“Kincaid, try to get this through your head. I don’t take my instructions from anyone. I’m not on anyone’s payroll. Neither is my department. When we go out on patrol, we go looking for crime, regardless of the politics behind it.”
“But you patrol in places where you’ll catch environmentalists.”
“Or loggers. If more of my men had been in the forest that night, your Green Rage buddies might not have lost their camp. And if I hadn’t been driving around the night that whipping took place, three of your friends might well be dead now.”
Ben bit his lip. Allen was right, of course. Ben was out of line. “I’m sorry. Trying this case has made me paranoid.”
“Can’t say as I blame you for that.” They drove another fifteen minutes or so down a narrow dirt trail into the heart of the forest. Ben supposed that Allen probably had landmarks that he followed. For Ben, it was just trees and trees and more trees.
Eventually Allen pulled the Jeep over to the side of the road. “From here, we walk.”
Allen checked his pocket compass and pointed. They headed off in that direction.
Not two minutes later, Ben saw Deputy Andrews in the distance. As they approached, Ben picked up on his distressed expression, the pasty white condition of his face.
“Where?” Sheriff Allen asked.
Andrews pointed, up high and to the left.
And there she was.
She had been nailed facefirst to the tree, with six sturdy iron spikes hammered through her arms, legs, and torso. She had been crucified, her arms stretched out and her legs splayed. Except on closer examination, Ben realized her arms weren’t so much stretched out as … wrapped around the tree trunk.
She was a tree hugger, now. Literally. And finally.
Chapter 36
“You gonna be all right?”
Ben nodded. He’d been sick-right after he’d gotten his first glimpse of the grotesque, blood-soaked corpse pinioned to the treetops. It was Tess all right, but nothing like the Tess he had met a few days before. This atrocity was more rag doll than human being.
He’d tried to contain himself, but to no avail. “Sorry. I don’t normally react this way.”
“Ben,” Allen said, “there is no normal for something like this. It’s not a normal situation.”
Shortly thereafter, the rest of the crime team arrived. They began the deliberate process of collecting evidence, trying to find any trace of the monster who had done this.
The worst lot fell to the two men from the coroner’s office. They were supposed to recover the body. But how? Could they pry her loose? The standard coroner’s bag didn’t include a claw hammer.
“We can’t just leave her like this,” Allen said bitterly. “Go back and find something that will do the job.”
The coroner’s men did as they were told. Ben noticed they didn’t seem all that upset to be leaving the crime scene. But then, who would be?
Eventually, the coroner’s team returned with ladders, heavy-duty prying equipment, and two more burly-looking associates. Ben didn’t envy them in the least. The task they had before them was so gruesome he couldn’t watch. He didn’t even want to think about it.
The next two hours were spent photographing the crime scene and collecting trace evidence. Ben hung around, hoping the investigators might turn up something he could use at trial. One thing was certain: Tess was not killed by George Zakin, who had been behind bars when this murder occurred. Granny would no doubt claim that there were two different murderers at work. But if Ben could prove both killings were the work of the same killer, it would prove the killer wasn’t Zak.
And-more disturbingly-it would prove that the true killer was still at large.
“I can’t say that I see any connection between the two crimes at all,” Sheriff Allen said, taking a short break from supervising the crime-scene detail. “The previous murder was of a logger. This victim was a Green Rager.”
“You’re assuming the motive is linked to the tree-cutting dispute,” Ben said. “But what if it isn’t? What if it’s about something altogether different?”
“Like what?”
“If I knew that, this would be a very short trial. Unfortunately, I don’t.”
“You’re just speculating, Ben.”
“Maybe. But look at it this way. By all appearances, this crime was committed by someone in the logging camp. Someone free, on the loose, and capable of murder. Presumably, that person was around when Dwayne Gardiner was killed, too. So who’s to say this sick bastard might not have committed the first murder?”
“I don’t agree that it appears this crime was committed by a logger. I’ve grown up with loggers. Most of them are good, calm, decent men. This could just as easily have been done by one of your terrorist pals.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Maybe they had an internal dispute. Some fight for power or authority. I hear these terrorist groups spend half their time squabbling among themselves.”
“Green Rage is not a terrorist group.”
“Or maybe someone did it to throw suspicion on the loggers. Try to get your man Zakin off the hook.”
Ben frowned. It was theoretically possible, he supposed. Disturbing, but possible.
“Thanks for inviting me out here,” Ben said. “I probably won’t sleep for weeks. But I needed to know what was happening.”
“No thanks necessary. No matter what you think, the local law intends to give everyone a fair shake.”
“I wish everyone in this town shared your intent. You think some of your men could give me a ride back to town?”
“Yep. You can ride in the coroner’s truck.”
Ben winced.
“Don’t worry. They’ll have room for you up front.”
Well, that was a relief, anyway. “Thanks again, Sheriff. If there’s ever anything I can do for you …”
A sheepish grin came over the man’s face. “Well, you could put in a good word for me with that legal assistant of yours.”
Ben nodded. Yes, he certainly could. And probably should.
But would he?
That was the question.
Chapter 37
The second trial day in Judge Pickens’s courtroom evidenced no diminution of local interest. If anything, there were even more spectators; Ben noted that the sergeants-at-arms had allowed more spectators in to fill the seats vacated by yesterday’s jury pool. All the familiar faces Ben had noted the day before had returned.
Ben had barely slept. Even after he returned from the site where Tess’s body was found, escorted by two coroner’s attendants with distressingly lively senses of humor, he hadn’t been able to sleep. The scene was too memorable, too horrific, and besides, he needed to practice his opening statement.
Of all the various components of a trial, this was perhaps the one Ben hated most. Although, come to think of it, he probably said that about every phase of the trial at one time or another. But in opening statement, it was possible to prepare in advance, to can it-and most lawyers did. Some of them were very polished speakers, adept at delivering rehearsed speeches.
Ben wasn’t. He much preferred having another person to interact with, a witness or a juror. Standing in front of fourteen people and delivering a prepared monologue only served to remind him why public speaking was most people’s greatest terror. And sleep deprivation wasn’t making it any better, either. Judge Pickens had announced in advance that openings would be limited to a half hour for each side-a disappointment for Granny, a godsend for Ben.
When the sheriff’s deputy brought Zak into the courtroom, he appeared even more furious than the day before. “What the hell is going on out there?”
Ben lowered his eyes. “You’ve heard about Tess.”
“Damn straight.” Zak reached up to brush back his hair, then realized he’d cut it short. “They say this woman was part of Green Rage? I never even met her.”
“She was new,” Ben said, repeating what Maureen had told him
. “She was local.”
“And they killed her? Man. This thing is out of control. Totally out of control.”
Ben was inclined to agree. But unfortunately, nothing had happened yet that was likely to stop the pattern of strikes and strike-backs. At this rate, the spiral of hate would continue to expand until it finally culminated in something even more horrible than what happened to Tess.
“This group is falling apart!” Zak moaned. “They’ve got everyone so scared-even Deirdre won’t go into the forest. How the hell is she going to find the world’s largest cedar tree if she won’t go into the forest?”
“I appreciate the dilemma,” Ben said gently, “but at the moment, you have worse problems to worry about.”
“Yeah, but-”
“And that’s what I want you focused on. This trial. One hundred percent.”
Zak folded his arms and gave Ben a grudging nod.
The bailiff made the usual announcement, and in walked the Honorable Judge Tyrone J. Pickens. The Time Machine was on time this morning, and Ben for one was relieved.
Pickens ran briskly through all the introductory instructions to the jury, admonishing them not to discuss the case till the presentation of evidence was completed, reminding them that their decision should be based upon the testimony and the evidence-and that what lawyers said was not testimony or evidence. On that happy note, he called for opening statements.
Granny took center stage with a solemn expression on her face. She signaled from the outset that there would be no fun and games during this opening. She wanted to impress them with the gravity of the crime-and the necessity of punishment.
“Dwayne Gardiner was only thirty-two years old,” she said, adopting the narrative tone of an evening newscaster. “He had a wife and a small boy.” She paused, allowing the import of her words to sink in. “Dwayne had worked for WLE Logging all his adult life, since he was eighteen. He was a hard worker and a good one, often putting in as many as sixty hours a week. He was up for promotion, and had he lived another six months”-another ponderous pause-”he would probably have been given a position that would almost double his salary. He and his young wife would have been able to buy that three-room house on Lincoln they had their eye on. But now that will never happen.”
Ben kept his hands planted firmly on the table. He could object on grounds of relevance-because none of this was-but he knew that would gain him little ground with the jury. He would wait for something more important.
“That will never happen because on July thirteenth, in the dead of night, his life was stolen by this man.” Her arm shot back and pointed directly at Zak. “George Zakin killed Dwayne Gardiner-what’s more, killed him in perhaps the most gruesome, agonizing way you could imagine. I will warn you in advance-this is not a crime for the weak-stomached. When you hear what happened, you will be disturbed by it-perhaps more disturbed than you have been by anything you’ve heard before in your life.”
Ben shook his head. As if the crime wasn’t bad enough already, Granny was determined to melodramatize it, to build suspense, to ensure that they would be horrified when they finally heard the details.
“Why did he do it? you may be wondering. Why would anyone commit such a heinous crime against an innocent, hard-working man? Well, George Zakin is a member of an organization called Green Rage. I’ll bet you’ve heard of it. In fact, Mr. Zakin is the local leader of the group. Green Rage claims to be an environmental group, but its real purpose is to stir up controversy and turmoil by committing terroristic acts against loggers and logging companies.
“Green Rage came to town a few months ago, trying to stop the totally legal and federally approved logging of the Mount Crescent watershed. It seems the rule of law was of no importance to these Green Ragers; they were a law unto themselves. They began stealing equipment, sabotaging the mill. They even planted bombs on expensive logging equipment, blowing them up in dangerous high-octane explosions.”
She pivoted, adopting a somewhat more contemplative tone. “Now, I don’t know what you jurors think about people who use bombs. But in the wake of the World Trade Center and the hideous Oklahoma City tragedy, we in the law enforcement community are not very sympathetic to these tactics. But I’m not asking you to pass judgment on whether it’s acceptable to use terroristic tactics to achieve political goals.”
Like hell you’re not, Ben thought.
“I’m simply telling you that the evidence will show that these tactics were used by Green Rage, that it was in fact a disturbingly common practice for this team of elitist radicals. So it is not altogether surprising, if nonetheless tragic, that the tree cutter Dwayne Gardiner tried to start on the night of July thirteenth had a bomb planted in it, a bomb that was rigged to explode when the ignition was turned. A bomb planted by George Zakin.”
Granny kicked her head back, swishing her buoyant hair behind her shoulders, pressing her bosom forward ever so slightly. It seemed Granny was not opposed to using a hint of sex appeal to get her message across, either.
“You may be thinking-how do they know it was Zakin? Why not one of the other Green Ragers? Well, the truth is, some of the others may have been involved. In fact, some of them probably were, at least in the procurement of the bomb materials. We know these people have been stockpiling explosives for some time.”
She took a deep breath. “But we also know the man who planted the bomb was Mr. Zakin. Mr. Zakin has both experience and expertise with bombs. We know Zakin was in the forest at the time of the murder-quite a coincidence, don’t you think? Moreover, at the scene of the murder, we discovered actual physical evidence that proves Zakin is the culprit beyond a reasonable doubt. Zakin’s fingerprints on shards of exploded metal. Footprints. Dental analysis. And more.
“I know what some of you may be thinking. You’re wondering if perhaps the killing was an accident. Perhaps Zakin planted the bomb, but Gardiner only accidentally got in the way. You should be commended for these charitable thoughts, but unfortunately, the evidence will show otherwise. The evidence will show that Dwayne Gardiner was shot first-at near point-blank range-before the bomb went off. And may I also point out that this was not a passive bomb. This was a bomb rigged to explode when someone turned the ignition. And that’s only part of the reason we are so confident this crime was not committed inadvertently.”
She turned away from the jury as if lost in thought. In fact, Ben realized, she was drawing out the suspense, biding her time before she delivered her clincher. “You see, I’ve only told you part of the motive for Zakin’s damnable act of homicide. There was the environmental aspect, yes, but there was also a … personal aspect. Witnesses will take the stand and tell you that Zakin knew the late Mr. Gardiner, that they had previously had a very public, very violent conflict. Zakin had a personal reason for wanting Dwayne Gardiner dead-a reason so abominable it will shock you when you learn the truth.”
Ben had to hand it to her. Granny was like the Agatha Christie of trial lawyers. She intimated everything while telling nothing. She was saving all her best bits for maximum impact. The jury would be hanging breathlessly in anticipation every time she put a witness on the stand, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting for the grisly truth, the untold secrets, the smoking guns, to be revealed.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, when you have had an opportunity to consider all the evidence, all the testimony and all the exhibits, I am confident you will find what we at the DA.’s office have known for some time-that George Zakin killed Dwayne Gardiner in cold blood. But when you deliver that verdict, your job will be only half done. At that time, you will be asked to determine the sentence to be rendered in judgment for this horrible crime. I warn you now, I will be asking for the most extreme sanction. But then isn’t this a most extreme crime? Certainly the D.A.’s office thinks it is. Certainly Dwayne Gardiner’s wife and his now fatherless little boy think it is.
She paused, allowing the jury to conjure up the image of that grief-stricken family before pr
oceeding. “But most important, by the conclusion of the evidence, I know you will believe it is. And therefore, I know you will do what is right. What is necessary. Each and every one of you.”
She lowered her head, almost as if in prayer. “Thank you very much for your attention.”
Chapter 38
For Ben, the worst part of seeing Granny sit down was not simply that she had done such a spectacularly effective job. The worst part was knowing that this meant it was time for him to stand. And talk.
He heard Zak whispering in his ear. “Wow. That was pretty damn good. You think the jury bought all that?”
“Hard to say,” Ben answered, expressing doubts he didn’t really possess. “What did she mean about you having a personal motive?”
“Beats me,” Zak said. “I think she’s pulling rabbits out of her hat. Probably making it up as she goes along.”
No, Ben mused, Granny was much too good a prosecutor for that. She knew that if she promised the jury something in opening, they’d be waiting for it during the trial. And if it didn’t appear, they’d take it as a sign that either she was lying or her case was falling apart.
She wouldn’t make that mistake. She wouldn’t promise anything unless she was sure she could deliver. But what was it?
“Mr. Kincaid,” Judge Pickens said, “would you like to make your opening statement now, or reserve it until the start of your case?”
Like he would be crazy enough to let Granny’s diatribe go unrefuted for ten seconds. “I’ll open now, your honor.”
Ben walked out from behind his table and faced the jury. He tried to move all the way to the rail, as Granny had done, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt as if he were invading their personal space. Instead, he found a comfortable spot a few feet from the rail and lodged himself there.
“Here’s the straight skivvy,” Ben said, trying to make eye contact with each of the jurors in turn. “George Zakin is a member of Green Rage. In fact, he’s the team leader of the group that has been working in the forest just outside of town. It’s also true that Green Rage-and George Zakin-oppose the continued clear-cutting of your old-growth forest. And it’s true that Green Rage sometimes uses tactics commonly referred to as monkeywrenching-tactics that probably wouldn’t be approved of in your Sunday-school class. All of that is absolutely one hundred percent true.”
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