Naked Justice bk-6

by William Bernhardt

  Judge Hart held up her hands. “I’d prefer to have the concurrence of counsel before I take that step.”

  “The prosecution consents,” Bullock said immediately.

  Judge Hart nodded. “Mr. Kincaid?”

  Ben leaned forward. “Can I voir dire her first? Find out what she knows?”

  Judge Hart shook her head. “Not while she’s a juror.”

  Ben sat back. The dilemma was becoming clear to him. “Okay, I consent.”

  “Very well. Juror Number Twelve, you are hereby relieved of duty. Bailiff, please notify the first alternate that she is now a member of the primary panel.” She glanced toward Deanna. “You’re free to go.”

  “Wait,” Ben said. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Your honor, I object.” Bullock leaned against the edge of the judge’s desk. “We’re in the middle of the trial. The defense is putting on its case.”

  Ben shrugged. “So?”

  “If he’s allowed to quiz this woman, he might be able to use her information during his case. This gives him an advantage—since our case is completed, we won’t have a chance to use her. It’s unfair.”

  “Unfair?” Ben’s face tightened. “If I’m not given every possible opportunity to clear my client, that’s unfair.”

  Judge Hart held up her hands. “Calm down, gentlemen. I know argument is your life, but there’s no need for it here. I understand your position, Mr. Bullock, but I can’t agree. Mr. Barrett is, after all, literally on trial for his life. We cannot withhold any arguably relevant evidence from the defense, even under these unique circumstances. But to make sure this development is not exploited improperly, the interrogation will take place right here, in my chambers, with both sides present, not to mention me. You’ll know as much as defense counsel does, Mr. Bullock, even before you read about it in the Enquirer. And if Mr. Kincaid uses this witness and you want to respond, you’ll have cross-ex and closing. You may even be able to call rebuttal witnesses, depending upon the circumstances. However it plays out, it will play out fair. I guarantee it.” She looked up at Deanna. “Does that sound satisfactory to you?”

  Deanna nodded.

  “Good. Mr. Kincaid, would you like to begin the questioning of this witness?”

  “I certainly would. Ms. Meanders, do you know who killed Caroline Barrett and her two children?”

  Deanna twisted her fingers around themselves. “No. I mean, I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  Ben whipped out his legal pad and started taking notes. “Tell me everything you know.”

  About an hour later, Ben left the conference in Judge Hart’s chambers. He motioned to Christina, Jones, and Loving, who were waiting in the back of the courtroom.

  “Team meeting,” he said. “Now.”

  They found a private nook in the foyer outside the courtroom and huddled. “You’re not going to believe this one,” he warned them in advance. “This case gets weirder by the minute.”

  As quickly as possible, Ben told them everything he had learned from Deanna Meanders.

  “We have to get a hold of this Buck character,” Ben said firmly. “And we don’t have much time. Loving, are you prepared to give this your full-court press?

  “You bet, Skipper. I just wish I knew where to start.”

  “Even if you find him,” Ben said, “he probably won’t talk to you, much less come to court voluntarily and testify. We’ll need a subpoena. Christina, can you work that up?”

  “Tout de suite.”

  “Good. Judge Hart has agreed to stay in chambers today and make herself available. Given the way this mess has unfolded, I’m sure she’ll sign the subpoena. If we find him. Any other suggestions?”

  Jones chimed in. “Maybe we should drag in Whitman, too. He’s been coming to the trial, but there’s no guarantee he won’t disappear, especially if Buck tells him he’s been subpoenaed.”

  “Good thinking,” Ben said. “If Buck is the punk Loving saw at O’Brien Park, then he’s contacted Whitman at least once before. The day Christina and I went to Whitman’s office.”

  “No, that’s wrong.” Christina snapped her fingers. “Don’t you remember? When we were listening in on Whitman, after we left his office. There was silence, then clicking noises. About a minute later, Buck called him.”

  “It could just be a coincidence,” Ben murmured.

  “That Buck calls Whitman moments after we’ve stirred up the hornet’s nest and Whitman is desperate to talk to him? No way. Somehow Whitman got a message to him.”

  “But how?” Ben asked. “Whitman was in his office the whole time. He didn’t pick up the phone till Buck called him. He didn’t have time to send a letter or fax. How could he have contacted him?”

  “E-mail,” Jones said. “That has to be it. Those clicking noises you heard— he must’ve been typing at the keyboard of his desktop computer. Whitman sent an e-mail message to Buck, telling him to contact him.”

  That would explain the almost-immediate call from Buck, Ben thought. “Why not just call Buck directly?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Buck works near a computer terminal but not near a phone. Or maybe Whitman didn’t want a record of the contact.”

  “Listen, Jones, you’re our computer expert. Are you familiar with the computer system they use at the city office building?”

  “Sure. I’m over there all the time.”

  “Okay, narrow the field for us. Who could Whitman have e-mailed?”

  “Well, if you’re on the Net, you can e-mail anyone else on the Net, assuming you know their address. Thing is, the city office building isn’t on the Net. All they have is an intranet connection with an internal e-mail system.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning city employees can e-mail each other.” His eyes widened. “Buck works for the city.”

  “Of course,” Ben echoed. “He probably works in the same building. That would explain how he and Whitman were able to work so closely together. Loving, we just narrowed the field for you.”

  “Roger. I’m out of here.”

  “All right. But be back by two, when the judge calls the court back in session. I’m probably going to have to put you on the stand, no matter what happens.”

  Loving looked as if he might be sick to his stomach. “I’ll try not to think about it.” He hustled through the back doors and disappeared.

  “We still have a problem, though,” Christina said, “even if we do find Buck. We have nothing to link him to Whitman other than Loving’s testimony. Even if we prove Buck was the guy casing Barrett’s neighborhood, Whitman will deny that he knew him.”

  Ben nodded grimly. “We need some sure way of tying the two men together. That’s the problem with e-mail. Once you’ve sent the message or read it, you click on the delete button and it’s gone forever.”

  “Don’t you ever listen to anything I tell you?” Jones said, raising a finger.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Remember what I told you in the office the very first day we started working on this case?”

  “Actually … no,” Ben admitted.

  “Well then,” Jones said, a slow smile creeping across his face, “listen up.”

  Chapter 62

  COURT DID NOT RESUME until shortly after two in the afternoon. By that time, each of Ben’s staff members had reported back, Ben had made the necessary motions, and the judge had issued the necessary subpoenas. Bullock was being quiet, but Ben could see that his eyes were alert and he was riding wary, ready to pounce as soon as he had the opportunity. He knew something was up. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

  Which was fair enough, since Ben wasn’t entirely sure himself.

  “The defense calls Mr. Aloysius J. Loving.”

  Loving took the stand and growled and mumbled his way through Ben’s preliminary questions. He did not appear at all comfortable; he slouched, he shifted his weight, he talked through his hands. In a way, though, Ben thought that might actually work in their favor. Afte
r so many media-savvy witnesses and high-dollar experts, the jury might be relieved to see someone who was, well, just as they would be.

  Loving related the story of how Ben had asked him to stake out O’Brien Park (without revealing the means by which Ben acquired his suspicion that a meeting would take place). Loving described how he saw two men meet and argue. How the first man had beaten the second and then given him cash to “take care of business.” Finally Loving described, to his obvious mortification, getting conked over the head and losing his camera. “If it hadn’t been for that,” he explained, “I’d have pictures here today to prove what I saw. But the chump that got the drop on me swiped the film. And my only camera.”

  “Do you know who the men you saw were?” Ben asked.

  “Yeah. I only learned who one of them was this morning. The younger guy, with the long hair and goatee. I tracked him to his office just across the plaza in the city office building. He works as a data processor in the mail room. His name is Bradley Conners.” He glanced at the jury. “He goes by Buck.”

  “And do you know who the other man was?”

  “Oh, yeah. I knew who he was the second I saw him. I’ve seen him on TV, and I saw him a few weeks ago at a city council meeting. He’s in the gallery today.” Loving lifted a hand and pointed. “It was Councilman Bailey Whitman. Excuse me. Interim Mayor Whitman.”

  Murmurs and whispers blanketed the courtroom. No one was clear yet what was the significance of this testimony, but it was definitely interesting.

  After Ben sat down, Bullock began his cross. “Now let’s play straight with the jury,” Bullock said. “The fact is, you’re currently employed by the lawyer for the defense, right?”

  “Right,” Loving said, without blinking an eye. “I told you that already.”

  “He pays you a regular salary.”

  A quick glance at Ben. “Well … sorta regular.”

  Bullock lowered his chin, his eyes making a beeline for Loving’s. “Well, sir, how much is he paying you today?”

  Loving chuckled. “A hell of a lot less than you’re payin’ those fancy experts of yours.”

  Several jurors burst out laughing.

  “Be honest, sir,” Bullock continued, trying to maintain control. “Don’t you think the fact that you work for Mr. Kincaid has influenced your testimony?”

  “No, sir. It didn’t influence what I saw in the least. I saw what I saw.”

  “Uh-huh. And what would’ve happened if you’d come back to your boss and told him that you came up with nothing?”

  Loving shrugged. “Happens all the time. He ain’t fired me yet.”

  A few more chuckles from the gallery. Ben marveled. And he had been worried that Loving would be a flop. He should put him on the stand in every case.

  Obviously irritated, Bullock tried a new tack. “Mr. Loving, isn’t it true that you were divorced about three years ago?”

  Loving seemed understandably puzzled. “Ye-es.”

  “And isn’t it true that your wife’s suit against you was based on claims of moral indecency?”

  “Your honor,” Ben said. “This is not relevant. We all know people say extreme things when they’re going through a divorce. This is cheap and petty.”

  “True, but I’m afraid I’ll have to allow it.” Judge Hart looked up at Bullock, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of this line of questioning without actually overruling him. “You may proceed.”

  Bullock looked sternly at Loving. “Please answer the question.”

  Loving shot Ben a quick, piercing look. “I don’t personally know what the lawyer said about me at the trial. I wasn’t there.”

  Bullock continued. “Isn’t it also true that you were once arrested on charges of solicitation?”

  “That was a farce! I picked up this gal at Orpha’s Bar. How did I know she was a hooker? I thought she was just overcome by my manly charm.”

  “Nonetheless, you were arrested, correct?”

  “Yeah. And the charges were dropped almost immediately. I didn’t even spend a night in jail.”

  “Still, if someone sat and watched you and your female companion in … that bar you mentioned, they might well come away with the impression that you had done something illegal, even though you hadn’t, wouldn’t you agree?

  “I suppose.”

  “So in other words, sometimes, even when you see what you see, it isn’t what you thought you saw. Correct?”

  “I think I’m confused.”

  “The fact is, Mr. Loving, you don’t know what the two men you observed in the park were talking about, do you?”

  “Well, not for certain.”

  “And you don’t know why the man you claim was Bailey Whitman gave money to the other man, do you?”

  “Not for certain.”

  “And you don’t know who hit you over the head, do you?”

  “No,” he said, pounding a fist into his hand. “Wish I did.”

  “All you know is that two men met in a public park and talked. And that’s hardly illegal, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Loving. Nothing more.”

  Ben thought about redirecting, but innuendos aside, Bullock really hadn’t done that much damage to Loving, and he was anxious to get on with the next witness.

  “The defense recalls Harvey Sanders to the stand.”

  Ben had made sure Barrett’s now-famous neighbor was in the courtroom. Happily, despite the hard time Ben had given him on cross two days before, he had agreed to come when Ben called him. If anything, he seemed eager to take the stand again.

  “How’s the acting career coming?” Ben asked, smiling, as soon as Sanders was ensconced in the witness stand again.

  “Much better, actually.” Sanders flashed his grin, the one that had been featured on front pages from coast to coast the day before. “It’s amazing what a few hours in court can do to jump-start a career.”

  “I can imagine. Sir, I’ve called you back to the stand to ask you a single question. Earlier, you testified that you saw two strangers casing your neighborhood, and in particular, the home of Mayor Wallace Barrett.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “And you described one of those two people to the police as male, tall, lanky, wearing green fatigues and sporting a goatee.” Ben was careful to use the same words Loving had used to describe the man he saw meet Whitman in the park.

  Sanders grinned. “That’s what I said, counsel. Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”

  “You also testified that on one occasion, you saw the tall young man talking to another man in a brown sedan-type car, right?”

  “Still correct.”

  “But you didn’t recognize that man.”

  “ ’Fraid not.”

  Ben sidled toward the jury box. “Mr. Sanders, do you read the daily paper?

  “Only the horoscopes.”

  “Watch TV news?”

  “Never.”

  “Keep up with local current events?”

  “Can’t say that I do.”

  “Do you think you could identify the members of Tulsa’s city council?”

  “I couldn’t even name one.”

  “Well, let me ask you this. Is the man you saw sitting in that brown sedan in this courtroom?”

  Sanders seemed surprised, taken aback. His eyes began scanning the packed courtroom. “I don’t know.”

  “Let me make it easier for you.” He walked over to the prosecution table and asked Bullock to stand. Bullock grudgingly complied. “Is this the man you saw in the brown sedan?”

  Sanders shook his head. “No. Definitely not.”

  Ben gave Bullock a gentle pat. “Looks like you’re off the hook this time, Mr. Prosecutor.” The jurors, as well as most of the courtroom, laughed.

  Ben passed through the swinging doors into the gallery. He approached Brian Erickson, the city councilman from the far south district, and asked him to stand. “What about him, Mr. Sanders? Is he
the one you saw in the car?”

  Sanders stared at him carefully, then answered decisively. “No.”

  Ben crossed the nave of the courtroom and stood beside Interim Mayor Whitman. “Would you please stand, sir?”

  Whitman glared up at Ben with a look that could turn Kool-Aid to Popsicles. Wordlessly he pushed himself to his feet.

  “I object,” Bullock said. “Is counsel planning to go through the entire courtroom one at a time? This is nothing but a fishing expedition.”

  “Maybe so,” Judge Hart said, “but I gave you plenty of leeway when you were putting on your case, and I intend to give the defense the same latitude. Overruled.” Ben couldn’t be sure, but he thought the judge had definitely chilled toward Bullock.

  “What about this one, Mr. Sanders? Is he the man you saw in the brown sedan?”

  Sanders stared intensely across the courtroom. His eyes locked onto Whitman. For the longest time, no one in the courtroom stirred.

  Finally Sanders turned toward the judge. “Your honor, may I take a closer look?”

  “Of course. You may step down from the stand. Get as close as you like.”

  Sanders moved off the witness stand and slowly, almost timorously crossed the courtroom. It was a dramatic moment, and he seemed to be playing it to the hilt. He didn’t stop until he was only a foot away.

  Sanders’s eyes slowly widened; his lips eventually parted. “It is him,” he whispered.

  The courtroom roared. The television cameras whirled around to monitor Whitman’s reaction. Spectators stood in their pews, trying to get a closer look.

  “Take a close, careful look,” Ben urged him. “Make certain. This is very important. Are you absolutely sure that this is the man you saw in the brown sedan on the street outside Wallace Barrett’s house?”

  Sanders’s face became set and resolute. “I’m certain,” he said firmly. “It’s him.”

  The rumble in the courtroom continued unabated. Judge Hart pounded her gavel, fighting it back.

  “It’s a lie,” Whitman spat out.

  “I know what I saw,” Sanders shot back. “It was you!”

  Judge Hart pounded even harder. “That’s enough. The witness will return to the stand. Everyone else will sit down and be quiet or you will be escorted out of the courtroom.”