Naked Justice (44 page)

“Isn’t it standard procedure in cases of murder involving women to perform a rape test?”

Koregai looked slightly puzzled. “But there was clear evidence of sexual congress.”

Ben was caught totally flat-footed. His eyes widened. “There—there was?”

“Indeed. Whether it was a forcible assault I cannot say, because of the great amount of damage resulting from wounds inflicted after the sexual contact. But the witness had engaged in sexual intercourse prior to her death.”

“How soon?”

“That is impossible for me to say with precision. Within twenty-four hours.”

“But she—” Ben struggled to get a grip. He knew what everyone would assume from this. That she must’ve been with her husband. “But you don’t know who her partner was?”

“No. I found no traces of semen or other trace evidence from which I might make an identification.”

“And I suppose you did nothing to follow up this lead, either.”

“Actually, I did.” Ben suddenly felt a cold clutching at his heart. What had Bullock told him so many times? If you don’t know the answer, don’t ask the question. “I performed a pregnancy test.”

Ben’s brain was racing. The case seemed to be spiraling out of his reach. “And—the result?”

“Caroline Barrett was pregnant.”

The reaction in the courtroom was like none before. First, there was a harsh, almost unnatural silence, followed by a sudden eruption so loud Judge Hart was forced to resort to the gavel.

“Order! Order!” Reporters jumped out of their seats and raced for the back. All three cameras zoomed in for closeups.

“She was pregnant?” Ben repeated. “You mean from—”

“No, not from the recent incidence of sexual activity. The embryo was almost two months old.”

Ben knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. His eyes twisted round to look at Wallace Barrett, just as every other eye in the courtroom did. As it happened, Barrett seemed just as stunned as everyone else. His lips parted; his eyes went wide, then blank. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came out.

Pregnant?

“She was carrying a child,” Koregai stated flatly. “A boy.”

Barrett’s head dropped to the table. Judge Hart continued pounding her gavel. The courtroom was in an uproar.

“Your honor,” Bullock shouted above the hubbub, “this is a truly startling development.” So he said, but Ben noted he didn’t seem all that startled. “The State moves for an immediate amendment of the indictment. The defendant should be tried for
four
murders, not just three.”

Judge Hart continued pounding her gavel. “Counsel, you know perfectly well you cannot alter the charges in midtrial. If you want to try the fourth murder, you’ll have to file another indictment.”

Bullock nodded, acquiescing. He turned just enough to face the cameras, giving them a silent look of grim sadness, followed by steely resolve.

Ben felt a cold shiver running up and down his spine. An unborn baby. Murdered. This changed everything. Everything. The worst crime of the century just got worse still.

“Do you have any more questions, counsel?” Judge Hart asked.

“No, your honor. I guess not.” Ben hated to leave his cross on this abysmal note, but he had no idea what to ask next. He simply had no idea.

He took his seat beside Wallace Barrett. “How’re you doing, man?”

Barrett turned his head to the side, just enough for Ben and every juror in the box to see his tear-streaked face. “She never told me, Ben,” he said, barely in a whisper. “A boy. I always wanted a boy.”

Tears streamed out of his eyes; his face returned to the makeshift privacy of his hands.

Ben felt a hollowness in his heart that was almost unbearable. He knew Barrett must feel horrible; his agony was almost palpable. But at the same time, he knew that the jury, depending on which way they were leaning, could see an entirely different motivation for the scene at the defense table.

Where Ben saw tears of grief, they would see tears of guilt.

M
ERCIFULLY, JUDGE HART CALLED
a recess so the reporters could file their reports and some semblance of order could be restored before hearing the final witness of the day.

Ben’s aching had transmuted itself into a numbness, an emptiness he could hardly describe. He tried to put it out of his mind. They had one more witness to deal with, and it was important that this one go better for Barrett than the last had gone.

“The State calls Dr. Herbert Fisher to the stand.”

Ben shot a quick, puzzled look back at Christina. Weren’t they done with the forensic testimony?

He flipped quickly through his trial notebook to the witness list. That’s right—Fisher was a fact witness, not an expert. He was a friend and doctor to Caroline Barrett. Why on earth would they be calling him now?

Fisher took the stand. He was a tall man about Barrett’s age. Obviously a professional. He was handsome—so handsome, in fact, that it dominated all first impressions and obscured any lesser facts that might otherwise have been gathered. As Joni would say, he was a hunk.

Ben almost immediately noticed the difference in his client when Fisher took the stand. He became stiff and cold; his eyes burned across the courtroom to the witness stand. It was clear to Ben that there was no love lost between these two men.

Despite the lateness of the day, Bullock spent a fair amount of time delving into the witness’s educational background, his medical practice, his home in South Tulsa near Southern Hills. Almost half an hour passed before he asked, “Doctor, did you ever have occasion to meet a woman named Caroline Barrett?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when did you meet her?”

“Six or seven months ago.”

“Can you please describe the circumstances?”

Dr. Fisher folded his hands and nodded. “At that time, I was a general practice physician at Springer Clinic. Caroline was referred to me one day when her usual physician was unavailable.”

“Why did she need a doctor?”

“She had a bruised eye, as well as some damage to her nose.”

“Do you know what caused the injuries?”

Dr. Fisher paused, looked at the jury. “She told me she fell. But it didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that she was lying.”

“Lying? Why would she lie?”

Fisher frowned. “It was obvious to me that she had been punched. Probably several times, given the extent of the injuries.”

“And do you know who struck her?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Lack of personal knowledge. He wasn’t there.”

“Sustained,” the judge said.

“Very well,” Bullock said, “did she tell you who struck her?”

“I still object,” Ben said. “That’s hearsay.”

“But your honor,” Bullock said, “the declarant is dead. She’s obviously unavailable.”

Judge Hart nodded. “I don’t like this sort of evidence, Mr. Bullock. I don’t think it’s the most reliable evidence to give the jury. But given the circumstances, I’m going to allow it once again. Just don’t take it too far.”

Bullock nodded. “Of course not.” He returned his attention to the witness. “Did she tell you who struck her?”

“Yes. Not that first day, but later, as we got to know each other better.” He turned his head to stare directly at Wallace Barrett. “She told me her husband beat her up.”

The murmur from the courtroom was somber and low. Ben immediately saw the plan behind Bullock’s seemingly erratic ordering of his witnesses. Now that he had nailed down the DNA identification, assuring everyone at the very least that Barrett was at the scene of the crime, he reconjured the specters of wife beating and domestic abuse. It was all the jury needed to understand the how and the why of the murder.

It was all they needed to convict.

“Did you believe her?” Bullock asked.

“Of course I did. The truth had been evident to me all along.”

Bullock pivoted around his podium. “You’ve said that you later got to know Caroline Barrett better. How did that occur?”

Fisher waved a hand casually. “Oh, in the same manner that all friendships do, I suppose. I saw her a few more times after that initial consultation. We met at a party. We had lunch together. We came to be close friends.”

“Did you continue to act as her physician?”

“No. After it became apparent that we were going to be close personal friends, I thought it was inappropriate for me to act as her doctor, so I referred her to someone else, although of course, just by seeing her as often as I did, I was aware of her continual injuries on an informal basis.”

Bullock pulled himself erect. “Let me apologize in advance, Doctor, but I’m afraid I have to ask you a personal question. Were you and Caroline Barrett intimate?”

“Intimate? What do you mean?”

“Was it a romantic relationship?”

“Certainly not.” Fisher spoke as if the very notion was absurd. “She was still married to the defendant, even though he made her life miserable. No, it was purely friendship. Nothing more.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Did you see Caroline Barrett during the month before she was so brutally killed?”

“Yes, I did.”

“How would you describe her state of mind at that time?”

“Not good.” Fisher frowned. “During that last month, I probably saw her almost every day. Certainly never more than a day or two passed that I didn’t see her. And she was miserable. Unhappy, depressed, despondent.”

“Why was she unhappy?”

“In a nutshell? Because she was afraid of her husband.”

“Why?”

“Because he had beat her up so many times before, and there was no telling when he would hit her next. She lived in fear—I mean, absolute fear— on a daily basis. The most innocent remark might set him off. There was just no way of knowing. And when those rages came over him, he was uncontrollable. Mean, violent, and uncontrollable.” He paused again, then made eye contact with the jurors. “She was afraid he’d kill her.”

Ben watched the jurors’ faces grow still and grim. Many of them looked over at Wallace Barrett, who was looking away, avoiding eye contact.

The testimony was having its intended impact. Slowly but surely the jury was seeing Barrett less as the sports hero/mayor and more as the abusive, wife-beating maniac.

“Why would she be afraid he would kill her?”

“He’d come close several times already. Beating her into unconsciousness, till she had to go to the hospital for emergency treatment. Or humiliating her in public, like the time he locked her out of the house in her underwear. Things that made her want to die. He was destroying her. Bit by bit he was draining everything away from her, including her will to live.”

“Did you report any of these incidents to the police?”

“No. I wish to God I had. But she begged me not to, for the sake of the children, she said, and I didn’t. I was a fool. I might’ve … might’ve …”

“Don’t blame yourself, Doctor. We all understand the circumstances. Tell me, given the enormous abuse Caroline Barrett was suffering, why didn’t she leave him?”

Fisher grimaced. “It’s the classic battered-woman syndrome. She hated the man but she couldn’t separate herself. Plus there were the children to think about. How would she care for them without him? How would she live? Certainly not in the manner to which she had become accustomed. She’d signed a prenuptial agreement before marrying Barrett. In the event of divorce or separation, she got nothing.” He shook his head gravely. “She often said the children were all she had, the only weapon she could use against him. If it hadn’t been for them, she was sure she would’ve been dead already.”

Bullock moved through his questions slow and easily, letting these devastating words hang heavy in the hearts of the jurors. “What would trigger these irrational bursts of fury?”

Fisher shrugged. “It varied. Sometimes it was his chauvinistic, piggish attitudes about what a wife should do. Sometimes it was his irrational jealousy. She couldn’t breathe on another man without him going ballistic.”

“How did this affect her?”

“I’m sure you can imagine. What would be the effect of living in constant fear for yourself and your children? Of being constantly battered and abused, verbally and physically? She was on the edge, if she hadn’t gone over already. I have to say, I was afraid for her mental health. I tried to get her to seek professional help, or better yet, to get away from him. But she never did. I mean, when she told me about her pregnancy, she was practically in hysterics.”

Ben sensed Barrett straightening beside him. “That son of a bitch knew,” Barrett muttered under his breath. “I didn’t know, but he did.”

Bullock raised an eyebrow. “Dr. Fisher, you knew about her pregnancy?”

“Of course. As I’ve said, we saw each other frequently.”

“Do you know if she told her husband she was pregnant?”

“I know that she did not, unless perhaps she did it on the day she died, which might in fact explain what happened.”

The hubbub in the courtroom swelled. “What do you mean?” Bullock asked.

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I’m going to object to any speculation by the witness.”

Judge Hart nodded. “Dr. Fisher, you may tell the jury what you know, but please refrain from speculating about what you do not know but think might have happened.”

Dr. Fisher nodded his understanding. “Caroline told me on several occasions that her husband hated her when she was pregnant. He belittled her and made fun of her, told her she was an ugly pig—charming statements like that. He flew off the handle once and hit her. Can you imagine? Punching a pregnant woman? Your own wife? She’d been pregnant three times—for their two children and one miscarriage, which may have been induced by violence from her husband—and he had made her life a misery each time. She knew as soon as she told him she was pregnant again, the abuse would escalate. That’s why she refrained from telling him.”

“But she had to tell him sometime.”

“Yes,” Fisher agreed, “she did. Which makes me wonder if she didn’t tell him the night he killed—I mean, the night she was killed.”

“I would’ve thought she might’ve thought the pregnancy was a blessing. Surely the man wouldn’t intentionally kill his own child. So long as she carried the child, she would be safe.”