Murder One (39 page)

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.”

A
FTER DINNER, BACK AT
Ben’s office, the mood was universally glum. Usually, the conclusion of the prosecution case, which heralded 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.”

“Plus,” Christina added, “the jury needs to hear it from you. They need to hear you say that you did not kill Joe. Thanks to Andrea’s testimony, this case has become a sort of showdown between her and you. The jury can only believe one of you; they have to choose. They heard Andrea say that you killed Joe, and like it or not, she was convincing. You need to be equally convincing. Or more so.”

“But what about the cross-examination?” Keri asked. Her eyes looked frightened. Ben had to remind himself how young Keri was—how terrifying and unfamiliar this must be to her. “I hate that man—LaBelle. He’ll start asking me questions. Things I don’t know. He’ll try to trick me.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed, “he will. No doubt about it—there’s risk involved. But I think we should take the risk. I think we have to.”

The conference room fell silent for a moment. Keri looked down, elbows on the table, hands pressed against the sides of her head.

“I know what you think,” she said finally. “You think if I don’t testify, they’ll convict me. You think they’ll sentence me to death.”

Ben could not make eye contact with her. “It’s a possibility,” he said quietly. “A very real possibility.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry to both of you. But I can’t. I won’t.”

Christina reached out. “Keri, think about this before—”

“You heard what I said. I won’t do it. I’ve told you that all along, and nothing has changed.”

“But Keri—why?”

“I just—I don’t—” She turned away. “I can’t explain. But I can’t testify. I won’t.”

Christina pushed away from the table and started pacing around the room. “I don’t get this at all. Why can’t you testify, if you—you—”

“If you’re innocent?” Keri said sharply. “Because you don’t think I am, do you? You never did. Ben believes me, but you don’t. You think I killed Joe.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Ben tried to wedge himself between them. “Keri, I’m sure Christina didn’t mean that.”

“She did.”

“But it
is
frustrating. If you didn’t do it, why not tell the jury that? Why can’t you testify?”

“I’m tired of talking about this,” Keri said. For the first time, some of her fear and sorrow faded—and was replaced by anger. “I’ve given you my decision. You work for me, right? So you need to figure out something else to do in the courtroom tomorrow. Because I’m not testifying.”

“And neither am I.”

Ben whipped his head around. His eyes widened when he saw the dark menacing figure in the corridor—surrounded by three bodyguards. “Catrona!”

Instinctively, Christina and Keri backed away from the doorway as Catrona slowly sauntered in. His escorts followed close behind.

Ben could feel his knees knocking. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because you wanted me, right?” Catrona said, his voice like gravel. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew an official looking single-page sealed document. “I got this subpoena.”

Ben swallowed. “That’s for the courtroom. Tomorrow.”

“I thought we should talk tonight.” He moved forward, his eyes never leaving Ben’s. “You know what? I’ve been in business almost twenty-three years. I’ve been the subject of a dozen investigations. But this is the first time anyone’s had the balls to slap me with a subpoena.”

Christina’s fingers were frantically curling her hair. “I guess you have to admire someone with that kind of courage, huh?”

Catrona gave her a brief but harsh look. “No. I think I need to teach him a lesson in respect.” He crumpled up the subpoena and shoved it into Ben’s shirt pocket. “You want to talk to me, you come and talk to me. Like you did before. But keep your crappy papers to yourself.” He moved even closer. “If you can’t learn some manners on your own, I’ll have my boys teach ’em to you.”

“You don’t scare me,” Ben said, delivering what was easily the biggest lie he’d told since the second grade.

“I should.” Catrona pressed his index finger against Ben’s chest. “Now listen to me. I knew that McNaughton clown was investigating me. I had some boys working on him, even. But I did not kill him. I didn’t do it; I didn’t order it done. I had nothing to do with it.”

“I don’t know that I can believe that,” Ben said defiantly.

“Kincaid, your lack of respect is seriously getting on my nerves. Don’t push your luck.”

“Who else would kill McNaughton in such a horrible way? Who else would make such a show of it?”

“Like I’d want that? Listen, creep, you’ve been to the movies too much. You think I want publicity? I don’t. Hell, everything I do depends on having as little publicity as possible. So I don’t blow up buildings, I don’t put horse’s heads in people’s beds, and I don’t chain corpses to fountains.”

“Fine,” Ben said. “Then that’s what you’ll tell the jury. The important thing is that I have a chance to ask you the questions in a public forum.”

“You’re not listening to me, punk.” He gave Ben a shove, just for emphasis. “You are not going to call me to the stand. I don’t need or want this publicity, I don’t need to be subjected to whatever questions the D.A. might care to ask, and if you like your life, and your friends’ lives, you won’t mess with me.”

“I have an obligation to defend my client to the best of my ability.”

“I got that. Why the hell do you think I talked to you in the first place? I didn’t have to give you anything back at the racetrack, and I don’t have to give you anything now. I’m doing it because I feel sorry for your client. I think she’s getting a bum rap; I told you that already. I know you want to turn me into some cartoon mobster, but I got feelings just like everyone else. So I gave you some help. And how do you reward me? With a subpoena!”

Ben drew in his breath. “If my client’s case depends on your testimony—”

“Let’s imagine for a moment that you don’t have the sense God gave a lamppost and you actually do call me to the stand. Am I going to admit I killed McNaughton? No. But I will reveal that he was on the take, which is why he got demoted. They couldn’t prove anything; I’m much too careful for that. But they knew, just the same, and that’s why they bucked him down.”

“If that’s true, why was he reinstated?”

Catrona leaned back, thumbs hooked in his lapel. “I’m not without a certain influence in this town, Kincaid. Even in the police department.”

“I don’t believe—”

“You believe what you want. The point is this. If you haul me up on the stand, I’ll repeat what Joe McNaughton told one of my lieutenants the last time he saw him. He said that he was afraid your little girl was going to kill him.”

“That’s not true!” Keri cried.

“In fact, he said she came at him with a knife and said she was going to cut him into a million pieces and hang him out where everyone could see what a faithless toad he was.”

“I don’t believe a word of this,” Ben said. “That’s a lie.”

“Maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. But if you haul me up on the stand, that’s what I’m going to say. So you just think about this, Kincaid, and you think about it real good. Do you really want me up on that witness stand? ’Cause I don’t think you do.” He gave Ben a good hard push, enough to knock him back against the wall. Then he jerked his head around. “C’mon, boys. Let’s go home.”

Eleven
P.M.
Several hours had passed in the main conference room, but for all intents and purposes, the persons sitting inside were no further along than they had been before.

“I’m lost, Ben,” Christina said. “I’m sorry to be so clueless, but I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“We’re going to call Catrona, just like we planned.”

Christina’s eyes fairly bulged. “Did you hear what that man said to you?”

“I’m not worried about his threats.”

“You should be! Even if you don’t have the sense to understand that you’re endangering yourself and your friends, you should understand that he plans to commit perjury. He’s going to tell all kinds of lies.”

“I’ll be questioning him as a hostile witness. I’ll prove he’s lying.”

“You mean, you’ll try. He’s not a stupid man, Ben. Not by a long shot.”

“Well, we have to do something!” Ben slapped his hand down on the table. “Maybe they didn’t cover this in Trial Tactics 101, but after the prosecution finishes its case, the defense starts. That means tomorrow morning at nine
A.M.
, Judge Cable is going to ask me to call my first witness. And I’d damn well better have one!”