Naked Justice

Chapter 57

THERE ARE MOMENTS IN every trial when time stands still. Even in the most ordinary exercises in judicial fact finding, there are unexpected moments, moments of upset or revelation or salvation or despair. A trial is simply too huge, too complicated; even the best attorney on earth cannot anticipate everything. It is during these breakthrough moments that the true character of the jury trial system is revealed.

The trial of Wallace Barrett was far from ordinary. But its breakthrough moment was close at hand.

“Your honor,” Ben said, “I call Wallace Barrett to the stand.”

It was the announcement everyone had waited for, hoped for, speculated about. Everyone knew that a criminal defendant was not required to testify; the Fifth Amendment protects the innocent as well as the guilty. Everyone knew all the perfectly sound reasons why even the most innocent of defendants often opt not to take the stand. But at the same time, everyone hopes that they will. There’s no substitute for hearing the story from the defendant’s own lips. There’s nothing quite as telling as being able to look into the man’s eyes as he tells it.

O. J. Simpson never took the stand. Lee Harvey Oswald never took the stand. James Earl Ray never took the stand.

But on this day, Wallace Barrett did.

Flashbulbs, supposedly barred from the courtroom, erupted like lightning. Minicam operators climbed onto seats and chairs, craning for a better view. The courtroom was pandemonium, a loud roar punctuated by the judge’s futile pounding of her gavel. Despite what Ben had said in opening statement, everyone had expected the defense to begin with its less important witnesses, evaluating as they went the need for placing Wallace Barrett in the witness stand, making him subject to scrutiny by God, his country, and cross-examination.

But on this point, the defense had fooled them all.

And for about the ten millionth time, Ben wondered if he had done the right thing.

They had been over and over it, almost throughout the entire night. After the explosion, Mike had insisted that he and Christina go to the police station to file reports and provide any information that might possibly allow them to track down the bomber who was stalking Ben. It was after eleven before they got out of there. And then they had to return to Barrett’s jail cell and prepare him to testify.

To his credit, Barrett had come through all the pretrial rehearsals with flying colors. And why not? He was a seasoned media veteran. Barrett had insisted on testifying, had demanded his chance to confront his accusers and to tell his faithful followers the truth. Given his insistence on testifying, the only decision left to Ben was when. And he had decided to put Wallace on first.

There were a few other possibilities for lead witnesses. Jones had lined up a crime reconstructionist, a man who used computer graphic reenactments to show the jury how a crime was committed even when there were no eyewitnesses. His presentations suggested for a variety of reasons that it was unlikely (though not impossible) that one assailant committed all three murders. But his testimony was founded on a host of likely but unprovable assumptions, assumptions Ben knew Bullock would tear apart on cross. Besides, all the prosecution had to prove was that Barrett had committed one of the murders. Any one of them would be sufficient to strap him down on the lethal injection table.

Jones had also found some forensic experts who were willing to testify for the defense, assuming Barrett would pay their not insignificant fees. There might have been some value in calling their own experts on blood or DNA. But the bottom line was that these witnesses would only reiterate the issues Ben had already introduced during his cross-examination of the prosecution’s witnesses. The points had already been made, and they had not been sufficient to overcome the presumption of guilt created by the prosecution’s mountain of evidence. If he was going to win this trial, he needed something more.

He needed Wallace Barrett. On the witness stand.

Barrett took the stand with his usual deliberative, confident manner. Ben had coached him to be careful not to seem in any way smug or overbearing. He should at all times seem helpful, even deferential, to the judge and jury. And without being indignant or melodramatic, he must make it clear that he did not enjoy this. After all, a tragedy had occurred, a tragedy that had struck him personally. He had to make sure the jury never forgot that.

As Ben elicited the introductory information, Barrett performed flawlessly. He was striking exactly the right chord, making exactly the right impression. At this stage, the information being conveyed didn’t much matter. Everyone already knew who he was, what he did for a living, why he was here. What mattered was the impression he made on the jury while he was saying it.

They were watching him.

Ben was also riding a perceptual tightrope, vacillating between the formality required by the court and the casual friendliness necessary to show the jury that Ben liked the man. “Wallace, how long had you and Caroline been married?”

“Twelve years.”

“And how would you describe your marriage?”

“I would describe it as being very happy, for the most part. Sure, we had fights now and again, like any other couple. But the bottom line was I loved her, and she loved me. And we both loved the kids.”

The kids, the kids, the kids. The specter of those poor horribly murdered children hung over this trial like a thundercloud. “Some of the prosecution’s witnesses have suggested that your marriage was an unhappy one.”

“They’re wrong.” Barrett seemed firm, not pushy, but certain. “Believe me, I’m the one in the position to know. We had a very loving marriage. The fact is, Caroline’s sister never liked me from day one. I don’t know why. But she’s never made any bones about it. This is not the first time she’s tried to embarrass me publicly. And now that she’s got this six-figure book deal—well, she’s not going to do me any favors, put it that way.”

“We’ve also heard testimony from your neighbor, Mr. Sanders, and Caroline’s … friend Dr. Fisher.”

“They were both in love with her,” Barrett said flatly. “I don’t think anything ever came of it. I don’t think Caroline would’ve allowed anything to come of it. I think she loved me too much. But that didn’t stop them from trying. Sanders was constantly at our house on the feeblest of excuses. He wasn’t protecting Caroline; he was trying to get close to her. And Dr. Fisher was just the same.”

“That seems a bit … unusual.”

Barrett shook his head. “It wouldn’t if you knew my wife. She was beautiful. More than beautiful … breathtaking. And she was smart and funny and fun to be with. She was the perfect companion. Of course everyone wanted her. Who wouldn’t?”

“So it was not true that your marriage was unhappy?”

“No, it was not. That was a figment of their imagination. That was the way they wanted it to be, not the way it was.”

“Wallace, some of these witnesses have suggested that you … physically hurt your wife.”

“Absolutely one hundred percent not true.” He leaned forward in his chair, still remaining calm, but making it clear that he did not like or appreciate these vile accusations. “I did not. Never.”

“You didn’t fight with her?”

“Fight, yes. We fought verbally. But I wouldn’t hurt her, not physically. I’d rather have died first. Really. I’d rather have died.”

“We’ve heard intimations that the police were called out to your home.”

“The police came twice. That’s it. I’m sure Harvey Sanders, our resident nosy neighbor, called them both times. They came out, saw that nothing serious was going on, and left. Although they stopped once to lecture Sanders on misuse of police resources on their way out. I guess he forgot to mention that part. And that’s it. That’s the only time police ever stepped inside my home until … until … well, you know.”

Ben did know. They all knew. Ben paused, swallowed, then continued. “We’ve also been told that on one occasion after a fight you locked Caroline out of the house wearing nothing but her underwear.”

“Again, that’s a major distortion. She locked herself out of the house. She ran out for the mail in her underwear, the wind blew the door shut, and she was trapped. The doorbell was broken and I was sleeping, so I didn’t hear her pounding on the door. Eventually she went next door to see Sanders, which I’m sure was the cheap thrill of his life. She called from his place and I let her in. That’s all there was to it. Sanders imagined the rest. It was no great big deal.”

“So you did not lock her out of the house to punish her?”

“Of course not. That’s nuts. Why would I want to do that, even if I was the maniac Sanders wants you to think I am? Do you think I liked having my wife running around the neighborhood in her underwear? Believe me, I didn’t.”

Ben made a quick and unobtrusive visual survey of the jury. They seemed to be going along with him, following with him, maybe even believing him. At any rate, they were definitely paying attention.

“Wallace, we’ve also heard about an alleged incident with a baseball bat—”

“That was a lie.”

“But Dr. Fisher—”

“I don’t care what he said. That was just a bald-faced lie. I never did anything like that. I never would. I guess Fisher thinks that”—his voice quietened—“now that Caroline is dead he can claim she told him anything. That simply never happened.”

“You never aimed a baseball bat at your wife’s head?”

“Of course not. Think about it. If I had done a thing like that, do you think Caroline would’ve stayed in the house with me? Do you think she would have left the kids in the house with me? Despite this battered-woman stereotype her sister is determined to force on her, the fact is, Caroline wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t weak, either. If something like that had happened, she’d have been out of the house in a heartbeat, with the kids, and she would’ve never returned.”

Again, Ben checked the jury, and to his delight saw a few heads subtly nodding. Barrett was winning them back with his calm, logical presentation. He was making them believe.

“One last question about your wife, Wallace. Did you know she was pregnant?”

“No, I did not. I don’t think she did, either, at least not for long, or she would’ve told me. I loved our kids, and despite the lies her would-be Romeo told you, I wanted more. Specifically, I wanted a son. Not that I didn’t love my daughters, but you know how it is. I guess every guy wants a son, someone to carry on after he’s gone. We’d been trying for some years, without any luck. We’d been to all the doctors, and they were telling us it probably wouldn’t happen. They were telling us Caroline wouldn’t have any more children. This baby boy”—he raised his hands to his face—“he must’ve been a godsend. I mean, a miracle. And now—” His voice cracked. He shielded his face with his hand and didn’t make a great show, but it was clear he was crying.

Ben noticed a few moist eyes in the jury box as well. He waited several moments till Barrett collected himself.

“You had no idea your wife was pregnant?”

“I did not. And what’s more—” His head raised, and he stared down at the prosecution table. “I am revolted by the thought that the police and prosecutors have known for weeks, and not one of them ever saw fit to tell me. Apparently they saw no reason why the father—the father!—had any right to know. They preferred to keep it quiet so they could use it for shock value in the courtroom. That sickens me.”

There was another long pause. For once, the eyes in the jury box turned to do a careful scrutiny of Jack Bullock.

“What about your children, Wallace? How was your relationship with them?”

“The best. Absolutely the best. They were great kids and I loved them. Yes, I did spank them, but believe me, I got no pleasure from it. I’m talking about real spankings, not little love pats like the one I gave Annabelle at the ice-cream parlor. Sometimes children do have to be punished, but we never hit hard enough to leave a mark. Caroline and I used spankings only for extreme cases—life-and-death issues, like playing in the street, getting in a car with strangers. I know it’s fashionable now to say you never spank your kids, but let me tell you something. I could live a lot easier with the knowledge that I gave my girls a little spanking now and again than I could live with knowing they’d been hit by a car because I failed to apply the appropriate discipline.”

“Punishment aside, Wallace, did you ever strike your children in anger?”

“Never. Never once. And I defy anyone to come up here and say anything different. I have never, never hurt my children. Never!”

“Alysha was reported to have bruises—”

“Alysha was accident-prone. That’s a fact. No one ever suspected anything until after this tragedy occurred and I became the scapegoat for every false accusation in the book. Ask yourself this. If she was showing up at school looking like she’d been beaten, why didn’t her teachers report it? Why didn’t the other parents? Because it wasn’t true. It didn’t happen.”

Ben turned a page in his trial notebook. “Wallace, I know this will be extremely unpleasant for you, but I’m going to have to ask you now to return to the day your family was killed.”

His face became set and grim. “All right.”

“Could you tell us what happened that day?”

Barrett took a deep breath and released it slowly. “We all got up, ate breakfast, got dressed. Everyone was in good spirits—no squabbling, no problems. I kept the kids out of school because I wanted my family with me at the press conference, when I announced my decision to run for reelection. After the conference, we had a quick lunch, then I took the kids to Baskin-Robbins for ice cream.”

“The prosecution witness who worked at the ice-cream parlor said that you and your wife were fighting there.”

“Well, you saw the tape. I would not say we were fighting, but we were having a somewhat agitated discussion. And it was hardly over a life-and-death issue. It was about whether Annabelle got chocolate ice cream.”

“Could you explain?”

He nodded. “It’s pretty simple. Annabelle wanted chocolate ice cream. It’s her favorite. I thought we ought to let her get what she wanted, but Caroline didn’t want her to have chocolate, because she was still wearing her fancy clothes, and as you undoubtedly know, chocolate stains. It wouldn’t be the first time chocolate ice cream had ruined one of her outfits. So that’s what we were talking about. That’s it. There was no shouting, no threatening, no hitting. Nothing about other men or the baby I didn’t know about. Just a normal discussion like all parents everywhere in the galaxy have on a daily basis. It was only after the … the tragedy … that someone got the idea of saying that this stupid discussion at Baskin-Robbins proved that I was some kind of monster.”

“The man at the register said you almost hit Caroline.”

“I talk with my hands, and I can see how he might be confused, if he didn’t know me well. I always talk with my hands. I’m just that kind of guy. I’d be doing it now, Mr. Kincaid, if you hadn’t told me not to.”

There was a pleasant tittering of laughter from the jury box.

“The man at the parlor also said that you threatened her. Something about the children.”

“The man is confused. Caroline was the one who talked about using the kids as a weapon. But she wasn’t threatening me any more than I was threatening her. She was just saying that we had to be careful about arguing around the kids, dragging them into it, trying to use them against one another.”

“So you were not fighting the day of the murder?”

Barrett frowned slightly. “Actually we were, but not yet. The real fight came later that afternoon, after we got home.”

“What were you fighting about?”

Barrett glanced out into the gallery. “Him.” All heads turned to see who Barrett was singling out. “Fisher—excuse me, Dr. Fisher. It was obvious to me that he was in love with Caroline and was trying to get her to go to bed with him. He’d propositioned her on more than one occasion, and was constantly dropping by when he knew I wouldn’t be at home. I knew Caroline would never sleep with him, but just the same, I didn’t want the creep around. I didn’t want him bothering Caroline or the children.”

“And what was Caroline’s response to this request?”

“She refused. She insisted that he was just a friend, and she needed friends. I disagreed. I had no problem with her having friends, but I thought having this lecherous pervert around was not good for our marriage or our family. I admit I got pretty heated and did some shouting. I assume that’s what our ever-alert neighbor Mr. Sanders overheard, once he flung open all his windows and craned his head out as far as it would go.”

Again, some of the jurors laughed. With him, Ben noted.

“We went back and forth for probably fifteen, twenty minutes. I shouted, Caroline shouted. She actually threw a few plates and knocked over a table. Made a huge crashing noise, but it didn’t hurt anything. Then I got really steamed. I knew arguing wasn’t going to make things any better, so I decided it would be best if I just left for a while and cooled off. I ran out of the house.”

“About what time of day was this?”

“I’m not certain, but I think it was around four forty-five.”

“So this is not when your neighbor saw you run to the car?”

“No. That came later.”

“What did you do after you left the house?”

“I just got in my car and drove. Nowhere in particular. Just drove. Tell you the truth, I just needed to let off some steam. I crossed town on the Broken Arrow Expressway, shot back on I-44. Crossed over the river and went away up I-75. Drove for about an hour. Maybe an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“And then what did you do?”

“Then I came home.”

“And what happened?”

“Then …” His voice suddenly broke off. When it returned, it was barely a whisper. “That’s when I found them.”

Ben tried to go easy. Barrett was doing wonderfully; he didn’t want him to break down before the examination was over. “I’m sorry, Wallace, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to go through what happened step-by-step so the jury can understand all the details. Please tell us what happened, beginning when you returned to your home.”

Barrett took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I parked on the street. I was anxious to get in and apologize. I still didn’t want Fisher around, but after thinking about it a while, I realized I didn’t have the right to dictate who her friends were. So I wanted to apologize before any more damage was done.”

“What did you do after you parked on the street?”

“I walked to the house. The front door was open. And before you ask, no, I don’t remember whether I closed the door on my way out when I left. I was mad and I was in a hurry. I’m sure I meant to close it, but it’s possible I didn’t. I just don’t know.”

“What did you do next?”

“I stepped inside. Everything was very quiet. That was the first thing that bothered me. That sent a chill right up my spine. We have two young girls, after all. The house just isn’t quiet in the middle of the day. I thought maybe they had all gone somewhere.”

“What did you think about that?”

“Well, it made me want to kick myself. If I had stayed home, instead of running off like an idiot, I could’ve spent some time with them. Instead, I was going to spend the evening alone. Or so I thought.”

“What did you do next?”

“Well, since it looked like Caroline wouldn’t be making dinner, I decided to go fix myself a sandwich. But on my way to the kitchen, I had to pass through the dining room—”

“And?”

Barrett swallowed. “That’s when I saw her,” he whispered.

“That’s when you saw who?” Ben urged.

“Caroline,” he said. “Sprawled across a dining room chair.”

“Could you please describe her condition when you found her?”

“She was … red … and …” He struggled to force the words out. “There was blood, all over her body. Her face was … mutilated.”

“What did you do?”

“I shouted out to her. But she didn’t answer. I tried to pick her up. I remember, I cut myself—maybe on her ring? I don’t know. Whatever it was, I guess it bled. I didn’t notice; I had a lot more on my mind at the time. I tried to move her, but she was so limp, and I was so upset. My eyes blurred, and I just kept shouting, ‘Caroline! Caroline!’ ”

Ben looked away. This was the hardest witness examination he had ever done, ever. He just hoped it was affecting the jury as strongly as it was affecting him. “Then what did you do?”

“I couldn’t move her, and I couldn’t get her to respond. I tried to take her pulse. Got her blood all over me. And the smell! It was so sickening, I just—” He shook his head. “There was no pulse. I knew she was dead.”

“Then what did you do?”

“I panicked. Just panicked. Started running through the house, shouting for the kids. Of course they didn’t answer. Finally I ran upstairs. And then I found them. Annabelle on the bed, Alysha in the bathtub.”

“Would you please describe the condition in which you found them?”

Barrett was shaking. His eyes were beginning to water. “It was just like the police officer who found them said. Annabelle was lying still, her hands folded, like she was sleeping. But I knew she wasn’t just sleeping. And then I found Alysha—my poor precious Alysha—in the tub with all that blood dripping and splattered and—”

His face fell into his hands, and he was consumed by weeping. Tears streamed through his fingers. The jurors watched, then eventually looked away. No matter what they believed, at that moment in time, no one doubted the depth of the grief Barrett was experiencing.

Several moments passed before Ben asked the next question. “Wallace, would you please tell the jury what you did after you found the last body?”

“I fled,” he said. “I ran. Bolted out of the house. That’s when Sanders saw me—it would have been six or so by then. I’m not proud of it. But I just panicked. My whole family had been killed. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t think straight. For all I knew, the killer was still on the premises. For all I knew, I was the one he wanted. I don’t know what all I thought, really. I just ran to my car and drove.”

“Where were you going?”

“I didn’t know. Nowhere, really. Just driving. Just putting as much distance as I could between myself and that … atrocity. I couldn’t deal with it. I think I thought that maybe if I could put enough distance between myself and all that blood, then it wouldn’t be real. It would all disappear and everything would be normal again.”

“You were headed south.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t know why. I have a sister in Dallas—she’s my only living relative. I think maybe some part of me was trying to get to her, trying to find the comfort and easy acceptance that only a family member can provide.”

“You did not call the police.”

“No. I should have, I know that. But they couldn’t have helped. They couldn’t have given my family back to me. I can’t explain how I felt. I just … wasn’t thinking in any sane, logical manner. I had just witnessed the most hellish nightmare that I could ever imagine. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“And what happened after that?”

Barrett shrugged wearily. “You’ve seen the tape. The police cars and copters found me. I knew they were there, but some part of me just wasn’t processing information properly. I felt like I had to keep on driving, that if I stopped, it would be like admitting they were dead, that my whole family had been taken away from me. I just couldn’t make myself do it.” He wiped the tears from his eyes. “Then I got the searchlight from one of those helicopters in my eyes. It blinded me, I lost control, and I hit that tollbooth. I woke up in the hospital, and I’ve been in police custody ever since.”

“Have you cooperated with the police?”

“Absolutely. I’ve told them everything I know, tried to help them in every way possible. You got to understand—I thought the police would try to find the monster who committed these crimes. Imagine my shock and”—his teeth clenched together—“anger when I realized they were trying to pin it on me! Trying to accuse me of killing my own wife and children!”

“How did you respond when you heard the charges?”

“With outrage. But even then I didn’t understand the truth. I thought they’d follow up all the leads, whether they thought I did it or not. But they didn’t. Once they had me behind bars, they called the case closed and stopped looking. Why hasn’t anyone found those strangers who were seen casing my home? I get death threats every month. Why hasn’t anyone followed up on any of those? Every time I turn around I find out my opponents on the city council have been butting into this investigation—illegally. Why hasn’t anyone investigated that? The police don’t care about the truth. They just wanted a scapegoat, someone to save their butts and make it look like they’d done their jobs. I was the easiest scapegoat available, so they’ve tried to pin it on me and never even considered any other possibilities. Hell, they botched the evidence collection and let thrill-seekers trample through my house. People I don’t even know were barging through my home hoping to get a cheap thrill by seeing the dead bodies of my family!”

“Your honor, I must object,” Bullock said. “The witness is no longer being responsive.”

“Overruled,” she said curtly.

“All my life,” Barrett continued, “I’ve tried to work with the system, tried to do things the right way. That was true when I was growing up in the ghettos of North Tulsa, and it was still true when I was elected mayor. But I must tell you, this case shames me. This case has exposed our system for how fallible, how prejudiced it really is. How easily it can be manipulated. How much evil there is in the world. First they took my family away from me, then my freedom, then my dignity, then my good name. And as if that wasn’t enough, now they’re trying to take everything else.”

“Wallace,” Ben said evenly, “did you kill your wife?”

Barrett looked him straight in the eyes. “No, sir.”

“Did you kill your daughter Alysha Barrett?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you kill your other daughter, Annabelle Barrett?”

“No, sir. I did not.” He turned to face the jury. “I did not kill any of them. I would not—I could not commit these horrible crimes.”

“Thank you, Wallace. That’s all.”

Judge Hart, to the relief of everyone, called for a blissful thirty-minute recess.