Chapter 7: Identical

     "Well young man," begins the Kentucky prosecutor at the Federal Courthouse in Lexington, "keep in mind that perjury is a felony offense with a sentence of one to five years and a fine of up to five thousand dollars."

Frank gives a slight nod from the defendant's table, his rising anger betrayed by squinting eyes, pursed lips, and clenched fists.

"Your fingerprints were found on the steering wheel of a 1927 Duesenberg confiscated by the Internal Revenue Service on the first day of May in this year of nineteen hundred and thirty-seven. Were you, indeed, the driver of this automobile on that day?"

"We object, your honor, on the grounds that there's no way to determine if the fingerprints in question belong to Mr. Beatty here or his twin brother."

A whispered hush spreads over the courtroom until Judge Hiram Ford cracks the gavel, stands up, and declares "This court will hereby recess for one-hour."

     Frank had been implicated as the driver in a bootlegging bust in Magoffin County, still dry four years after the repeal of Prohibition. The Duesenberg was spotted crossing into West Virginia by federal agents scouting the bridge over the Big Sandy. Their cruiser was no match for the souped up engine going up the steep switchbacks of the river gorge, but the car was later found behind Speed's Garage in Salyersville. The prints on the steering wheel didn't match Speed himself, but agents tested other employees and found a match with the owner's eighteen-year-old little brother.

     In the early days of fingerprinting it was assumed that twins would have identical imprints. As the technique improved with increasing usage and a larger database, it was later discovered that even identical twins have distinguishing fingerprint features. In 1937 there were neither case precedents nor FBI guidelines for the judge and his legal aide to discover.

     "The objection is sustained," proclaims Judge Ford to a enthralled courtroom. "Are there any further questions by the plaintiff?"

"Yes your honor," mutters the prosecutor fumbling with papers spread out on the table before him. "Mr. Beatty, do you know the whereabouts of Francis Samuel Beatty?"

Frank's shoulders and the corners of his mouth sag as he shakes his head no.

"When and where did you last see your twin brother?"

"Back home in thirty-six," mumbles Frank glancing up to the slanting beam of spring sunlight coming in a small side window of the courthouse. 

"Do you know where he currently is?"

"No," he bawls, fighting back tears as his eyes and posture betray the overwhelming sadness at the loss of a lifelong companion.

"No further questions, your honor."

"Case dismissed for lack of credible evidence!"

     

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