“Yes, sir, I did.”
“And whose fingerprints were they?”
“They were the defendant’s.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely positive. We discovered two crystal clear latents. Thumb and forefinger.”
Ben cupped his hand over Christina’s ear. “Did you pick up the gun?”
“ ’Fraid so, pal.”
This was bad news. Although still circumstantial, eventually even circumstantial evidence could suggest only one reasonable conclusion.
Ben suddenly realized the magistrate was trying to get his attention. “I asked, will there be any cross-examination?”
“No, sir,” Ben said. He glanced at Christina and shrugged. There was no point.
Round two went to the prosecution.
Ben hoped that was the end of it. The gun evidence wasn’t helpful, but it was far from conclusive. There was still a chance he could get the charges dismissed.
“Any further witnesses?” Gould asked.
“No, sir. The prosecution—”
Moltke stopped mid-sentence. One of his junior assistants jabbed his arm, then pointed to the rear of the room, where a man in uniform stood.
“Magistrate,” Moltke said, “may I have a brief recess to confer with a possible witness?”
“I’ll give you two minutes,” Gould said.
Moltke walked to the back and talked with the officer. Ben tried to read lips or pick up some hint of what they were discussing, but it was impossible.
Just before his time elapsed, Moltke returned to the podium. He seemed energized. Even worse, he was smiling.
“Magistrate Gould, the government wishes to call one more witness.”
“Very well. Get on with it.”
“The United States calls Officer John Tompkins.”
Officer Tompkins, a ruddy, well-scrubbed officer in middle age and middle paunch, took the stand. Moltke made a cursory run through his credentials, principally his years on the Tulsa police force. Moltke appeared eager to move on.
“What was your first assignment when you reported to work this morning, Officer?”
“I was dispatched to an apartment on Southwest Boulevard to assist a follow-up investigation of a reported B and E.” He looked up at the magistrate. “That’s a breaking and entering, sir.”
“Ah,” Gould said. “Thank you for removing the scales from my eyes.”
“And who is the tenant of the apartment in question?”
“That would be the defendant.” He nodded in Christina’s direction.
Ben leaped to his feet. “Objection. Magistrate, I fail to see the relevance of this line of questioning.”
Gould squinted at Moltke. “I’m afraid I share defense counsel’s mystification, Mr. Prosecutor. Care to elucidate?”
“I’ll cut straight to the point, sir.” Moltke addressed his witness. “Did you discover anything during your investigation of the breaking and entering that pertains to this case?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what would that be?”
“Well…” He leaned forward, as if preparing to tell a ripsnorting story. “The defendant has a number of stuffed animals.”
The magistrate blinked. “Stuffed animals?”
“Yes, sir. Well, animals, dolls, teddy bears—that sort of thing. Most of them had been torn apart and had their stuffings ripped out.”
“The court is undoubtedly grieved to learn of their disembowelment,” Moltke said. “Did you search the dolls?”
“Well, I picked up this one, a Betty Boop doll—”
The magistrate peered down at the witness. “Excuse me? A what?”
“A Betty Boop doll. You know, the cartoon character.”
Gould took up his pen. “Is that B-e-t-t-y B-o-o-p?”
Oh, give me a break, Ben thought. You can be dignified without acting as if you came from another planet.
“Yes, sir,” Tompkins said. “I believe that’s correct.”
Gould made a few more squiggles on his notepad. “I see. You may proceed.”
“And inside the Betty Boop doll, I found several clear glassy packets containing a white powdery substance. A tongue test confirmed my initial suspicion. It was about six hundred grams of cocaine.”
The buzz from the gallery was instantaneous. The reporters’ pencils flew into action.
“And were there any identifying markings on these glassy packages?”
“Yes.” Tompkins allowed a pregnant pause, then said, “Stapled to the first package was a small scrap of paper bearing the word Monster. That is what drug dealers refer to as a brand name, a mark identifying a particular dealer’s product and distinguishing it from those of competitors. And beneath the brand name, someone had written the word Lombardi. We believe this is part of the drug shipment that was delivered to Tony Lombardi the night he was killed. She must have taken it after she killed him.”
Ben screamed out an objection, but it was no use. The dull buzz in the courtroom became a full-fledged roar. Reporters began running toward the back door. They didn’t heed to hear any more. They could confidently predict the outcome now.
The magistrate pounded his gavel to little effect. The world seemed to be swirling around Ben, everything happening at once, everything happening much too quickly. He was conscious of mumbling that he had no questions, and then of a continuous, indistinct chatter, till he picked up the phrase held to answer in the district court before a jury of her peers.
“Held to answer,” Ben echoed.
Gould pounded his gavel again. “Trial is set for May fifteenth.”
“May fifteenth! That’s too soon!”
“Too soon?” Gould tossed down his gavel in disgust. “Given what we’ve heard today, I wonder if it’s soon enough.”
“Your honor, I move for a continuance.”
“Premature. Make your motion to the district court judge.”
“We’ll waive the Speedy Trial Act.”
“I won’t.”
“Sir, I have potential witnesses to interview.”
“Then you had better get started, counsel.” Gould rose to his feet. “This hearing is adjourned.”
Gould slipped away into chambers; those few still remaining in the gallery raced toward the door. Moltke waltzed past Ben, a smug expression plastered on his face.
Ben felt as if his veins were filled with poison. His vision blurred until he could see nothing at all, nothing but Christina, sitting at defendant’s table by herself.
Christina, all alone. And soon to be on trial for her life.
PART TWO
Bloind and Deef and Doom
20
THE FULL MOON SHONE down on the forest, casting shadows between the trees, glistening against the moist grass. Despite the moonlight, the forest was dark, and almost unbearably quiet. The occasional fluttering of birds or chirping of insects was all that relieved the damnable tranquility.
Ben and Christina crept from one tree to the next, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. The fragrance of pine needles and damp leaves was sweet and strong, but it gave Ben no comfort. The forest was immaculate, seemingly untouched by human hand. Under other circumstances, Ben might’ve enjoyed this. Under any other circumstances.
Their flashlights offered precious little illumination; it was too dark and the forest was too large. With each step, each crackle of twigs and brush, a cold shudder crept up Ben’s spine. He hated risky activities and yet he always seemed to be doing them. And he always seemed to be doing them with Christina.
“Can’t you be any quieter?” Ben asked.
“I don’t see how,” Christina said. “Unless you want me to swing from tree to tree like Tarzan.”