To careful observers of Michael Morton’s long search for justice, one of the biggest revelations of Mark Alan Norwood’s capital murder trial came late in the day Wednesday, when a Williamson County employee named Jennifer Smith took the stand. For much of the day, testimony had centered on the bloody blue bandana that had been found behind the Morton home in 1986 and was finally subjected to DNA testing in 2011. (The results exonerated Michael, who had been wrongly convicted of murdering his wife, Christine, and brought about the indictment of Norwood, whose DNA was found intermingled with her blood.) As readers of my series on Michael’s case may remember, that DNA testing had taken place over the heated objections of then-Williamson County D.A. John Bradley. Michael’s attorneys had filed their first motion for DNA testing back in 2005, and Bradley had fought them for the next five years until an appellate court stepped in and issued an order that the testing be performed.
The battle over DNA testing has not been discussed in front of the jury in the Norwood case. (Nor have any of the details of Michael’s wrongful conviction, due to a court order that bars any testimony about it during Norwood’s trial.) But Williamson County’s longstanding resistance to having the bandana tested was very much on my mind when Smith—who supervises the county’s evidence room—testified that no one had been able to locate the bandana until it was finally discovered on May 25, 2010. (This date, not coincidentally, follows closely on the heels of a judge’s order instructing the county to submit the bandana for DNA testing.) It was on that day, Smith said, that she was visited by a prosecutor and an investigator from the D.A.’s office who instructed her to open every single sealed envelope in the Morton evidence file. Eventually, after carefully opening and re-sealing each envelope, she was able to locate the bandana. “It wasn’t labeled properly, so we didn’t know it was there,” Smith told the jury.
In fairness to Smith, she seemed diligent and eager to modernize the poorly-organized evidence room that she had inherited. She testified that after more digging, she eventually managed to locate the strand of hair that had been found with the bandana in 1986. (The hair was hidden, as if it were a Russian nesting doll, inside a succession of mislabeled manila envelopes.) Then, and only then, was the evidence ready to be submitted for testing. In other words, throughout the five years that Williamson County had staged a pitched battle in state and federal court to block DNA testing of the bandana and the strand of hair, no one actually knew their whereabouts.
Much of Wednesday’s testimony highlighted the capriciousness of Williamson County justice, and testimony from John Kirkpatrick, Christine’s older brother, emphasized local law enforcement’s seeming indifference to aggressively investigating the case. Kirkpatrick’s lingering exasperation was evident as he described arriving at the Morton home the morning after the murder. “I didn’t see any police,” he told the jury. “I was frustrated by the total lack of investigation. I felt like so many things should have been happening for such a recent event.” Frantic to take action before leads went cold, he said he made phone calls around town, trying to see if anyone could conduct a search of the surrounding area with tracking dogs, which he hoped could pick up the scent of his sister’s killer. “As far as I was concerned, this was an outside intruder that had come in and killed my sister,” he testified. “It seemed so obvious.”
Out of desperation he decided to try to re-trace the killer’s footsteps. He started at the spot where he felt certain that the intruder had entered the Morton home: the sliding glass door at the rear of the house, which had been unlocked on the morning of