Naked Justice

Chapter 46

BEN GLANCED OVER AT his client. He was not in good shape. The pain in his face was evident. Ben had to remind himself that Barrett had come home and seen these horrible images, too. His experience was much like Calley’s, only earlier. Reliving it in this manner, being reminded of the hideous demise of his entire family, had to be awful for him, and the strain was showing in his face.

With all the enthusiasm of a corpse, Ben strode to the podium. He decided to keep the cross short and sweet. After all, the man had simply testified to what he saw at the crime scene, and none of it was in dispute. The main point of his testimony had been to shock and horrify the jury, which he had certainly done. The sooner they moved on to someone else the better.

“Officer Calley, at the time of this incident, March 11, you were rather new on the force, weren’t you?”

“Uh … yes.” Ben noticed that as soon as the testimony shifted to cross-examination, he adopted the flat, unembroidered voice police officers are trained to use in court.

“How new?”

Calley thought for a moment. “I’m not sure I remember exactly.”

“Isn’t it true that this incident occurred on the Friday of your first week?”

“Uh … yes, I believe that’s correct.”

A few eyebrows in the jury box raised.

“Obviously, then, you hadn’t had much experience with domestic disturbances.”

“No. Only discussions while I was at the academy.”

“And you probably hadn’t had any experience with homicides.”

“No.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. This may help explain some of the … irregularities at the crime scene.”

Ben could see Calley’s eyes narrow. He was on his guard now.

“For instance,” Ben continued, “it isn’t really standard police procedure to enter a home uninvited just because they don’t answer the doorbell, is it?”

“I felt that there was a great potential—”

“Yes, yes, I’m familiar with your justifications. But that isn’t exactly what they taught you back at the academy, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“And I’m curious—when you found the first body, why didn’t you immediately call for medical assistance?”

“Well, she was dead.”

“Officer Calley, are you a doctor?”

He frowned. “No.”

“Have you taken classes in emergency medicine?”

“No. Just the fundamentals at the academy.”

“You know, sometimes experienced doctors are fooled about whether a patient is dead when they have to make a field diagnosis without instruments. Is it possible you made a mistake?”

“She was dead. It was later confirmed—”

“Later, yes, but at the time you were there, is it possible she was alive?”

“I don’t think so …”

“Officer, my question was—is it possible?”

He sighed heavily. “I suppose it’s possible.”

“And if an officer finds an injured person and there is a possibility that the victim is still alive, the proper police procedure is to immediately summon medical aid, correct?”

“That’s correct,” Calley said resignedly.

“Your honor, I object,” Bullock said. “What’s the point of this? Officer Calley is not on trial.”

“I’m testing the credibility of his testimony,” Ben told the judge. “That’s the main point of cross-ex.”

Judge Hart nodded wearily. “I’m going to allow a little more of this. I would appreciate it, however, counsel, if you could bring the discussion a little closer to the matters at issue.”

“Very well, your honor.” He turned his attention back to the witness. “My point is, this was not a perfect, by-the-book initial investigation, was it?”

“There were many variables—”

“Sir, please answer the question.”

“No, it was not.”

“Please understand, I’m not trying to blame or incriminate you. But the jury needs to know the facts. And the facts are—you were a brand-new officer on your own and you made mistakes, right?”

“That’s true.” His shoulders sagged. “I made mistakes.”

“Did you ever see my client during your initial tour of the house?”

“No, he had already—”

“Did… you … see… him … there?”

Calley swallowed his words. “No.”

“Did you see anything that indicated who had committed these crimes?”

“Not specifically, no.”

“Not specifically or generally, right?”

Calley almost smiled. “Right.”

“There is one other matter I’d like to ask you about. You’ve admitted this initial investigation was flawed and that you made mistakes. You also said that after you found the third victim, you left the premises. Right?”

“Right.”

“At what speed did you depart?”

“Speed? I don’t follow.”

“Well, did you saunter? Stroll? Walk briskly?”

Calley seemed to struggle for the correct word. “I … believe I moved downstairs and out with all deliberate speed.”

“Meaning fast, right?”

He shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

“Were you running?”

“I don’t know if I was running …”

“But you were moving very rapidly.”

“I suppose so.”

“And on your way out, you had to pass through the living room. Right?”

“Uh, yes. That’s right.”

“Officer, in his opening statement, the prosecutor made much of a photograph that was found on the floor in the living room. Did you see that photo?”

“As I recall, there were many photographs in the home.”

“Ah, but this one was on the floor. Surely you would have noticed. If it was there.”

“I … There was a lot going on … I had a lot on my mind …”

“Officer Calley, did you see a smashed photograph of Caroline Barrett on the floor?”

“I … don’t recall it, but as I say, I was moving quickly. It was probably there and I didn’t notice.”

“Officer Calley, in your haste to leave the Barrett home, is it possible that you knocked over the photo?”

Calley appeared momentarily stunned. “I—what?”

“You heard me. Did you?”

“Did I—no, I most certainly did not.”

“It would have been an easy thing to do. No one would blame you. But we need to know the truth. Did you knock over that photograph?”

“No!”

“You were running—or moving very rapidly—through the living room. Very upset. You would have had to run right by the coffee table where the photo normally rested. Tell us the truth, sir. You knocked it over, didn’t you?”

“No!”

“And that’s how the frame glass was broken.”

“No! Absolutely not!”

“I’m sure it was an accident. But you did it, didn’t you?”

“I—” His head began to tremble. “No! I did not knock over the picture!”

“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it.”

“I did not knock the damn thing over!”

“Your honor,” Bullock shouted, “we apologize for that outburst, but this question has been asked and answered. Several times now.”

Judge Hart did not look happy. “I will excuse the outburst—just this once. The question has been asked and answered. If you have nothing more, Mr. Kincaid, sit down.”

“Nothing more,” Ben said. There was no point in pushing any longer. If Calley was responsible for breaking that picture, he sure wasn’t going to admit it now.

“Very well. Court is recessed for the day.” Judge Hart gave the jury the usual end-of-the-day instructions, particularly complicated in this instance since the jury had been sequestered. “We’ll resume tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp.” She banged her gavel, and the courtroom exploded.

Ben could see the reporters surging up the aisle. As soon as the jury was escorted out, he pointed Barrett toward a door at the back of the courtroom.

“Wait a minute,” Barrett said. “I want to make a statement.”

“That’s an incredibly stupid idea.”

“I don’t care. People have been lying about me all day. Why should I sit there and take that silently?”

“Well, at least let’s talk—”

“There’s no time. The marshals will come for me any moment.” Barrett pushed forward to meet the reporters. In a matter of moments, a multitude of cameras and lights and microphones were working.

Ben listened as Barrett did his best to put a positive spin on the day’s testimony, which was nearly impossible, since almost all of it had gone against them. For the most part, Barrett avoided the specifics of the evidence and statements, and simply reiterated his innocence in strong and impassioned tones.

Which was well and good for the six o’clock news, Ben thought, but the jury would require something more. If he was going to turn them around, he would have to give them something concrete, something that seemed at least as plausible as the evidence the prosecution had put on, and would continue to put on tomorrow.

This was one election Wallace Barrett couldn’t win with a press conference. Barrett might win over thousands of viewers, but the only twelve votes that counted would not be watching. They were the ones who would determine his fate. And they were the ones, Ben knew, who at that point had been given no reason to doubt that Wallace Barrett was guilty.