Witness for the Defense (25 page)

“You’re singing a very old song, Counselor,” McBean said, smirking. He knew he’d won this battle and was now rubbing my nose in it. ” You just don’t have any proof.”

My cross couldn’t end on such a sour note. If it did, I’d likely never recover. I had to make it at least appear as if there was nothing about what McBean said that wasn’t expected.

“You don’t think I have any proof?” I mocked, my voice rising with each word. “Stick around, Lieutenant, and we’ll just see about that!”

Chapter 26

I gathered my file while the courtroom cleared. As soon as I’d finished with McBean, Bragg, with a broad smile and slight bow to the jury, rested his case. Priest then thanked the D.A. and advised the jury that with only an hour of court time left, the trial would be adjourned until the following morning at ten.

Jared leaned toward me. “What the hell did you say that for?”

Upset over my failed confrontation with McBean and surprised by the tone of his voice, I quickly faced him. “What did you say?”

Jared slumped in his chair without changing his look of disgust. “How are you ever going to live up to that promise?”

“What promise?”

“You’re never going to be able to prove McBean planted that candy. How in the hell could you have ever said something like that?”

This was a side of Jared that was becoming more common, and I didn’t like it. “Why don’t you let me handle it?”

“You had McBean on the run and you let him get away,” he said. He pointed to the jury box as the last one walked off. “Then you compounded your mistake by inferring you can prove he’s lying.”

I wasn’t about to sit there and listen to someone who had never been in a courtroom before critique me. I quickly gathered the rest of the papers and motioned for Sarah to get going. “We still have the cashier.”

Jared gazed at the high ceiling and slowly shook his head. “All she’ll say is that the boy was wearing gloves inside the store.” He lowered his head to look me in the eye. “That doesn’t prove he didn’t take them off when he left, now, does it?”

“Well,” I spat, “that’s all we’ve got. If that isn’t enough, then I guess you better get used to living in a six-by-ten cell.”

When I motioned the bailiff to take Jared away, his expression changed to one of sadness. Better than anyone, I knew what had just happened. Jared was hoping I’d be able to pull off a Perry Mason and get McBean to break down. Like most defendants, he wasn’t experienced enough to know that that happens only on TV. We were dealing with a real life—his life—and he was scared.

“Jared,” I called out as the bailiff escorted him out the back door of the courtroom. He glanced over his shoulder with a blank look. “Everything’s going to be all right,” I said, unsure if I believed a word of it.

When Sarah and I reached the front doors of the courthouse, we could hear the press and TV crews out front waiting to attack. Since that first day when the mike had almost been shoved down my throat, I hadn’t tried to force my way through them again. I might have snuck out the back once or twice, but for the most part, I’d tried to give them what they wanted.

But not this time. I was too emotionally drained and upset. After the previous night’s romp through the Christmas trees, I’d managed only a couple hours’ sleep. And since then I’d upset a judge, a D.A., a witness, and worst of all my client. I planned on going straight to the ranch, where Sarah and I would have to discuss her father’s possible involvement.

“Ready to make a run for it?” I said to Sarah.

When I opened the front door, though, Otto Cosgrove was planted in the middle of the doorway. Behind him were shouting reporters trying to push their way past. Cosgrove folded his arms in front of him. It was his way of telling everybody he wasn’t going to move until he was through with me.

“That jury better not buy any of your bullshit.”

If he hadn’t been ten times my size, I would have laughed in his face. First my client chews me out for doing such a lousy job, and then Cosgrove acts as if I actually did pull off a Perry Mason. I had to get out of there.

“I’m sure the jury will decide this case based upon their understanding of the evidence.”

Cosgrove took a few steps closer. “But because of your bullshit they’ll never hear that your client killed my son.”

“What’s that about Reineer killing your son?” a reporter shouted, and the feeding frenzy began.

Pushing and shoving, the media converged on Cosgrove, forcing the huge man to step back. Sarah pushed from behind. “Let’s go.” The reporters jumped on their tiptoes, trying to hold their mikes in front of Cosgrove’s face. “I’m not finished with you,” he yelled as we ran past.

We had entered the parking lot when Sarah came to a sudden stop. Mary Barton was standing in front of Sarah’s Lexus with her head bowed.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asked.

The woman’s eyes were red and puffy.

I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid that like Cosgrove she wanted to tear my head off. I gestured to Sarah with a nod to get going.

“We have to leave,” she said tentatively.

Mrs. Barton grabbed Sarah by the arm and nodded in the direction of the courthouse. “I was in there, you know.”

“I was just doing my—” I said defensively, but she cut me off.

“Do you honestly believe Lieutenant McBean could have placed that candy in your client’s car?”

Sarah spoke up. “We believe it’s a strong possibility.”

“My son’s fingerprints are pretty damaging to your client, aren’t they?”

“Very,” Sarah replied.

“I want the man responsible to pay for what he did to my boy.”

I stepped back and motioned to Sarah to do the same. I had the feeling the lady was a sleeping volcano about to explode.

“So do we,” Sarah said, glaring at me for backing up. “But we don’t think our client is that man.”

Mrs. Barton buried her face in Sarah’s chest. “Neither do I,” she said, sobbing.

I was stunned. I was sure I must have misunderstood.

Sarah gently pushed her far enough away so she could look at Mrs. Barton’s face. “What exactly are you saying?”

She raised her head, dabbing her eyes with her hankie. “I couldn’t bear to know he went to prison for something he didn’t do.”

“Ms. Barton,” I said, “do you know something we don’t?”

She looked around as if she wanted to leave. I was afraid my question had spooked her.

“It’s probably not important.”

“Obviously you think it is or you wouldn’t have approached us,” I said. “Why not let us decide?”

“But what if your client is guilty and I tell you something that helps get him off?”

“I believe you know the answer to that,” Sarah said softly.

The lady angled her head and fixed her eyes on Sarah’s. “I know,” she sighed. “What if I don’t say anything and he’s innocent?”

“Exactly.”

Danny’s mother took a deep breath and held it. “Phew,” she said, exhaling, “this is really tough.”

I motioned to Sarah’s car. “Maybe if you sat down.”

She touched my hand. “I’ll be fine once I tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“If McBean did plant that package of candy…” she said, and paused to take another breath. “I know why my son’s fingerprints are on it”

There was a sobering quiet as Sarah and I looked at one another, each wondering and hoping Mary could prove what she just said.

Sarah placed her arm around the woman’s shoulders. “I know this isn’t easy, but please help us.”

With little additional prodding, Mary Barton told us she had been present at the police station when Danny was interviewed by McBean the day after the attack. The interview took place in a small room rimmed at the top of its walls by glass. McBean had her wait outside in a chair. Even though the door was closed and she couldn’t hear what was being said, she could see everything.

“There was a package of Gummy Bears on the table directly in front of Danny during the whole interview. Then…” she said, and gave Sarah a pained expression, as if she didn’t want to believe what she was about to tell us.

“Why don’t we go somewhere more comfortable?” Sarah said, and I grimaced. Mrs. Barton was about to cough up what she knew, and Sarah had to be Miss Congeniality.

“I’m fine,” she said. “If I don’t tell you now…”

“Go ahead then,” I pushed.

“Danny picked up the package and handled it while McBean stood right next to him.”

There was a moment of silence as we considered the ramifications. What she said explained Danny’s fingerprints, but why weren’t McBean’s on the wrapper, too?

“Did you notice whether or not Lieutenant McBean handled the package?” Sarah asked as if she’d read my mind.

Mrs. Barton was silent, gazing downward. She slowly lifted her head. “That’s what bothers me so much,” she said. “As soon as Danny placed the package back on the table, McBean picked it up with a pair of tweezers and placed it into a plastic bag.”

“He didn’t touch it with his hands?” I asked, almost before she’d finished.

“No, he didn’t.” She tilted her head upward and our eyes fixed on one another’s. “Why didn’t he want to get his fingerprints on it?” she asked.

But her expression told me she already knew the answer.

Chapter 27

In California each side must release to the other the names of witnesses and any statements they intend on introducing at trial. I was sitting in Priest’s chambers and had just turned over my biggest break in the case—a summary of my interview with Mary Barton.

As soon as Bragg finished reading my report, he threw it on Priest’s desk and announced he needed at least a week’s continuance to investigate its accuracy.

“When did you obtain this information?” Priest asked.

“Last night.” I turned to Bragg, who was seated to my left. “I could have a whole lot sooner, but neither the boy nor his mother were allowed to talk to me.”

“That’s not our fault,” he said. “You have been known to rub people the wrong way.”

“And you’ve been known to tell witnesses not to talk to the defense.” My voice was elevated. “As a matter of fact, McBean ordered me off their property.”

Bragg waved me off. “I heard about that. The mother requested McBean’s assistance.”

I didn’t buy it. “Right.”

Priest thumbed through the report. “What does her son have to say?”

Bragg stiffened. He was more anxious to hear my answer than Priest was. “Don’t know yet,” I said. “After all the notoriety this case has caused, the boy’s father showed up with a court order giving him visitation rights. Danny’s with him until tomorrow.”

Priest nodded.

Bragg flipped his hand at the report, dismissing its importance. “I don’t know what the big fuss is all about. So what if the lieutenant thought maybe sometime in the future the wrapper could be significant?”

Who was he kidding? “Only because he intended on planting it.”

“I’m well aware of what you think, Counsel, and so is the jury.” Bragg raised an eyebrow. “And it doesn’t look like they’re buying any of it, so why should I?”

He really was going to try to bluff it out. “Because then I didn’t have any proof.”

“You still don’t. It’s all pure speculation.”

Priest turned to me. “Would you agree to a few days’ continuance?”

I feigned thinking about it for a moment. I knew there was no way Jared would ever agree to waive time. He’d made that clear from the beginning. Plus, I didn’t want to give Bragg the time to figure out a way to explain away McBean’s suspicious actions.

“Danny Barton is the victim in this case. Both the police and the prosecution have expended hours, if not days, interviewing and questioning him and his mother. It’s not like we’re talking about a surprise witness who I just pulled out of a hat. All they have to do is talk to them. How much time could that take?”

Bragg had puffed himself up to his full importance. “I’ll be the one to decide what and how I investigate. Not some damn defense attorney.”

The judge slapped her hand on her desk. “Mr. Bragg, I will decide the course of this trial. Do I make myself clear?”

The D.A. offered only a casual nod, and the judge’s eyes flared.

“Do you understand, Mr. Bragg?”

“Yes,” he said grudgingly. “I understand perfectly.”

She looked at me. “Then you won’t stipulate to a continuance, no matter what the length?”

“It wouldn’t be in my client’s best interest.”

A look of uncertainty crossed Priest’s face. Then, without saying a word, she rushed out the door. What was going on now? Bragg and I looked at each other, but were hardly in a chatty mood. We sat silently until she returned a couple minutes later, followed by McBean.

“Have you seen this?” Priest asked as she handed my summary to the lieutenant.

McBean’s face immediately filled with anger.

“Dobbs gave me a copy,” he said. “And it’s a big crock of shit!”

Bragg jumped up and grabbed the lieutenant’s arm. He knew something his investigating officer didn’t: Priest’s patience was at an end.

“If I may have a second,” the D.A. said, holding up his palm to Priest. He then pushed the startled lieutenant several steps back to the corner of the room.

“Just answer the question,” Bragg whispered. “Can’t you see she’s breathing fire?”

McBean yanked his arm from Bragg’s grasp and scowled at the D.A.

Priest was half smiling as she watched the two straighten their suits and square their ties. “Lieutenant?” she said. “I take it you’ve read all of it?”

McBean made a show of looking injured. “Yes, I have.”

“Then how long would it take for you to conduct a full investigation as to its accuracy?”

“I don’t see the need. There’s nothing to investigate.”

Bragg winced. He hadn’t had time to inform his investigating officer that he’d already asked for a continuance. I was sure that was exactly why Priest had brought him in rather than sending the D.A.

“Why is that?” Priest asked.

“The way I see it, it’s my word against hers.”

“And possibly her son’s,” the judge added.

McBean smirked. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll only say what his mother tells him to. The jury will see that.”

Priest’s opinion of McBean was showing on her face. “You don’t feel a continuance is necessary?”