Murder in the Courthouse by Nancy Grace

accident theory could be wrong.
    Hailey ignored Trimble’s outburst. Looking toward the body, her voice was steady. “This was no malfunction. Accident’s all wrong.” Hailey stepped around to the other side of the body when she saw it.
    â€œIt” being blood. Not the thick, dark red pool, coagulating, surrounding Turner’s mutilated body. “It” confirmed what her gut had already told her.
    â€œLook. Look at this.” Several feet away from Alton Turner’s head, his eyes seemingly staring at the ceiling, Hailey bent down, squatting at the side of Alton’s car. Whipping out the silver pen that hung on a cord around her neck, stuck down her bra for safekeeping, she gestured toward the car, pointing but not touching.
    â€œThis blood. On the tire of his car. Check out the hubcap. See it?” Hailey pointed toward the hubcap, keeping a few inches away so as not to compromise the evidence.
    â€œSo what? So there’s blood on the tire. It spattered or something . . .” Trimble’s voice trailed off as he struggled to comprehend her point.
    â€œIt’s not spatter. There’s no spatter pattern here or on the garage floor around him. If it had been spatter from the impact of the garage door severing his torso, we’d see spatter elsewhere as well . . . not just on the car’s tire. And look at it. It’s not a spatter mark. It’s a smear. Big difference.”
    She was met with blank stares.
    â€œMy point is, gentlemen, he didn’t just ‘get caught’ under a garage door. That’s not what happened. You, yourself, Lieutenant Billings, said he’s a very particular guy, probably read the manual over and over. That’s what you said, right?”
    â€œRight. I did say that.”
    â€œNo accident happened here.” Hailey stated matter-of-factly and looked Billings in the eyes. “Whatever did happen started right here, near the tire . . . not under that garage door.” She gestured toward the two halves of Alton Turner.
    â€œLook at the blood pattern close to the car . . . here . . . away from the garage door. That pool of blood wasn’t the first mortal wound. That’s just a bleed out. The first serious wound was here. He ended up under the garage door. You have the blood on the tire and a concentration of blood on the cement here. Something happened to Alton Turner, something awful. And it started here.”
    The three came over and stood behind her, looking down at the tire.
    â€œPlease, Lieutenant. You know it, I know it . . . blood evidence never lies. Call in the ME before we lose more evidence. It’s hot outhere. The body forensics are being destroyed with every tick of the clock.” Hailey looked up from the tire where she was still kneeling.
    â€œShe’s right. Trimble, radio the ME. Pronto.” Billings directed Trimble over his shoulder.
    â€œWill do.” Trimble looked miffed, but he did as he was told. Stepping away a few feet, he turned to the side and spoke into his shoulder radio.
    â€œBut still, he could have just tripped, fallen, hit his head on the tire . . .” Trimble wasn’t ready to give in and continued a steady stream of hypothesizing over his shoulder aimed in their direction.
    â€œThen why would there be blood over here and his body all the way over there?” Hailey pointed to the distance between the bloody tire and the body. “It’s a good eight to ten feet away.”
    â€œHe stumbled?” Fincher interjected.
    â€œMaybe. Maybe he did. And if he did stumble, why? But my guess is, he didn’t.”
    â€œWhat did you say you did back at Fulton, Hailey?” Billings wondered out loud.
    â€œShe was Chief Special Prosecutor. Ten years. Never lost a case. Over a hundred cases at trial.” Fincher answered for her and did so with much more bravado than she would have.
    â€œNever lost a case? In ten years? How’d you do that