Dark Justice (33 page)

“Was it salvageable?”

“Oh, no way. It was obvious that thing would never cut again.”

“Did you notice anything else?”

Wagner’s chin sank. “Yeah. I did.”

“Please tell the jury what you saw.”

Wagner swallowed. “Well … of course the whole area had been destroyed. Burnt grass. Couple of trees had caught fire—we’re lucky we didn’t have a full-out forest fire.”

“Yes, yes,” Granny said. “Tell them about the body.”

“Objection,” Ben said. “Leading.”

Judge Pickens ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. “ ’Fraid he’s right, Madame Prosecutor. I think Mr. Kincaid is determined to make sure we play by the rules.” His voice dropped, though not so much that the jury couldn’t hear him. “Even if it does make everything take five times as long.”

Granny returned her attention to the witness. “Deputy Wagner, please tell us what else you saw.”

Now, having been properly cued, he went straight to what she wanted. “Well, I—I didn’t see it at first.” Ben noticed the trembling in his hands was becoming more pronounced. “Sad fact is, I almost tripped over the thing. Before I—I …” His voice drifted. “ ’Fore I realized what it was.”

“And what was it?”

“It was a person. Least it used to be.” He swallowed. “I found the corpse. Burned to a crisp.”

Granny paused a moment, allowing the jury to drink in that charming mental image. “Can you describe the state of the remains?”

“I’ll try. I can’t tell you what it was like seeing that—that nightmare right before my eyes, all alone, in the middle of the night.” He clamped his hands down on the edge of the witness box. “It was all black, head to toe. There was barely any skin left, and what was left was black. I could see the skull, the exposed eye sockets. Some of his internal organs were visible, and they looked like—”

“Your honor, I object,” Ben said. “This is not necessary.”

“Overruled,” Pickens said without even looking at him. “Please proceed, Deputy.”

“The organs looked … charred. Cooked.” Wagner had a pained expression on his face; Ben was afraid he might cry. “Some of the fingers and toes had been broken off. A spot on his chest looked as if it had been ripped open. There were even … animals. …” He lowered his head. “Insects and birds and things. Eating what there was to eat. The whole body looked like someone’d stuck him on a rotisserie spit and turned up the heat. It was awful.”

Well, Ben thought, Granny had promised the jury something gruesome—and shed delivered on her promise. Emphasizing the horror of the crime would only make it all the more likely the jury would convict.

“You mentioned a … rip in the man’s chest. Could you tell what caused it?”

“Looked like a gunshot wound to me.”

Ben had to object. “Your honor, this witness has not been qualified as a gunshot wound expert or a coroner. Absent any evidence—”

“I could see the bullet inside the man’s chest,” Wagner said firmly. “How’s that for evidence?”

Ben pressed his lips together. Not too shabby, as evidence goes. He sat down.

“Could you tell us where the gunshot wound was located, please?” Granny asked.

“Right here.” He touched a spot on the right side of his chest, just below the collarbone.

“What did you do after you saw the corpse?”

“Well, ’course that changed everything. I got on my radio and called for assistance.”

“And did they come?”

“Oh yeah. Sheriff Allen came personally, with several other deputies and crime scene specialists. They took control of the crime scene and relieved me.”

“And what did you do then?”

Wagner looked up. His eyes were watery and he still looked shaken. “Well, by then it was almost five in the morning. I went home. Tried to get some sleep.”

“And did you?”

Wagner shook his head. “No, ma’am. Not a wink.” He looked down at the floor. “I never even closed my eyes.”

F
OR A BRIEF MOMENT
, Ben considered not cross-examining Deputy Wagner at all. There was no reason to believe he was lying; Ben didn’t doubt a word he had said. And none of his testimony directly incriminated Zak, although Ben knew he had laid the groundwork for much evidence yet to come.

Still, Ben thought, it was always possible he might accomplish something. And he didn’t like to give the jury the impression this was all the prosecutor’s show, that he wasn’t a player. He would remind them the defense existed, if nothing else. Best to give them their money’s worth.

Ben walked to the podium. “Deputy Wagner, my name is Ben Kincaid. I’m a lawyer, and I represent the defendant George Zakin in this trial. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Okay,” Wagner gamely replied.

“The whole time you were testifying, Deputy, I kept wondering—who called you?”

Wagner’s head dipped. “Uh—what?”

“The call. In the middle of the night. Telling you about the explosion. Who called?”

“Oh. That was an anonymous tip.”

“And you don’t know who called?”

“No.”

“Weren’t you curious?”

“Anonymous tips aren’t that uncommon.”

“Deputy Wagner, how many people do you suppose were wandering around that forest at one in the morning?”

Wagner shrugged. “I don’t know. Not many.”

“But there are two people we know for certain were out there, right?”

Wagner shook his head. “Huh?”

“The victim. And the murderer.”

“Oh, right. Right.” His trembling intensified.

“So it’s just possible your call came from the murderer.”

“Well—”

“And that would give you a pretty good reason to find out who made the call, don’t you think?”

“Well, by the next morning, we already knew that Zakin—”

“Excuse me. Did you see my client at the scene of the crime?”

“No.”

“So all you know is that by the next morning the sheriff’s office suspected George Zakin, right?”

“Yes.”

“And since they already had an easy, convenient suspect, there was no reason to look for another one.”

“Well, I hardly think—”

“Once you had your obvious suspect, the search for other suspects came to a halt.”

“Objection, your honor.” Granny jumped to her feet, looking extremely indignant. “He’s not giving the witness a chance to answer. And he’s not really asking questions anyway. He’s making a speech.”

“Sustained,” Judge Pickens said. “The jury is instructed to disregard defense counsel’s speechifying. And counsel”—he pointed his gavel—”if you don’t behave yourself, I’ll shut you down like a clam.”

Yes, yes, Ben thought. Scold me all you want. The more the judge threatened, the more likely the jury was to remember what Ben had said. “Deputy Wagner, did you in fact make any effort to find out who made the anonymous phone call?”

“As a matter of fact, we did.”

Ben drew back. Darn.

“We traced the call through phone company records. Turned out the call came from a phone booth not far from Bunyan’s—uh, that’s a bar here in town. It would still be open that time of night. We asked around inside the bar, but no one knew anything. There was no way to determine who made the call.”

“Do you remember anything distinctive about the call?”

“Distinctive?”

“Anything unusual about the voice? Anything that caught your attention?”

“Well … of course, I can’t be sure, but”—he glanced quickly at Granny—“I thought it was a woman.”

“A woman?”

“Right. I could tell whoever it was was trying to disguise her voice, but still and all, I thought it was female.”

A woman, Ben thought. A woman who witnessed the explosion. Hmm …

“Deputy Wagner, what was your reaction when you saw the … remains of Dwayne Gardiner?”

“My reaction? I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, if it had been me, I would’ve been pretty shaken up. Were you?”

His trembling hands almost answered for him. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”

“Did you run?”

Wagner’s brow creased. “What do you mean? I’m not a coward.”

“I’m sure you’re not. But we all have a flight reflex. If I’d seen that horrible corpse, I would have instinctively run away.”

“Well … maybe I did. At first. But I came back.”

“So you ran away, then came back a second time. Must’ve left a lot of footprints around the corpse.”

Out the corner of his eye, Ben could see Granny rising to her feet, trying to think of an objection. As luck would have it, Wagner answered first. “Sure, I suppose.”

“And what size shoe do you wear?”

“Size ten. Why?”

“Just curious. Thank you, Deputy.” Ben exchanged a quick glance with Christina. That bit of information would be filed away for later use. And while he was at it …

“One last thing, deputy. After you called for backup, how long did it take for Sheriff Allen and the rest of the team to arrive?”

He shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know exactly. Not long.”

“How long. An hour? Maybe two?”

“I told you, it wasn’t long.”

“It takes half an hour just to get to the clearing from the sheriff’s office. And most of these people were probably at home in bed.”

Wagner ground his teeth together. “I’d guess it was an hour before the team arrived. Maybe an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“And so, for that entire waiting period, you were alone at the crime scene. Is that correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you stand still the whole time?”

Wagner’s face crinkled up. “Did I stand still?”

“Right. Or did you move around periodically?”

Wagner’s expression suggested that these were the dumbest questions he’d heard in his entire life. Which was fine with Ben. It was better if the witness didn’t understand the significance of the question. Until it was too late.

“I suppose I must have moved around.”

“I thought so, Deputy. Thank—”

“I don’t think you understand. When I saw that—thing—that used to be a human being, it was just, it was—” He shook his head. “It was horrible. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.” He paused. “But I’ve seen it a lot since.”

“What do you mean?”

His face fell, and his eyes began to well up. “I see it every morning when I go to work. Every time I hear the man’s name. Every time I close my eyes. It … haunts me. Hard as I try to forget it, I can’t. That image is always with me.”

His head lowered, and his eyes turned watery. “And the worst of it is, I think it always will be.”

A
FTER DRIVING THROUGH THE
tangled trails and one-lane dirt byways of the Green River National Forest for more than an hour, it occurred to Loving that he was not at heart a country boy. Granted, he wasn’t quite as bound to concrete and smog as the Skipper; he did enjoy the occasional hunting or fishing expedition. But when all was said and done, he was not really at home in these leafy green surroundings. He missed city conveniences, like, for instance, street signs. And if he saw one more squirrel dart out in front of his car, he was flooring it.

Not that he would ever share these thoughts with the Skipper. Ben needed to feel someone on the team was competent in the Great Outdoors. If it made him comfortable to believe it was Loving, well, so be it. Like his daddy used to say, it’s not who you are that matters. It’s who people think you are.

The directions Doc had given Loving were vague at best. But Loving couldn’t complain—none of the other Green Ragers had helped him in the least. They all claimed they didn’t have the slightest idea where Kelly might have gone. Which was odd. Because Loving had the distinct impression that they did; they just didn’t want him to find her.

Now why would a bunch of do-gooders like Green Rage be keeping secrets? That was a question he found very interesting.

At long last, Loving spotted a low-lying wooden sign that directed him toward the
SOPHIA CAMP
. He turned his rental Jeep and drove another two miles or so in that direction. Finally, just around a sharp curve, he spotted a group of eight women at the top of a hill.

They were holding hands and, unless he was very mistaken, chanting.

Loving parked the Jeep, climbed out, and waited. He’d seen a picture earlier, so he knew which one he wanted. She was the one in the long blue sundress, short and heavyset, barefoot with long curly black hair.

Loving waited a good fifteen minutes until the ceremony was completed. He assumed it was a ceremony; for all he could tell it was an elaborate adult version of ring-around-the-rosy. But the closed eyes and solemn expressions suggested that something more serious was going on. Or at least that they thought something more serious was going on.

The group of eight began to disperse. A row of one-room log cabins lay a few hundred feet behind them, and Loving assumed that’s where they were headed. He quickened his pace, ran around the hill, and cut off the woman in blue before she reached the main cabin.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Kelly Cartwright?”

The woman stopped, frowned. “It’s possible. Who wants to know?”

“My name’s Loving. I wanna talk to you about Green Rage.”

Her face became red and livid. “Are you a Fed? Goddamn it. You are, aren’t you? Don’t you people ever give up?”

“Ma’am, I’m not—”

“Couldn’t you go hassle a bank robber or serial killer or something? Why do you have to spend all your time bullying conservationists?”

“Ma’am, I’m not a Fed.” He pointed at his T-shirt. “See? No white shirt, no black tie. I’m not a cop, either.”

“Then what are you?”

Loving could think of about a million ways to answer that question, but figured it would be smarter to keep the conversation on track. “I’m a private investigator. I work for a lawyer in Magic Valley.”

An eyebrow rose. “Not the one who’s representing Zak.”

“Yeah. Ben Kincaid. You know him?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot about him.” She frowned. “How’s he doing?”

“The trial’s just getting started. He’s got a theory involving a local drug dealer, but so far he doesn’t have much evidence to support it. Why?”

Her eyes darted away. “Oh … no reason. Just curious, I guess. So what do you want from me?”