Naked Justice bk-6

by William Bernhardt

  The room gradually quietened, but most eyes were still focused on the interim mayor, whose face was a rapidly fluctuating mix of surprise and rage.

  “Anything more?” Judge Hart asked.

  Ben knew how to quit when he was ahead. “No, your honor.”

  Bullock jumped to his feet. “Your honor, I move that this entire examination be stricken from the record. It is grossly misleading, prejudicial, and irrelevant. Even if this dubious testimony is believed, and Mr. Whitman was driving a car on the street outside the defendant’s house, does that make him an accomplice to murder? It doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Mr. Kincaid hasn’t rested his case yet, counsel.” Judge Hart’s voice was cold. She seemed to have little patience for Bullock. “We’ll see where it goes. Overruled. Would you care to cross?”

  Bullock sat down sullenly. “No.” Apparently, the prospect of impugning the testimony of a witness he had first called to the stand himself didn’t much appeal to him.

  “Very well,” the judge said. “We’re certainly making good time today. Mr. Kincaid, call your next witness.”

  Ben rose to his feet. “First, your honor, I have a special request—that Interim Mayor Bailey Whitman not be permitted to leave the courtroom until court is recessed for the day.”

  “Granted,” Judge Hart said instantly. “The sergeant at arms is so instructed.”

  “Thank you. Now, your honor, we call Bradley ‘Buck’ Conners to the stand. He’s waiting outside.”

  Chapter 63

  NORMALLY, EVEN THE SLEAZIEST swine in the universe dress up for court. Buck Conners, alas, had never had a chance. Ben had managed to get Judge Hart to issue an emergency subpoena and warrant; the second the server laid the paper in Buck’s hands, two men from the sheriff’s office escorted him across the plaza to the courthouse. He had had no opportunity to upgrade his attire. More important, he had had no opportunity to call Whitman, or anyone else for that matter, other than an attorney, which he declined.

  He was not, as Ben had hoped, wearing the now-famous green fatigues, but his tattered blue jeans and black T-shirt didn’t seem far from the mark. He had shaved off the goatee, however, and his hair seemed significantly shorter than it had been when Loving saw him at O’Brien Park.

  “Would you state your name, please?”

  Buck cleared his throat. “Uhh … that’s, um, Bradley Conners. My buds call me, uh, Buck.”

  Ben nodded. “You’ll excuse me if I call you Mr. Conners.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Mr. Conners, what do you do for a living?”

  A small crease slithered down the center of his forehead. His concern was understandable; he had no way of anticipating what question would come next. He didn’t even know why he had been dragged to court. Not for certain, anyway. “I’m a data processor. In the mail room. In the city building.” He pointed. “You know. Just across the way.” He shrugged. “Sometimes when they get busy I help sort the mail.”

  Ben suppressed a smile. Buck had given him twenty-eight words in response to a question he could’ve answered with four. Just the kind of witness lawyers liked. “How long have you worked there?”

  “ ’Bout six months.”

  “Do you use a computer?”

  “It’d be pretty hard to data-process without one.”

  “Does your computer have e-mail capability?” Ben briefly explained what that was for the benefit of the non-computer-literate jurors.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “Who can you get e-mail from?”

  He shrugged. “I think anyone in the building who’s got a computer.”

  “Good.” Ben was trying to lay all the necessary groundwork before he asked the questions that were likely to make Buck balk. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Buck grinned. “Several.”

  Ben did not grin back. “Do you know a sixteen-year-old girl named Martha Meanders?”

  Buck’s face paled. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I know her.”

  “Spend a lot of time with her?”

  He did his best to appear indifferent. “Some.”

  “Hang out together?”

  “Whatever.”

  “Go for walks?”

  “Right, right.”

  “If I’m not mistaken, you particularly like to go for walks on Terwilliger Avenue. Where Wallace Barrett and his family lived.”

  Bullock jumped up. “Objection, your honor! He’s leading, plus this entire examination is a ridiculous fishing expedition. Are we going to hear from everyone who ever walked down this street—”

  “Counsel, sit down.” Judge Hart pivoted her chair decisively away from Bullock. “As for the leading, I will declare Mr. Conners to be a hostile witness. As for the objection, it’s overruled. Mr. Kincaid, you may proceed.”

  “Thank you, your honor.” Ben tried not to stare. What on earth had happened? Somehow Bullock had definitely found his way onto Judge Hart’s mad list. “What about it, Buck? Ever take a stroll down Terwilliger?”

  “I might’ve. Is that against the law?”

  “Nope. Why did you carry the camera?”

  Buck was slow to answer. Ben could almost see the wheels turning as Buck tried to decide how big a lie he could get away with. “I’m an amateur shutterbug. It’s my hobby.”

  “Uh-huh.” Ben decided to back off for the moment. In all likelihood, the man was not going to confess to murder. It would be best to get as much as he could out of him as possible before pressing him to the breaking point. “Mr. Conners, do you know the members of the city council?”

  “Oh, I see some of them come through the office sometimes, on meeting days.”

  “Ever do any business with any of them?”

  Another thoughtful pause. “Like who?”

  “Mr. Conners, let’s not beat around the bush. I’m talking about Councilman Whitman, who I guess is now Interim Mayor Whitman. You and he have been … well, working together, haven’t you?”

  “I’m … not sure I know what you mean.”

  “Don’t know, Mr. Conners, or don’t want to know?” Ben inched forward, laying on the pressure. “It’s an easy question. Have you ever done business with Councilman Whitman?”

  “We’ve talked a few times.”

  “About what?”

  “Objection.” Bullock had mustered enough courage to attempt another objection. “Calls for hearsay.”

  Judge Hart frowned. “I suppose I’ll have to sustain that objection as to what Mr. Whitman may have said. For now, anyway. Until an acceptable foundation for an exception is laid.”

  She couldn’t have told Ben what to do more clearly if she’d given him a road map. “What was the nature of the relationship between you and Councilman Whitman?”

  Buck propped himself up with one arm. “He’s asked me to take care of a few things for him.”

  “So you were in business together.”

  Buck shrugged. “I guess you could say that.”

  “And what was the nature of the business?”

  Buck’s answers came slower and slower. “It varied. Different stuff.”

  “Mr. Conners, you are being uncommonly evasive. Why don’t you just come clean and tell the jury what it was you were doing for Councilman Whitman?”

  Several seconds ticked by. Finally Buck answered. “Yard work.”

  “Yard work?” Ben’s eyes ballooned. “You were helping him do yard work?”

  “Well, he’s a busy man, and he has a big yard.”

  “Is that right. Tell me, Mr. Conners, when you met with Councilman Whitman in the middle of the night out at O’Brien Park, was that to discuss yard work?”

  Buck clenched his jaw.

  “Don’t bother denying it. I can have Mr. Loving back on the stand in a heartbeat, not to mention Mr. Sanders. They both can and will identify you.”

  Buck clenched his jaw all the tighter, but did not answer.

  “Mr. Conners, do you understand that perjury is a criminal offense?
I want an answer, and I want the truth! Were you meeting our city councilman in the middle of the night in secret to discuss yard work?”

  “Well … no.”

  “Then what was it? Why were you meeting a city councilman in secret in the middle of the night?”

  Buck looked up at the judge. “May I have a lawyer?”

  “If you wanted a lawyer present, you should have arranged it before you took the stand,” she said firmly. “You will answer the question or I’ll find you in contempt of court.”

  Buck turned slowly back toward Ben. “I’m not gonna answer that.”

  “Didn’t you hear the judge?”

  “I’m taking—whaddaya call it?—I’m taking the Fifth.”

  Ben took a step back. Damn. This was an obstacle that would be difficult to overcome. “Are you refusing to answer my question?”

  “I ain’t refusing. I’m just taking the Fifth.” He looked up at the judge again. “Don’t I have the right to do that?”

  Judge Hart nodded. “That you do. If you believe answering the question might tend to incriminate you. But you should be aware that any refusal to answer will result in your testimony being brought to the immediate attention of the district attorney’s office.”

  Some threat that was, Ben thought, since the district attorney’s office probably preferred that he not answer. “So,” Ben asked, “you admit that you met Whitman for some illegal purpose.” With luck, maybe he could bully the witness into answering.

  “I ain’t admittin’ or denyin’,” Buck said flatly. “I just ain’t answerin’.”

  “But you admit that you met Whitman in the park. That you were the man my investigator saw.”

  Buck shrugged. “I suppose.”

  “And you were the man Mr. Sanders saw in his neighborhood. The man with the camera who was seen near the Barrett home.”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Why were you casing the Barrett home, Mr. Bradley?”

  Buck looked away. “I’m takin’ the Fifth on that one, too.”

  “But you were there.”

  “I’m not answerin’ any more.”

  “I’m not asking you why you were there. But you were there, right? You were there!”

  Buck’s teeth locked; he frowned. “Right. I was there.”

  “Thank you.” Ben knew that was the most he could get out of this witness, now, anyway. Best to quit while he was arguably ahead. “That’s all.”

  Judge Hart cocked an eyebrow. “Cross?”

  Bullock waved a flat hand. “None, your honor. I’m going to wait until counsel has a witness say something that relates to this case.”

  “Fine. Then the witness is dismissed.”

  “Your honor,” Ben said, “I may need to recall this witness.” And then again, I may not. How was he supposed to know? He was making this up as he went along. “I request that he be required to remain in the courtroom till the close of trial today.”

  “Granted. The sergeant at arms is so instructed. Call your next witness.”

  Ben took a deep breath. Had he created a reasonable doubt? Buck had certainly suggested that something improper was going on, but had he suggested enough to dissuade the jury from finding Barrett guilty? He couldn’t be sure. Like it or not, Ben had to try to get more. “The defense calls Bailey Whitman to the stand.”

  Chapter 64

  BACK IN THE GALLERY, Interim Mayor Whitman slowly rose to his feet. He was wearing a bright yellowish red shirt—alizarin crimson, Ben supposed. The only color Whitman could see.

  “Step forward, please,” Judge Hart said.

  Whitman hesitated. “Your honor, I just came in today to watch. No one told me I was going to have to testify.”

  She smiled. “Life is full of little surprises, isn’t it? Step forward.”

  Whitman moved to the front of the courtroom, muttering. “Don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know anything about it.”

  A good sign, Ben thought. Most witnesses wait till they’re accused before they start denying.

  The judge swore him in and Whitman grudgingly settled himself into the witness chair. He touched the mike, then gave his name and address.

  “Permission to treat Mr. Whitman as a hostile witness,” Ben requested.

  “Well,” Judge Hart said, “he certainly doesn’t look too happy to be here. Granted.”

  Ben grasped the podium and began. “Mr. Whitman, you’ve known Wallace Barrett for many years, haven’t you?”

  “Seems like forever.”

  “You both went to college at the University of Oklahoma, didn’t you?”

  “We did.”

  “And of course, football is very important at OU, isn’t it?”

  Whitman shrugged. “I’d say it’s their main claim to fame.”

  “Wallace Barrett got a full sports scholarship. Did you?”

  “No,” Whitman said flatly. “I paid my own way. Always have.”

  “You did play football at OU, though, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Wallace Barrett was the star quarterback. Um … what were you?”

  Whitman’s lips pursed together. “Second-string tight end. For a while. I quit my sophomore year.”

  “Couldn’t take it anymore?”

  “Didn’t see the point in getting my brains beat out for second-string tight end.”

  “So you quit, and Wallace Barrett rode on to fame and fortune. Right?”

  Bullock pushed himself out of his chair. “Your honor, this is a marvelously nostalgic interlude, but it isn’t very relevant to the case.”

  Judge Hart spoke crisply and without even looking at him. “I’m sure Mr. Kincaid will link it up in time. If that was an objection, it’s overruled.”

  Whitman leaned forward and answered. “You’re right, counsel. Barrett did a lot better than me on the college football team. Happy now?”

  “The question,” Ben shot back, “is whether you were happy. I suspect you were very unhappy.”

  “I had hoped to do better, sure. Things don’t always go the way you wish they would. What of it?”

  “You and Barrett both moved to Tulsa after college, right?”

  “Well, not together.”

  “True enough.”

  “Barrett made a few movies, then went into business and became a big success.” Ben glanced at the notes he had made from Jones’s report. “Your first three business ventures flopped, didn’t they?”

  “They were speculative ventures, and they failed. There’s no shame in that. Everyone knows what the economy has been like in the Southwest since the oil bust. All my creditors were paid.”

  “Must’ve been embarrassing to tell your father, though. The successful oil tycoon. And you couldn’t even drill a well without losing your shirt.”

  Whitman’s teeth clamped down on his lower lip. “Is there some point to these questions, Mr. Kincaid?”

  “There certainly is.”

  “Well, I don’t see it.”

  “You don’t have to. All you have to do is answer the questions.”

  “Your honor,” Bullock said, “I protest. Mr. Kincaid is being abusive.”

  “To the contrary,” Judge Hart said, not missing a beat, “I think he has summarized the witness’s role admirably. I only hope the witness will take his words to heart. Proceed, counsel.”

  “So,” Ben continued, “your businesses flopped, while Barrett’s flourished.”

  “I did all right in time. I’m the president and owner of Whitman Oil Corporation.”

  “Actually,” Ben said, referring to his notes, “you inherited that business, correct?”

  “Well … yes, but still, I’ve been making money with it ever since I got it.”

  “Your biggest accomplishment, if I’m not mistaken, was the hostile takeover of the Apollo Corporation.”

  “That’s probably true.” Whitman folded his hands proudly across his chest. “That shook the business world up. Got coverage on business pages
all across the country. Doubled the value of my stock.”

  “Put a lot of people out of work, too,” Ben noted. “The Apollo Corporation had been the city’s leading employer. You bought them out, cannibalized the resources, and sold off the assets piece by piece.”

  “That’s just good business. And for the record, my corporation employs people, too.”

  “Your honor!” Bullock just couldn’t stay down, even when he was striking out every time. “What is this? A referendum on sound business practices?”

  Judge Hart turned her attention to Ben. “Are you going to be bringing this back to the case at hand soon, counsel?”

  “Yes, your honor. Very soon.”

  “Fine. Proceed.” Bullock sat down in a huff of moral outrage obviously intended for the cameras, but unfortunately for him detected by the judge. She peered down at him with a look that could melt steel. “Mr. Bullock, do you have a problem with my ruling?”

  “But I—it’s just—” Bullock swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

  “Good.” She turned back toward Ben. “Please proceed, counsel.”

  “So,” Ben continued, “you’re not denying that the success of your company is founded on the demise of another.”

  Whitman edged forward. “Look, counsel, that’s the reality of business. Apollo was our leading competitor, so we bought them out. Not only did we acquire some valuable assets, we garnered a larger market share. The fact is, Apollo had been a thorn in my side for years. I know how to deal with my enemies. They don’t last long.”

  “Shortly after the takeover, you ran for city council and were elected. True?”

  “That’s true.”

  “Of course, Wallace Barrett had leapfrogged right past the city council and become mayor.”

  “Yes, he became the mayor. Of sorts.” Whitman’s patience seemed to be fraying.

  “You have ambitions to be mayor, don’t you, sir?”

  Whitman squared his shoulders. “I don’t know why I should deny it. Yes, I do. I plan to run this next term.”

  “In truth, you’ve been planning your campaign for some time, haven’t your

  “True. These days, you have to start early if you hope to make a serious bid.”