Dark Justice (36 page)

“Overruled,” Judge Pickens said briskly. “Sit down, Mr. Kincaid.”

Ben did as he was told. He never expected the objection to succeed, anyway. What he wanted was to remind the jury that what they were about to hear was not a fact, but a guess. An expert’s best guess, maybe, but still just a guess.

“What I concluded,” Tobias answered, “was that at the time of the explosion, Gardiner, who had just been shot, was not so close to the bomb that he suffered the full brunt of the blast, but was close enough to catch fire once some part of the machinery, possibly the gas tank, ignited.”

Ben pushed himself to his feet. “Again I have to object, your honor. This is pure speculation.”

Pickens didn’t wait for Granny to respond. He whirled in his chair and pointed his gavel toward Ben’s head. “I’ve already ruled on your objection, Mr. Kincaid. Now sit down and shush.” He paused, then added, “And if you can’t keep that tongue still on your own, I can have you escorted to a tiny little room with barred windows where no one will be able to hear you. Savvy?”

Ben retook his seat. Pickens had probably been waiting all day for Ben to give him an excuse to chew him out in front of the jury. Just as well he did it now and got it over with.

“Dr. Tobias, the prosecution will show that the defendant was wandering in the forest about one in the morning. Do you have any thoughts regarding the time of death?”

“Well, I received independent reports from some of the loggers at a camp not too far away that they heard an explosion a few minutes after one
A.M.
Given that the explosion, and the resulting fire, appear to have played a role, the death likely occurred at or just after one.”

“How exactly would Gardiner catch on fire?”

“His clothes would probably ignite first. Cottons are somewhat more flame-retardant. Nylons and polyesters—which the victim was wearing—burn very quickly. Once the clothes caught fire, of course, unless the flames could be quenched, the body would soon begin to burn.”

“And how would that feel?”

“Objection!” Ben shouted. “She’s trying to inflame the jury.”

Pickens’s expression was grave. “I wasn’t kidding about that room with the barred windows, counsel. You’re overruled. Now sit down.” He nodded toward the witness. “You may answer.”

“Well,” Tobias started hesitantly, “I don’t think I have to tell anyone here that being burned is an … unpleasant experience. Most people who have been through it say it’s the most intense feeling of pain anyone can experience. And in a situation like this, when the entire body was consumed, when death was certain, when there was no help or relief in sight …” He shook his head. “Well, I’m sure the pain was just … unimaginable.”

“Would Mr. Gardiner have been likely to pass out?”

“We’d like to think so. But there’s no medical basis for that assumption. To the contrary, given that he apparently moved some distance away from the exploded machinery, I’d have to say he was probably conscious very close to the time of his death.”

Ben pressed his hand against his forehead. This testimony was grossly objectionable and prejudicial, but Pickens had already ruled, and if Ben stood up again, Zak would probably be representing himself for the rest of the trial.

He glanced over his shoulder, wondering what effect this hideous testimony was having on the bereaved widow. To his surprise, he spotted no widow in the gallery. Everyone appeared affected by the testimony; several people had tears in their eyes. But he saw no trace of Lu Ann Gardiner.

“And how long would it be, Dr. Tobias? Until death occurred.”

“I can’t say with precision.”

“Dr. Tobias, would it have been a quick death?”

Tobias’s chin fell. “Not particularly, no. It could have been eight, ten minutes from when he first caught on fire until he was actually dead. And I expect every one of those minutes seemed like days. Agonizing, unbearable days.”

“Thank you, Dr. Tobias.” Granny turned away from the podium, her face grim and set. “No more questions.”

B
EN HAD HOPED THE JUDGE
would call for a break, to give the jury some breathing space and to break the grim mood Granny had established during her direct examination. Unfortunately, he didn’t, and Ben knew why. He’d seen Pickens glance once too often at the clock on the wall. Pickens was hoping that if they blazed straight ahead, they might finish the witness before closing time.

There was no point in revisiting Tobias’s testimony about Gardiner’s hideous pain and suffering prior to death. Although the good doctor had engaged in considerable speculation and Ben could probably drive holes through his testimony in several places, it would serve no purpose. Best not to even remind the jury about that business. Instead, Ben would focus on the one aspect of Tobias’s testimony that might actually incriminate his client.

Ben squared himself behind the podium. “Let’s talk about the time of death.”

Tobias seemed open and compliant. “Whatever you want.”

“You gave an opinion about the time of Dwayne Gardiner’s death, didn’t you?

“That’s right. About one in the morning.”

“It’s standard procedure for coroners to give an opinion about the cause of death, isn’t it?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“But in most cases, that opinion is based upon medical evidence, isn’t it?”

“I … would assume so, yes.”

“But yours wasn’t, was it?”

“I’m not sure what you—”

“Dr. Tobias, what are the standards by which a coroner establishes the time of death?”

Tobias seemed a bit unsure—the traditional wariness of the witness who hasn’t quite figured out where the cross-ex attorney is trying to lead him. “Different doctors use different methods.”

“Well, there’s body temperature, for starters. That’s one way, right?”

“Certainly. Of course.”

“But that wasn’t any help to you in the Gardiner case, because the corpse had been burned. Right?”

“That’s true.”

“And sometimes time of death can be determined from the contents of the corpse’s stomach, true?”

“True. Absolutely true.”

“But that didn’t help you either, right? Due to the amount of damage the remains had suffered.”

“That’s correct.”

“And so, not having any actual medical evidence at your disposal, you decided to guess.”

Granny flew up. “Your honor, I object.”

Pickens’s teeth were grinding together. “Mr. Kincaid, I’ve had about enough of your misbehavior.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, “the jury has a right to know which of the witness’s opinions are based on medical evidence, and which of his opinions are pure pie-in-the-sky guesswork.”

“This man is the coroner for the entire county!” Pickens barked. “You will treat him with the respect he deserves. If you can’t manage to do that, I’ll have you replaced by someone who will.”

“Yes, your honor.” Ben sensed it was time to back down; Pickens was near the eruption point. “Dr. Tobias, your conclusions regarding the time of death were not based upon medical evidence, were they?”

“I disagree. Based upon my examination of the extent of the injuries, I determined that death would follow about eight or ten minutes after the body first caught fire.”

“But that didn’t give you a time of death. You only got the time of death by guessing.”

“Well, I had reports of the explosion—”

“Exactly. You had hearsay accounts from people who aren’t on the stand and can’t be cross-examined. And hearsay accounts do not constitute medical evidence.”

Granny was back on her feet. “Your honor, this man is an expert witness. He’s allowed to consider hearsay when reaching his expert conclusion.”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” Ben shot back. “I just want the jury to understand that some of his opinions are based on medical fact and some of them aren’t.”

“But your honor,” Granny insisted, “he’s suggesting that—”

“Would you two stop bickering?” Judge Pickens snapped. “This isn’t moving the trial along. Let’s get back to the questions.”

At least this time Granny got to share some of Pickens’s wrath. “Of course, your honor.” Just grin and bear it, he told himself. There had been a time when Ben took these sorts of attacks from the judge personally, when he worried and fretted about them. These days he realized they were just part and parcel of life as a defense lawyer—and even more so when you’re the out-of-towner. Best to smile placidly and plow right ahead.

“Dr. Tobias, isn’t it true that your only information regarding the time of the explosion came from third parties?”

“Yes,” he said wearily. “That is true.”

“So if those loggers had told you the explosion had occurred around two, you would now be telling the jury Mr. Gardiner died eight or ten minutes after two.”

“I suppose so.”

“And if they’d said the explosion was at three—”

“Yes, yes. I’d have said ten past three. What’s your point?”

“The point is that if in fact the explosion was not at one in the morning but at two, then my client might not have been in the forest. Right?”

“I don’t have any idea when your client was in the forest.”

“Dr. Tobias, I think that’s the absolute truth. All you know is that Mr. Gardiner died eight or ten minutes after the explosion. But you yourself have no idea when that actually was. Right?”

“Right, right. Fine.” Tobias tossed his hands up in the air. “Whatever.”

A
FTER JUDGE PICKENS RECESSED
trial for the day, Ben and Christina returned to the office, where they found a note tacked to the office door. It was from Sheriff Allen, and to Ben’s surprise, it was for him, not her.

Ben hotfooted it over to a hotel on South Kennedy. Following the instructions on the note, he walked up to the fifth floor.

He stopped at the top of the stairs. A uniformed deputy was standing at attention, obviously planning to restrict further access,

“I’m Ben Kincaid. Sheriff Allen asked me to come.”

The deputy nodded and waved him through. Ben marched down the short corridor till he located Room 52. He turned the corner and took a short step inside.

And gasped. The room was a wreck. The floors were so cluttered it was hard to walk. Pictures had been torn off the wall; drawers had been dumped. Lamps were overturned and destroyed. Even the television had been smashed.

Sheriff Allen appeared at Ben’s side. “I see you got my message.”

Ben nodded. “Boy, when you people search a room, you really search a room.”

Allen shook his head. “We didn’t do this. We found it this way.”

“You—” Ben turned to face him. “But then—”

“You got it. The killer.”

Ben took a few steps forward, tentative ingress into the maelstrom. “This is where Tess O’Connell was staying?”

“Right. Except get this—she wasn’t a Green Rager, or at least that wasn’t her principal mission in life. She was a reporter.”

“A reporter? Like for a newspaper?”

“I guess you could call it that. She worked for one of those tabloids. The
National Whisper
. Offices in L.A.”

“Then what was she doing out here?”

Sheriff Allen shrugged. “I have to assume she was working undercover on some story.”

“About Green Rage? Hardly seems like the
National Whisper
’s cup of tea.”

“It probably isn’t. Actually, I’ve spoken to her editor, Murray Hamner, back in L.A. He says they sent her out here to do a story on Bigfoot.”

“Bigfoot?”

“Hamner says she turned in a preliminary story, then disappeared. He lost contact with her. Said she didn’t answer the phone, didn’t return messages.”

“She must have been working on something.”

“My thinking exactly. But what?”

Ben crouched down and gazed at the debris covering the floor—clothing, books, papers—looking for anything that might give him some answers. She wouldn’t have gone undercover in Green Rage just to get the straight scoop on Bigfoot. It had to be something else.

Could she have been trying to solve the murder of Dwayne Gardiner? Maybe she thought the Green Rage crew could tell her something about Zak that might provide a motive for murder. Or maybe she was acting on a lead of her own.

A sudden chill gripped his spine. It might explain why she had been killed. Maybe she knew something, something Ben hadn’t figured out yet. Maybe she even knew who the killer was. And the killer wanted to make sure she didn’t share that information with anyone else.

“How long have your men been sifting through all this stuff?”

“Since about two this afternoon. I got a call from Ossie Smith, the manager of this joint. He didn’t know about the murder, but he knew no one had seen the occupant of Room 52 for several days. When no one answered his knock, he let himself in. And found … this.” His hand swept across the room. “So he called me.”

“Have you found anything that might give us a hint why Tess was killed?”

“Not so far. Nothing specific, anyway. I’m still hoping something will turn up. But at least one thing is obvious.”

“What’s that?”

“It must’ve been her murderer who came in here and tore the room apart. Probably took her room key off her body when he nailed her to that tree. I’ve checked—there was no room key in the purse we found in her rental car.”

“That’s a reasonable deduction.”

“I can go further. The killer wouldn’t risk coming up here and prowling around in her room unless he had a good reason.”

“He was looking for something,” Ben murmured.

“Bingo,” Sheriff Allen echoed. “He or she.”

It was more than just something Tess knew, Ben reasoned. She must’ve found something, or had something. Something tangible. Something the killer wanted back.

“How’s the trial going, anyway?”

Ben shrugged. “This was only the first day of testimony. Granny made a few points on direct, and I managed to score a few on cross. But we’re not into the critical testimony yet. Granny was just setting down the groundwork, laying the foundations. Most of the witnesses didn’t directly incriminate my client. She’ll be bringing out the heavy hitters soon.”

“You can count on that.” Allen shifted his hat from one hand to the other. “But I was wondering …”