William Bernhardt - Perfect Justice

On the other hand, there was no point in pretending he was friendly with this man. So he didn’t.

“Are you trying to tell this jury that ASP is just a peace-loving, civic-minded bunch of regular guys? Kind of like the Peace Corps? Or the Boy Scouts?”

“Well,” Dunagan said, “I see no cause for sarcasm.”

“Grand Dragon Dunagan, isn’t the ASP motto ‘The only good gook is a dead gook’?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And of course, Ben couldn’t prove he was lying, since he hadn’t pocketed any of the man’s propaganda.

“Isn’t it true that you and your followers are expecting a big race war any day now?”

“Some people do believe that will happen, including people who are not members of ASP. I just hope it doesn’t come to pass.”

“Come on now. Isn’t it true you’re setting up all these armed camps so that when the big war hits, you can take over and turn the South into a gigantic whites-only country club?”

“Your honor,” Swain complained, “I don’t see the relevance of this. Mr. Dunagan is not on trial.”

“Agreed. Move on, counsel.”

“Your honor,” Ben said. “Mr. Swain opened the door to this line of questioning. It goes to the witness’s credibility.”

“I said move on, counsel!” Tyler’s bushy eyebrows moved together till they formed a straight line across his face.

Ben gritted his teeth and changed the subject. “Didn’t you tell me that your armory didn’t have any bolts that fit the crossbow that was stolen?”

“It seems I was mistaken. After I talked to you, I was informed that—”

“I don’t want to hear any hearsay,” Ben said, cutting him off. He didn’t know what Dunagan was about to say, but it didn’t sound helpful. “Is a crossbow difficult to fire?”

“Hell, no. All you do is point it and pull the trigger. A five-year-old could do it.”

“Do you train your men in the use of the crossbow?”

“Of course. Including Donald Vick.”

“Despite your haste to single out Donald, the fact is, all your men had access to the crossbow and knew how to use it, right?”

“That’s true.”

“Thank you. I have—”

“But of course, all the other men were in camp, where they were supposed to be, at the time of the murder. The only man missing was Donald Vick.”

Ben squeezed his eyes tightly closed. It would be pointless to object. The jury had already heard it.

He couldn’t think of any more questions to ask. And every second Dunagan remained on the stand, prospects looked a little dimmer for Donald Vick. “No more questions, your honor.”

Ben returned to his seat at defendant’s table. He just hoped that he had sewn enough seeds of uncertainty to keep the jury from making up their minds.

But he doubted it.

53.

AFTER LUNCH, THE COURTROOM reassembled itself with relative calm. Or at any rate, this time no rocks came through the windows.

“Any further testimony from the prosecution?” Judge Tyler asked.

“One more witness,” Swain said. “But he’ll be brief. The State calls Richard Litz.”

Richard Litz was a nondescript man with brown curly hair and a bushy brown mustache. He was wearing glasses with tinted lenses. Ben didn’t have a clue who the man was. And judging from the expressions on the other faces in the courtroom, neither did anyone else.

Except Henry Swain. “Mr. Litz, would you please tell the jury what you do for a living?”

“I’m the order clerk for Domestic Soldier in Hot Springs.”

“And what is Domestic Soldier?”

“Domestic Soldier is a mail-order supplier of equipment for outdoorsmen. Tents, compasses, hiking boots. You name it, we carry it.”

“Would your inventory include weapons?”

“Yes, it would.”

“Crossbows?”

“Definitely. All shapes and sizes.”

“And bolts?”

“Wouldn’t be much point in selling the crossbows without the bolts, would there?” He chuckled at his own little joke.

“Have you ever supplied any equipment to the ASP camp just outside of Silver Springs?”

Ben was beginning to see where this testimony was leading. And he didn’t like it a bit.

“Yes, many times. They’re regular customers.”

“Do you carry the bolts for the”—he held up Exhibit A and read the label—“KL-44 Carvelle crossbow?”

“Yes. We’re one of the few in this country that do. It’s a fairly rare item.”

“Do you sell those bolts to the ASP camp?”

“Normally not. But we did get an order from them for that item just a few weeks ago. First and last time ever.”

“Now, this is important, sir, so please take your time before answering.” Of course, Swain wasn’t really telling the witness this next bit was important; he was telling the jury. “When did this order come in?”

“July twenty-first. They were delivered on the twenty-fourth.”

“Right. And the crossbow murder occurred on the twenty-fifth.” Swain nodded thoughtfully, then returned to counsel table. He was almost there when he suddenly stopped and pivoted around to face the witness. “One last question, Mr. Litz. Who placed the order for the crossbow bolts on the twenty-first?”

“A man named Donald Vick.”

The murmur in the courtroom crescendoed. Judge Tyler banged his gavel and demanded silence.

“That’s all,” Swain said. “Pass the witness.”

Ben strolled to the witness box, thinking all the way. “You take phone orders for a mail-order company, right?”

“That’s what I said.”

“So you didn’t actually see Mr. Vick when he ordered?”

“True …”

“He was just a voice on the telephone.”

“That’s true, but—”

“Then it could’ve been anyone,” Ben said. “Anyone could’ve claimed to be Donald Vick.”

“I guess that’s true,” Litz said. “But I know who picked the order up.”

“What? I thought you said you delivered them.”

“Right. I delivered them to the ASP man who came for them on the twenty-fourth. And that was the man sitting right there in the gray coveralls.” He pointed directly at Vick. “I saw him with my own eyes.”

Swain jumped to his feet. “Let the record reflect that the witness has indicated that the pickup man was Donald Vick.”

“It will so reflect,” Judge Tyler intoned. “Anything else, Mr. Kincaid?”

Damn. Ben hated to end his cross on such a negative note. But he wasn’t prepared for a follow-up question. The coffin was nailed tightly shut.

“No, your honor.”

“Redirect?”

“I see no need,” Swain said, displaying his understandable confidence to the jury. “And the prosecution rests.”

“Very well,” the judge said. “We’ll start up again tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock with the defense case. Court is dismissed.”

He banged his gavel, and instantaneously the silence was broken. The exodus from the gallery was swift. Only the jury remained seated. And their eyes, Ben noticed, all twenty-four of them, were focused on Donald Vick.

Ben leaned forward, blocking the jury’s view, and whispered into Vick’s ear. “Why in God’s name did you pick up those crossbow bolts?”

“That was my job. I made all the supply runs.”

“You did?” If he had known that, he could have brought it out during cross. Now it was too late. “Why you?”

“Who else? Dunagan always gave me the grunt jobs.”

Ben observed that Vick invoked the name of the exhalted Grand Dragon with somewhat less reverence now. At least he realized what the man had done to him. “I’m going to have to put you on the stand, Donald.”

Vick glared at him. “I already told you. I won’t talk.”