William Bernhardt - Murder One

LaBelle removed them from the envelope. Ben nearly gasped.

They were worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined. Not that they revealed any new evidence, exactly. It was already well established that McNaughton and Dalcanton had a sexual relationship, and Ben didn’t imagine that anyone doubted it was true. They had even been told that the nature of that sexual relationship was somewhat … outré. But to hear about it was one thing. To actually see it, right before your eyes, was quite another.

Wordlessly, Ben thumbed through the photos. Wesley must’ve used a zoom lens, because he didn’t miss much. There was Keri, all decked out in a black leather bustier. There she was again, wielding a cat o’nine tails. And there she was again, wrapping heavy chains around Joe McNaughton’s throat—and acting as if she enjoyed it.

It was like a step-by-step pictorial of their secret sex lives. The snapshots showed it all. Toe-sucking. French-kissing. Oral sex. And penetration. Nothing was left to the imagination.

There was no doubt in Ben’s mind about the potential consequences of these photos. If the jury saw these, rehabilitating Keri would be a thousand times more difficult. Once they had these graphic, pornographic pictures in their heads, they’d never be able to look at Keri with an open mind again. If they ever had to begin with.

“Your honor, I must protest the admission of these photos in the strongest possible terms. Bad enough that they weren’t presented to the defense in advance of trial. Bad enough that they constitute a gross invasion of privacy. But furthermore, they are not relevant to the question of Ms. Dalcanton’s culpability for murder. The potential prejudice stemming from these photos vastly outweighs their purported probative value. The D.A. is just engaging in visual slander, hoping the jury will be so put off they’ll convict her of anything, whether the evidence is there or not.”

“Obviously, I disagree,” LaBelle said calmly. “These photos are graphic, but they also remove all doubt as to whether the defendant was engaged in, um, unusual sexual practices with the deceased, which clearly relates to motive. They also show that she possessed chains similar if not identical to the ones used to string up McNaughton’s corpse. The pictures show her engaging in violent fantasies and, in my opinion, rather enjoying it.”

“This is not evidence!” Ben said. “This is a peep show!”

“Now, Mr. Kincaid—”

“This is beyond the pale, your honor. Trying to smear a young woman by showing her enjoying herself sexually—it’s just a cheap ploy to turn the jury against her. It’s sexist and disgusting!”

“I certainly agree with the disgusting part,” LaBelle said under his breath.

“Gentlemen, please.” Judge Cable held up his hands. “I don’t believe in trial by ambush and I don’t like last-minute evidence and I especially don’t like”—his face pinched together—“smut of this variety in my courtroom. But I can’t deny that it’s relevant. I’m going to allow it. If the defense needs additional time to prepare its response, I’ll grant it.”

Ben’s eyes flared. “Your honor—”

“I’ve ruled, counsel.”

“This is an appeal issue, your honor. And I’m moving for a mistrial.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised. But the trial goes on. With the photos.”

“Your honor, I—”

“Don’t get yourself thrown into jail,” Judge Cable snapped. “Your new associate seems very capable, but I’d hate to see her have to try this case by herself, wouldn’t you?”

Ben was furious, but he buttoned his lip. The judge’s ruling was wrong, flat-out wrong, and the damage this would do to Keri’s case was incalculable.

Silently, he watched as the bailiff passed the photos to the jury so they could examine them one by one. The reactions were varied—shock, embarrassment, horror, revulsion. They were all a little different. But none of them was good.

Once the judge gave him the nod to start cross-ex, Ben didn’t hold back.

“Are you a professional Peeping Tom, or was this a first for you?”

LaBelle was on his feet. “Your honor, that’s grossly offensive.”

“I find this witness grossly offensive!” Ben returned.

Judge Cable raised his gavel. “Mr. Kincaid, watch yourself,” he warned. “I think you’re entitled to inquire into the circumstances surrounding the taking of these photos. Just be careful how you do it.”

Ben took a deep breath and started again. “Would you please explain to the jury how you came to be snapping pictures through the window of two private citizens having consensual sex?”

Wesley was unruffled, although some of the boyish élan seemed to have drained out of his face. “I was on assignment.”

Ben blinked. “An assignment—from the police?”

“That’s correct.”

“Before the murder? Why would the police department have been investigating Keri Dalcanton?”

“We weren’t. We were investigating Joe McNaughton.”

Ben was pleased to hear the buzz from the gallery. It was comforting to think he wasn’t the only one who was totally and utterly confused. “Why would they be investigating one of their own officers?”

“The investigation was instigated by Internal Affairs.”

“And why?”

He hesitated. “It pertained to McNaughton’s investigation of Antonio Catrona.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “Did they think McNaughton was on the take?”

“Frankly, I don’t know what they thought, and they didn’t explain it to me. Whenever someone investigates an organized crime figure—excuse me, an alleged organized crime figure—there’s a concern that the officer might be turned. It’s happened before.”

“Did you have any evidence that Joe McNaughton had been bought off?”

“No. None. But he had begun an intense affair with a woman half his age with unusual sexual proclivities—shortly after he initiated the investigation. The young woman was known to work in a strip club operated by a holding company believed to be owned by Antonio Catrona. Something of a coincidence, don’t you think? My superiors perceived this as, at the very least, an area of … weakness. A way that he could be influenced. So they asked me to investigate.”

“And you did? You and your little camera?”

“I’m a cop. I follow orders.”

“So you conducted a secret investigation of your friend.”

“Yes. I’ve said that already.”

“Do you realize you probably broke about a dozen laws when you took these shots? Like invasion of privacy laws?”

“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. I try to solve crimes, not cover them up.”

Ben let that pass. “Why didn’t you show anyone these pictures before last night?”

Wesley shrugged. “After Joe’s death, the IA investigation was naturally terminated. I put the pics in storage. I didn’t see any use for them at that point, and I didn’t want them to cause any unnecessary grief to Joe’s widow.”

“What changed your mind?”

Wesley nodded toward the prosecution table. “D.A. LaBelle. I told him about the photos last night while we were preparing for trial. He insisted that I collect them and bring them to court.”

I’ll bet he did, Ben thought. “Did it not bother you that you were spying on your alleged friend and colleague? That you were betraying his trust?”

“Who was betraying anyone? I didn’t think for a minute that Joe did anything wrong and I expected my investigation to prove it.”

“I doubt if Joe would’ve been so sanguine about it if he’d known you were photographing him having sex.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Remember, he’d told me all about it in great detail. He didn’t have to, but he did. He was having sex—great sex—with a very young woman, doing new things, getting it regular. You know how it is. Guys like to brag about that sort of thing.” He glanced down at the packet of pictures. “I don’t think Joe would’ve minded so much. In fact, I think he might’ve put them up in his locker.”