Murder One (29 page)

Ben tried to look disinterested. Just another day in Mayberry, right?

“They had this routine they went through. I guess it started the first night he took her back to her apartment from the strip joint, and it continued right up until the time he broke it off. She’d play the master. She’d use the whips and she’d call him dirty names. She’d spank him or punish him in a variety of ways. According to Joe, she got off on the playacting; she’d really work up a lather.”

“How long would this continue?”

“Until she’d had enough, or he had. Then gradually, he’d rebel, so to speak. He’d become more aggressive.”

“Does that mean he took over the whips?”

“No, no, that was her thing. He’d start by—” His face flushed red. “I’m sorry, this is kind of embarrassing.”

Like the rest of it hasn’t been? Ben wondered.

“Please continue,” LaBelle urged him.

Wesley drew in his breath. “He’d suck her little toe.”

“And was this … pleasurable to her?”

“Ooooh, yeah. A thousand times yeah. Joe said she really went into spasms over that one. Apparently she thought it was like, well, the equivalent of a …” He coughed. “… A similar procedure she sometimes performed for him.”

“I see. Then what happened?”

“Well, as Joe told it, after he’d pushed that button as far as he could, he’d do other things. She loved it when he kissed the back of her neck. When he put his hot tongue on her wrist. So he’d do that sort of stuff until she’d totally transformed from the dominatrix to a puddle of jelly. She was like a kitten. A sex slave. She’d do whatever he wanted.”

“Did Joe enjoy this?”

“Well, he liked this part better, yeah. He said he didn’t much care for all the kinky whips and chains stuff, but it was worth it to get her to the sex-slave stage.”

“And why was that?”

Wesley tucked in his chin. “Well … this is a bit indelicate.”

“We understand. But you’re under oath.”

“Well … according to Joe … she was really put—I mean, she was, um, great. You know, like—sexually. Good in bed, except actually, they rarely did it in a bed. The best he’d ever had, Joe said. By a large margin. And she wanted it constantly. Couldn’t get enough, like she was addicted to it. He said she was a—a—what’s the word? You know, a nympho. So to him, it was worth the crud to get to the cream. So to speak.”

“Your honor,” Ben said, rising. “I renew my objection. This can’t possibly be relevant to the question of who committed the murder.”

Judge Cable frowned. It was probably a hard thing for the old geezer to do—cutting off such a stimulating line of questioning. “I do think we’ve pursued long enough the question of … what exactly the two parties did. Let’s move on.”

“As you wish,” LaBelle said congenially. He’d already gotten what he wanted. “Corporal Wesley, were you aware that Joe McNaughton was married? “

“Of course.”

“And yet, he had this rather … extensive affair.”

“Yeah. You gotta understand Joe. He knew he was married and I think he loved his wife. But at the same time … things hadn’t been so good between him and Andrea for many years. I mean, not in the sex department. And Joe was a man, and a man’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

Ben turned his head slightly, just enough to see Andrea McNaughton in the courtroom, burying her face. Listening to the sordid details of her errant husband’s sex play probably hadn’t been fun, but this was just too much. A hand covering her face, she ran down the aisle and out of the courtroom.

“I see.” LaBelle’s expression registered his comprehension, though not his approval, Ben noted. The district attorney hadn’t forgotten that the plurality of the jury behind that rail was female. “Corporal Wesley, are you aware that when Sergeant McNaughton’s body was found he was bound up—by chains?”

Wesley ran a hand through a shock of brown hair. “I think everyone knows that.”

“So let me ask you again—are you sure Joe told you that Ms. Dalcanton liked to use chains in their sex play?”

“Oh yeah. I’m sure. Plus, I saw them over at her place.”

Ben sat bolt upright. What the hell—?

LaBelle seemed surprised, too, although Ben suspected that was an act for the jury’s sake. “You were in her apartment?”

“Well … I was never actually inside. But I saw inside. Through the window.” He paused, turning his eyes toward the gallery. “And I took pictures.”

An audible ripple ran through the courtroom, as each spectator’s lurid imagination speculated on what exactly those pictures might portray.

“Pictures?” LaBelle asked. “Do you have them with you?”

“Oh yeah.” Wesley reached inside his sport jacket and removed a packet of photos.

“Your honor,” Ben said, with as much indignation as he could muster. “I’ve had no advance notice of this and I’ve never seen these pictures before in my life.”

The judge looked more tired than annoyed. “Great. Approach.”

Both Ben and LaBelle rushed to the bench. The judge shut off the microphone.

“What’s going on here?” Ben said angrily. “He can’t spring new evidence on us at trial. At the second trial, for that matter.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle said, addressing the judge, not Ben. “I apologize for this inconvenience. I only learned of this evidence myself last night.”

“Oh give me a break,” Ben said.

LaBelle gave Ben a harsh look. “Your honor, I think you’ve known me long enough to realize that I don’t play games and that my word is good. I’ve filed an affidavit testifying to the last-minute discovery of these photographs.”

Judge Cable removed his glasses and tapped them against the bench. “What’s in these photos, anyway?”

LaBelle removed them from the envelope. Ben nearly gasped.

They were worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined. Not that they revealed any new evidence, exactly. It was already well established that McNaughton and Dalcanton had a sexual relationship, and Ben didn’t imagine that anyone doubted it was true. They had even been told that the nature of that sexual relationship was somewhat … outré. But to hear about it was one thing. To actually see it, right before your eyes, was quite another.

Wordlessly, Ben thumbed through the photos. Wesley must’ve used a zoom lens, because he didn’t miss much. There was Keri, all decked out in a black leather bustier. There she was again, wielding a cat o’nine tails. And there she was again, wrapping heavy chains around Joe McNaughton’s throat—and acting as if she enjoyed it.

It was like a step-by-step pictorial of their secret sex lives. The snapshots showed it all. Toe-sucking. French-kissing. Oral sex. And penetration. Nothing was left to the imagination.

There was no doubt in Ben’s mind about the potential consequences of these photos. If the jury saw these, rehabilitating Keri would be a thousand times more difficult. Once they had these graphic, pornographic pictures in their heads, they’d never be able to look at Keri with an open mind again. If they ever had to begin with.

“Your honor, I must protest the admission of these photos in the strongest possible terms. Bad enough that they weren’t presented to the defense in advance of trial. Bad enough that they constitute a gross invasion of privacy. But furthermore, they are not relevant to the question of Ms. Dalcanton’s culpability for murder. The potential prejudice stemming from these photos vastly outweighs their purported probative value. The D.A. is just engaging in visual slander, hoping the jury will be so put off they’ll convict her of anything, whether the evidence is there or not.”

“Obviously, I disagree,” LaBelle said calmly. “These photos are graphic, but they also remove all doubt as to whether the defendant was engaged in, um, unusual sexual practices with the deceased, which clearly relates to motive. They also show that she possessed chains similar if not identical to the ones used to string up McNaughton’s corpse. The pictures show her engaging in violent fantasies and, in my opinion, rather enjoying it.”

“This is not evidence!” Ben said. “This is a peep show!”

“Now, Mr. Kincaid—”

“This is beyond the pale, your honor. Trying to smear a young woman by showing her enjoying herself sexually—it’s just a cheap ploy to turn the jury against her. It’s sexist and disgusting!”

“I certainly agree with the disgusting part,” LaBelle said under his breath.

“Gentlemen, please.” Judge Cable held up his hands. “I don’t believe in trial by ambush and I don’t like last-minute evidence and I especially don’t like”—his face pinched together—“smut of this variety in my courtroom. But I can’t deny that it’s relevant. I’m going to allow it. If the defense needs additional time to prepare its response, I’ll grant it.”

Ben’s eyes flared. “Your honor—”

“I’ve ruled, counsel.”

“This is an appeal issue, your honor. And I’m moving for a mistrial.”

“I can’t say that I’m surprised. But the trial goes on. With the photos.”

“Your honor, I—”

“Don’t get yourself thrown into jail,” Judge Cable snapped. “Your new associate seems very capable, but I’d hate to see her have to try this case by herself, wouldn’t you?”

Ben was furious, but he buttoned his lip. The judge’s ruling was wrong, flat-out wrong, and the damage this would do to Keri’s case was incalculable.

Silently, he watched as the bailiff passed the photos to the jury so they could examine them one by one. The reactions were varied—shock, embarrassment, horror, revulsion. They were all a little different. But none of them was good.

Once the judge gave him the nod to start cross-ex, Ben didn’t hold back.

“Are you a professional Peeping Tom, or was this a first for you?”

LaBelle was on his feet. “Your honor, that’s grossly offensive.”

“I find this witness grossly offensive!” Ben returned.

Judge Cable raised his gavel. “Mr. Kincaid, watch yourself,” he warned. “I think you’re entitled to inquire into the circumstances surrounding the taking of these photos. Just be careful how you do it.”

Ben took a deep breath and started again. “Would you please explain to the jury how you came to be snapping pictures through the window of two private citizens having consensual sex?”

Wesley was unruffled, although some of the boyish élan seemed to have drained out of his face. “I was on assignment.”

Ben blinked. “An assignment—from the police?”

“That’s correct.”

“Before the murder? Why would the police department have been investigating Keri Dalcanton?”

“We weren’t. We were investigating Joe McNaughton.”

Ben was pleased to hear the buzz from the gallery. It was comforting to think he wasn’t the only one who was totally and utterly confused. “Why would they be investigating one of their own officers?”

“The investigation was instigated by Internal Affairs.”

“And why?”

He hesitated. “It pertained to McNaughton’s investigation of Antonio Catrona.”

Curiouser and curiouser. “Did they think McNaughton was on the take?”

“Frankly, I don’t know what they thought, and they didn’t explain it to me. Whenever someone investigates an organized crime figure—excuse me, an alleged organized crime figure—there’s a concern that the officer might be turned. It’s happened before.”

“Did you have any evidence that Joe McNaughton had been bought off?”

“No. None. But he had begun an intense affair with a woman half his age with unusual sexual proclivities—shortly after he initiated the investigation. The young woman was known to work in a strip club operated by a holding company believed to be owned by Antonio Catrona. Something of a coincidence, don’t you think? My superiors perceived this as, at the very least, an area of … weakness. A way that he could be influenced. So they asked me to investigate.”

“And you did? You and your little camera?”

“I’m a cop. I follow orders.”

“So you conducted a secret investigation of your friend.”

“Yes. I’ve said that already.”

“Do you realize you probably broke about a dozen laws when you took these shots? Like invasion of privacy laws?”

“I’m a cop, not a lawyer. I try to solve crimes, not cover them up.”

Ben let that pass. “Why didn’t you show anyone these pictures before last night?”

Wesley shrugged. “After Joe’s death, the IA investigation was naturally terminated. I put the pics in storage. I didn’t see any use for them at that point, and I didn’t want them to cause any unnecessary grief to Joe’s widow.”

“What changed your mind?”

Wesley nodded toward the prosecution table. “D.A. LaBelle. I told him about the photos last night while we were preparing for trial. He insisted that I collect them and bring them to court.”

I’ll bet he did, Ben thought. “Did it not bother you that you were spying on your alleged friend and colleague? That you were betraying his trust?”

“Who was betraying anyone? I didn’t think for a minute that Joe did anything wrong and I expected my investigation to prove it.”

“I doubt if Joe would’ve been so sanguine about it if he’d known you were photographing him having sex.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Remember, he’d told me all about it in great detail. He didn’t have to, but he did. He was having sex—great sex—with a very young woman, doing new things, getting it regular. You know how it is. Guys like to brag about that sort of thing.” He glanced down at the packet of pictures. “I don’t think Joe would’ve minded so much. In fact, I think he might’ve put them up in his locker.”

There was no graceful segue out of this cross-ex, so Ben just ended it. Judge Cable recessed for the day, and the reporters raced out the back, happily toting several salacious tidbits for the evening news.

“You’ve got a lawsuit against that creep,” Ben told Keri, “and against the Tulsa P.D. for authorizing him. Invasion of privacy. It’s a slam-dunk, and I’ll be happy to file it for you.”

She nodded. “But that’s not going to do me much good, is it? Not if I’m in prison.”

Or worse, Ben thought but did not say. “Let’s meet back at the office in one hour,” Ben told Christina. “Strategy meeting.”

He began gathering his materials, thinking about what they might do next. Honestly, what could they do? Ben wondered, as he watched the jurors file out of the courtroom. Even those who suspected she was guilty could not possibly have loathed her with the intensity that they did now. They would never forget those photographs. They would never like her. No matter what Ben did or said, they would always see the cheap amoral slut who pleasured herself in bizarre ways. Who got her jollies pretending to inflict pain. Who had a taste for violence.