Dark Justice (42 page)

He focused on the witness, clearing his head. He had an obligation to his client, and he had to fulfill it. Zak hadn’t intended to kill anyone.

At least as far as Ben knew. But it was becoming abundantly clear that his client had not told him the whole truth.

“Mr. Cokey, are you sure that what Mr. Zakin said was ‘I’m going to teach a logger a lesson he’ll never forget’?”

“Well … yeah. That’s what I heard.”

“Is it possible that what the man actually said was, ‘I’m going to teach some loggers a lesson they’ll never forget’?”

“Well, geez. There ain’t much difference.”

“There’s a world of difference, sir. It’s the difference between a premeditated plan to strike against a particular person—which the prosecution has proved no motive for whatsoever—and a general plan to strike an economic blow against the logging industry.”

Cokey fumbled a bit. “Well, I thought I heard what I heard.”

“But are you sure?”

“I thought …”

“Mr. Cokey. Is it possible that what you heard Zak say was that he was going to teach a lesson to some loggers?”

Cokey shrugged, then frowned. “I guess it’s possible.”

“Thank you for that admission, sir. I appreciate your honesty.” Not that it was really much of an admission. But Ben might as well build it up as much as possible. At this point, Zak needed all the help he could get.

B
EN SPENT THE REST
of the cross picking away at Cokey’s reputation, trying to establish that he was basically a low-life scuz who made a living swiping stuff and hocking it at Georgie’s. By the time Ben was done, he doubted if any of the jurors thought of Cokey as a moral paragon. Unfortunately, he wasn’t sure it would much matter in the long run. They didn’t have to believe he was a saint to believe he overheard two people talking about bombs in the back room of a low-life pawnshop. In fact, this was one rare instance when the witness’s sleazeball status might actually make his testimony seem
more
credible.

After that debacle, Ben would’ve been happy to call it a day, but unfortunately, Granny had another witness.

“The State calls Ralph Peabody to the stand.”

Peabody was a young man, strong, well-built, and handsome. He had a thatch of curly blond hair that whipped over his forehead and hovered just above his eyes.

Granny established that he was thirty-two years of age, gainfully employed managing the Canfield Grocery, and a Magic Valley native. “Would you please tell the jury what you were doing on the night of July twelfth?”

July 12, Ben thought. Just before the murder. This could be bad news.

“I was at Bunyan’s,” Peabody answered, then added, “That’s a bar here in town.”

The expression on the jurors’ faces told Ben no explanation was necessary.

“And why were you there?”

Peabody shrugged. “I was just hanging out. You know how it is. It was a Friday night, and there’s not much to do on a Friday night here in Magic Valley.”

That brought a few appreciative chuckles from the gallery.

“Were you alone?”

“Nah. I was with a couple of pals.”

“But were there other people in the bar? Other than your group?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.”

“Anyone who might be in the courtroom today?”

“Him.” Peabody pointed across the courtroom. “The defendant. Zakin.”

Granny nodded. “Anyone else?”

“Gardiner. The guy who got killed. I didn’t know who he was at the time, but when I saw his picture in the paper later, I recognized him.”

“When did you first observe Mr. Gardiner?”

“I had to excuse myself at one point—’round about eleven thirty or so, I think. The bathroom is in the back; you walk down a kinda long corridor till you get there. When I was on my way out, I saw Mr. Gardiner in the corridor, facing me.”

“And was he alone?”

“No. He was with the defendant. Zakin.”

Granny nodded appreciatively. “So they did know each other after all. Were they talking?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am. I guess you could call it that. It was a pretty … heated conversation.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, it didn’t take much to see there was some serious bad blood between the two. They were shouting at each other, calling names. At one point Zakin shoved Gardiner backward, hard. That sort of thing.”

“And did you hear what they were talking about?”

Peabody shifted his weight. “Now, you understand—I’m not one to butt in on something that’s none of my beeswax—”

“Of course not,” Granny reassured him. “But I’m sure in that narrow corridor it was impossible to avoid overhearing.”

“Well, yeah. Exactly. Plus, they were blocking the way and kinda oblivious to everything else. I couldn’t get past them.”

“So what was it you heard?”

“Well, I never figured out what exactly it was they were so mad at each other about. But I heard Gardiner tell Zakin—”

“Objection,” Ben said. “She’s trying to drag hearsay into the courtroom again.”

“Your honor,” Granny said, “once again, this testimony is being offered only to put the defendant’s statements in context and to show the defendant’s state of mind, his obvious hostility toward the murder victim.”

“That’s a grossly prejudicial bit of speechifying,” Ben said. “And I—”

“Plus,” Granny continued, rolling right over his objections, “I would point out that Mr. Gardiner is deceased, which is the whole reason for this trial. The declarant is definitely unavailable; I can’t call him to the stand. The only way I can get this critical piece of evidence before the jury is via Mr. Peabody.”

Judge Pickens nodded. “The objection is overruled. Please proceed.”

The witness continued. “So I heard Gardiner tell Zakin that he has to stop, has to stop immediately.”

“And what was Mr. Zakin’s response?”

“He just kinda laughs, real obnoxious-like, you know. Sort of a sneer, really. He says, ‘Oh yeah? And what if I don’t?’ ”

“Did Mr. Gardiner reply?”

“Oh, yeah. He got all quivery. He was shaking head to toe. His eyes were rolling around in their sockets—it was like he had the d.t.’s or something.” Peabody gripped the rail before him. “And then he threatened Zakin.”

“He did?” Granny leaned in close, subtly cueing the jury to do the same, to hang on every word. “How so?”

“Gardiner said he had connections to powerful people. He said he had the goods on someone who could hurt Zakin and his friends real bad—all he had to do was snap his fingers and make it happen.”

“Indeed.” Granny edged toward the jury box, holding their attention, drawing out the suspense. “And what was Mr. Zakin’s response to this threat?”

“He gets real up close and personal to Gardiner, see? Grabs his collar and practically lifts him up in the air.”

“Do you remember what he said?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah. I don’t think I’ll forget that as long as I live. I’ve never seen such a mean, hateful look. He stares right into Gardiner’s face and growls, ‘Don’t threaten me, chump. Or it’ll be the last thing you ever do.’ ”

Granny paused, letting the words hang in the air, forcing the jurors to play the line over and over in their heads. “The last thing you ever do.” She let several more seconds of silence elapse before finally returning to her table. “No more questions, your honor.”

Ben was hoping for a recess, but his hopes were not fulfilled. “Do you have any questions for this witness, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Yes, your honor. May I have just a minute to confer with my client?”

Judge Pickens grudgingly nodded.

Ben leaned close to Zak and whispered so that no one else could hear. “What’s going on here? You told me you never met Gardiner.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Zak insisted. “I mean, not really. It was just that one time in the corridor.”

Ben’s eyes flared. “You lied to me.
Again
!”

“It’s not like I planned to meet him!” Zak insisted. He seemed frenetic, grasping. “All I wanted to do was take a leak, and this moron stops me in the corridor. I didn’t even know who he was till he told me.”

“You lied to me,” Ben said. “You lied to your own lawyer.”

“Oh, what the hell’s the big deal? The jury was going to find out anyway. It’s not like you could’ve stopped it.”

“If I’d known, I could’ve prepared the jury for it. I could’ve warned them that there was an angry meeting, but that it’s no proof of murder. Instead, I told them you’d never met the man, which wasn’t true. They think I lied to them.” Ben glanced back over his shoulder at the jury box. “And they’re not likely to forget it.”

“Mr. Kincaid,” Pickens said, drumming his fingers. “If you intend to cross-examine, now’s the time.”

Ben turned away from Zak. There was nothing he hated worse than crossing a witness who had basically just told the truth. People shouldn’t be victimized for doing their civic duty. But he had to do something to undercut this testimony. If the jury believed Zak had threatened Gardiner just before he was killed, how could they help but convict him?

Well, at least there was one obvious cross-ex point he could score.

“Mr. Peabody,” Ben began, “you’re aware that my client was the leader of the local Green Rage team, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes. Sure.”

“And you’re aware that they oppose many of the activities of the loggers in the area.”

“Sure. I read the papers.”

“So how can we know that your testimony isn’t tainted by your pro-logger bias?”

“My what?”

“You said you’ve lived here all your life. You must have friends, family. Your customers at the grocery store.”

“Not really. Actually, we Peabodys may be the only family in Magic Valley that’ve never had anything to do with the logging industry. Frankly, I tend to side with the environmentalists.”

Ben felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. And the only thing that could possibly make him feel any worse was seeing Granny fold her arms across her lap, a self-satisfied ear-to-ear grin plastered across her face.

“Mr. Kincaid?” Pickens said. “Will there be any more questions?”

Ben’s brain was racing. One of the cardinal rules of cross-ex was: Never quit on a down note. But he had been scraping just to come up with one line of questioning, and it had exploded in his face. How could he poke holes in the testimony of a witness who was telling the truth?

“I guess not,” Ben said. He left the podium and slithered back to defendant’s table. This was, he thought, in all likelihood the worst cross-ex of his entire career. His client lied to him, the prosecutor blindsided him, and he couldn’t do a thing about it.

The judge began his pre-lunch spiel to the jury. Zak leaned close to Ben and whispered, “Hey, this isn’t going too well, is it?”

Ben just couldn’t come up with the words.

A
FTER THE DISASTER OF
the morning, Ben had hoped for a long lunch break, if not a recess for the day. He didn’t get his wish. Judge Pickens called for a short lunch break, then asked everyone to be back in the courtroom by one. It seemed the prosecution was almost finished, and he wanted to get through them all by the end of the day.

“Well,” Christina said, as she returned to the courthouse after lunch, “it wasn’t a great morning. A few setbacks, a few big surprises. Things can only get better.”

Ben tried to smile. “I hope you’re right.”

Unfortunately, she wasn’t. As it turned out, the biggest surprises were yet to come. Starting with this one:

“The State calls Rick Collier to the stand.”

Rick? Both Ben and Zak flew to their feet.
Rick
?
The
second in command at Green Rage? The man who’d just been discharged from the hospital? He couldn’t be testifying for the prosecution!

But he was.

Ben ran to the judge’s bench, Granny clicking her heels close behind him.

“What’s going on here?” Ben demanded. “He’s not on their witness list!”

“And I apologize for that, your honor. I really do.” Granny was doing her best to seem contrite. “But this witness just came to our attention this morning.”

“Baloney,” Ben barked. “They must’ve subpoenaed him.”

“We did not,” Granny said emphatically. “He’s a volunteer.”

Ben stared at her, flabbergasted.

“You can check that with my staff if you wish. We had no idea he was coming; he just showed up—with important information that has a direct bearing on this case. I wasn’t even there when he arrived; I didn’t find out about it until the lunch break.”

She rustled around in her leather satchel, then drew out a file folder.

“We’ve prepared this motion to amend the witness list, your honor, and I filed it on my way back to the courtroom.” She handed a copy to the judge, then to Ben. “I know this is irregular—”

“Irregular?” Ben barked. “It’s outrageous!”

“But we simply had no choice,” Granny urged. “And when you hear what he has to say, your honor, I think you’ll agree that justice is best served by letting him speak.”

“Your honor,” Ben cut in, “I must object to this in the strongest possible way. This is trial by ambush! We’ve had no time to prepare.”

Judge Pickens held up his hand, his signal that Solon was about to speak. “I’m going to let the man have his say.”

“But your honor!”

Pickens looked at Ben sternly. “I’ve ruled, Kincaid, so stop arguing. If you need extra time to prepare your cross-examination, I’ll give it to you. If you need any other accommodation, I’ll consider it. I’m sympathetic—this is an unusual situation. But Granny’s right—we don’t serve justice by silencing important witnesses. I’ll let him speak, then let you do whatever you need to do to have a fair opportunity to cross.”

“Your honor, this is reversible error!”

“I don’t think so. I’m sure Granny has documented the fact that the witness arrived at the last minute”—Granny nodded—” and under those circumstances, there’s precedent for allowing him to testify, so long as the defense is treated fairly. And that’s exactly what I’m doing. Now stop arguing and let’s get on with the show.”

Ben returned to defendant’s table, a grim expression set on his face. Critical information, Granny had said. Rick had critical information about this case. What could it be?