Murder One bk-10

by William Bernhardt

  Well, the decision was made, and it was too late to turn back now. He would have to make the best of it. He knew he would never get Andrea to recant any of her testimony, and the jury would hate him if he started browbeating her in the attempt. The best he could hope for was to plant a few seeds in the jurors’ minds—a few seeds of doubt he could nurture during closing argument.

  “You mentioned that your husband was involved in an investigation in Oklahoma City. Could you tell us what exactly he was investigating?”

  “To tell you the truth, we didn’t talk much about his work.”

  Probably true, but he wasn’t about to let her off that easily. “Nonetheless, you did know the general nature of his investigation, did you not?”

  “I never got into the details. He’s not allowed to talk about—”

  Ben cut her off. “He was investigating organized crime, wasn’t he?”

  Her lips pursed slightly. “I believe that was the gist of it, yes.”

  “Do you think investigating organized crime could conceivably be … dangerous?”

  “Objection,” LaBelle said. “Calls for speculation. She has no personal knowledge.”

  “Sustained,” Judge Cable said.

  “Your honor,” Ben protested, “we’re discussing a man who was subjected to an extremely violent murder. If he was engaged in dangerous activities, anything that might lead to extreme retaliation, I think I’m entitled to pursue that.”

  “With the proper witness, perhaps. But you have not established that this is the proper witness.”

  Ben took a deep breath and regrouped. “Do you know who was the target of your husband’s investigation into organized crime?”

  “I’ve heard some names. I would only be speculating.” It seemed Andrea was smart enough to pick up on cues from the judge.

  “Would Antonio Catrona be one of those names?”

  “I have heard the name.”

  “You’ve heard the name because he was the subject of the investigation, right?”

  She still hesitated.

  “If there’s some doubt in your mind, we could call up some of the other police officers to confirm this.”

  “I think that is correct,” she said.

  “And you also had reason to believe that the investigation of Catrona could be dangerous, didn’t you?”

  “All investigations are dangerous,” Andrea said. “Criminals are criminals. They don’t like to be caught.”

  A valiant attempt to derail this line of questioning. But Ben wasn’t going to allow it. “We’re not talking about petty theft here, ma’am. We’re talking about organized crime.”

  LaBelle rose. “Your honor, I must protest. Asked and answered. This badgering of a bereaved woman is unconscionable.”

  “The question has been answered,” Judge Cable said.

  “But not truthfully,” Ben replied.

  Judge Cable pointed his gavel. “Counsel, I’m warning you—”

  Ben switched back to the witness. “Mrs. McNaughton, isn’t it true that shortly before your husband was killed, you received a threatening phone call that you believed came from Antonio Catrona or someone working for him?”

  The jurors’ chins rose, a sure sign that their interest level was increasing. Good.

  “Joe did receive a phone call that … disturbed him. But I don’t know who called.”

  That’s it, Ben thought. Keep being evasive. The more you play games, the easier it will be for me to poke holes in your story. “You may not have known with absolute certainty, but you believed—at the time—that it came from Catrona or his associates. You believed they were threatening retaliation against your husband.”

  “I … don’t know if I would exactly …”

  “You’re under oath, ma’am.”

  She bristled slightly. “I’m well aware of that. But I still don’t think I’d say—”

  “That’s what you told my associate, Ms. McCall.”

  “I was just speculating—”

  “If you’re having trouble remembering what you said, I can call Ms. McCall to the witness stand. She has a very good memory.”

  “That’s not necessary.” Andrea straightened slightly, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s true, at the time, I thought the call must’ve come from the mob. But I don’t think that now. Now I realize that—”

  “Thank you, ma’am. You’ve answered the question.”

  Andrea wasn’t going to be stopped that easily. “Now I realize that the threats must’ve come from Keri Dalcanton.”

  Technically, Ben should’ve moved to strike, but he decided to go with a frontal assault instead. “Do you know that for a fact, Mrs. McNaughton?”

  “There’s not the slightest doubt in my mind.”

  “You’re not answering my question. Do you know that for a fact?”

  She frowned. “No.”

  “You’re just assuming it was Keri, because you assume she’s guilty of this crime.”

  “I think it’s obvious to any unbiased observer—”

  “But you don’t have any proof that Keri made those calls, just as the D.A. doesn’t have any proof that she committed the murder, right?”

  LaBelle was quickly on his feet. “Your honor, I object!”

  “I’ll rephrase.” Ben tried again. “Do you have any proof that the phone call that frightened your husband was made by Keri Dalcanton?”

  “No proof,” she said defiantly. “Just common sense.”

  “Common sense. Common sense,” Ben repeated. He knew he’d get slammed by the judge, but he sensed this might be the time to make his point in an unmistakable way. “We’re talking about the brutal sadistic murder of a strong adult male, a man who was overcome, dragged a long distance, and chained to a fountain. What does common sense tell us is more likely to be the cause of this tragedy? A hundred-and-three pound teenager? Or a mob hitman?”

  “Your honor!” LaBelle said, pounding the table. “Did I miss the call for closing argument?”

  My, my, Ben thought, the D.A. made a jokie-poo. Surprises never cease. “Your honor, the witness was the one who brought up common sense.”

  “And you twisted it around into an improper diatribe,” Judge Cable replied. “The objection is sustained. And if you can’t stick to questions, Mr. Kincaid, I’ll cut this cross off now.”

  “Sorry, your honor. That won’t be necessary.” Duly chastened, Ben proceeded to the next part of his cross, knowing full well the judge would like it no better than he had the preceding. “Mrs. McNaughton … you don’t like Keri Dalcanton much, do you?”

  She seemed somewhat taken aback by the question. “I’m … not sure what you mean.”

  “It’s a pretty simple question, ma’am. I think everyone else gets it. In fact, I think everyone else already knows the answer. You don’t like Keri Dalcanton much, do you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “In fact—you hate her. Right?”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that …”

  “I would. You despise her. And you would do anything to see her put away for life. Or worse.”

  “That’s not true. I don’t know why you would say that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Possibly because I watched you try to break her nose in the courtroom.”

  “That was an—I didn’t mean—”

  “And because I watched you knock her to the floor in my own office.”

  “That was unfortunate, but—”

  “And because almost every time you mention her, you resort to unkind, untrue, words like whore and tramp.”

  “The woman killed my husband!” The words erupted out of her, like a sudden burst from a volcano. “She’s a killer!”

  “Accused,” Ben added.

  “Even before she killed him,” Andrea continued, “she stole him from me. Stole his affection. Stole his … love.”

  “You hated her, didn’t you?” Ben said quietly but insistently. “You still hate her.”

  “Yes, I h
ate her,” Andrea admitted, her voice dark and low. “Why shouldn’t I? Don’t I have that right?”

  “Perhaps,” Ben said. “But what I’ve noticed is that, in addition to being full of hate, you also … have a very violent temper.”

  Several heads rose, both in the gallery and the jury box.

  Andrea seemed somewhat shaken. “I don’t know why you would—”

  “C’mon, ma’am. Your testimony is replete with instances of violence. All of them instigated by you.”

  “That isn’t so!”

  “You attacked my client in the courtroom, in front of hundreds of witnesses.”

  Red blotches began to spot her face. “My husband’s killer was being released scot-free!”

  “You attacked her again in my office.”

  “Do you remember what she said to me?”

  “You told my associate, Ms. McCall, that you attacked your own husband, mere hours before he was killed.”

  “I didn’t attack him. I just—I—”

  Ben made a point of reading directly from his notebook, so the jury would know he wasn’t making this up. “When he came home you confronted him with your knowledge of his affair. In your own words, you totally lost it. You hit him repeatedly on his chest. You scratched his face with your fingernails. You even bit him.”

  “But—But—!”

  “On the right arm. In fact, the marks were still visible when the coroner performed his autopsy. I can show you the report, if you like.”

  “I was angry!” Andrea shouted, so loud it split the courtroom. “He betrayed me! For a—a—child!”

  “So you attacked him.”

  “He wouldn’t listen to me!” Her voice trembled. “I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen! He wouldn’t let that whore go!”

  “Did you hate him, too?”

  “Did I—but—I—no!”

  “But you attacked him. You hit him over and over again.”

  “I was terrified! And so angry!”

  “Yes, you were. Your anger at him was so strong you lost control.” Ben paused just a hair before delivering his clincher. “And a few hours later, he was dead.”

  Andrea’s mouth froze. “Wha—what are you saying?”

  “You had a motive to kill your husband, didn’t you, Mrs. McNaughton? You had the motive, the opportunity—and the burning hatred necessary to do it.”

  LaBelle jumped up. “Your honor—this is grotesque!”

  “What’s more,” Ben continued, “you had the temper and the established penchant for violence that would be needed to bring off such a horrendous and brutal crime.”

  “No!” Andrea cried. Tears spewed forth from her face. “It’s not true! I wouldn’t—”

  “Your honor!” LaBelle shouted. “This is outrageous! The witness is not on trial.”

  “Maybe she should be,” Ben replied.

  LaBelle whirled on him. “You have sunk to some shameless tactics in your tawdry little career, Kincaid, but this time you’ve hit a new low.”

  “Your honor,” Ben said, ignoring him, “the D.A. is interfering with my cross.”

  “I’m making an objection!” LaBelle bellowed. “I’m objecting to this repellent line of questioning, this revolting assault on a woman who is still grieving the loss of her husband. And most of all I’m objecting to this disgusting defense attorney!”

  “Personal attack on the opposing attorney, impugning his credibility,” Ben said, moving toward the bench. “I move for a mistrial.”

  LaBelle threw up his hands. “More sleazy tactics!”

  “There’s case law, your honor,” Ben said. “It’s automatic. You know it as well as I do.”

  Judge Cable rose from his black cushioned chair. “Both of you—be quiet! Approach the bench!” He slung his gavel with such vigor that Ben ducked.

  Cautiously, both Ben and LaBelle made their way to the front. “I will not put up with this in my courtroom!”

  Ben held up his hands. “All I’m trying to do is cross-ex the witness.”

  LaBelle pressed forward. “He’s trying to accuse a grieving widow of murder!”

  “Silence!” Cable was so angry his whole body shook. He remained on his feet, towering over them like the Colossus of Rhodes. “I will not permit this to continue. I’m cutting you both off now.”

  “But your honor,” LaBelle insisted, “he’s trying to suggest that the wife murdered her own husband. It’s incredible!”

  “Oh, right,” Ben said. “That never happens.” He leaned across the bench. “Your honor, I’m permitted to explore alternate explanations for the crime. And that includes alternate suspects. In fact, as defense attorney, it’s my duty to do so.”

  The judge gave him a harsh glare. “And you really think Mrs. McNaughton is the murderer?”

  “What I think is not relevant.”

  The judge’s face tightened like a fist. “I continue to be astonished by what attorneys are willing to do these days. Impugn the reputation of an innocent person just to exonerate their client. It’s offensive and I wont have any more of it.”

  “Your honor,” Ben protested. “Under the Rules of Professional Conduct, I have an obligation to provide a zealous defense. If there’s another possible suspect, I have to bring that out.”

  “Which you’ve done. Do you have anything more to add?”

  “Well …”

  “I thought not. So sit down and stop your speechifying.” He turned his loaded gavel toward LaBelle. “Do you want to redirect?”

  “Of course!”

  “So stop bellyaching and get to it. Now!” Ben and LaBelle scampered away from the judge’s ire, Ben to his table, La-Belle to the podium.

  “First of all,” LaBelle said to Andrea, “let me express my deepest regret that you were subjected to this disturbing, unnecessary, and disgusting accusation.”

  In the witness box, Andrea was still crying profusely. Her cheeks were flushed red and her mascara had streaked all over her face. Her hands were shaking.

  “I have just a few more questions for you, ma’am, and then you may go. I don’t think anyone in this room has any problem understanding why you might bear the defendant some animosity. But the critical question is—”

  “I didn’t lie,” Andrea said, cutting him off. “I wouldn’t. Sure, I don’t like what that teenager did, but I wouldn’t say something about her if I didn’t think it was true.”

  “I appreciate that, ma’am. Now let me ask you another indelicate question. Forgive me for being blunt, but we all know the … defense attorney …” He said it as if it were a dirty word. “… has suggested that you are the murderer. So let me ask you straight out, Mrs. McNaughton. Did you kill your husband?”

  “No. Of course not.” Her voice cracked as she spoke. “I couldn’t. Couldn’t possibly.”

  “I know. But I had to ask. You see, what the defense attorney forgets is that, to commit this particularly gruesome murder, you would have to have more than anger. You would need all the specialized equipment. Tell me, ma’am, at the time of the murder, did you posses any heavy chains such as were used on your husband?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “And did you own any black leather outfits?”

  “No.”

  “Did you have any knives similar to those that were used?”

  “No.”

  “Right. The only person who had those things—certainly the only person who had all of them—was the defendant. You couldn’t’ve committed this murder. And no cheap tricks can ever prove otherwise.” He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry you’ve been put through this, Mrs. McNaughton. I’m sorry for your loss, and I’m sorry you had to be here today.”

  He glanced up at the judge. “No more questions, your honor. I think it’s perfectly clear what happened at Bartlett Square last March. The prosecution rests.”

  42

  AFTER DINNER, BACK AT Ben’s office, the mood was universally glum. Usually, the conclusion of the prosecution case, which h
eralded the opening of the defense case, was a happy time for the defense team. But not tonight. Tonight, Andrea McNaughton’s testimony had cast a pallor over everything.

  Including the conversation in the main conference room. Ben and Christina and Keri were all three gathered together again, but this time, instead of Christina being strategically positioned between them, Keri was in the middle, feeling the pressure mounting on both sides.

  “You promised I wouldn’t have to testify!” Keri said. She was kneading her hands with such vigor that she left white marks long after her fingers were gone. “You promised.”

  “And you don’t,” Ben replied. “The Fifth Amendment takes care of that. But what I’m saying now is—I think you should.”

  Keri’s fingers pressed against her temples. “Why?”

  Christina jumped in. “Keri, we can’t minimize the impact of Andrea McNaughton’s testimony. The jury heard what she was saying and for the most part, I think they believed it.”

  “I thought Ben did a good job on cross,” Keri said.

  “I do, too. The best he could, given the circumstances. But the fact remains—she’s a tragic figure, a bereaved widow. People’s hearts naturally go out to her. And while Ben successfully planted the possibility of another killer, I don’t think anyone believes Andrea could kill her own husband.”

  “I believe it!” Keri said. “You’d believe it, too, if she’d knocked you to the floor a few times.”

  “Just the same,” Ben said, “as your defense attorneys, we have to assume the worst. We have to assume the jury believes Andrea McNaughton. We have to believe they were persuaded by the prosecution evidence. It may be circumstantial—but a lot of circumstantial can add up to ‘beyond a reasonable doubt.’ ”

  Keri’s fingers combed through her platinum hair, so forcefully it looked as if she might tear it out by the roots. “But why do I have to testify? Surely we have other witnesses.”

  “Other witnesses, yes,” Ben said. “But no one who can tell the story of what really happened the night Joe died. No one else knows.”