William Bernhardt - Murder One

“Did he ever describe the… uh, nature of their relationship?” This was hearsay, but the judge had ruled before trial that he would allow it, since the declarant was deceased and, therefore, somewhat unavailable.

“ Yup. He didn’t make any bones about it. He was boink—uh, uh—” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Excuse me, your honor. He was engaging in a sexual relationship. With the defendant. Ms. Dalcanton.”

“You’re certain about this?”

“Oh yeah. Joe did occasionally tend to brag and even exaggerate, but there’s no way he could have invented all these details. And man, did he give me lots of details.”

“Like what?”

“Objection.” Ben knew this was a loser, but he at least wanted to register his displeasure. “This is not relevant. He’s just hoping to introduce a lot of embarrassing details to smear the defendant.”

“That’s not true,” LaBelle shot back. “The sex life of Ms. Dalcanton and the deceased is, regrettably, keenly relevant to the case, as it explains the chains, the black leather, some of the deceased’s wounds and, as we will show, the defendant’s motive.”

“I’ll allow it,” Judge Cable said. “But try to keep it under control, would you? This is a courtroom, not a tabloid TV show.”

“I’ll do my best,” LaBelle said, which Ben suspected would count for precious little. “Please proceed, Corporal Wesley.”

“Well, from the start, Joe knew that this chi—um, this young woman, had unusual tastes. She liked it kinky, if you know what I mean.”

“Perhaps you could explain.”

“Well, she liked to pretend. Joe told me time and time again about how she got off on that dominatrix stuff. You know, she’d dress up in black leather, or he would, or both. And she’d get out the whips and chains. Sometimes he’d wear a dog collar and pretend to be her slave. That sort of thing.”

Ben tried to look disinterested. Just another day in Mayberry, right?

“They had this routine they went through. I guess it started the first night he took her back to her apartment from the strip joint, and it continued right up until the time he broke it off. She’d play the master. She’d use the whips and she’d call him dirty names. She’d spank him or punish him in a variety of ways. According to Joe, she got off on the playacting; she’d really work up a lather.”

“How long would this continue?”

“Until she’d had enough, or he had. Then gradually, he’d rebel, so to speak. He’d become more aggressive.”

“Does that mean he took over the whips?”

“No, no, that was her thing. He’d start by—” His face flushed red. “I’m sorry, this is kind of embarrassing.”

Like the rest of it hasn’t been? Ben wondered.

“Please continue,” LaBelle urged him.

Wesley drew in his breath. “He’d suck her little toe.”

“And was this … pleasurable to her?”

“Ooooh, yeah. A thousand times yeah. Joe said she really went into spasms over that one. Apparently she thought it was like, well, the equivalent of a …” He coughed. “… A similar procedure she sometimes performed for him.”

“I see. Then what happened?”

“Well, as Joe told it, after he’d pushed that button as far as he could, he’d do other things. She loved it when he kissed the back of her neck. When he put his hot tongue on her wrist. So he’d do that sort of stuff until she’d totally transformed from the dominatrix to a puddle of jelly. She was like a kitten. A sex slave. She’d do whatever he wanted.”

“Did Joe enjoy this?”

“Well, he liked this part better, yeah. He said he didn’t much care for all the kinky whips and chains stuff, but it was worth it to get her to the sex-slave stage.”

“And why was that?”

Wesley tucked in his chin. “Well … this is a bit indelicate.”

“We understand. But you’re under oath.”

“Well … according to Joe … she was really put—I mean, she was, um, great. You know, like—sexually. Good in bed, except actually, they rarely did it in a bed. The best he’d ever had, Joe said. By a large margin. And she wanted it constantly. Couldn’t get enough, like she was addicted to it. He said she was a—a—what’s the word? You know, a nympho. So to him, it was worth the crud to get to the cream. So to speak.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, rising. “I renew my objection. This can’t possibly be relevant to the question of who committed the murder.”

Judge Cable frowned. It was probably a hard thing for the old geezer to do—cutting off such a stimulating line of questioning. “I do think we’ve pursued long enough the question of … what exactly the two parties did. Let’s move on.”

“As you wish,” LaBelle said congenially. He’d already gotten what he wanted. “Corporal Wesley, were you aware that Joe McNaughton was married? “

“Of course.”

“And yet, he had this rather … extensive affair.”

“Yeah. You gotta understand Joe. He knew he was married and I think he loved his wife. But at the same time … things hadn’t been so good between him and Andrea for many years. I mean, not in the sex department. And Joe was a man, and a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

Ben turned his head slightly, just enough to see Andrea McNaughton in the courtroom, burying her face. Listening to the sordid details of her errant husband’s sex play probably hadn’t been fun, but this was just too much. A hand covering her face, she ran down the aisle and out of the courtroom.

“I see.” LaBelle’s expression registered his comprehension, though not his approval, Ben noted. The district attorney hadn’t forgotten that the plurality of the jury behind that rail was female. “Corporal Wesley, are you aware that when Sergeant McNaughton’s body was found he was bound up—by chains?”

Wesley ran a hand through a shock of brown hair. “I think everyone knows that.”

“So let me ask you again—are you sure Joe told you that Ms. Dalcanton liked to use chains in their sex play?”

“Oh yeah. I’m sure. Plus, I saw them over at her place.”

Ben sat bolt upright. What the hell—?

LaBelle seemed surprised, too, although Ben suspected that was an act for the jury’s sake. “You were in her apartment?”

“Well … I was never actually inside. But I saw inside. Through the window.” He paused, turning his eyes toward the gallery. “And I took pictures.”

An audible ripple ran through the courtroom, as each spectator’s lurid imagination speculated on what exactly those pictures might portray.

“Pictures?” LaBelle asked. “Do you have them with you?”

“Oh yeah.” Wesley reached inside his sport jacket and removed a packet of photos.

“Your honor,” Ben said, with as much indignation as he could muster. “I’ve had no advance notice of this and I’ve never seen these pictures before in my life.”

The judge looked more tired than annoyed. “Great. Approach.”

Both Ben and LaBelle rushed to the bench. The judge shut off the microphone.

“What’s going on here?” Ben said angrily. “He can’t spring new evidence on us at trial. At the second trial, for that matter.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle said, addressing the judge, not Ben. “I apologize for this inconvenience. I only learned of this evidence myself last night.”

“Oh give me a break,” Ben said.

LaBelle gave Ben a harsh look. “Your honor, I think you’ve known me long enough to realize that I don’t play games and that my word is good. I’ve filed an affidavit testifying to the last-minute discovery of these photographs.”

Judge Cable removed his glasses and tapped them against the bench. “What’s in these photos, anyway?”