Naked Justice

by William Bernhardt

  Ben listened carefully to Sanders’ words. There was something about the way he said Caroline …

  “Were the Barretts good neighbors?”

  Sanders grinned. He did have a rather charismatic air about him, Ben thought. Maybe he could be a successful actor at that. “Well, they kept the lawn mowed, if that’s what you mean.”

  Bullock tried it a different way. “Did you have much opportunity to see the family interact? To see Mr. and Mrs. Barrett together?”

  “Oh, yes. Scads. I saw them practically every day. And I frequently went over to their house.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, sometimes I’d help with some little household chore. Faulty plumbing or what have you. Wally—excuse me, the defendant—was so busy, you know, sometimes he didn’t have the opportunity to keep up with these things. And sometimes I’d go over to show off a new museum acquisition, some piece of pottery or something. Caroline was a great admirer of antiquities.”

  There it was again. Caroline. Ben made a few notes on the cross-ex side of his legal pad.

  “Based on what you saw and heard,” Bullock carefully asked, “would you say the Barretts had a happy marriage?”

  “Objection,” Ben said. “He’s asking the witness to form an opinion.”

  Judge Hart drummed her fingers thoughtfully. “I’ll allow it in this instance. So long as the witness bases his testimony on what he has personally observed, I think it’s permissible.”

  Sanders didn’t wait for the question to be reasked. “They had their pleasant moments, like anyone else, but no, I wouldn’t call it a happy marriage. In fact, I’d call it a decidedly unhappy marriage.”

  “Upon what do you base that opinion?”

  Sanders shifted to face the jury. He seemed perfectly relaxed and at ease, more like a man chatting with his friends than a man testifying in court. “Well, a lot of things. They fought constantly. Loud fights, like cats and dogs. I mean, I lived in the house next door, for Pete’s sake, and I could usually follow the combat like I had a ringside seat.”

  “What kind of things did they say?”

  “Mean things. I mean, really awful. Things I wouldn’t want to repeat in court. Particularly Wa—er, the defendant. He has a real vicious streak in him when he loses his temper. Really perverse. You wouldn’t believe some of the things he called Caroline. And this was his wife. The mother of his children.” He shook his head. “Caroline deserved a lot better than that.”

  “Mr. Sanders, let me direct your attention to March 11. Were you at home that day?”

  “I got home around four o’clock, like usual.”

  “Did you see or hear any member of the Barrett family after you arrived at your home?”

  “I didn’t see them, at least not at first, but man-oh-man did I hear them.” There was a spattering of smiles and chuckles from the gallery. Sanders’s exuberance and amiability were charming the masses.

  “They were fighting?”

  “Oh yeah. Like nobody’s business. I don’t know what started it. Usually it wouldn’t take much, and these things would just get blown all out of proportion.”

  “Whose voices did you hear?”

  “Mostly the defendant’s. He has that deep, booming voice, you know. It really carries.”

  “Do you remember what he said?”

  “I don’t remember all of it. But I remember the highlights. I remember he called her a stupid cow. I remember he called her—excuse me, Judge—a fucking whore. And”—his eyes dropped, and his voice took on a note of sorrow—“and I remember he said she didn’t deserve to live.”

  The reaction from the reporters and spectators in the gallery was immediate. Pages and pencils flew; many people whispered at once.

  “Did you hear anyone else?”

  “Yes. The two girls. That was the worst of it. Not only was this horrendous fight going on, but those poor little sweethearts were getting every word of it. I could hear them screaming and crying. It just broke my heart.”

  “What else happened?” Bullock asked.

  “Well, frankly, it got to the point where I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I closed my window and turned on the television. Watched Little House on the Prairie. I know it’s corny, but I really like that show. May sound stupid to you, but after hearing all that hatred, I needed a dose of innocent family drama.”

  “Doesn’t sound stupid to me at all,” Bullock commented. “Did you hear anything further from your neighbors?”

  “Amazingly enough, yes. About halfway through the show, I heard a tremendous crashing noise from next door. I still don’t know what that was, but man alive, it was loud! I mean, I was next door, for cryin’ out loud. I had the windows shut and the television on. And I still heard it.”

  “Did you take any action?”

  “Yes. I went to my kitchen and reopened the window. That’s the room closest to the Barretts’ house. I heard one of those girls crying out.”

  “Did you hear what she said?”

  “Yeah. Clear as a bell. She cried out, ‘Daddy! Daddy!’ ”

  Ben knew how devastating this was going to be. Sanders was confirming Karen Gleason’s testimony about what she heard on the phone. And if that part was true, the jury would reason, everything else she said must’ve been true as well.

  “What did you do next?” Bullock asked.

  “Well, I closed the window again and went back to my television show. I know that may seem strange in retrospect, but you have to realize—this sort of thing happened all the time. What was I supposed to do? March over there and tell the defendant to straighten up? Of course, if I had known what was going to happen, I would’ve called the police, but at that time, who knew? Who could have dreamed?”

  Who, indeed? The question hung heavily in the courtroom. Who could have dreamed?

  “Did you have any further contact with the Barrett family?”

  “Yeah. About half an hour later, after I finished watching Little House. That fight I’d heard next door was still weighing heavily on my mind. I thought by then, though, they might’ve cooled down a bit and I could go over and make sure things were okay, you know?”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I stepped outside my front door and started toward their house.”

  “And what happened?”

  “Well, the strangest thing. Before I got five footsteps out the door, I saw Wallace Barrett tearing out of his house. Fast. I mean, those quarterback thighs were pumping like pistons. In nothing flat he crossed his front lawn and jumped into that red sports car of his that was parked on the street.”

  “Did you speak to him?”

  “I shouted at him. ‘Wally! Hey, Wally!’ But he didn’t hear me. Man, he didn’t hear nothin’. He was the wind. He was out of there.”

  “And what did you do next?”

  “That was pretty much it. Since he was gone, I figured there was no reason to go over. Still, something about the whole situation bothered me. I argued with myself for a while, then ultimately called the police. Reported a domestic disturbance. Let them go in and make sure everything’s hunky-dory, you know. And then I turned the tube back on and vegged out for a bit. Imagine my surprise when, maybe a couple hours later, the news guys broke in with some special report, and it was Wally! In that same red sports car, doin’ the blitz down the Indian Nation Turnpike.”

  Bullock took a videotape from his legal assistant. “Your honor, I have a videotape recording of a special report that aired on most stations the night of March 11. With your permission, I’d like to play it and to ask the witness to identify it.”

  So this was how Bullock planned to get it in, Ben realized. Well, he had to try to stop it. “Objection. The witness was not responsible for the creation of this exhibit. He can’t authenticate it.”

  “Your honor,” Bullock replied, “all I’m asking the witness to do is tell us whether this is what he saw on television the day of the murder and to tell us whether the man and car in the tape are
the man and car he saw at the crime scene.”

  How convenient. Under the simple rubric of identification, he would give the jury a chance to watch a tape that was not at all probative but massively prejudicial. “Your honor,” Ben said, “I don’t believe this tape has any value—”

  Judge Hart waived his objections aside. “You’ve already raised these issues in your pretrial motions in limine, counsel. I overruled them then and I will do so again. Please do not continue asking the court to revisit matters that have already been resolved.”

  And so the tape got to the jury. Bullock already had the equipment set up from the last videotape. All he had to do was slide it in and watch the jurors go into their video-drone modes. Bullock showed almost twenty minutes of frenzied flight, from the moment the minicams in the helicopters first picked up Barrett’s car to the moment he crashed into the tollbooth. They saw the copters swirl over the speeding sports car; they saw the police broadcast commands that were ignored. They saw Barrett’s car swerve erratically all over the road, like a man who was drunk, or crazed, or desperate to get south of the border. Ben knew the questions that had to be racing through the jurors’ brains. Why would Barrett desert his family in this moment of crisis? Why was he heading south in such a hurry? Why would an innocent man flee?

  After the tape was completed, Bullock shut off the VCR and took his place behind the podium. “Mr. Sanders, was the man you saw in that videotape the same man you saw bolt out the front door of the Barrett home a few hours before?”

  “Yes, sir. It was.”

  “Any doubt in your mind about that?”

  “No. None whatsoever.”

  “Was he wearing the same clothes?”

  “Yes. And driving the same car. It was him.” Sanders shifted his gaze, turning to look for the first time directly at his friend and neighbor. “Sorry, Wally, but I gotta tell the truth. It was you.”

  Bullock closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I have no more questions for you at this time.”

  Chapter 44

  AFTER A BRIEF BREAK, Ben began his cross-examination. He knew he had to be careful with this witness. Sanders was articulate, smart, and appealing. The jury was responding positively to him. Ben had to find a way to poke holes in his testimony without suggesting that he was a bad person.

  “Mr. Sanders,” Ben began, “you seem to have been very fond of the Barrett family. True?”

  “Oh yes. I liked them all. Even Wally—sometimes. I didn’t particularly want to testify here but—you know—a man has a duty.”

  “I’m sure. But you seem to have been particularly fond of Wally’s wife, Caroline.”

  A frown line appeared above Sanders’ eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I mean you seem to have been very fond of my client’s wife, Caroline Barrett. Is that true?”

  “What are you trying to suggest?”

  “I’m not trying to suggest anything, Mr. Sanders. Why are you being so defensive?”

  “Well, I just don’t like you casting aspersions—”

  “And I assure you I’m not casting aspersions, sir, but I must insist that you answer my question. Were you very fond of Caroline Barrett?”

  “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “So are you saying you didn’t like her?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then you did like her?”

  Sanders pursed his lips. “Yes, I liked her.”

  “Very much?”

  Sanders spoke slowly through tight lips. “Yes, very much.”

  “You know what, Mr. Sanders?” Ben kept his voice even and calm. “I think maybe you loved Caroline Barrett.”

  “This is outrageous. I would never do anything improper.”

  “I’m not suggesting that you did. It’s not a crime to love someone, is it?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But you did love Caroline Barrett. Didn’t you?”

  Sanders glanced down at his hands. “Suppose I did. So?”

  “You thought Wallace Barrett was … mistreating her, didn’t you? That she deserved better.”

  “That’s certainly true.”

  “And that leads me to think that, well, if you loved her, and thought he wasn’t very nice to her—you probably wouldn’t like him very much.”

  “I had no axe to grind against Wally.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “So it didn’t bother you when he called the woman you loved those awful names?”

  “Well…” Sanders began fidgeting with his hands.

  “Mr. Sanders, why don’t you just tell the jury the truth? You hated Wallace Barrett, didn’t you?”

  His chin lowered, and his voice became quiet. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  “It wouldn’t break your heart at all to see him locked away in jail, would it?”

  “No. But if you’re suggesting—”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I think you’ve answered my question.” Ben moved quickly to his next subject, not wanting to give Sanders a chance to rationalize his answer. “Now, you testified that during the fight that preceeded the deaths, you heard Wallace Barrett’s voice but did not hear his wife. Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, now, it takes two to fight, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re both aggressors. One can be the attacker and one can be the victim.”

  “Mr. Sanders, is it possible you just didn’t hear what the woman you loved—Caroline Barrett—had to say?”

  “I heard a lot.”

  “A lot of Wallace, yes. But as you said yourself, he had a loud, booming voice. What was Caroline’s voice like?”

  “Soft. Gentle.”

  “Not the kind of voice that would likely carry all the way next door, right?”

  Sanders’s lips pursed in irritation. “Perhaps not.”

  “So for all you know, she could have said things that were far more horrible than what Wallace said. You just didn’t hear them.”

  “That’s right. I didn’t hear them.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I wanted to ask you about one other matter— something I noticed you failed to mention in your testimony.”

  Sanders looked startled, as did Bullock.

  “In the newspapers, and when you spoke to my investigator, you mentioned that you had seen two strangers prowling around the neighborhood about the time of the murders. Why didn’t you tell the jury about that?”

  “Well, it didn’t seem relevant since … since …”

  “Since you wanted the jury to pin the rap on my client.”

  “No, but—I mean, the evidence is clear.”

  “Mr. Sanders, let’s let the jury evaluate the evidence. You just tell us what you saw.”

  Sanders sighed heavily. “I saw two people. A tall young man, early twenties probably. Thin, scraggly. Wore fatigues. Had a goatee. Sometimes he carried a black bag over his shoulder. Once or twice I saw him with a younger girl—teenager, I’d guess. That’s it.”

  “You didn’t think this was unusual? Two strangers in your high-dollar neighborhood?”

  “I did think it was unusual, but I didn’t have any reason to believe they committed murder.”

  “When you were initially interviewed by the police, almost the first thing you told them about was these strangers who were, in your words, casing the neighborhood.”

  “That’s true … but at that time, I didn’t know …”

  “You didn’t know the police were going to pin it on my client, right?”

  “Well—”

  “In fact, despite having witnessed this big fight, the first suspects you offered the police were these two unidentified strangers.”

  “The police asked me if I had seen anything unusual in the neighborhood. So I told them.”

  “Told them about the strangers. Not the fight. Not Barrett rushing out of his house.”

&nb
sp; “I told them about everything. I just happened to mention the strangers first.”

  “Indeed you did. The rest was practically an afterthought.”

  Bullock sprang up. “Your honor, I object!”

  “Sustained. Counsel, watch yourself.”

  “Sorry, your honor.” But not very. “Mr. Sanders, did you ever see either of these strangers in the company of anyone else?”

  Sanders started to shake his head, then stopped. “You know, now that you mention it, I do recall a time when the tall guy talked to someone else. Someone drove up in a car, leaned out the window, and talked with him. It was very quick. Not really a conversation. More like he barked out a few orders and then drove on. Very strange.”

  “Did you recognize the man in the car?”

  “No, sorry.”

  “And you don’t recall anything else about these two strangers?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Thank you, sir. I have nothing more.”

  The instant Ben had taken his seat, Bullock was back on his feet. “Just a short redirect, your honor.”

  Judge Hart nodded.

  “Let me ask you just a few questions about these spectral assassins defense counsel is trying to use to confuse the issues. I’m sure we’d all like to believe these horrible crimes were committed by some unknown, unnamed strangers. But, Mr. Sanders, did you ever observe these two doing anything that suggested they meant to harm anyone in the Barrett home?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “Did they seem to show unusual interest in the Barrett home?”

  “Not that I saw.”

  “Did they do anything that suggested they were dangerous?”

  “No. I never saw them do anything but walk down the street. They were just strangers, that’s all.”

  “You certainly didn’t see them fighting with Mrs. Barrett or her children.”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see them hit or beat Mrs. Barrett or her children?”

  “No.”

  “And you didn’t see them dash out of the Barrett home minutes after the murders took place.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I just wanted to put this ghost to rest. That’s all.”

  Ben’s jaw clenched tightly together. Bullock had put that ghost to rest, at least for now. If he was ever going to convince the jury there was another assailant, he was going to have to do a lot better than that.