William Bernhardt - Murder One

“Please, Doctor, we can all see how seriously you take that. Why didn’t you warn Joe McNaughton that his life was in danger?”

“I …” She paused for a moment. “To be honest, I didn’t realize he was in danger.”

“Even after you heard Keri’s alleged fantasies?”

“Fantasies of this sort are not uncommon, particularly with disturbed personalities. In most cases, however, they turn out to be harmless. Delusions.”

“So at the time, you thought Keri was having harmless delusions.”

“I didn’t say—”

“When did you change your mind, Doctor?”

“Well, after the tragic events unfolded—”

“But why would that change your mind?”

“When it became obvious that Keri had acted on these—”

“Ah.” Christina leaned forward. “So you only changed your mind after the murder happened—because you assumed Keri had done it.”

“Well … given the circumstances …”

“Dr. Fulbright, Keri Dalcanton has not been convicted of this crime.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s obvious—”

“It’s obvious that you’re assuming she’s guilty. Even though she hasn’t been convicted.”

“I just—”

“So the truth is, you’re testifying against her, not based upon what she said, which you thought was harmless at the time, but based upon your assumption—your guess —that she’s guilty.”

Fulbright frowned. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but that’s the truth of the matter. You thought Keri’s fantasies were harmless. Only after the murder did you think they were significant.”

“But who wouldn’t—”

“Doctor, let’s assume, just for the moment, that Keri is innocent, and that someone else committed the crime. In that case, Keri’s fantasies would go back to being harmless delusions, wouldn’t they?”

“I suppose, but—”

“So the truth is—your testimony doesn’t prove anything—except maybe that you can’t be trusted to keep your patient’s secrets secret.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle said, jumping to his feet. “That’s uncalled for.”

“Never mind,” Christina said. “I think I’ve made my point.” Or she hoped she had, at any rate. Because it was the only one she was likely to make. But she wanted to go out with a bang, and she had a pretty good idea how to do it. “Tell me, Dr. Fulbright—do you like kinky sex?”

“Objection!” LaBelle shouted. “This is outrageous!”

Christina plowed ahead before the judge had a chance to rule against her. “It’s a fair question. What about it, Doc? You look as if you might like it rough. You sure talk about it enough.”

“Again I object!” LaBelle bellowed.

“Excuse me,” Christina said, “but a minute ago, when I objected to the same line of inquiry, I was told it was relevant to the credibility of the witness’s testimony. Apparently if you engage in sex in any way but the missionary position in the dark, you’re not trustworthy. So, since I’m inquiring into the veracity of this witness’s testimony, I think I’m entitled to ask the same questions.”

“The objection is sustained,” Judge Cable said, not amused. “This witness is not on trial.”

“I never said she was,” Christina replied. “I’m just trying to find out if she’s an honest person. Maybe she has some barely suppressed violence in her, too.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle protested, “this is beyond the bounds.”

“Really? Well, then let me rephrase.” She turned back toward Dr. Fulbright. “Do you like doing it with chains? Handcuffs? Maybe the occasional threesome? Maybe by yourself in the shower?”

“That’s none of your business!” Fulbright answered angrily.

“That’s exactly right,” Christina shouted, over the pounding of the judge’s gavel. “It’s nobody’s business but your own. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person if you do, and it certainly doesn’t mean you’re a murderer.” She paused, glancing at the jury. “And the same thing goes for Keri Dalcanton.”

41

THERE WAS A DISCERNIBLE change in Keri as she watched the wife of her deceased lover approach the witness stand. Ben could feel it from where he was sitting, even with the tangible barrier of Christina between them. There was a certain stiffening, a detectable apprehension, as she watched the tall slender figure of Andrea McNaughton approach. There was an electric moment, as Andrea passed through the gate separating the gallery from the front of the courtroom. Neither woman looked at the other, but Ben knew each was keenly aware of the other’s presence. The hostility was palpable—and understandable. Both had shared the same man—and each apparently suspected the other had killed him.

There was a discernible change in the jurors as well, Ben noted. Their eyes were now filled with anticipation. Ben supposed that should be no surprise. The prosecution could go on for days with forensic evidence, police officers, and rabid psychologists, but when all was said and done, there were two witnesses the jury wanted to hear from, two witnesses who would make the greatest impact on their ultimate decision. And given the ever-present Fifth Amendment, they might never hear from one of them. That left Andrea McNaughton the star attraction.

Ben leaned across Christina to whisper into Keri’s ear. “Remember, whatever she says, whatever happens, you do not react.”

Keri didn’t answer. Her eyes were still focused front and center, on the witness box.

“We can’t have any more outbursts. The judge won’t tolerate it and the jury won’t like it. You have to seem interested but unconcerned. You don’t agree with what she says, but you don’t act defensive about it. You are innocent. You remain above the fray.”

Keri still didn’t respond.

“Do you understand me?”

Keri’s lips seemed to move more slowly than usual. “That woman hates me,” she said, her eyes never wavering. “She absolutely hates me. It’s so strong I can feel it.”

“Stay calm, Keri.”

“Don’t you understand? She could say anything. Anything at all.”

D.A. LaBelle took Andrea on a leisurely tour of her early life, giving the jury an opportunity to feel as if they knew the woman in the witness box. Andrea answered in a firm, if somewhat halting voice. This was clearly an emotional experience for her, but she was struggling to keep herself together.

The testimony only began to be directly relevant when Andrea described how she first met her late husband. “Joe and I met in high school, out in Broken Arrow. He was on the football team—first-string quarterback. I was in the Pep Squad. We fell in love and decided to get married. Both of our parents opposed it, but of course we wouldn’t listen. It’s an old story. I realize now that we should’ve waited to get married, but who listens at that age? We were in love, Joe had an entry-level job with the police department, and our hormones were raging. So we got married.”

Despite their youth, as Andrea described it, the early years of their marriage were happy ones. “Sure, we had problems, just like everyone else, but nothing we couldn’t work through. Joe felt strongly that I shouldn’t work. ‘I don’t want to see my wife slinging burgers,’ that’s what he used to say. It was a matter of personal pride to him. And I think he wanted me to be free, in the event we should be blessed with children. We never were.” Her head tilted lower, and for the first time Ben heard a slight tremor in her voice. “The doctors said we were both healthy and capable, but it never happened. That was probably our greatest disappointment, but we were still young and we both believed it would come in time. Except now,” she added softly. “Now it never will.”