to the courtroom swung open and Diana Sorensen swept through. Andy Nicholson followed, holding the door for Dane, who was piloting his brother’s wheelchair.