Cruel Justice (43 page)

“I do not need to collect myself!”

“Right.”

Ben allowed himself to be dragged to a chair. Christina got the formula out of the diaper bag, poured it, and plopped a bottle in Joey’s mouth. The caterwauling subsided.

“Do you need a massage?” Christina asked.

“Is this one of those deals where you draw concentric circles around my temples and mutter the secrets of the cosmos into my ear? No, that’s not what I need.”

“True. What you need is a major sedative, but all I can offer is the massage.” Ignoring him, she began massaging his scalp with her free hand. “What are you doing with Joey? You’re due in the courtroom in less than an hour.”

“Mother left.”

“Where did she go?”

“I don’t know. When I got up, she was gone.”

“I can’t believe she would leave you with the baby when you’re in the middle of a trial—” Christina stopped, then her eyes narrowed. “Ben, did you do something crazy?”

“I most certainly did not.”

“She just decided to pack her bags and say
au revoir,
with no provocation.”

“Well, I didn’t say—”

“Ben, how
could
you?”

“How could I what?”

“How could you be mean to your mother? I mean, she’s your
mother
!”

“I didn’t do anything that—”

“I bet you did. You yelled at her, didn’t you, and said something awful?”

“Well …”

“I knew it. Did she tell you she was leaving?”

“Well, yes, but I assumed she was taking the baby with her.”

Christina stopped massaging. “Ben, when are you going to figure it out?”

“Figure what out?”

“This is your blind spot. Deep down, I know you’re a sweetheart. But when it comes to your family, you go off the deep end.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

“And the worst of it is, I never got to go clothes shopping with her!”

On this point, Ben joined in her grieving. “Look, Christina, I hate to lay this on you, but you’re going to have to look after Joey while I’m in court.”

“No way!”

“I’m sorry, but what else can I do?”

“Let me see. Day care. Mother’s Day Out. A Skinner box. There are many possibilities.”

“Be serious. I don’t have time to arrange for child care. You said you and he were getting along—”

“Ben, you need to stop relying on other people to do all the hard stuff and start acting like a responsible parent.”

“But I’m not a responsible parent—”

“Exactly my point.”

“I’m not any kind of parent. This is just a temporary situation.”

“Yeah, right.” Christina repositioned the bottle in Joey’s mouth, then passed him back to Ben. “Fine. I’ll baby-sit.” She rummaged through the diaper bag. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Again. During a major trial. I’m a trained professional. I have a certificate from TJC!”

“Why don’t you take him back to my apartment? He seems comfortable there. And … um … I just had a new air-conditioning unit installed. And if Mother happens to come back, you can give her the kid and head for the courtroom.”

“I suppose—”

“Pardon me.”

Both Ben and Christina turned. A middle-aged man in a herringbone jacket was poking his head through the front door. “Are you Ben Kincaid?”

“Yes. Can I help you?”

The man stammered awkwardly. “Well … I was told I could help you.”

“Help me—how?’

“I’m a doctor. Oh, how stupid of me.” He patted his jacket and searched through his pockets frenetically, removing tissues, eyeglasses, and a pocket watch. “Here’s my card. Dr. Emil Allyn.”

“And how can you …”

“I guess I haven’t made myself clear. I’m a psychiatrist.”

Ben’s brow protruded. “Christina, if this is your idea of a joke …”

“No, no, no,” Allyn insisted. “When I say
help,
I mean … well, I’m a specialist in traumatic memory suppression.”

Ben stepped forward and clasped the man’s shoulder. “Jones came through! You’re my expert witness!”

Allyn looked faintly embarrassed. “I guess so. If you wish me to be.”

“I do! Believe me I do!”

“Well, uh, fine then. By the way …” He pointed. “You’re getting formula on my suit.”

A
S BEN PUSHED HIS
way forward he could feel the heat radiating from all points in the courtroom. The place was packed. Not only was every seat in the gallery filled, but to make matters worse, there were two rows of standing-room observers on three sides. It was like trying a case in a sardine can.

Everyone Ben had noticed in the gallery on previous days was there again today. Ernest Hayes was back, of course, with several of his children. He kept glancing back at two black youths standing in the rear. They weren’t wearing their matching jackets, but Ben was almost certain they were Demons.

The coterie from the country club was all there, including Harold and Rachel Rutherford. Today, they were sitting together. Though the physical space between them had closed, Ben had a feeling the emotional space between them was as great as ever.

To Ben’s surprise, he saw Mike enter the courtroom, with Abie clinging tightly to his pant leg.

As they walked down the nave of the courtroom, Harold Rutherford stopped them. “Abie!” he said to his son. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

Abie did not answer.

“I don’t think Abie should be here,” Rutherford told Mike.

“Just a brief stop,” Mike answered. “I need to speak with one of the attorneys. Then we’ll be leaving.”

“They say the trial will probably end today,” Rutherford said. “Abie, would you like to do something afterward?”

Abie took an extended interest in the parquet floor.

“Maybe we could go to Bell’s, if you wanted.” He glanced at his wife. “Or we could just go to the mall and … hang out. Whatever …”

Abie squeezed Mike’s hand and tried to pull him away.

“I’ll bring him back to the house this afternoon,” Mike said. “Maybe you can work something out then.”

Rutherford nodded politely, then let them pass.

Mike struggled through the crowd and made his way to the defense table, boy in tow.

“What a cute pair you two make,” Ben said, punching his pal on the shoulder.

“We do not,” Mike said, bristling. “I’ve never been cute in my entire life.”

“You are now. You really seem like a natural for this sort of work. Kind of like Mary Poppins.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Maybe you should give up law enforcement and open a day-care center.”

Mike laid a finger firmly on Ben’s chest. “That’s enough.”

Ben laughed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to suggest that you had a sensitive side.” He leaned into Mike’s ear and whispered, “Why do you still have the kid? I thought Blackwell called the protection off.”

“He did. But the Rutherfords don’t know that. I’m not letting the kid roam unprotected till I’m absolutely positive it’s safe.”

“I see.” Ben leaned back and spoke normally. “What brings you to court?”

Mike glanced down at Abie. He was fascinated by the courtroom and the crowd and didn’t appear to be paying any attention to Ben and Mike. “I need a favor. Will you help me?”

“If I can. What do you need?”

“This is a problem that should be very familiar to you by now. I need a baby-sitter.”

“Mike—”

“Look, I can’t ask any of the boys on the force. I’m not even supposed to be doing this. If Blackwell found out I wasn’t treating this case as closed, he’d be royally pissed.”

“Mike … maybe you should just give this a rest. After all, they found the baseball cap. …”

“Look.” Mike stepped closer to Ben and dropped his voice to a whisper. “The last few nights, while I was off duty, I did some footwork in the area where I think the creep took Abie. Covered almost half of it myself, block by block.”

“Have you slept?”

“Not in three days, but that’s beside the point.”

“Mike, you can’t—”

“Just listen. I think I’m close, Ben. I really do. I can’t explain why, but I think I’m closing in. I know I am. If I can find the creep’s lair, then I’m certain I’ll find something that will tell us for sure who he is. Or was. If it was Bentley, fine. We can all rest easy. But if it wasn’t …” He glanced down at the boy. “Then Abie is still in danger. I want to finish my search today, without delay, before Blackwell finds out what I’m doing. And I can’t do it with—” He jerked his head violently in Abie’s direction.

“But Mike—I’m in the middle of a trial!”

“Well, what about Christina?”

“She’s at my place looking after Joey.”

“Perfect!” he exclaimed. “If she’s already stuck babysitting, she won’t mind taking one more.”

“Well … I suppose you can ask.”

“Great. I’ll drive over now. By the way—” His voice dropped again to a whisper. “Word at the station is that Bullock has plotted a nasty surprise for you. I mean something even worse than what he’s done already. Stay on your toes.”

Swell. “I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will.” He slapped Ben on the back. “Personally, I hope you kick Bullock’s butt, but I never said that.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Break a leg.”

A few minutes after Mike left, Leeman Hayes was escorted into the courtroom. Ben heard some footsteps in chambers, and the bailiff announced the judge’s entrance.

“I’m glad to see everyone made it back to the courtroom today,” Judge Hawkins said. “Mr. Kincaid, I guess it’s your turn at the tee. What have you got for us?”

Ben pushed himself slowly to his feet. “The defense calls Ms. Carlee Crane.”

A
S 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. …”