William Bernhardt - Murder One

48

LABELLE MUST’VE HAD A sense that the jury would return soon also, because it didn’t take him and his staff ten minutes to return to the courtroom. Many of the reporters who had been covering the case managed to make it back, too. With astonishing swiftness, the players were reassembled to hear the jury’s final word.

Ben watched the jurors as they filed back into the room. They all had solemn, sober expressions on their faces. They looked tired, no great surprise. But he also noticed that none of them were looking at Keri. Not so much as a glance across the table. Why didn’t they want to make eye contact?

Despite the fact that everyone on earth desperately wanted to know what was written on the scrap of paper clutched in the foreman’s hand, the judge led them through all the solemn formalities. “Madame Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”

A middle-aged woman on the front row, Juror Number Three (the one Ben almost removed but didn’t), spoke out in a clear if somewhat nervous voice. “We have, your honor.”

“Bailiff.” At the judge’s instruction, Brent crossed the courtroom and carried the all-important piece of paper to the judge. He glanced at it briefly. Years of experience had given Judge Cable a practiced stoic expression; there were no clues forthcoming there. He passed the paper back to the bailiff.

“I can’t stand this,” Keri whispered. After being through so much, this final interminable rigmarole was almost more than she could bear.

“We’re almost there,” Ben said.

She thrust her hand into his. “Hold me,” she said quietly. She squeezed so tightly it practically cut off the flow of blood to Ben’s fingers.

“The defendant will rise to receive the verdict.”

Keri did so. Ben and Christina stood beside her.

“Madame Foreman,” the judge intoned, “will you please read the verdict?”

The foreman flipped open the tiny sheet of paper which, at that moment in time, seemed more important than anything else in the world.

“On the first charge, for the willful and intentional murder of Joseph P. McNaughton in the first degree, we find the defendant, Keri Louise Dalcanton …”

Why did they always pause there? Ben asked himself. Did they think they were on television? Get on with it!

“… not guilty.”

Ben felt a tugging on his arm that nearly wrenched it out of his shoulder. “Did she say not guilty?” Keri asked. “I thought she said not guilty.”

“She did,” Ben said, squeezing back almost as tightly. “She did.”

“On the second charge,” the foreman continued, “for the wrongful murder of Joseph P. McNaughton in the second degree, we find the defendant, Keri Louise Dalcanton, not guilty.”

There was no holding back the excitement now. Christina whooped; Ben shouted. Some of the reporters in the gallery actually applauded. And Keri leapt, literally leapt, into Ben’s arms.

“Thank you,” she cried, pressing her head against his shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

“Thank the jury,” Ben said, nodding toward the twelve people in the box, all of whom were now making eye contact. “They did it.”

Keri looked across the courtroom and mouthed a heartfelt thank you. But she hugged Ben’s neck all the harder. “You’re the one who made it happen,” she said. “You believed in me. You were the only one.”

Judge Cable pounded his gavel. “We’re not quite done yet, ladies and gentlemen. If you could please put the party on hold a few more moments.” Judge Cable rattled through the final cautions and instructions to the parties and the jurors. He thanked the jury for their time and effort with a sincerity that surprised Ben, since he suspected Cable almost certainly disagreed with the verdict. “Ms. Dalcanton, the State apologizes for the ordeal you have been put through. You are now free to go.” He slammed down his gavel, and at long last, it was over.

Keri stood beside Ben, poised like an anaconda ready to spring. “All right, Christina,” she said. “I need your permission.”

“My permission?”

Keri nodded. “Can I kiss him now?”

“Be my guest.”

Keri sprang. Her lips pressed against Ben’s with an intensity that took both of them by surprise. The kiss did not last long, but the passion behind it was strongly felt, just the same.

“And that’s just a preview, big boy. Let’s get out of here.” She tugged his collar, urging him toward the back door.

“Wait a minute. We’ve got all these documents to transport. There’s paperwork to be filed …”

“I’ll do it,” Christina said, with an expression not unlike a disapproving mother on prom night. “You two go … smooch. Or whatever.”

“Thanks, Christina. I’ll call you in—”

That was all he got out before the insistent tugging lifted him off his feet and halfway toward the door. And he was out of there.

Three

Never Simple

49

HIS EYES CLOSED, FATHER Danney sprinkled a fine layer of dirt into the gravesite.

“We need not grieve for this man, for we know that God cares.”

Ben watched as the assembled mourners filed past the grave. Keri was holding up well. He had been concerned; after all the stress she’d been through of late, the last thing he wanted her to have to endure was a funeral. But tragic though it was, her tormented brother was dead. What she needed now was closure, and Ben knew that would never come until the funeral was finished and Kirk was laid to rest for eternity.

The priest said a few more words, then concluded the ceremony. The time to pay last respects had come. There were only ten people present, and some of them, Ben knew, worked for the church. Still, there was a tangible sense of tragedy in the air—tragedy and relief, as if this was acknowledged to be horrible, but was simultaneously perceived as the final chapter in a mercifully ended episode.

Keri paused by the open grave. She laid her hand gently in the dirt surrounding the opening. Tears sprang to her eyes, but for once, it seemed to Ben, they were not tears of terror, not the horrified reflex of a young woman overwhelmed by circumstances outside her control. This time, they were simply the tears of a sister who much loved and now much missed her only brother.

After a long moment, Keri scooped up a handful of dirt and poured it into the grave. A short beat later, she walked away.

Ben met her at the perimeter of the site. “How are you holding up?”

Keri leaned close to him, bracing her cheek against his shoulder for support. “I’m fine. Really.” She hesitated. “But oh God I’ll miss him.”

Ben pressed her head against him. He felt her warmth stirring his blood into hyperdrive. He felt more than a little guilty, feeling such emotions at a funeral, but it was beyond his control. “The pain will fade. In time.”

“I know,” she said. He could feel her moist cheek through his shirt. “That’s what bothers me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kirk loved me so much. He deserved better than he got.”

“Keri.” He pulled her away and looked at her levelly. “I know Kirk was your brother, and you’ll miss him. But in many respects—this is for the best. What kind of life did he have to look forward to? Kirk killed someone.”

“Yes, Kirk killed someone—but he did it out of love. Because of me.”

“Keri, it’s not your fault. You’re not to blame.”

“I know that.” I didn’t say I was. But I still wish that somehow, some way, we could go back in time. I could do everything differently.”

“Don’t torture yourself, Keri. What you need to focus on now is the future.”

Her eyes closed briefly, as if in prayer. “You’re right.” She graced him with a tiny smile. “Can I see you later?”