William Bernhardt - Cruel Justice

“Did you ask any further questions?”

“No. I didn’t see much point.”

“Did you hear anything the defendant said?”

“I don’t think he said anything. But I saw him. I saw the look in his eyes.”

Ben raised his head. This sounded like it was coming dangerously close to opinion testimony rather than fact, but given Ben’s performance a few moments before, he didn’t think the jury would be impressed by any great show of outrage.

“How would you describe his expression? Was he scared?”

“Scared? No, that wasn’t it. Let me tell you, I’ve been on the force for eighteen years, and I know that expression. It isn’t fear. It’s shame.”

“Nothing more,” Bullock said quickly, and sat down.

Hawkins pointedly did not ask Ben if he had any recross. “The witness will step down. Anything further from the prosecution?”

“No, your honor. The prosecution rests.”

“Very well, then we’ll retire for the day. Court will resume at nine o’clock in the morning with the defendant’s first witness. If you gentlemen have any motions you’d like to raise before then, see me in chambers.”

Ben did, of course. He would make the traditional motion for a directed verdict, but it would do no good. Hawkins was a prosecution judge, and even if he wasn’t, the prosecution had met its burden. They proved that a murder had occurred, and gave more than adequate reason to believe Leeman Hayes was the murderer. What’s more, the jury believed it; Ben could see it in their eyes. If Ben was going to turn the jury around, he was going to have to give them some evidence that made them question what they already believed, something that created a reasonable doubt that had not previously cluttered their thoughts.

Ben saw Bullock moving toward the back of the courtroom, where a group of reporters was waiting for him.

“Not yet,” Ben told him. “I’ve got motions to make.”

“Myrna can handle that, I’m sure,” Bullock said, grinning, barely looking back.

The message was clear. Bullock believed he was winning by such a gigantic margin that he could leave his junior assistant to handle Ben’s fruitless motions while he schmoozed the press. In other words, he had nothing to worry about. He thought he had the trial in the bag.

And the terrible thing was, he was right.

FOUR

Time for Your Punishment

60

BEN RETURNED TO HIS office, pushed his way past the air-conditioner bill collector, and tried to firm up his defense plans. Unfortunately, he really didn’t have any. He hadn’t uncovered any compelling exculpatory evidence, certainly nothing sufficient to offset the powerful case Bullock had made for the prosecution.

He’d been through the materials Jones had prepared several times. Jones did good work; unfortunately, the evidence just wasn’t there. Leeman had had little on his side ten years ago; that was undoubtedly one reason his former attorney pushed for an incompetency ruling. And gathering evidence now, ten years after the fact, was nearly impossible. Who remembered that far back? Who stayed in one place that long? If any helpful witnesses had ever existed, they were almost surely gone now.

Christina entered his inner office. She was wearing a pink chiffon skirt, purple sweater, and penny loafers.

“Nice outfit,” Ben commented.

“Well, thanks,” she replied. “I like to dress up for court dates. Don’t you think I look divine?”

“I think you look like Annette Funicello,” Ben replied. “I thought you were going clothes shopping with my mother.”

“I want to. But I’ve been somewhat busy with this trial thing, you know?”

“Sorry to inconvenience you.”

“That’s all right. I’m used to it.”

Ben pushed away from his desk. “So how’s the trial look from the gallery?”

Christina averted her eyes. “Well … you haven’t put on your case yet. I’m sure it will look better once you get a chance to strut your stuff. You didn’t have many facts on your side, but your crosses showed great élan. You’re really becoming good in the courtroom, you know it?”

“Compared to what?”

“Well …” A sly grin crossed her face. “Compared to when you started.”

It was always dangerous to have someone around who knew you before you knew what you were doing. “Are you saying I was incompetent when I started?”

“Not incompetent. Naïve, perhaps. Inexperienced. Pathetic, at times. But not incompetent.”

“Glad to hear I’ve improved.”

“Well, so are your clients.”

Ben pushed around the quagmire of trial-related papers on his desk. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have a defense for Leeman Hayes. He deserves better than me.”

“You’ll think of something. I know you will. You always do.” She bent down and kissed him on the top of the head, then left his office.

Ben tried to return to his work, but less than a minute later Jones popped through the door. “Got some more info for you, Boss.”

“About what?”

“About Peru.”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “Anything helpful?”

“Maybe. I started with the police records, but I couldn’t turn up anything on Maria Alvarez. Apparently she was never in trouble with the law. I tried the Central Registry. They had a birth certificate, but that didn’t get me anywhere. Then I thought to try hospitals. Hospitals usually keep very detailed records. Two days later I had her.”

“She’d been in a hospital?”

“Oh yeah.” Jones grinned. “Before she came to the States. Isn’t that great?”

“I don’t know. Why do I care whether she went to a hospital or not?”

Jones began to pout. “Gee, Boss, I’m just trying to help. …”

“You mean you’ve been researching all this time, and all you’ve learned is that Maria Alvarez once went to a hospital?”

“Boss, you just don’t get it. This is the key to the whole case.”

“Excuse me.” To Ben’s surprise, Christina was standing in the doorway again. “There’s a woman here who would like to talk to you, Ben.”

“Tell her to make an appointment.”

“She wants to talk to you now.”

“I’m trying to prepare for this trial!”

“That’s just it, Ben. She says she has information that can help Leeman Hayes. She heard you on the newscast yesterday asking for witnesses, so she came to see you.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Well, ask her to wait a minute. Now, Jones, what did you mean—”

“She can’t wait,” Christina insisted. “She says she has to pick up her kids at Riverfield Country Day School. She says if she’s late, they’ll charge her a dollar a minute.”

“Jones, can I put you on hold for a moment?”

“Sure, Boss,” he said, still pouting. “Whatever makes you happy. I’m not important.”

“Thanks. Maybe we can go for an ice cream later. Show this woman in.”

She was a young woman, in her late twenties probably. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes. She was wearing blue jeans and a short-sleeve blouse. She introduced herself as Carlee Crane.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Carlee said. “I know you must be busy.”

“My legal assistant says you know something about the Maria Alvarez murder.”

“That’s true. …”

“Great.” Ben leaned forward in his chair. “What do you know?”

“Well, you see …”She swallowed, then fidgeted with her purse. “I know this is going to sound strange, but—I saw it.”

Ben’s eyes ballooned. “You saw the murder?”

“That’s right. I was an eyewitness. I was working in the kitchen in the dining room at the country club late that night, trying to build up some overtime. They kept promising they’d promote me to waitress, but the maître d’ was hitting on me, and I wouldn’t play along, so I stayed in the kitchen. It was a crummy job, but I was very poor, and I was trying to save up for a car. …”