Naked Justice (51 page)

“We still have a problem, though,” Christina said, “even if we do find Buck. We have nothing to link him to Whitman other than Loving’s testimony. Even if we prove Buck was the guy casing Barrett’s neighborhood, Whitman will deny that he knew him.”

Ben nodded grimly. “We need some sure way of tying the two men together. That’s the problem with e-mail. Once you’ve sent the message or read it, you click on the delete button and it’s gone forever.”

“Don’t you ever listen to anything I tell you?” Jones said, raising a finger.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Remember what I told you in the office the very first day we started working on this case?”

“Actually … no,” Ben admitted.

“Well then,” Jones said, a slow smile creeping across his face, “listen up.”

C
OURT DID NOT RESUME
until shortly after two in the afternoon. By that time, each of Ben’s staff members had reported back, Ben had made the necessary motions, and the judge had issued the necessary subpoenas. Bullock was being quiet, but Ben could see that his eyes were alert and he was riding wary, ready to pounce as soon as he had the opportunity. He knew something was up. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

Which was fair enough, since Ben wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“The defense calls Mr. Aloysius J. Loving.”

Loving took the stand and growled and mumbled his way through Ben’s preliminary questions. He did not appear at all comfortable; he slouched, he shifted his weight, he talked through his hands. In a way, though, Ben thought that might actually work in their favor. After so many media-savvy witnesses and high-dollar experts, the jury might be relieved to see someone who was, well, just as they would be.

Loving related the story of how Ben had asked him to stake out O’Brien Park (without revealing the means by which Ben acquired his suspicion that a meeting would take place). Loving described how he saw two men meet and argue. How the first man had beaten the second and then given him cash to “take care of business.” Finally Loving described, to his obvious mortification, getting conked over the head and losing his camera. “If it hadn’t been for that,” he explained, “I’d have pictures here today to prove what I saw. But the chump that got the drop on me swiped the film. And my only camera.”

“Do you know who the men you saw were?” Ben asked.

“Yeah. I only learned who one of them was this morning. The younger guy, with the long hair and goatee. I tracked him to his office just across the plaza in the city office building. He works as a data processor in the mail room. His name is Bradley Conners.” He glanced at the jury. “He goes by Buck.”

“And do you know who the other man was?”

“Oh, yeah. I knew who he was the second I saw him. I’ve seen him on TV, and I saw him a few weeks ago at a city council meeting. He’s in the gallery today.” Loving lifted a hand and pointed. “It was Councilman Bailey Whitman. Excuse me. Interim Mayor Whitman.”

Murmurs and whispers blanketed the courtroom. No one was clear yet what was the significance of this testimony, but it was definitely interesting.

After Ben sat down, Bullock began his cross. “Now let’s play straight with the jury,” Bullock said. “The fact is, you’re currently employed by the lawyer for the defense, right?”

“Right,” Loving said, without blinking an eye. “I told you that already.”

“He pays you a regular salary.”

A quick glance at Ben. “Well … sorta regular.”

Bullock lowered his chin, his eyes making a beeline for Loving’s. “Well, sir, how much is he paying you today?”

Loving chuckled. “A hell of a lot less than you’re payin’ those fancy experts of yours.”

Several jurors burst out laughing.

“Be honest, sir,” Bullock continued, trying to maintain control. “Don’t you think the fact that you work for Mr. Kincaid has influenced your testimony?”

“No, sir. It didn’t influence what I saw in the least. I saw what I saw.”

“Uh-huh. And what would’ve happened if you’d come back to your boss and told him that you came up with nothing?”

Loving shrugged. “Happens all the time. He ain’t fired me yet.”

A few more chuckles from the gallery. Ben marveled. And he had been worried that Loving would be a flop. He should put him on the stand in every case.

Obviously irritated, Bullock tried a new tack. “Mr. Loving, isn’t it true that you were divorced about three years ago?”

Loving seemed understandably puzzled. “Ye-es.”

“And isn’t it true that your wife’s suit against you was based on claims of moral indecency?”

“Your honor,” Ben said. “This is not relevant. We all know people say extreme things when they’re going through a divorce. This is cheap and petty.”

“True, but I’m afraid I’ll have to allow it.” Judge Hart looked up at Bullock, telling him in no uncertain terms what she thought of this line of questioning without actually overruling him. “You may proceed.”

Bullock looked sternly at Loving. “Please answer the question.”

Loving shot Ben a quick, piercing look. “I don’t personally know what the lawyer said about me at the trial. I wasn’t there.”

Bullock continued. “Isn’t it also true that you were once arrested on charges of solicitation?”

“That was a farce! I picked up this gal at Orpha’s Bar. How did I know she was a hooker? I thought she was just overcome by my manly charm.”

“Nonetheless, you were arrested, correct?”

“Yeah. And the charges were dropped almost immediately. I didn’t even spend a night in jail.”

“Still, if someone sat and watched you and your female companion in … that bar you mentioned, they might well come away with the impression that you had done something illegal, even though you hadn’t, wouldn’t you agree?

“I suppose.”

“So in other words, sometimes, even when you see what you see, it isn’t what you thought you saw. Correct?”

“I think I’m confused.”

“The fact is, Mr. Loving, you don’t know what the two men you observed in the park were talking about, do you?”

“Well, not for certain.”

“And you don’t know why the man you claim was Bailey Whitman gave money to the other man, do you?”

“Not for certain.”

“And you don’t know who hit you over the head, do you?”

“No,” he said, pounding a fist into his hand. “Wish I did.”

“All you know is that two men met in a public park and talked. And that’s hardly illegal, is it?”

“No.”

“Thank you, Mr. Loving. Nothing more.”

Ben thought about redirecting, but innuendos aside, Bullock really hadn’t done that much damage to Loving, and he was anxious to get on with the next witness.

“The defense recalls Harvey Sanders to the stand.”

Ben had made sure Barrett’s now-famous neighbor was in the courtroom. Happily, despite the hard time Ben had given him on cross two days before, he had agreed to come when Ben called him. If anything, he seemed eager to take the stand again.

“How’s the acting career coming?” Ben asked, smiling, as soon as Sanders was ensconced in the witness stand again.

“Much better, actually.” Sanders flashed his grin, the one that had been featured on front pages from coast to coast the day before. “It’s amazing what a few hours in court can do to jump-start a career.”

“I can imagine. Sir, I’ve called you back to the stand to ask you a single question. Earlier, you testified that you saw two strangers casing your neighborhood, and in particular, the home of Mayor Wallace Barrett.”

“That’s correct.”

“And you described one of those two people to the police as male, tall, lanky, wearing green fatigues and sporting a goatee.” Ben was careful to use the same words Loving had used to describe the man he saw meet Whitman in the park.

Sanders grinned. “That’s what I said, counsel. Sounds like you’ve done your homework.”

“You also testified that on one occasion, you saw the tall young man talking to another man in a brown sedan-type car, right?”

“Still correct.”

“But you didn’t recognize that man.”

“ ’Fraid not.”

Ben sidled toward the jury box. “Mr. Sanders, do you read the daily paper?

“Only the horoscopes.”

“Watch TV news?”

“Never.”

“Keep up with local current events?”

“Can’t say that I do.”

“Do you think you could identify the members of Tulsa’s city council?”

“I couldn’t even name one.”

“Well, let me ask you this. Is the man you saw sitting in that brown sedan in this courtroom?”

Sanders seemed surprised, taken aback. His eyes began scanning the packed courtroom. “I don’t know.”

“Let me make it easier for you.” He walked over to the prosecution table and asked Bullock to stand. Bullock grudgingly complied. “Is this the man you saw in the brown sedan?”

Sanders shook his head. “No. Definitely not.”

Ben gave Bullock a gentle pat. “Looks like you’re off the hook this time, Mr. Prosecutor.” The jurors, as well as most of the courtroom, laughed.

Ben passed through the swinging doors into the gallery. He approached Brian Erickson, the city councilman from the far south district, and asked him to stand. “What about him, Mr. Sanders? Is he the one you saw in the car?”

Sanders stared at him carefully, then answered decisively. “No.”

Ben crossed the nave of the courtroom and stood beside Interim Mayor Whitman. “Would you please stand, sir?”

Whitman glared up at Ben with a look that could turn Kool-Aid to Popsicles. Wordlessly he pushed himself to his feet.

“I object,” Bullock said. “Is counsel planning to go through the entire courtroom one at a time? This is nothing but a fishing expedition.”

“Maybe so,” Judge Hart said, “but I gave you plenty of leeway when you were putting on your case, and I intend to give the defense the same latitude. Overruled.” Ben couldn’t be sure, but he thought the judge had definitely chilled toward Bullock.

“What about this one, Mr. Sanders? Is he the man you saw in the brown sedan?”

Sanders stared intensely across the courtroom. His eyes locked onto Whitman. For the longest time, no one in the courtroom stirred.

Finally Sanders turned toward the judge. “Your honor, may I take a closer look?”

“Of course. You may step down from the stand. Get as close as you like.”

Sanders moved off the witness stand and slowly, almost timorously crossed the courtroom. It was a dramatic moment, and he seemed to be playing it to the hilt. He didn’t stop until he was only a foot away.

Sanders’s eyes slowly widened; his lips eventually parted. “It
is
him,” he whispered.

The courtroom roared. The television cameras whirled around to monitor Whitman’s reaction. Spectators stood in their pews, trying to get a closer look.

“Take a close, careful look,” Ben urged him. “Make certain. This is very important. Are you absolutely sure that this is the man you saw in the brown sedan on the street outside Wallace Barrett’s house?”

Sanders’s face became set and resolute. “I’m certain,” he said firmly. “It’s him.”

The rumble in the courtroom continued unabated. Judge Hart pounded her gavel, fighting it back.

“It’s a lie,” Whitman spat out.

“I know what I saw,” Sanders shot back. “It was
you
!”

Judge Hart pounded even harder. “That’s enough. The witness will return to the stand. Everyone else will sit down and be quiet or you will be escorted out of the courtroom.”

The room gradually quietened, but most eyes were still focused on the interim mayor, whose face was a rapidly fluctuating mix of surprise and rage.

“Anything more?” Judge Hart asked.

Ben knew how to quit when he was ahead. “No, your honor.”

Bullock jumped to his feet. “Your honor, I move that this entire examination be stricken from the record. It is grossly misleading, prejudicial, and irrelevant. Even if this dubious testimony is believed, and Mr. Whitman was driving a car on the street outside the defendant’s house, does that make him an accomplice to murder? It doesn’t prove anything.”

“Mr. Kincaid hasn’t rested his case yet, counsel.” Judge Hart’s voice was cold. She seemed to have little patience for Bullock. “We’ll see where it goes. Overruled. Would you care to cross?”

Bullock sat down sullenly. “No.” Apparently, the prospect of impugning the testimony of a witness he had first called to the stand himself didn’t much appeal to him.

“Very well,” the judge said. “We’re certainly making good time today. Mr. Kincaid, call your next witness.”

Ben rose to his feet. “First, your honor, I have a special request—that Interim Mayor Bailey Whitman not be permitted to leave the courtroom until court is recessed for the day.”

“Granted,” Judge Hart said instantly. “The sergeant at arms is so instructed.”

“Thank you. Now, your honor, we call Bradley ‘Buck’ Conners to the stand. He’s waiting outside.”

N
ORMALLY, EVEN THE SLEAZIEST
swine in the universe dress up for court. Buck Conners, alas, had never had a chance. Ben had managed to get Judge Hart to issue an emergency subpoena and warrant; the second the server laid the paper in Buck’s hands, two men from the sheriff’s office escorted him across the plaza to the courthouse. He had had no opportunity to upgrade his attire. More important, he had had no opportunity to call Whitman, or anyone else for that matter, other than an attorney, which he declined.

He was not, as Ben had hoped, wearing the now-famous green fatigues, but his tattered blue jeans and black T-shirt didn’t seem far from the mark. He had shaved off the goatee, however, and his hair seemed significantly shorter than it had been when Loving saw him at O’Brien Park.

“Would you state your name, please?”

Buck cleared his throat. “Uhh … that’s, um, Bradley Conners. My buds call me, uh, Buck.”

Ben nodded. “You’ll excuse me if I call you Mr. Conners.”

“Whatever.”

“Mr. Conners, what do you do for a living?”

A small crease slithered down the center of his forehead. His concern was understandable; he had no way of anticipating what question would come next. He didn’t even know why he had been dragged to court. Not for certain, anyway. “I’m a data processor. In the mail room. In the city building.” He pointed. “You know. Just across the way.” He shrugged. “Sometimes when they get busy I help sort the mail.”