William Bernhardt - Murder One

“I … don’t know if I would exactly …”

“You’re under oath, ma’am.”

She bristled slightly. “I’m well aware of that. But I still don’t think I’d say—”

“That’s what you told my associate, Ms. McCall.”

“I was just speculating—”

“If you’re having trouble remembering what you said, I can call Ms. McCall to the witness stand. She has a very good memory.”

“That’s not necessary.” Andrea straightened slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s true, at the time, I thought the call must’ve come from the mob. But I don’t think that now. Now I realize that—”

“Thank you, ma’am. You’ve answered the question.”

Andrea wasn’t going to be stopped that easily. “Now I realize that the threats must’ve come from Keri Dalcanton.”

Technically, Ben should’ve moved to strike, but he decided to go with a frontal assault instead. “Do you know that for a fact, Mrs. McNaughton?”

“There’s not the slightest doubt in my mind.”

“You’re not answering my question. Do you know that for a fact?”

She frowned. “No.”

“You’re just assuming it was Keri, because you assume she’s guilty of this crime.”

“I think it’s obvious to any unbiased observer—”

“But you don’t have any proof that Keri made those calls, just as the D.A. doesn’t have any proof that she committed the murder, right?”

LaBelle was quickly on his feet. “Your honor, I object!”

“I’ll rephrase.” Ben tried again. “Do you have any proof that the phone call that frightened your husband was made by Keri Dalcanton?”

“No proof,” she said defiantly. “Just common sense.”

“Common sense. Common sense,” Ben repeated. He knew he’d get slammed by the judge, but he sensed this might be the time to make his point in an unmistakable way. “We’re talking about the brutal sadistic murder of a strong adult male, a man who was overcome, dragged a long distance, and chained to a fountain. What does common sense tell us is more likely to be the cause of this tragedy? A hundred-and-three pound teenager? Or a mob hitman?”

“Your honor!” LaBelle said, pounding the table. “Did I miss the call for closing argument?”

My, my, Ben thought, the D.A. made a jokie-poo. Surprises never cease. “Your honor, the witness was the one who brought up common sense.”

“And you twisted it around into an improper diatribe,” Judge Cable replied. “The objection is sustained. And if you can’t stick to questions, Mr. Kincaid, I’ll cut this cross off now.”

“Sorry, your honor. That won’t be necessary.” Duly chastened, Ben proceeded to the next part of his cross, knowing full well the judge would like it no better than he had the preceding. “Mrs. McNaughton … you don’t like Keri Dalcanton much, do you?”

She seemed somewhat taken aback by the question. “I’m … not sure what you mean.”

“It’s a pretty simple question, ma’am. I think everyone else gets it. In fact, I think everyone else already knows the answer. You don’t like Keri Dalcanton much, do you?”

“I suppose not.”

“In fact—you hate her. Right?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that …”

“I would. You despise her. And you would do anything to see her put away for life. Or worse.”

“That’s not true. I don’t know why you would say that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Possibly because I watched you try to break her nose in the courtroom.”

“That was an—I didn’t mean—”

“And because I watched you knock her to the floor in my own office.”

“That was unfortunate, but—”

“And because almost every time you mention her, you resort to unkind, untrue, words like whore and tramp .”

“The woman killed my husband!” The words erupted out of her, like a sudden burst from a volcano. “She’s a killer!”

“Accused,” Ben added.

“Even before she killed him,” Andrea continued, “she stole him from me. Stole his affection. Stole his … love.”

“You hated her, didn’t you?” Ben said quietly but insistently. “You still hate her.”

“Yes, I hate her,” Andrea admitted, her voice dark and low. “Why shouldn’t I? Don’t I have that right?”

“Perhaps,” Ben said. “But what I’ve noticed is that, in addition to being full of hate, you also … have a very violent temper.”

Several heads rose, both in the gallery and the jury box.

Andrea seemed somewhat shaken. “I don’t know why you would—”

“C’mon, ma’am. Your testimony is replete with instances of violence. All of them instigated by you.”

“That isn’t so!”

“You attacked my client in the courtroom, in front of hundreds of witnesses.”

Red blotches began to spot her face. “My husband’s killer was being released scot-free!”

“You attacked her again in my office.”

“Do you remember what she said to me?”

“You told my associate, Ms. McCall, that you attacked your own husband, mere hours before he was killed.”

“I didn’t attack him. I just—I—”

Ben made a point of reading directly from his notebook, so the jury would know he wasn’t making this up. “When he came home you confronted him with your knowledge of his affair. In your own words, you totally lost it. You hit him repeatedly on his chest. You scratched his face with your fingernails. You even bit him.”

“But—But—!”

“On the right arm. In fact, the marks were still visible when the coroner performed his autopsy. I can show you the report, if you like.”

“I was angry !” Andrea shouted, so loud it split the courtroom. “He betrayed me! For a—a—child!”

“So you attacked him.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me!” Her voice trembled. “I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen! He wouldn’t let that whore go!”

“Did you hate him, too?”

“Did I—but—I— no !”

“But you attacked him. You hit him over and over again.”

“I was terrified! And so angry!”

“Yes, you were. Your anger at him was so strong you lost control.” Ben paused just a hair before delivering his clincher. “And a few hours later, he was dead.”

Andrea’s mouth froze. “Wha—what are you saying?”

“You had a motive to kill your husband, didn’t you, Mrs. McNaughton? You had the motive, the opportunity—and the burning hatred necessary to do it.”

LaBelle jumped up. “Your honor—this is grotesque!”

“What’s more,” Ben continued, “you had the temper and the established penchant for violence that would be needed to bring off such a horrendous and brutal crime.”

“No!” Andrea cried. Tears spewed forth from her face. “It’s not true! I wouldn’t—”

“Your honor!” LaBelle shouted. “This is outrageous! The witness is not on trial.”

“Maybe she should be,” Ben replied.

LaBelle whirled on him. “You have sunk to some shameless tactics in your tawdry little career, Kincaid, but this time you’ve hit a new low.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, ignoring him, “the D.A. is interfering with my cross.”

“I’m making an objection!” LaBelle bellowed. “I’m objecting to this repellent line of questioning, this revolting assault on a woman who is still grieving the loss of her husband. And most of all I’m objecting to this disgusting defense attorney!”

“Personal attack on the opposing attorney, impugning his credibility,” Ben said, moving toward the bench. “I move for a mistrial.”

LaBelle threw up his hands. “More sleazy tactics!”

“There’s case law, your honor,” Ben said. “It’s automatic. You know it as well as I do.”