William Bernhardt - Dark Justice

The man was lying, Ben told himself, as he marched up to the podium. Whatever else you may think about Zak right now, this witness is lying. Problem was, there is nothing more difficult than getting a self-aware, unrepentant liar to confess. He would have to come on strong, like he held all the cards and there was no way Geppi could possibly escape his grasp.

“What did the prosecutor promise you, Mr. Geppi?”

Geppi blinked rapidly, his face the picture of innocence. “Promise me? I don’t get you.”

“You made a deal. Your testimony for a quid pro quo. I want to know what it is.”

Geppi shook his head earnestly. “There was no deal.”

“Are you trying to tell this jury you were not offered anything in exchange for your testimony?”

“It’s true.”

“No promise of immunity? No suspended sentence?”

“Absolutely not.”

“The man’s telling the truth,” Judge Pickens said, interjecting. “Any plea bargain or request for immunity would have to go through me, and I haven’t seen it. There’s no deal.”

Ben clenched his teeth together. There had to be some arrangement. Geppi had nothing to gain by this personally; Ben couldn’t believe he would come forward with this pack of lies on his own initiative. But how could he prove it?

“If you don’t have anything yet, maybe a promise was made. A promise of some reward in the future.”

“There is no deal,” Geppi repeated.

“Maybe Granny told you that after this trial was over, the charges against you would be dropped.”

“I have already instructed my attorney to plead guilty,” Geppi answered. “I’m just waiting for sentencing.”

Damn! Ben knew there had to be something. But whatever it was, Granny had built a wall around it so tall and strong he couldn’t break through. “So you’re telling me the only reason you’re testifying today is because you have such a highly developed sense of civic duty?”

Geppi looked down at his hands. “That’s not … the only reason.”

At last! Ben thought. “And what’s the other reason?”

Geppi spoke haltingly. “I … I have a sister. Had a sister. Angela. Just a scrawny thing-but pretty, in her way. She was killed at a gas station. No fault of her own-she was caught in the middle of a robbery. It didn’t make any sense.” His hand covered his face. “But when I heard this man talk-brag-about what he had done to this logger, I thought of my sister. She died for no reason, through no fault of her own, just as he did. I understand he had a family too, a wife and a little boy. A boy about the same age as Angela.” His voice broke, then trailed off.

Ben stared at the witness stand. What was going on here? Was that man actually crying up there? Ben had marched in determined to bring out the truth, and now this slimy convict had taken total control of the examination.

He glanced over at the jury. As far as he could tell, they were entirely sympathetic. Two of them looked as if they were about to cry themselves. He had no way to impeach this melodramatic story about Angela, and he knew that battering the witness would not win Zak any points with the jury. But he couldn’t sit down now, not on this note. There had to be something else he could try. Perhaps if he showed how unlikely it was that this conversation ever took place …

“Mr. Kincaid,” Pickens said. “Are you done?”

“Not quite,” Ben said. He looked squarely at Geppi’s tear-streaked face. “My client denies your story. Every word of it.”

Geppi looked away, dabbing his eyes. “I’m not surprised.”

“Why would he tell you about this? He doesn’t even know you. He’s smart enough to realize you might testify.”

Geppi shook his head, his face the mask of tragedy. “Don’t you see? He was bragging. He’s proud of it-he’s proud of what he done. All the hurting and killing, all the fighting and turmoil-he thrives on it. He thinks he’s some kind of hero. A freedom fighter for the revolution. But he’s not.” Geppi’s voice became low and almost guttural. “He’s not. He’s just a murderer. A coldblooded goddamned murderer.”

Judge Pickens rapped his gavel, but Ben noticed his heart wasn’t really in it.

Ben proceeded to bring out Geppi’s priors, based on the criminal history the prosecution was required to provide. A conviction for petty theft, another for possession. Geppi didn’t try to deny them. And none of it made the jury forget what he had said before.

“I’m done,” Ben said bitterly. He grabbed his notebook and stepped down.

Pickens gazed across the courtroom. “Anything more, Madame Prosecutor?”

“Nothing, your honor. The State rests.”

“We’ll resume the trial Monday morning at nine with the defense.” He gave his closing instructions to the jury, then rapped his gavel. “Court is in recess.”

It seemed as if half the gallery rushed forward to defendant’s table-reporters asking questions, locals hurling epithets. Ben nodded to Christina, implicitly asking her to become a human shield while he and Sheriff Allen got Zak out of the courtroom. They had much to do.

As he left, though, Ben couldn’t help scanning the jurors, still transfixed in their fourteen chairs. Their faces were transparent; he felt as if he could see right through to their brains. He knew what they were thinking.

If they were voting today, here, now, they would find Zak guilty. Guilty of murder in the first degree. And they would recommend the ultimate sanction.

“First of all,” Ben said, keeping his eyes on the road, “we have to keep our heads together. Things always look bleak when the prosecution closes its case. The jurors’ minds will begin to change when we start putting on our witnesses. At the very least, they’ll begin to doubt.”

“I don’t know,” Christina replied. “I looked at those faces. And I didn’t see much doubt.”

Ben made a left onto the highway. “We still have Molly as an alibi witness. She can put Zak in an entirely different place at the time of the murder. And she has the most honest face I’ve ever seen in my life. How could anyone not believe her?”

“Maybe,” Christina said noncommittally.

“And we have the drug-pusher angle-Alberto Vincenzo.”

“You really think that’ll fly?”

“I do. Granted, I could use some evidence. But at least we have a theory. A good faith theory. A reasonable theory. It has to make the jurors wonder if the prosecution is giving them the straight scoop.”

They were taking advantage of the weekend break to drive their rental car to Seattle. Mike had finally gotten someone at the DEA to meet with them, although he pointedly made no guarantees about what would happen when they arrived.

It took Ben and Christina almost three hours to get to Seattle, but Ben didn’t mind a bit. They could both use a break from the drudgery of trial. For that matter, Ben was glad to be out of town. The longer he stayed in Magic Valley, the more claustrophobic it seemed. The walls were closing in on him. All the secrets and plots and conspiracies were like tentacles from some great unseen behemoth, slowly but surely tightening around his throat.

It was time for a change of scenery.

They arrived in Seattle just before three in the afternoon. As it turned out, the regional DEA office was about three blocks from the Farmer’s Market. They resisted the temptation to shop; they had work to do.

They found the office building and, with even more difficulty, managed to park. Then they found themselves killing time in the lobby, thumbing through People magazine articles.