Murder One bk-10

by William Bernhardt

  When Ben sat down after cross, Christina leaned close. “I don’t think that hurt us,” she said. “All he did was establish that a crime occurred. Which we’ve never denied.”

  “That’s not all he did,” Ben whispered back. “He etched into the jurors’ brains the visceral nature of this crime—that only a truly sick, twisted, sociopath could have committed.”

  “Still, he didn’t—”

  “Have you noticed how the jurors are looking at Keri?”

  Christina turned her head. In fact, many of the select fourteen did appear to be looking her way.

  “They’re scrutinizing her, trying to get a fix on what kind of person they think she is. Whether she’s capable of committing this atrocity.”

  “We have to convince them that she’s not.”

  Ben nodded. “Which is going to be pretty damn hard to do, if she doesn’t take the stand. And she says she doesn’t want to.”

  Given all that had transpired since the last trial began, Ben wasn’t sure whether LaBelle would recall Matthews to the stand or not. A few minutes after Callery departed, though, LaBelle answered the question. He did.

  Matthews studiously avoided making eye contact with Ben as he strolled confidently to the witness box. Just as well. There was no love lost between the two; that much was certain. And Ben might’ve been tempted to show him the photograph tucked inside his manila folder.

  Not ten minutes into Matthews’s testimony, it became clear that he, unlike Callery, would be singing a very different tune this time around. Despite the fact that the previous trial had been mooted on grounds of alleged fraud, there was no reason to believe Judge Cable would rule any differently on the subject of the improperly obtained warrant to search Keri Dalcanton’s apartment. To the contrary, LaBelle knew the ruling would be no different, so he avoided the subject altogether. If the search of the apartment was invalid, then all the evidence obtained during the search, including Keri’s testimony, was inadmissible.

  This time, Matthews told the story of his midnight raid on an unspecified law office with a valid search warrant, and how his men had turned up the murder weapon.

  This line of questioning had been the subject of intense debate during the pretrial hearings. Ben wanted it excluded altogether; Matthews’s story could only cast negative aspersions on the defendant’s counsel, which was not an acceptable trial tactic. After all, no one had proved Ben had done anything wrong and the charges against him had been dropped. Telling this story could force the defense attorney to testify—to exonerate himself by telling the jury he did not put the knife in his files. This, too, Ben argued, was unacceptable.

  LaBelle had argued just as strongly that the evidence had to be admitted. After all, Matthews couldn’t introduce the weapon without explaining when and how it had been found. The murder weapon was a critical part of the defense case and it wasn’t reasonable to expect him to proceed without it. There was nothing illegal about the manner in which it had been obtained; therefore, there was no justification for excluding it.

  As judges usually do when confronted with such imponderable contradictions, Judge Cable compromised. Matthews could explain that the weapon had been found in the office of one of Ms. Dalcanton’s legal representatives, but he was precluded from mentioning the attorney’s name. Both LaBelle and Matthews were precluded from suggesting that there was anything improper about the knife being where it was. That’s just where it was, period, no smirks or smart remarks. Like most judicial compromises, it pleased no one, and worse, created a logical gap in the facts that the jury would wonder about for the rest of the trial. Ben hated it when judges precluded the jury from knowing something they were desperate to know; it usually resulted in their imagining something far more complicated and dirty than the reality, and almost always at the defendant’s expense.

  “What did you do after you discovered the weapon?” LaBelle asked.

  “While wearing gloves, I placed it in a plastic bag to prevent any trace evidence from being lost, then I immediately returned to our downtown headquarters.” Ben noted that Matthews was omitting the minor detail of arresting the attorney on trumped-up charges later dismissed, as well as the police helicopter, the SOT team, and all the other evidence of his obsessive overkill. “I logged in the evidence, assigned it a number which was recorded in two different places, tagged it, lockered it.” Matthews was trying to establish a chain of custody sufficient to thwart any cross-ex attempts to suggest the evidence could have been tampered with after it was found.

  “What was done with the weapon after it arrived at police headquarters?” LaBelle asked.

  “A battery of tests were performed to determine if it was the murder weapon, and to examine it for any trace evidence, such as blood or fingerprints.”

  “Do you know what the results of those tests were?”

  What did they take him for? “Objection,” Ben said. “Did Sergeant Matthews perform the tests? I don’t think so.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Cable said.

  LaBelle continued undaunted. “Have you been able to determine whether that knife was in fact the weapon used to kill Joe McNaughton?”

  “Yes,” Matthews said hastily, barely waiting a breath, which was a signal to Ben that the answer was probably improper and he knew it. “The coroner determined conclusively—”

  “Objection,” Ben said. “This is not within the witness’s scope of knowledge.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Cable said wearily. “Mr. LaBelle, please put the proper evidence on with the proper witness, and stop trying to get everything in with this one much too eager witness.”

  “As you wish, your honor,” LaBelle replied, as if he hadn’t actually violated any evidentiary rules but was simply humoring a personal peccadillo of the judge’s. “That’s all I have.”

  “Thank you,” the judge said. “Mr. Kincaid?”

  As Ben approached the podium, he thought perhaps he detected the tiniest crack in Matthews’s armor, his permaplaqued obnoxious exterior. Could it be Matthews was actually afraid of him? That he was dreading this cross? It would be nice to think so. Of course, the last time Ben had crossed Matthews, he’d gotten the whole case dismissed. If that happened again, Matthews would probably be out of a job.

  Alas, no such miracles were in the cards. There was precious little Ben could do, since what Matthews had said was true and wasn’t especially incriminating (at least, not yet). He was tempted to whip out the photo in his folder and accuse Matthews of harassing him and his staff, even planting evidence. But what was the point of impeaching a witness who hadn’t said anything false or incriminating? Ben decided to save that ammo for a time when it would do him more good. He hated to let the creep get off so easily, but when all was said and done, Ben simply asked a few perfunctory questions and let Matthews retake his seat.

  The real battle would be fought, not with these remnants from the past trial, but with the new witnesses in the current one because, Ben knew, their testimony would be much more damaging.

  32

  “THE STATE CALLS CORPORAL James Wesley Jr. to the stand.”

  Normally, in Ben’s experience, the first witness after the lunch break had the toughest job—keeping the jurors awake. With this witness, however, Ben knew that wouldn’t be an issue.

  In a brief expanse of time, LaBelle established that Wesley was a sixteen-year member of the force, that he was a good friend of Joe McNaughton’s, and that he had worked with McNaughton not long before his death. It seemed that LaBelle, like the jury, was in a hurry to get to the good stuff.

  “Did Sergeant McNaughton ever mention Ms. Dalcanton in your presence?” LaBelle asked.

  “Oh yeah.” Although Wesley had to be in his forties, he looked much younger, almost baby-faced. “That he did. Repeatedly.”

  “Did he ever describe the… uh, nature of their relationship?” This was hearsay, but the judge had ruled before trial that he would allow it, since the declarant was deceased and, therefore, som
ewhat unavailable.

  “ Yup. He didn’t make any bones about it. He was boink—uh, uh—” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Excuse me, your honor. He was engaging in a sexual relationship. With the defendant. Ms. Dalcanton.”

  “You’re certain about this?”

  “Oh yeah. Joe did occasionally tend to brag and even exaggerate, but there’s no way he could have invented all these details. And man, did he give me lots of details.”

  “Like what?”

  “Objection.” Ben knew this was a loser, but he at least wanted to register his displeasure. “This is not relevant. He’s just hoping to introduce a lot of embarrassing details to smear the defendant.”

  “That’s not true,” LaBelle shot back. “The sex life of Ms. Dalcanton and the deceased is, regrettably, keenly relevant to the case, as it explains the chains, the black leather, some of the deceased’s wounds and, as we will show, the defendant’s motive.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Judge Cable said. “But try to keep it under control, would you? This is a courtroom, not a tabloid TV show.”

  “I’ll do my best,” LaBelle said, which Ben suspected would count for precious little. “Please proceed, Corporal Wesley.”

  “Well, from the start, Joe knew that this chi—um, this young woman, had unusual tastes. She liked it kinky, if you know what I mean.”

  “Perhaps you could explain.”

  “Well, she liked to pretend. Joe told me time and time again about how she got off on that dominatrix stuff. You know, she’d dress up in black leather, or he would, or both. And she’d get out the whips and chains. Sometimes he’d wear a dog collar and pretend to be her slave. That sort of thing.”

  Ben tried to look disinterested. Just another day in Mayberry, right?

  “They had this routine they went through. I guess it started the first night he took her back to her apartment from the strip joint, and it continued right up until the time he broke it off. She’d play the master. She’d use the whips and she’d call him dirty names. She’d spank him or punish him in a variety of ways. According to Joe, she got off on the playacting; she’d really work up a lather.”

  “How long would this continue?”

  “Until she’d had enough, or he had. Then gradually, he’d rebel, so to speak. He’d become more aggressive.”

  “Does that mean he took over the whips?”

  “No, no, that was her thing. He’d start by—” His face flushed red. “I’m sorry, this is kind of embarrassing.”

  Like the rest of it hasn’t been? Ben wondered.

  “Please continue,” LaBelle urged him.

  Wesley drew in his breath. “He’d suck her little toe.”

  “And was this … pleasurable to her?”

  “Ooooh, yeah. A thousand times yeah. Joe said she really went into spasms over that one. Apparently she thought it was like, well, the equivalent of a …” He coughed. “… A similar procedure she sometimes performed for him.”

  “I see. Then what happened?”

  “Well, as Joe told it, after he’d pushed that button as far as he could, he’d do other things. She loved it when he kissed the back of her neck. When he put his hot tongue on her wrist. So he’d do that sort of stuff until she’d totally transformed from the dominatrix to a puddle of jelly. She was like a kitten. A sex slave. She’d do whatever he wanted.”

  “Did Joe enjoy this?”

  “Well, he liked this part better, yeah. He said he didn’t much care for all the kinky whips and chains stuff, but it was worth it to get her to the sex-slave stage.”

  “And why was that?”

  Wesley tucked in his chin. “Well … this is a bit indelicate.”

  “We understand. But you’re under oath.”

  “Well … according to Joe … she was really put—I mean, she was, um, great. You know, like—sexually. Good in bed, except actually, they rarely did it in a bed. The best he’d ever had, Joe said. By a large margin. And she wanted it constantly. Couldn’t get enough, like she was addicted to it. He said she was a—a—what’s the word? You know, a nympho. So to him, it was worth the crud to get to the cream. So to speak.”

  “Your honor,” Ben said, rising. “I renew my objection. This can’t possibly be relevant to the question of who committed the murder.”

  Judge Cable frowned. It was probably a hard thing for the old geezer to do—cutting off such a stimulating line of questioning. “I do think we’ve pursued long enough the question of … what exactly the two parties did. Let’s move on.”

  “As you wish,” LaBelle said congenially. He’d already gotten what he wanted. “Corporal Wesley, were you aware that Joe McNaughton was married? “

  “Of course.”

  “And yet, he had this rather … extensive affair.”

  “Yeah. You gotta understand Joe. He knew he was married and I think he loved his wife. But at the same time … things hadn’t been so good between him and Andrea for many years. I mean, not in the sex department. And Joe was a man, and a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

  Ben turned his head slightly, just enough to see Andrea McNaughton in the courtroom, burying her face. Listening to the sordid details of her errant husband’s sex play probably hadn’t been fun, but this was just too much. A hand covering her face, she ran down the aisle and out of the courtroom.

  “I see.” LaBelle’s expression registered his comprehension, though not his approval, Ben noted. The district attorney hadn’t forgotten that the plurality of the jury behind that rail was female. “Corporal Wesley, are you aware that when Sergeant McNaughton’s body was found he was bound up—by chains?”

  Wesley ran a hand through a shock of brown hair. “I think everyone knows that.”

  “So let me ask you again—are you sure Joe told you that Ms. Dalcanton liked to use chains in their sex play?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m sure. Plus, I saw them over at her place.”

  Ben sat bolt upright. What the hell—?

  LaBelle seemed surprised, too, although Ben suspected that was an act for the jury’s sake. “You were in her apartment?”

  “Well … I was never actually inside. But I saw inside. Through the window.” He paused, turning his eyes toward the gallery. “And I took pictures.”

  An audible ripple ran through the courtroom, as each spectator’s lurid imagination speculated on what exactly those pictures might portray.

  “Pictures?” LaBelle asked. “Do you have them with you?”

  “Oh yeah.” Wesley reached inside his sport jacket and removed a packet of photos.

  “Your honor,” Ben said, with as much indignation as he could muster. “I’ve had no advance notice of this and I’ve never seen these pictures before in my life.”

  The judge looked more tired than annoyed. “Great. Approach.”

  Both Ben and LaBelle rushed to the bench. The judge shut off the microphone.

  “What’s going on here?” Ben said angrily. “He can’t spring new evidence on us at trial. At the second trial, for that matter.”

  “Your honor,” LaBelle said, addressing the judge, not Ben. “I apologize for this inconvenience. I only learned of this evidence myself last night.”

  “Oh give me a break,” Ben said.

  LaBelle gave Ben a harsh look. “Your honor, I think you’ve known me long enough to realize that I don’t play games and that my word is good. I’ve filed an affidavit testifying to the last-minute discovery of these photographs.”

  Judge Cable removed his glasses and tapped them against the bench. “What’s in these photos, anyway?”

  LaBelle removed them from the envelope. Ben nearly gasped.

  They were worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined. Not that they revealed any new evidence, exactly. It was already well established that McNaughton and Dalcanton had a sexual relationship, and Ben didn’t imagine that anyone doubted it was true. They had even been told that the nature of that sexual relationship was somewhat … outré. But to hear about it w
as one thing. To actually see it, right before your eyes, was quite another.

  Wordlessly, Ben thumbed through the photos. Wesley must’ve used a zoom lens, because he didn’t miss much. There was Keri, all decked out in a black leather bustier. There she was again, wielding a cat o’nine tails. And there she was again, wrapping heavy chains around Joe McNaughton’s throat—and acting as if she enjoyed it.

  It was like a step-by-step pictorial of their secret sex lives. The snapshots showed it all. Toe-sucking. French-kissing. Oral sex. And penetration. Nothing was left to the imagination.

  There was no doubt in Ben’s mind about the potential consequences of these photos. If the jury saw these, rehabilitating Keri would be a thousand times more difficult. Once they had these graphic, pornographic pictures in their heads, they’d never be able to look at Keri with an open mind again. If they ever had to begin with.

  “Your honor, I must protest the admission of these photos in the strongest possible terms. Bad enough that they weren’t presented to the defense in advance of trial. Bad enough that they constitute a gross invasion of privacy. But furthermore, they are not relevant to the question of Ms. Dalcanton’s culpability for murder. The potential prejudice stemming from these photos vastly outweighs their purported probative value. The D.A. is just engaging in visual slander, hoping the jury will be so put off they’ll convict her of anything, whether the evidence is there or not.”

  “Obviously, I disagree,” LaBelle said calmly. “These photos are graphic, but they also remove all doubt as to whether the defendant was engaged in, um, unusual sexual practices with the deceased, which clearly relates to motive. They also show that she possessed chains similar if not identical to the ones used to string up McNaughton’s corpse. The pictures show her engaging in violent fantasies and, in my opinion, rather enjoying it.”