Part 23 (1/2)
”There was a mighty furor,” she says. Her voice rises an octave in indignation. ”All h.e.l.l came down. On the university. On Crone. He was called in by the administration. There were meetings of the academic senate. There was an investigation, a lot of questions. In the end, the research stopped.”
Harry looks at me, trepidation in his eyes, an expression of I told you so from the lips up. Harry is thinking what I am: mother and daughter, history repeating itself, only Mom had the good grace and foresight to copy the papers from Crone's office instead of taking them.
”Did Doctor Crone ever find out that you were responsible for obtaining these doc.u.ments and releasing them to the press?”
”Not that I know of. I don't think he did.”
”So it was never made public? At least not until today?”
”That's right.”
”And you were never arrested?”
”How do you mean?”
”For taking Dr. Crone's papers?”
”Oh. No.”
Tannery s.h.i.+fts gears, shuffles papers at the podium. ”Now, can you tell the court, did you subsequently, years later, have occasion to tell your daughter about this episode in your life, the fact that you had taken doc.u.ments from one of your professors while in college?”
”I did.”
”And when did that conversation take place?”
”About two years ago.” There is a certain intent look in her eyes now as she stares at me from the stand. Message to Crone.
”And how did this conversation come about?”
”Kalista had just completed her doctoral thesis. She was looking forward to employment opportunities, some field of research. That's where her strength lay. She had an excellent academic record. There were a number of offers, and one in particular that caught my eye. It was from the Genetics Center.”
”That's the research inst.i.tute directed by the defendant, David Crone?”
”That's correct.”
”And how did you come to realize that the center had made an offer of employment to your daughter?”
”She showed me the letter. His name was very prominent on the letterhead. He had signed the letter soliciting Kali to apply. She told me that she'd actually met him at the university, when he was recruiting. I thought it couldn't possibly be the same man. But his curriculum vitae was included in the literature that came to the house. It mentioned his time on the faculty at Michigan. It was him. I couldn't believe it. Of course, it didn't say anything about his earlier research into racial genetics. He needed money, and he wasn't going to get it . . .”
”Objection.”
”Sustained. Just answer the question,” says Coats.
”But you told your daughter about the defendant's history in this area? The fact that he'd been involved in controversial research regarding racial genetics in the past?”
”I did.”
”When you talk about controversy,” says Tannery, ”let's get into some of the specifics. What exactly was Dr. Crone working on back then?”
”Objection, Your Honor. This is irrelevant.”
”Overruled. You can answer the question.”
”He was working on racial graying.”
”And what is that?”
”He was researching racial markers, enzymes that distinguish one racial group from another, with the goal of finding ways to neutralize them, to blur them. He wanted to create a kind of genetic melting pot in which there would ultimately be no racial distinctions, no unique characteristics of race.”
”And you considered this to be unethical?”
”Absolutely. He was playing G.o.d, or getting ready to. It was clear that he was leaning toward the elimination of minority characteristics.”
”And you stopped him?”
”Yes, I did. Fortunately for us,” she says, ”the science of genetics was not as advanced back then. We were able to find out what he was working on and expose it.”
”And you told this to your daughter?”
”I did.”
”What else did you tell her?”
”I told her about the demonstrations back in the seventies. About Crone's published studies, and how they were discredited.”
”Did you tell her that you were in large part responsible for uncovering the information that led to this?”
”I did.”
”And what was her reaction?”
”Objection.”
The witness sits upright in the chair and looks at me. There is a long sigh, as if she didn't hear the objection.
”She was proud of me. She said I did the right thing.”
”Objection. Move to strike.”
”Sustained.” The judge admonishes her that she is not to answer the question when there is an objection.
The witness looks at him but doesn't indicate one way or the other whether or not she accepts his instruction. Coats presses the issue, and finally Tanya Jordan acknowledges that she understands.
Hearsay is the law's final insult in a murder trial. The victim's voice is silenced forever. Now the rules of evidence, with narrow exception, erase every comment she made before death. This is sufficiently broad to include Kalista Jordan's feelings regarding the incidents related to her by her mother.
Tannery asks the judge for a moment. He confers with the cop back at the counsel table. The problem here is that they have run into a wall. The witness cannot relate to the jury things told to her by her now-dead daughter. Tanya Jordan can only testify as to her part of any conversation, and the jury, without more, cannot fill in the gaps with guesses. If it comes down to that, it is likely that the judge will not allow her to testify at all.
The prosecutor comes back to the podium. ”Let me ask you, did you discuss with your daughter this employment opportunity? The job with the Genetics Center?”