Dark Justice (44 page)

“Well, given what happened—”

“Aha!” Ben pointed across the podium. “Now we get to the truth of the matter. You’re not testifying about what you know. You’re filling in the blanks of what you don’t know, based on what happened later.”

“It’s common sense—”

“It is not common sense. It’s attitude. You could’ve filled in the gaps in such a way as to exonerate your friend. But instead you chose to do it in a way that would crucify him.”

Granny rose to her feet. “Your honor, he’s not questioning the witness.”

Ben continued unabated. “That was a decision you made, Rick, not him. You decided to paint Zak in the worst way possible. And why, I wonder? Could it be because he was promoted over you and made head of this Green Rage team? Could it be that you thought with him executed, you’d have Deirdre all to yourself?”

“Your honor!” Granny shouted. “This witness is not on trial.”

Judge Pickens pounded his gavel. “I’ve had enough of this, Kincaid. Sit down.”

“What about it, Rick?” Ben continued, shouting over the din. “Tell us why you turned Judas on your best friend! Tell us why you’re so desperate to get him out of the way!”

“Kincaid! Sit down!” Judge Pickens had risen to his full height. He was towering over the bench, his arms outstretched. He looked like he was about to throw the gavel across the room like a tomahawk. “This examination is
over
!”

Ben folded up his notebook and returned to his table. He just hoped his dramatic demonstration had some impact with the jury.

Ben’s eyes met Christina’s. They didn’t have to speak; he knew what they were both thinking. The jury had it all now: means, opportunity—and motive. It would’ve been a stretch to make the jury believe Gardiner was killed just because he was a logger cutting down trees. But a malicious adulterer taking out a jealous husband? That was altogether too easy. That had the ring of truth to it.

The very dangerous ring of truth.

A
FTER A MUCH-NEEDED
fifteen-minute break, Judge Pickens reassembled the court for the last witness of the day. The last witness the prosecution was going to call.

And thank God for that, Ben thought. Could it possibly get any worse than this?

As it turned out, it could.

“The State calls Marco Geppi to the stand.”

Ben watched as Geppi was escorted to the front of the courtroom. Ben knew he had been Rick’s cellmate in the county jail for the last several days, but Zak had sworn that he hadn’t known the man before and that he hadn’t told him anything incriminating, so Ben hadn’t worried about it. At this point, however, it was becoming increasingly clear to Ben that Zak’s word wasn’t worth a hell of a lot. And he also had learned that Granny didn’t do anything for no reason. If she wanted to put this man on the stand—as the last witness in her case, no less—that was reason enough to worry.

Geppi wasn’t wearing prison greens, but it wasn’t hard to imagine him in them, either. His hair was unkempt and his chin was stubbled. Had Granny decided cleaning him up wasn’t worth the trouble? Or had she perhaps decided he would be more convincing if he looked like exactly what he was?

“Would you state your name, please?” Ben noticed that Granny wasn’t smiling; for once, she was not suggesting to the jury that this witness was her friend.

Geppi cleared his throat, slumped forward slightly. “Marco Geppi.”

“And where do you live?”

“At the moment, here in Magic Valley.”

“And where do you currently reside?”

Geppi cleared his throat. “Cell Five of the county jail.”

That got the jurors’ attention. “Why are you there?”

“I’ve been arrested. Possession of an illegal substance.”

“Narcotics?” Granny was smart enough to get all the dirt out early, rather than to leave it for Ben to make hay about on cross.

“Yeah. That’s the charge, anyway.”

“And is anyone else currently residing in the county jail?”

“Yeah. Since I arrived, there’s been a guy in the cell next to me. Him.” He pointed across the courtroom. “George Zakin. He told me to call him Zak.”

“Did you know Mr. Zakin beforehand?”

“No. Never met the guy.”

“Had you heard of his organization—Green Rage?”

“Can’t say as I had.” He bowed apologetically toward the jury. “I don’t read the papers much.”

“Well then,” Granny continued, “in the time that you’ve spent with Mr. Zakin, have you come to like him?”

“Oh, he’s all right. Kind of a chatterbox. If I’ve got to be that close to someone for that long, I usually prefer it to be someone who ain’t so fond of talking.”

Some of the jurors smiled.

Granny crossed to the jury side of the podium. “What exactly does Mr. Zakin like to talk about?”

“He’s probably gotten to ’bout everything at one time or another.”

Granny allowed herself a grin. “Can you identify some of his favorite themes?”

“Oh, you know. Trees are dyin’ all over the world and soon there won’t be any left. Magic Valley may have the world’s largest cedar. Loggers are all dimwits and scumbags. That sort of thing.”

“I see. Did he by any chance mention the murder incident that caused him to be incarcerated?”

Ben felt a cold clutching at the base of his spine. He’d prepared enough witnesses for direct to know that nothing is left to chance. You don’t ask a question unless you know the answer—and like it.

“Oh, yeah. In great detail.”

Ben could see the jurors ever so slightly inching forward. They understood now why this witness had been called. And they were anxious to hear what he had to say.

“And why would he talk to you?”

“Well, in part, ’cause he was bored, and in part, I think, ’cause he likes to brag. He’s pretty fond of talkin’ about himself, or so it seemed to me. I don’t know why. Maybe he thought if he made himself out to be the big man, I’d be less likely to hassle him.”

“For instance, what did he say?”

“Well, he bragged about how good he was with bombs, how many bombs he’s planted to blow up loggers’ equipment and stuff. Man, that boy hates loggers—just hates ’em. His face gets all twisted up and weird every time he talks about them. He’s kinda crazy on the subject.”

Ben heard a whispering in his ear. “This isn’t true,” Zak said. “This conversation never happened.”

Granny continued her examination. “Did he mention any specific crimes?”

“Well, he mentioned some logger named Gardiner.”

“Gardiner?” Granny repeated. “Dwayne Gardiner?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Man, he really had it in for that poor chump.”

“Do you know why?”

“Yeah. He told me all about it. Told me he’d been drill—er, um, you know … sleeping with the man’s wife.”

“He told you this?” Granny reiterated. “The defendant himself told you this?”

“Oh, yeah. In great detail. More than I wanted to hear. He told me about all the positions they tried and all the kinky stuff they did. I’m no prude, but even I was kinda grossed out by some of it.”

“Did he tell you anything more about this … relationship?”

“Yeah. Told me that just before the murder, the chump husband—this Gardiner sap—found out about it. Said he was pretty damn angry, too. Threatened Zak within an inch of his life.”

“And what did Zak say he did in response?”

Geppi squirmed a bit in his chair. He glanced up at Granny, then proceeded. “He said he figured he’d better go after Gardiner before Gardiner came after him.”

“The defendant said that?” Granny said in a voice the jury couldn’t possibly miss. “And you heard it?”

“Sure thing. With my own ears. Told me all about how he planted a bomb on this thing, this … um, tree cutter, that’s what it was. Set the bomb, then lured the poor chump out there, shot him, got away to a safe distance—then blew the thing sky-high.”

The reaction could not have been greater had another bomb gone off in the jury box. The jurors’ eyes widened like balloons; they looked at one another with astonishment and horror.

Oh my God, Ben thought quietly, trying not to display any visible reaction. Oh my God. What now?

Granny adopted a quieter tone. “Did Mr. Zakin tell you anything else about this … fatal incident?”

“Yeah. Told me he watched from a safe distance. Told me he watched Gardiner catch on fire and burn. And he laughed. That’s what he said. He said he laughed the whole time. And then he thought, You logging bastard. Your wife’s ass is mine.”

Zak pressed himself against Ben’s shoulder. “This is complete fiction, Ben. You’ve gotta believe me. I never said these things.” He pressed even closer. “You gotta believe me!”

Ben didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“Mr. Geppi,” Granny asked quietly, trying not to break the aura of horror and disgust that had enveloped the jury box, “why did you come forward with this testimony?”

“Well, I thought someone ought to know. I mean, I’ve done some bad things in my time. Things I’m ashamed of. But this dude was …
cold,
you know? To burn someone alive just so he could keep on screwin’ his wife? To sit there laughin’ while the poor schmuck burned to death? That just gave me the creeps all over. This dude needs to be put away permanently. That’s why I came forward.”

“Thank you, Mr. Geppi. No more questions.”

No more questions indeed, Ben thought. No more questions needed. The stake had been driven through Zak’s heart but good. He didn’t know how Granny had gotten this man to testify, but he knew what the effect would be if Ben didn’t destroy him on cross.

The effect would be to eliminate any doubt in the jurors’ minds whatsoever that Zak was guilty of murder—murder so premeditated and horrible that it begged for the death penalty.

T
HE MAN WAS LYING,
Ben told himself, as he marched up to the podium. Whatever else you may think about Zak right now, this witness is lying. Problem was, there is nothing more difficult than getting a self-aware, unrepentant liar to confess. He would have to come on strong, like he held all the cards and there was no way Geppi could possibly escape his grasp.

“What did the prosecutor promise you, Mr. Geppi?”

Geppi blinked rapidly, his face the picture of innocence. “Promise me? I don’t get you.”

“You made a deal. Your testimony for a quid pro quo. I want to know what it is.”

Geppi shook his head earnestly. “There was no deal.”

“Are you trying to tell this jury you were not offered anything in exchange for your testimony?”

“It’s true.”

“No promise of immunity? No suspended sentence?”

“Absolutely not.”

“The man’s telling the truth,” Judge Pickens said, interjecting. “Any plea bargain or request for immunity would have to go through me, and I haven’t seen it. There’s no deal.”

Ben clenched his teeth together. There had to be some arrangement. Geppi had nothing to gain by this personally; Ben couldn’t believe he would come forward with this pack of lies on his own initiative. But how could he prove it?

“If you don’t have anything yet, maybe a promise was made. A promise of some reward in the future.”

“There is no deal,” Geppi repeated.

“Maybe Granny told you that after this trial was over, the charges against you would be dropped.”

“I have already instructed my attorney to plead guilty,” Geppi answered. “I’m just waiting for sentencing.”

Damn! Ben knew there had to be something. But whatever it was, Granny had built a wall around it so tall and strong he couldn’t break through. “So you’re telling me the only reason you’re testifying today is because you have such a highly developed sense of civic duty?”

Geppi looked down at his hands. “That’s not … the only reason.”

At last! Ben thought. “And what’s the other reason?”

Geppi spoke haltingly. “I … I have a sister. Had a sister. Angela. Just a scrawny thing—but pretty, in her way. She was killed at a gas station. No fault of her own—she was caught in the middle of a robbery. It didn’t make any sense.” His hand covered his face. “But when I heard this man talk—brag—about what he had done to this logger, I thought of my sister. She died for no reason, through no fault of her own, just as he did. I understand he had a family too, a wife and a little boy. A boy about the same age as Angela.” His voice broke, then trailed off.

Ben stared at the witness stand. What was going on here? Was that man actually crying up there? Ben had marched in determined to bring out the truth, and now this slimy convict had taken total control of the examination.

He glanced over at the jury. As far as he could tell, they were entirely sympathetic. Two of them looked as if they were about to cry themselves. He had no way to impeach this melodramatic story about Angela, and he knew that battering the witness would not win Zak any points with the jury. But he couldn’t sit down now, not on this note. There had to be something else he could try. Perhaps if he showed how unlikely it was that this conversation ever took place …

“Mr. Kincaid,” Pickens said. “Are you done?”

“Not quite,” Ben said. He looked squarely at Geppi’s tear-streaked face. “My client denies your story. Every word of it.”

Geppi looked away, dabbing his eyes. “I’m not surprised.”

“Why would he tell you about this? He doesn’t even know you. He’s smart enough to realize you might testify.”

Geppi shook his head, his face the mask of tragedy. “Don’t you see? He was bragging. He’s proud of it—he’s proud of what he done. All the hurting and killing, all the fighting and turmoil—he thrives on it. He thinks he’s some kind of hero. A freedom fighter for the revolution. But he’s not.” Geppi’s voice became low and almost guttural. “He’s not. He’s just a murderer. A coldblooded goddamned murderer.”

Judge Pickens rapped his gavel, but Ben noticed his heart wasn’t really in it.

Ben proceeded to bring out Geppi’s priors, based on the criminal history the prosecution was required to provide. A conviction for petty theft, another for possession. Geppi didn’t try to deny them. And none of it made the jury forget what he had said before.

“I’m done,” Ben said bitterly. He grabbed his notebook and stepped down.