Perfect Justice

50.

THE CROWD IN THE courtroom the next morning had not diminished in the least. Apparently the first two days had only whetted their appetites. Most of the faces Ben identified the day before had returned for Day Three.

Vick was escorted into the courtroom by four deputies. Ben wondered if a particular event had inspired the sheriff to beef up security, or if the lawmen were just having a slow day. Fortunately none of the escorts was his good friend Deputy Gustafson.

As Vick walked down the main aisle, Ben heard a crash. A window shattered into tiny pieces that crumbled to the floor. A few seconds later a large rock sailed through the new opening. The crowd shrieked and ducked.

Whoever threw it had a strong arm and good aim; it just barely missed Vick’s head.

Ben ran to the window and saw two figures in bib overalls racing around the corner. Given the distance and the fact that he only saw them from the back, it was impossible for him to be certain who they were. But one of them bore a sharp resemblance to Garth Amick.

The bailiff swept the debris away and the crowd gradually quieted. But whatever false sense of security the courtroom may once have conveyed was shattered along with the window.

A few minutes later Judge Tyler reentered the courtroom and the trial resumed. Swain called Sheriff Collier to the stand.

After Collier was sworn, Swain identified him as the local sheriff and laid the proper foundations for his testimony.

“When did you first learn of Tommy Vuong’s death?”

“Almost immediately after it happened. We got lucky that night,” Collier said, although his manner suggested that more than mere luck was involved. “Two of my deputies were patrolling out that way and spotted the smoke rising from that burning cross. They drove in and investigated.” Collier described the crime scene for the jury. “Soon as my men saw the body, they got on the radio and called me.”

“What did you instruct them to do?”

“Well, first of all, I told them to put out the damn fire, which they did. Then they determined that the victim was dead. By the time I arrived, they had pried the man’s wallet out of his pocket. Luckily the boy had a tough cowhide wallet and his driver’s license wasn’t entirely incinerated. The writing was all melted, but I could still make out the picture. I recognized Vuong, of course, from that trouble he was in last year.”

“Yes, well, tell us how your investigation proceeded,” Swain said hastily. Naturally he didn’t want anyone suggesting that the victim was anything less than saintly.

“Since I knew Vuong lived out at Coi Than Tien, we banged on some doors and talked to some of them folks. None of them seemed to have much to tell us, though.”

“What led you to the defendant?”

The corners of the sheriff’s lips turned upward slightly. “In a sense, he led himself to us. We were driving back to town and I saw him wandering around on the side of the road. I asked him what he was doing out at that time of night.”

“And what was Mr. Vick’s alibi?”

“Objection.” Ben jumped to his feet. “The use of the word alibi suggests that the statement was false and that—”

“Oh, fine,” Swain said testily. He rolled his eyes so the jury could see. He was working double time to portray himself as the seeker of truth and Ben as the man hiding it. “I’ll rephrase. What was Mr. Vick’s explanation for his presence not far from the murder scene shortly after it occurred?”

Thanks, Ben thought. Much better.

Collier faced the jury. “He said he was out getting some mountain air.” Several jurors smiled. One flat out chuckled. Their thinking was obvious: only a liar would have such a lame alibi. Ben was apparently the only one in the courtroom who thought its very lameness probably proved it hadn’t been invented.

“Why are they laughing?” Vick asked. Ben was startled; it was the first time Vick had spoken to him since the trial began. “I was just out walking. I did that every night.”

“We’ll bring that out later,” Ben assured him. Not that anyone was likely to believe it.

“Was there anything unusual about the defendant’s appearance?” Swain asked.

“You better believe it. While we were talking I noticed a big splattering of blood on his shirt.”

The crowd stirred. Another previously unrevealed piece of incriminating evidence.

“What did you do then?”

“Well, I figured I needed to ask the boy a few questions. I said, ‘Vick, I just found out Tommy Vuong is dead.’ That seemed to take him by surprise; I expect he didn’t think we’d find the body so fast. Then I said, ‘Vuong is dead, and here I find you wandering around in the middle of the night with blood on your shirt. Did you kill him?’ ”

Swain took his time with the next question. “And what was Vick’s response?”

“Well, there was this long silence. I didn’t think he was going to answer at all. And then, out of the blue, real sudden like, he up and says, ‘Vuong deserved to die.’ ”

The jurors’ heads turned, checking one another’s expression. Swain paused, protracting the silence as long as possible.

“That’s all I have,” Swain said. “Pass the witness.”

Ben took his time approaching the witness stand. It seemed like a good strategy—build up some anticipation, make him seem confident and unconcerned. Also, it would give him a chance to figure out what the hell he was going to ask the man.

“Did you read my client his rights before you initiated the interrogation?” Ben asked.

“Hell, no,” Collier said. “I was just shooting the breeze with him. I had no idea he was going to up and confess.”

“Well, now wait a minute,” Ben said. “He didn’t actually confess, did he?”

“Sure as shootin’ sounded like it to me.”

“Did he say, ‘I killed Vuong’?”

“Not in as many words.”

“Not in any words, right?”

“Not as such, no. But why else would he say that Vuong deserved to die?”

“Many people probably deserve to die, but that doesn’t mean Donald Vick killed them, does it?”

“Depends on whether I find their blood on his shirt,” Collier said defiantly.

“Well, let’s talk about that now. Did you run any tests on the bloodstain?”

“No. Why bother?”

“So you don’t actually know whose blood was on his shirt, right?”

“Who the hell else’s could it be? Unless your boy killed two people that night!”

“Move to strike,” Ben said. “Request that the jury be instructed to disregard.”

Judge Tyler promptly did so.

“Did Donald Vick say anything else to you that night?”

“Not a word. Totally clammed up.”

“So you’ve been claiming for weeks that Donald confessed, when in fact all he did was say that he didn’t like Vuong very much.”

“That’s not how I—”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “I have no more questions.” Ben suspected he had done all he could do with this witness who obviously sympathized with the prosecution. It was best to get him off the stand before he caused any more damage.

There was no redirect. For some reason, Swain was procrastinating about calling his next witness.

“Have you any other witnesses?” Judge Tyler finally asked.

“Yes,” Swain said. He rose, then turned to face the gallery. “The prosecution calls Daniel Dunagan to the stand.”