A confused murmur rose from the gallery.
Judge Eltaw looked down at the report.
"Explain the discrepancy."
Rebecca took a breath.
"The original photographs show a dark stain on the pavement approximately six feet from the location identified in Officer Vance's sworn statement. The official report places the victim farther down the alley. The recovered debris contains microscopic fragments consistent with the original location, not the location described in the submitted report."
She paused.
"Someone changed the documented position of the evidence after the scene was secured."
Vance's face drained of color.
For a moment, he looked less like a decorated officer and more like a man who had just realized that the walls he had built around himself had become a prison.
Judge Eltaw removed her glasses.
"Officer Vance, did you alter the original incident report?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Did you instruct another officer to alter it?"
"No."
"Did you knowingly submit a false statement concerning the victim's actions?"
Vance swallowed.
"No."
Judge Eltaw studied him for several seconds.
"Then perhaps you can explain why the recovered audio contains instructions that correspond precisely with the discrepancies identified in the forensic report."
Vance's hands tightened around the edge of the table.
"I want my attorney."
"That is your right," Judge Eltaw replied. "And you will have the opportunity to consult counsel before further questioning. But your request does not erase the evidence already presented."
She turned to the court reporter.
"Let the record reflect that the witness has denied the allegations and requested legal counsel."
The court reporter's fingers moved rapidly across the keyboard.
For the first time since entering the courtroom, Vance looked toward the gallery.
He was searching for someone.
A familiar face. A reassuring expression. A colleague willing to stand up and tell the court that the recording was fabricated, that the investigation had gone too far, that Marcus Vance was still the man they all believed him to be.
But nobody moved.
The officers seated behind the prosecution table kept their eyes fixed on the floor.
Then a man in the back row slowly stood.
He was in his early thirties, wearing a plain charcoal suit. His hands shook as he held a folded document against his chest.
Judge Eltaw noticed him immediately.
"Sir, please identify yourself."
The man swallowed.
"Daniel Price, Your Honor. I was a patrol officer assigned to Officer Vance's unit on the night of the incident."
Vance spun around.
"Sit down, Daniel."
The younger man froze.
Vance's voice sharpened.
"I said sit down."