“I have a copy of your police report, Mr. Howard. Would you mind telling me where in there it states she had cigarette burns over her body?”

“It should be in the attached supplemental.”

“The supplemental report you filed a few weeks ago?”

“Yes.”

“Did Mr. Graham ask you to file that?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“But you didn’t file it on your own before then?”

“No.”

“And it wasn’t in your initial reports?”

“No.”

“It’s clearly relevant to the case that the victim had cigarette burns all over her body, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah.”

“But you didn’t include it?”

He shook his head. “I did not. But it’s because—”

“You also didn’t include the part about the dozens of lacerations, did you?”

“No.”

“Again, a relevant fact that anybody looking at this case would need to know, correct?”

“Correct.”

“And you hid it from your reports?”

“I wouldn’t say I hid it, but I didn’t put it in there. Can I explain why?”

Pritcher took a step closer. “You knew the victim?”

“I did.”

“You felt bad when you saw her?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Emotion can cloud judgment, can’t it, Mr. Howard?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it can. But I was thinking clearly here.”

“Thinking clearly without putting in that she was covered in cigarette burns and had cuts over every inch of her body? I would hate to see what your investigations are like when you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Your Honor—” I said.

“Mr. Howard,” Pritcher quickly added, “you found my client, Anderson Ficco, within six hours of finding the body, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you arrested him a couple of hours later after interrogating him?”

“Yes.”

“So eight hours. Within eight hours you had an arrest on this case?”

“Yes.”

“And you were emotional.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So your testimony to this jury is that you saw a mutilated corpse of a girl you knew, and you were calm, cool, and collected?”

“Yes.”

“Really?” Pritcher went to his associate, Tomomi, and got a large color photograph from her. He showed it to me, and it was of Patty standing in front of her school with another girl her age.

“You recognize this photo, Mr. Howard?”

“Yes.”

“Who took it?”

Howard bit his lower lip and glanced at me. “I did.”

Son of a bitch. Did everyone know what the hell was going on here but me?

“Why did you take it?”

“It was . . . I have a niece, and Patty and her were friends. That’s my niece in the photo.”

“More than friends, weren’t they? You stated to a uniformed officer on the scene that they knew each other since third grade, correct?”

“How did you . . . yes.”

“And I’m guessing Patty was over at your niece’s house occasionally?”

“Yes.”

“And she was over at your niece’s house sometimes when you were there?”

“Yes.”