Murder One (34 page)

“How so?”

Bailey inched ever so subtly toward the jury box. “I didn’t get all the details, but somehow, his wife found out about the affair. She was mad. She was talking about divorce, talking about takin’ him to the cleaners. As I think you know, Joe didn’t work for money—he was actually quite well off. At the same time, Keri Dalcanton was having a major tantrum, demanding that he come back to her, threatenin’ him.”

“Threatening him?”

“Oh yeah. In no uncertain terms. Joe told me she said that if he dumped her, he’d be very sorry.”

Ben heard Keri whispering under her breath. “It isn’t true. I didn’t even know yet.”

Christina cautioned her to remain quiet.

“He would be sorry,” LaBelle repeated. “What exactly did that mean, Sergeant?”

“Joe didn’t know. But given her fondness for violence, he was worried about it.”

“Was there anything else?”

“Yeah. When he told her that his wife knew and all, she apparently went kinda crazy. Started screamin’ and shoutin’ and spittin’. Throwin’ things at him. He said he finally had to leave. She was nuts—screamin’ the same word over and over again.”

“Indeed. And what was that word?”

Bailey took a deep breath before answering. “
Faithless.
That’s what she called him. That’s what she said over and over again.
Faithless.
”

Ben watched the reaction on the jurors’ faces as they heard the dreaded magic word. The word the killer had painted on McNaughton’s chest in his own blood.

LaBelle pivoted and gave Keri a long look—thus inviting the jury to do the same.

A considerable period of time elapsed before he spoke again. “I have no more questions, your honor.”

As Ben scrambled to the podium, he could think of at least ten different ways to start the cross of this witness. But he had to pick one. And it needed to be the right one, because the testimony this man delivered had been keenly incriminating.

Ben cranked up the volume so he could be sure his first question hit home. “Have you been following me?”

Bailey blinked several times rapidly. “I … excuse me?”

“You heard the question. Have you been following me?”

“I … uh … I don’t know what …” Ben was pleased—and relieved—to see the witness stumbling around. Evidently he had managed to choose the one subject on which LaBelle had not known to prepare him.

LaBelle tried to bail him out. “Objection, your honor. Lack of relevance.”

“Lack of relevance?” Ben shot back. “Like it’s not relevant whether the police have been harassing and stalking the defense team? Believe me, your honor, I’ll tie it up.”

Judge Cable rubbed the bridge of his nose unhappily. “Well …”

“Furthermore,” LaBelle added, “I object on grounds that this exceeds the scope of the direct examination.”

“I think it will soon be evident,” Ben said, “that this is keenly relevant to the credibility of every word this man has ever said.”

Judge Cable sighed heavily. “I will give you some leeway to quickly and firmly establish the relevance of this line of questioning, Mr. Kincaid. Don’t disappoint me.”

Ben turned back toward the witness. “Let’s try it again, Sergeant Bailey. Have you been following me?”

He coughed. His words came slowly. “I, um, I still don’t see …”

“Maybe I can help you.” Ben whipped a photo out of his notebook. “This was taken by my investigator a few nights ago just outside my office building. It clearly shows you and another officer, Arlen Matthews, who coincidentally has also testified against my client, watching my office. So let me ask again, Sergeant. Have you been following me?”

Bailey inhaled, lifting his massive chest, then letting it fall. “Yes.”

Hallelujah. “For how long?”

Another long pause. “Since the first dismissal of this case.”

“You and Arlen Matthews?”

“Like it shows in the picture.”

“Anyone else?”

He nodded. “At times.”

“And was this an official police assignment?”

“No.”

Too bad, Ben thought. A
yes
might’ve gotten this case dismissed again. “So why were you there? Why were you stalking me? Why were you surveilling my office?”

Bailey craned his neck. “We were concerned because … we felt that you had gotten Joe’s killer off by underhanded means and … we wanted to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

“So you invaded my privacy. Carried on illegal surveillance.”

“Now wait a minute. We never did anything illegal.”

“I wonder. Were you watching the night the police found the alleged murder weapon in my office?” This question would, of course, remove the carefully drawn curtain of anonymity around the identity of the lawyer who had the knife, but Ben thought it was worth it to follow up this line of questioning.

Bailey frowned. “I was.”

“And Matthews?”

“For a while. Then he got an anonymous call, which caused him to get the warrant to search your office.”

“Did you actually hear this anonymous call?”

“Well …”

“No. Matthews just told you there had been such a call, right?”

Another long pause. “That’s right. But—”

“And were you and your buddies also on hand a few nights ago when a young woman was brutally stabbed in my office?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Are you sure? Because my investigator—”

“We were there that night. But we left before … the incident. We thought everyone had left.”

“But you
were
there that night.”

“Yes. But we—”

“Just answer the questions, Sergeant.” He assumed the man would not admit he was behind the stabbing, so he moved on. “Would you please explain to the jury the meaning of the phrase ‘the Blue Squeeze’?”

Bailey hesitated, giving LaBelle time to try to bail him out. “Your honor, Mr. Kincaid promised us he would establish the relevance of this questioning and he has failed to do so. He’s just trying to tarnish the reputations of our valiant police officers in a cheap attempt—”

“I’m trying to tarnish the reputations of the stalkers who have been illegally hounding me and my staff,” Ben replied. “And if he doesn’t see the relevance, he needs to be shipped back to first-year law school!”

Judge Cable pointed a gavel. “Mr. Kincaid, watch your tongue.”

“Your honor, this is gross misconduct of the worst sort by police officers who have passed themselves off as disinterested witnesses. I should be asking for a mistrial.”

Ben saw Judge Cable’s face lose its color. The last thing on earth he wanted was to see this case boomerang back again. “I’ll allow this to continue. But get to the point.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle said, “for the record, I must protest—”

“Sit down!” Cable snapped.

Ben and Christina exchanged a look. Cable going after the prosecutor? Was it possible he was beginning to smell a rat, too?

“I’ll repeat the question,” Ben said to Bailey, “and don’t pretend you don’t know the answer. What’s the Blue Squeeze?”

Another heavy sigh. “The Blue Squeeze is a term some people use when police officers decide to—well, put the squeeze on someone.”

“We’re not talking about official police business, right?”

Bailey nodded. “This would be a … private matter.”

“And after the first trial ended, you put the Blue Squeeze on me and my staff, didn’t you?”

“It wasn’t my idea—”

“Matthews then. Whoever. But the Blue Squeeze was on, right?”

Bailey glanced at LaBelle, but there was no way the prosecutor could help him now. “Right. The Blue Squeeze was on. I didn’t think it was necessary, or even a particularly good idea. But some of the other boys—”

“I’m sure they dragged you kicking and screaming.”

“Mr. Kincaid!” Judge Cable bellowed.

“Sorry, your honor. I’ll withdraw that.” As if it mattered. “You admit the Blue Squeeze was on. You admit you were following me and my staff around, watching our movements, watching our office—”

“But we didn’t do anythin’,” Bailey insisted. “We just wanted to make sure you didn’t try anythin’ underhanded. We just watched.”

“You just watched. And we’re supposed to believe that it’s just a coincidence that while you were watching, the knife turned up in my office.”

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” Bailey said. “I think you—”

“And it was just a coincidence that Paula Connelly, who was working with me on Keri Dalcanton’s defense, was brutally attacked—while you were watching.”

“I don’t know anything about—”

“For all we know, you might’ve planted every piece of evidence in this case. It’s clear that you and your friends were so determined to see my client convicted, you were willing to do anything!”

LaBelle rose. “Is that a question?”

Well, Ben had done about all he could here anyway. It was time to move on. “I’ll withdraw it.” He flipped to the next page of his outline. “Can you explain to me why Joe McNaughton was demoted, several months before he was killed?”

Bailey seemed startled by the abrupt change of subject. “Why—what?”

“You’ve told us you and Joe were buddies, that you talked to him all the time. Surely you know why he was demoted.”

“It was my understanding that … Internal Affairs was concerned that he might’ve gotten … too close to the subject of his investigation.”

“That would be Antonio Catrona?”

“Yes.”

“And can you then explain why sometime later his rank was restored?”

Bailey shrugged. “I assume the IA investigation cleared him.”

“Really?” Ben arched an eyebrow. “If IA cleared him, why was Corporal Wesley running around taking pictures of McNaughton through the windowpane?”

Bailey paused. “I don’t know.”

“Could it be that he wasn’t really cleared—because he really was tangled up with Catrona? Could that unfortunate connection possibly be the real reason he was killed?”

“I don’t think it’s—”

“
Is
—
it—possible?
” Ben asked, practically shouting.

“I couldn’t say,” Bailey replied.

“Then you don’t really know who killed Joe McNaughton, do you?”

“No,” he said finally. “I guess I don’t.”

“That’s right,” Ben said, walking away from the podium. “And neither does anyone else.”

I
T WAS LATE, WELL
past visiting hours at St. John’s, but Ben still wanted to stop by the hospital before he went home. It had been an exhausting day at trial, and tomorrow would be no better—but this was something he had to do. He owed it to Jones—and to Paula.

After sweet-talking his way past the admissions desk, he quietly pushed open the door to room 522 and tiptoed inside.

Jones was sitting at the side of the bed, his head resting against the iron railing. His eyes were closed, but Ben knew he was not asleep.

“How goes it?” Ben asked quietly.

Jones did not look up. “No change.”

Ben stepped carefully around the end of the bed, glancing at the chart as he passed. “Christina told me the doctors say she’s stable.”

“Sort of,” Jones mumbled. “Stable, but critical. They’ve got her blood level normal again. They’ve patched up the wound. They’re feeding her intravenously. But she won’t wake up.”

Ben glanced at Paula’s recumbent form, lying atop the bed like Sleeping Beauty, alive but deep in slumber. She looked as if she had been that way forever. The rubber bag attached to her respirator slowly filled and emptied, but there was no other sign of life. “Is she in a coma?”

Jones shrugged. “They don’t know what it is exactly. They say she should come around. But she doesn’t. She may have gone too close to the edge. She was very low on blood before they got her to the hospital. It may have been too—”

“Don’t talk that way,” Ben said, cutting him off. “Don’t even think it. She just needs time, that’s all. She suffered a grievous injury and she needs time to recover. Build her strength. I was in a coma once, and I know—”

“Ben, stop.” Slowly, Jones’s head rose from the railing. His eyes were red and lined and tired. A pink smudge showed where the iron bar had imprinted upon his cheek. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. That I haven’t already thought about. Constantly.” He stood up, but his legs seemed wobbly and insubstantial. “How goes the trial?”

Ben shrugged. The trial was a matter of life and death to Keri, but at the moment, in this room, it seemed almost trivial. “Not well. But it always looks dark when the prosecution is putting on their case.”

“I heard you put some major dents in LaBelle’s witnesses on cross-ex.”

Evidently Christina, the eternal optimist, had preceded him. “I think I established that some members of the police department were willing to do anything to put Keri Dalcanton behind bars. And that helps. And Christina did a great job with the coroner. But did either of us prove Keri didn’t commit the murder? No.”

“It’s early days yet.”

“Yeah.” That was what defense attorneys always said. It’ll get better, once we’re putting on our case. Ben just hoped it was true. “Seen Matthews around?”

“Some. Not much.”

Ben swore under his breath. “I filed a formal protest, asking that Paula’s case be reassigned, but it doesn’t seem to have done much good. I don’t have much pull with Tulsa P.D. these days. I wish to God Mike were around. But he isn’t, and no one’s telling where he is.”

Jones’s jaw tightened. “They’re never going to find out who did this to Paula, are they?”

He couldn’t lie. “I don’t know. But I won’t let them give up without trying. And I’ve got Loving looking into it, too.”

That seemed to cheer Jones, at least a little. “That’s good. Loving will make a serious effort. He—” His voice choked. “He liked Paula, too.”

“Don’t talk about her in the past tense, Jones.”

“I didn’t mean to. I just—I—” His voice dwindled away to nothing.

Ben walked to the door. He had felt it was important to stop in, but he had no sense that his presence was a comfort to Jones—almost the opposite, in fact. He wondered if his being here reminded Jones of how this tragedy came about—and whose fault it was.

“Is there anything I can do?” Ben asked.

Jones’s eyes turned toward the still figure on the hospital bed. “Got a miracle in your pocket?”