Cruel Justice

65

AS CARLEE WALKED TO THE witness stand Ben scrutinized the faces in the courtroom, including the jurors. Everyone looked puzzled. Who on earth could this woman be? they undoubtedly wondered. Bullock seemed equally perplexed, probably marveling at how Ben had kept the identity of one of his witnesses secret so long. That, of course, is easy, if you don’t find her until the day before.

Carlee settled into her chair and glanced uneasily at the jurors. She looked nervous. But, of course, every witness was nervous; Ben knew nervousness was not exclusive to the dishonest. He hoped the jury knew, too.

Ben ran through the preliminary foundational questions, then proceeded to the night of the murder.

“Carlee, what were you doing on August twenty-fifth, ten years ago?”

Carlee stared out into the gallery, probably looking to her husband for moral support. “I was working at the Utica Greens Country Club.”

“And what were you doing there?”

“I was working in the kitchen.”

“As a cook?”

“More like a scullery maid. Any kind of grunge work that needed to be done, I did it.”

“Do you remember what you were doing the night of August twenty-fifth?”

“Yes, I believe I do. The kitchen closed at eleven o’clock, but I agreed to do the cleanup afterward, which usually took at least an hour. I didn’t like it, but I needed the money. Plus, my boss, Mr. Franklin, kept saying that if I accumulated a hundred hours of overtime, he would make me a waitress, which paid better and didn’t require you to stay up all night scraping dried goo off plates. Except when I finally had enough hours, Mr. Franklin asked if I liked Mantovani and would I like to see his collection of erotic videos and what color underwear did I wear anyway—”

“If we can get back to the country club,” Ben said.

“Yes.” Carlee folded her hands in her lap. “So I was working late that night.”

“When did you finish in the kitchen?”

“About midnight.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I left the main building, where the dining room and kitchens are, and started for home. I didn’t have a car, so I had to walk, even if it was late at night. I had found that the quickest way home was to take a shortcut across the golf course between the first and eighth tees.”

“Did that route take you anywhere near the caddyshack?”

“Pretty close, yeah. Normally I never noticed, but on this night, as I passed by, I heard some loud voices coming from inside.”

“Did you investigate?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I’m not normally nosy, but that was so strange. I didn’t think anyone would be in there at that time of night.”

“What did you do?”

Carlee looked down at her hands. Her voice began to show signs of hesitation. “I approached the side of the building closest to the—the north side—and looked in through a window. It was open.”

“What did you see?”

Carlee licked her lips, then gathered her thoughts. “I saw—” She inhaled deeply. “I saw a dark-haired woman pressed into the corner of the room.”

Ben held up the previously identified picture of Maria Alvarez. “Was this the woman?”

Carlee glanced at the picture. “Yes, that was her.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive.”

“Why was she in the corner?”

Carlee looked anxiously at the jury. “She was being forced back … by a man.”

“Was the man holding any kind of weapon?” Ben asked.

“Yes. A golf club.”

“What did he do with it?”

Carlee closed her eyes, focusing on the flickering memory. “They talked for a few moments … I couldn’t hear what they said. Then the man raised the club over his head. The woman’s eyes widened in terror and she screamed.”

“And then?”

“And—and then the man brought the club down on her head. He raised it again, and this time brought it down on her shoulder. She screamed, but she stayed on her feet.”

“How many times did he hit her?”

“I’m—I’m not sure. Two or three. Then the club broke. That made the man mad. He picked up the broken shaft and”—she looked away suddenly—“pierced the woman’s throat.”

Ben allowed her a moment before proceeding. “How could you tell what he did?”

“I … saw it. With my own eyes. The woman was screaming, but when the shaft went through her throat … it was as if her voice disappeared. Instantly. That was even more frightening. Then the blood spurted everywhere, out of her neck and her veins, and … and … the smell engulfed the room. That sickly sweet smell of blood …” She began to sob. “You can’t imagine how … horrible it was … I was only seventeen at the time. I had never seen anything like that before. …”

Ben passed up a tissue by way of the bailiff and gave Carlee a few moments to collect herself. “What did you do next?”

Carlee wiped the tears from her eyes. “I don’t know. I was in such shock. The next thing I remember, I was home in bed.”

“I understand. Now, Carlee, this is a very important question.” Ben could see the jurors leaning slightly forward with anticipation. They knew what the question was going to be. “Who was the man you saw in the caddyshack?”

“But that’s just it—I don’t know. He was facing away from me.”

Ben knew he had to follow up quickly, before the jurors’ interest became irritation. “Could you describe him?”

“He seemed tall. At least six feet, or close. Medium build.” She took another deep breath. “And he was white.”

Hallelujah. “Are you sure about that, Carlee?”

“Oh yes. He was only about ten feet away from me.”

“Is it possible there was a trick of the light that distorted his skin color?”

“No. He was a white man.”

“Thank you.” The good stuff was over, but Ben knew what this witness’s principal weakness was. Trial Tactics 101 told him it would be smarter to expose it himself than to let Bullock make a fuss about it during cross-ex.

“Carlee, since you were an actual eyewitness to this murder, why haven’t you come forth before now?”

Carlee turned to the jury and offered them her most sincere expression. “Well, until recently … I didn’t remember.”

“You didn’t remember? You forgot?”

“I don’t think it was that I forgot so much as that”—she struggled for the right words—“… I blocked it out.”

Ben checked the jury. A few expressions of skepticism, but no out-and-out disbelief. So far, so good. “What caused you to remember?”

“Well, that’s difficult to explain. I was on a camping trip with my family—my husband and my two boys. I heard a radio report about this case … then later, my husband hurt himself while he was showing the boys how to use a knife properly. It was a small cut, but it bled like crazy. The blood got all over him, and the smell permeated the air, and—”

She looked down suddenly, as if trying to drag the memory out of some cerebral cellar. “And then I remembered. Just for an instant. I flashed on that poor woman, screaming, blood spurting all over her. It was like I was back there, if only for an instant.”

“And you realized you were seeing a memory you had suppressed?”

“Not at first. But the next day I saw my husband chopping firewood. From behind, he resembled the man in the caddy-shack. He raised his weapon over his head and brought it down hard, and—” She looked up suddenly. “That’s when I knew. I saw the whole thing again, front to back, like a movie played out before my eyes. Except this was real. It happened. I was there.”

Good enough. That should give the jurors something to think about and, with any luck, would provide the first kernel of a reasonable doubt. “Thank you, Ms. Crane. No more questions at this time.”

All eyes in the courtroom passed to Bullock, who sat at his table stroking his chin. For a man who had just heard a surprise eyewitness testify, he seemed singularly undisturbed.

Bullock rose to his feet. “No questions, your honor.”

Judge Hawkins himself was caught short this time. “No questions? You mean—you’re not going to ask her anything?”

“No, your honor.” Bullock lowered himself to his seat. “The defense may call its next witness.”

What in the …? Ben stared at his opposite number, utterly flabbergasted. What did he think he was doing? Not crossing an eyewitness? It was crazy! Was he throwing in the towel?

Ben knew better. Bullock would never give up. The only reason he would pass on cross-examination was … if he didn’t think it was necessary.

Now that was a disturbing thought. Unfortunately, Ben didn’t have time to dwell on it.

“Call your next witness,” the judge ordered.

“Very well,” Ben said. He helped Carlee down from the stand and asked her to wait in the gallery in case he needed her later. “The defense calls Dr. Emil Allyn.”