in Idaho to have consensual sex with an adult, that is a person eighteen or over. You are over eighteen, Brian. And therefore, if you have penetrated Ms. Fancelli, orally, vaginally, or anally, you are in violation of state law.”
Hogue seemed on the verge of stepping in, but resigned himself to allow Walt to continue, apparently wanting to see where this was going.
“With the girl’s claim of penetration, the state can therefore charge you in this matter, leaving it for the courts to decide. There is no physical proof required, although you may or may not be aware that Ms. Fancelli has retained electronic correspondence—e-mails and texts—in which she discusses your sexual relations with her, and your replies to those e-mails contain no denials. To the contrary, in fact.”
“Where are we going with this, Walt?”
“We’d like to take a swab.”
“Absolutely not,” Hogue said. “Show us a court order, and my client will oblige.”
Walt met eyes with Hogue. “I’m requesting your client provide a swab voluntarily and that he aids this office in obtaining a hair or some other sample from Ms. Fancelli that contains the young woman’s DNA. Perhaps he is already in possession of something along these lines.”
“This is ridiculous!” the father said, nearly coming out of his chair. “They haven’t got anything! No way this is happening.”
Hogue, without breaking eye contact with Walt, motioned for the man to remain in his chair, and implicitly, to remain quiet.
“I don’t get it,” Brian said.
The father couldn’t help himself. “He wants you to do his work for him. Let’s get out of here.”
Hogue turned on the father. “You may leave the room, or you can remain and be quiet, but that’s the last we’re going to hear from you right now.”
The father huffed, but stayed in his seat.
“Let me get this straight,” Hogue said. “You’re requesting my client’s participation and cooperation in certain aspects of your evidence collection and in keeping with the confidentiality of the current interview, you’re implying any evidence acquired as a result of this cooperation . . . ?”
“Is therefore off the books,” Walt said. “Not that we’re keeping any books. Not at the moment.”
A puzzled Hogue looked him over, still maintaining eye contact. “You’ll leave the room, please. Both of you.”
“Me?” said the father.
“Yes,” said Hogue.
The two got up and left the room.
Once the door was firmly shut, Hogue spoke. “You have another suspect.”
“I need the boy’s cooperation,” Walt said.
“You’re aware that if and when you come back for any physical evidence from my client, I will fight any reference to—”
“My case against your client, at that point, would be dicey at best. I would have prejudiced the evidence. I’d probably lose the possibility of a court case against him.”
“No probably about it.”
“What a pity,” Walt said.
Hogue sat back, rubbed his big hand against his maw and chuckled. “Never a dull moment with you, Walt.”
Walt showed no expression.
“The girl’s DNA,” Hogue said. He mulled it over. “You suspect the father.”
“Never a dull moment with you, Terry.”
“How certain are you?”
“Certain of what, counselor? I don’t believe we’ve discussed any other suspects.”
“If you want the girl’s DNA, and my client’s as well, then you must have, or have access to, the fetus’s DNA. How is it that you have the child’s DNA but not the mother’s?” Again, he was thinking aloud.
Walt’s lack of expression remained implacable.
“If you burn me on this, Walt . . . You’ve always played fair with me.”
“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“We’d be taking a big risk.”
“A risk that I would prejudice my evidence, that your client would skate. I need a hair from her. A cigarette butt. A love stain. He needs to volunteer it to me.”
“And I repeat: you’re implying you can get . . .
Hogue seemed on the verge of stepping in, but resigned himself to allow Walt to continue, apparently wanting to see where this was going.
“With the girl’s claim of penetration, the state can therefore charge you in this matter, leaving it for the courts to decide. There is no physical proof required, although you may or may not be aware that Ms. Fancelli has retained electronic correspondence—e-mails and texts—in which she discusses your sexual relations with her, and your replies to those e-mails contain no denials. To the contrary, in fact.”
“Where are we going with this, Walt?”
“We’d like to take a swab.”
“Absolutely not,” Hogue said. “Show us a court order, and my client will oblige.”
Walt met eyes with Hogue. “I’m requesting your client provide a swab voluntarily and that he aids this office in obtaining a hair or some other sample from Ms. Fancelli that contains the young woman’s DNA. Perhaps he is already in possession of something along these lines.”
“This is ridiculous!” the father said, nearly coming out of his chair. “They haven’t got anything! No way this is happening.”
Hogue, without breaking eye contact with Walt, motioned for the man to remain in his chair, and implicitly, to remain quiet.
“I don’t get it,” Brian said.
The father couldn’t help himself. “He wants you to do his work for him. Let’s get out of here.”
Hogue turned on the father. “You may leave the room, or you can remain and be quiet, but that’s the last we’re going to hear from you right now.”
The father huffed, but stayed in his seat.
“Let me get this straight,” Hogue said. “You’re requesting my client’s participation and cooperation in certain aspects of your evidence collection and in keeping with the confidentiality of the current interview, you’re implying any evidence acquired as a result of this cooperation . . . ?”
“Is therefore off the books,” Walt said. “Not that we’re keeping any books. Not at the moment.”
A puzzled Hogue looked him over, still maintaining eye contact. “You’ll leave the room, please. Both of you.”
“Me?” said the father.
“Yes,” said Hogue.
The two got up and left the room.
Once the door was firmly shut, Hogue spoke. “You have another suspect.”
“I need the boy’s cooperation,” Walt said.
“You’re aware that if and when you come back for any physical evidence from my client, I will fight any reference to—”
“My case against your client, at that point, would be dicey at best. I would have prejudiced the evidence. I’d probably lose the possibility of a court case against him.”
“No probably about it.”
“What a pity,” Walt said.
Hogue sat back, rubbed his big hand against his maw and chuckled. “Never a dull moment with you, Walt.”
Walt showed no expression.
“The girl’s DNA,” Hogue said. He mulled it over. “You suspect the father.”
“Never a dull moment with you, Terry.”
“How certain are you?”
“Certain of what, counselor? I don’t believe we’ve discussed any other suspects.”
“If you want the girl’s DNA, and my client’s as well, then you must have, or have access to, the fetus’s DNA. How is it that you have the child’s DNA but not the mother’s?” Again, he was thinking aloud.
Walt’s lack of expression remained implacable.
“If you burn me on this, Walt . . . You’ve always played fair with me.”
“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
“We’d be taking a big risk.”
“A risk that I would prejudice my evidence, that your client would skate. I need a hair from her. A cigarette butt. A love stain. He needs to volunteer it to me.”
“And I repeat: you’re implying you can get . . .
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