It was late afternoon during a growhouse trial when the prosecution called an “expert” to the stand. The expert was a federal agent, whose testimony related to growing marijuana. He was a virgin, never before having been qualified to testify as an expert. It was my great fortune that he was called at the end of the day.

The agent’s foremost claim to expertise was that he was a graduate of Cornell University’s School of Agriculture, and he testified that his studies there enabled him to testify with sufficient authority about weed.  As it happened, I was good friends with a professor emeritus of the Ag School, one of the most highly regarded horticulturalists in the nation. So after trial broke for the day,* I gave him a ring and learned that there was no course, no class, at Cornell that dealt with pot. The Ag School was not in the business of teaching its students to prepare for the coming marijuana revolution. This may have changed since then.

As the agent had never been qualified as a weed expert before, he was ripe for attack. I voir dired the witness as to his qualifications, getting him to admit that he studied nothing about pot in any Ag School course (objection, sustained, as to “You learned nothing about marijuana in college?”), thus negating any claim of academic expertise in the demon weed. Of course, the judge subsequently admitted his testimony as an expert based upon his “training and experience” as a federal agent. 

Having lost his virginity, the agent was now an expert witness as to marijuana. And the next time he took the stand, the only question that would have mattered to the court is whether he previously testified as an expert. If he was good enough for one judge, he’s good enough for all.

That’s how Chester Kwitowski got away with it.

Josh Adams thought he’d found a solid expert witness for his client.

The Orlando lawyer was representing Jason Eugene Daniels, who faced more than a dozen felonies involving sexual abuse of a child. Adams said Daniels’ cellmate William Teets had mentioned Chester Kwitowski, who had already appeared as computer forensics expert in other Polk County cases including Teets’. Adams called Kwitowski and asked for his resume.

“He certainly seemed very confident and knowledgeable, and I never had any reason to be suspicious,” Adams said Friday.

But this time, when Kwitowski took the stand, somebody decided not to take his expertise for granted.

But when Adams put Kwitowski on the stand in a Polk County courtroom, the story his resume told began to unravel. A Polk sheriff’s detective appearing as an expert witness for the prosecution grew suspicious about inconsistencies in Kwitowski’s qualifications and the agency launched an investigation.

On Thursday, the 57-year-old Tampa resident was arrested in Polk and charged with five counts of lying under oath about his educational background, professional certifications, military service and time spent working on sensitive government projects. He specialized as a defense witness in cases involving sexual abuse and child pornography.

Should Adams have vetted his expert’s resume? Obviously. But the fact that he testified before as an expert creates a sense of security. After all, if Kwitowski was full of shit, wouldn’t that have been known before? If Kwitowski was making it all up, would that not have been unearthed the first time he was offered as an expert?  How is it possible this fraud, this liar, passed muster the first time?

Legal experts say the case exposed a breakdown in a judicial system that aims to uncover the truth.

“Somehow or other this guy squeaked by,” said Jack Townley, president of the Florida chapter of the Forensic Expert Witness Association. “It’s hard to believe he went as far as he did without someone getting after him or attacking his credentials.”

A “breakdown”? You think? But it’s remarkably easy to understand how that could happen. If the first time out of the box, nobody thought it worth their while to ascertain whether this guy’s resume was legit, and he’s left unchallenged when he offers the court his bona fides, in his testimony comes and, boom, he’s an expert.  After that, everyone assumes that the ball wasn’t dropped the first time, and takes for granted that once a witness is admitted as an expert, he’s good for life.

Clearly, there was a failure of massive proportions by both the prosecution and defense when Kwitowski first testified as an expert.  One can’t blame the judge for this, as the judge knows nothing more than what the witness says. And if he says he’s an expert and no one says he’s a lying sack of shit, then an expert he is.

After his virgin testimony, the lawyers who used Kwitowski relied on that first admission as an expert. Surely, it wouldn’t have happened if the guy wasn’t legit, right? Until the Polk County Sheriff finally did what no one had apparently done before: checked the guy’s claims and found he was full of shit.

While Adams can’t exactly complain that he was blind-sided, having had more than sufficient opportunity to make certain that the expert upon which his defense relied was the real McCoy, his client, Jason Daniels, found himself on trial with no expert. It may be understandable how Adams could have relied on prior expert testimony to assume that Kwitowski must have been thoroughly vetted, but that brings his client little comfort when his defense crashed and burned.

*Civil lawyers will be shocked to learn that I was not advised beforehand that the prosecution would call an expert, what his qualifications were and what the substance of his testimony would be. Welcome to criminal trials.