William Bernhardt - Cruel Justice

“This is a problem that should be very familiar to you by now. I need a baby-sitter.”

“Mike—”

“Look, I can’t ask any of the boys on the force. I’m not even supposed to be doing this. If Blackwell found out I wasn’t treating this case as closed, he’d be royally pissed.”

“Mike … maybe you should just give this a rest. After all, they found the baseball cap. …”

“Look.” Mike stepped closer to Ben and dropped his voice to a whisper. “The last few nights, while I was off duty, I did some footwork in the area where I think the creep took Abie. Covered almost half of it myself, block by block.”

“Have you slept?”

“Not in three days, but that’s beside the point.”

“Mike, you can’t—”

“Just listen. I think I’m close, Ben. I really do. I can’t explain why, but I think I’m closing in. I know I am. If I can find the creep’s lair, then I’m certain I’ll find something that will tell us for sure who he is. Or was. If it was Bentley, fine. We can all rest easy. But if it wasn’t …” He glanced down at the boy. “Then Abie is still in danger. I want to finish my search today, without delay, before Blackwell finds out what I’m doing. And I can’t do it with—” He jerked his head violently in Abie’s direction.

“But Mike—I’m in the middle of a trial!”

“Well, what about Christina?”

“She’s at my place looking after Joey.”

“Perfect!” he exclaimed. “If she’s already stuck babysitting, she won’t mind taking one more.”

“Well … I suppose you can ask.”

“Great. I’ll drive over now. By the way—” His voice dropped again to a whisper. “Word at the station is that Bullock has plotted a nasty surprise for you. I mean something even worse than what he’s done already. Stay on your toes.”

Swell. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” He slapped Ben on the back. “Personally, I hope you kick Bullock’s butt, but I never said that.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Break a leg.”

A few minutes after Mike left, Leeman Hayes was escorted into the courtroom. Ben heard some footsteps in chambers, and the bailiff announced the judge’s entrance.

“I’m glad to see everyone made it back to the courtroom today,” Judge Hawkins said. “Mr. Kincaid, I guess it’s your turn at the tee. What have you got for us?”

Ben pushed himself slowly to his feet. “The defense calls Ms. Carlee Crane.”

65

AS CARLEE WALKED TO THE witness stand Ben scrutinized the faces in the courtroom, including the jurors. Everyone looked puzzled. Who on earth could this woman be? they undoubtedly wondered. Bullock seemed equally perplexed, probably marveling at how Ben had kept the identity of one of his witnesses secret so long. That, of course, is easy, if you don’t find her until the day before.

Carlee settled into her chair and glanced uneasily at the jurors. She looked nervous. But, of course, every witness was nervous; Ben knew nervousness was not exclusive to the dishonest. He hoped the jury knew, too.

Ben ran through the preliminary foundational questions, then proceeded to the night of the murder.

“Carlee, what were you doing on August twenty-fifth, ten years ago?”

Carlee stared out into the gallery, probably looking to her husband for moral support. “I was working at the Utica Greens Country Club.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“I was working in the kitchen.”

“As a cook?”

“More like a scullery maid. Any kind of grunge work that needed to be done, I did it.”

“Do you remember what you were doing the night of August twenty-fifth?”

“Yes, I believe I do. The kitchen closed at eleven o’clock, but I agreed to do the cleanup afterward, which usually took at least an hour. I didn’t like it, but I needed the money. Plus, my boss, Mr. Franklin, kept saying that if I accumulated a hundred hours of overtime, he would make me a waitress, which paid better and didn’t require you to stay up all night scraping dried goo off plates. Except when I finally had enough hours, Mr. Franklin asked if I liked Mantovani and would I like to see his collection of erotic videos and what color underwear did I wear anyway—”

“If we can get back to the country club,” Ben said.

“Yes.” Carlee folded her hands in her lap. “So I was working late that night.”

“When did you finish in the kitchen?”

“About midnight.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I left the main building, where the dining room and kitchens are, and started for home. I didn’t have a car, so I had to walk, even if it was late at night. I had found that the quickest way home was to take a shortcut across the golf course between the first and eighth tees.”

“Did that route take you anywhere near the caddyshack?”

“Pretty close, yeah. Normally I never noticed, but on this night, as I passed by, I heard some loud voices coming from inside.”

“Did you investigate?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I’m not normally nosy, but that was so strange. I didn’t think anyone would be in there at that time of night.”

“What did you do?”

Carlee looked down at her hands. Her voice began to show signs of hesitation. “I approached the side of the building closest to the—the north side—and looked in through a window. It was open.”

“What did you see?”

Carlee licked her lips, then gathered her thoughts. “I saw—” She inhaled deeply. “I saw a dark-haired woman pressed into the corner of the room.”

Ben held up the previously identified picture of Maria Alvarez. “Was this the woman?”

Carlee glanced at the picture. “Yes, that was her.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Why was she in the corner?”

Carlee looked anxiously at the jury. “She was being forced back … by a man.”

“Was the man holding any kind of weapon?” Ben asked.

“Yes. A golf club.”

“What did he do with it?”

Carlee closed her eyes, focusing on the flickering memory. “They talked for a few moments … I couldn’t hear what they said. Then the man raised the club over his head. The woman’s eyes widened in terror and she screamed.”

“And then?”

“And—and then the man brought the club down on her head. He raised it again, and this time brought it down on her shoulder. She screamed, but she stayed on her feet.”

“How many times did he hit her?”

“I’m—I’m not sure. Two or three. Then the club broke. That made the man mad. He picked up the broken shaft and”—she looked away suddenly—“pierced the woman’s throat.”

Ben allowed her a moment before proceeding. “How could you tell what he did?”

“I … saw it. With my own eyes. The woman was screaming, but when the shaft went through her throat … it was as if her voice disappeared. Instantly. That was even more frightening. Then the blood spurted everywhere, out of her neck and her veins, and … and … the smell engulfed the room. That sickly sweet smell of blood …” She began to sob. “You can’t imagine how … horrible it was … I was only seventeen at the time. I had never seen anything like that before. …”

Ben passed up a tissue by way of the bailiff and gave Carlee a few moments to collect herself. “What did you do next?”

Carlee wiped the tears from her eyes. “I don’t know. I was in such shock. The next thing I remember, I was home in bed.”

“I understand. Now, Carlee, this is a very important question.” Ben could see the jurors leaning slightly forward with anticipation. They knew what the question was going to be. “Who was the man you saw in the caddyshack?”