“That’s about the size of it.”
“Just a few more questions, Spud. Could you describe the defendant’s demeanor when she came in that evening?”
“Oh, she was pissed.” He looked quickly at the judge. “I mean she was real angrylike. ’Scuse my French.”
“I think we all catch your meaning, Spud,” Moltke said, with a quick wink to the jury. “Any idea what she might’ve been angry about?”
“I think so.”
“Please tell us.”
“Well, Mr. Lombardi called that afternoon and told me—”
“Objection,” Ben said. “Hearsay.”
Moltke raised a finger. “This is not being offered to prove the truth of the matter asserted, your honor. Goes to show the defendant’s state of mind at the time of the murder.”
“I believe that’s correct,” Derek said. “Overruled. You may answer the question.”
“I don’t remember the exact words,” Spud continued. “Mr. Lombardi called and instructed me to let this woman up when she arrived. I kind of teased him about having a new girlfriend, and he said, ‘I don’t think you’ll be seeing much of her after tonight.’ ” He chuckled. “I guess she was about to get the big brush-off.”
Ben glanced at the jury box and saw Mrs. Applebury cast a meaningful look at another woman in the jury. Yes, they knew what that meant. Hell hath no fury. “Move to strike, your honor. The witness is speculating.”
“I think he’s simply characterizing his observations in a colorful manner,” Derek said. “Overruled.”
“So when the defendant went up to Lombardi’s apartment,” Moltke said, “she was furious because she either had been dumped, or knew she was about to be dumped. Is that correct?”
“Objection,” Ben said. “Leading.”
“That’s all right,” Moltke said. “I’ll withdraw the question.” Why not? He’d already made his point. “Nothing more, your honor.”
“Cross-examination?” Derek asked, in a tone of voice that clearly implied he thought it inadvisable.
Ben couldn’t think of a single question worth asking. Spud was wrong, and Ben knew it, but there was nothing malicious about his testimony. Right or wrong, he wasn’t lying; he was telling the jury what he honestly believed. And Ben knew if he tried to get tough with Spud, Derek would shut him down in a heartbeat. For that matter, regardless of what Ben tried, Derek would be sure to turn it against him.
“No questions,” Ben said reluctantly. He felt the eyes of the courtroom—the reporters, the jury, even Christina—bearing down on him.
“Anything more from the prosecution?” Derek asked.
“No, your honor,” Moltke said. “The prosecution rests.”
“Very good,” Derek said. “I think that’s enough for today. Tomorrow morning, at nine o’clock sharp, the defense will begin presenting…whatever case they may have.” He banged his gavel. “Court is adjourned.”
The courtroom came alive. Reporters sprang into the aisles, blocking the way. Flashbulbs and minicam lights illuminated the room. Moltke strolled back to give his daily press statement about his triumphs on behalf of the cause of the justice everywhere. A few reporters yelled questions at Ben, but he ignored them.
He felt Christina’s eyes burning down on him. She didn’t understand; how could she? She hadn’t been there last night. All she knew was the conventional wisdom—a criminal defendant wins by breaking down the prosecution’s case. If the defense attorneys haven’t made their mark by the time they call their own witnesses, turning the jury around is almost impossible. And she knew what they had lined up in the way of defense testimony to turn that jury around. Not much.
“We need to discuss…our case strategy,” Christina said haltingly.
Ben nodded. They started toward the door, plunging into the throng of reporters. “Who are you going to call?” “Do you think you have a chance?” “Was this a revenge killing by a jilted lover?” Ignoring the questions, avoiding the blinding lights and the sense of impending doom tightening its grip around them, Ben and Christina pushed their way out of the courtroom.
38
BEN STOMPED INTO HIS office, sending chickens flying in all directions.
“How goes the war?” Jones asked.
“Not well at all. We start putting on our case tomorrow morning, assuming we have a case tomorrow morning.” He noticed a brown lumpish thing on Jones’s table. “What in the world is that?”
“Mrs. Marmelstein sent you a fruitcake. She’s been watching the TV coverage; she thought you needed it.”
Ben scrutinized the alleged edible. “I hate fruitcake.”
“Doesn’t everyone? Still, it’s the thought that counts.”
“You’re right, of course. Get rid of it, okay?”
“Will do, Boss.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder if chickens like fruitcake?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Hey, Skipper!”
Ben whirled around and saw Loving sitting in the lobby.
“Hi ya, Skipper. How’s the big trial going?”
“Let me see,” Ben said. “The judge hates my guts, the jury is convinced Christina is guilty, and we haven’t got a shred of defense evidence.”
“Things could be worse.”
“How can you possibly say that?”
“Because he hit the jackpot,” Jones explained.
Ben planted himself beside Loving, who appeared to be wearing the same stained T-shirt he’d worn every time Ben had seen him. Was that the only shirt he owned, Ben wondered, or did he have several of them, just alike? “You got the DeCarlo documents?”
“Guess so,” Loving said nonchalantly. “I dinnt really know what was important, so I grabbed everything. Yer secretary pulled out what he wanted.”
“That’s wonderful! How did you do it?”
“Oh hell, it weren’t nuttin’. Some of the boys put me on to DeCarlo’s head bean counter. A CPA. Very soft. I waited for him in his car last night. He was kinda startled to see me.”
I’ll just bet. “You didn’t do anything improper, did you?”
“I just suggested in a nice way that it would be bad for his health if I didn’t see DeCarlo’s business records.”
“It wouldn’t be ideal for his health if DeCarlo found out he showed them to you.”
“His point exactly. So I described the various ways I could rearrange his face without even working up a sweat. Real friendlylike, you know. He said he thought maybe he could lay his hands on the documents. I promised I’d get them back to him in twenty-four hours. DeCarlo’s all wrapped up in this trial business, so he’s not likely to miss them.”
“Jones,” Ben said, “get everything you need copied, pronto.”
“Already done, Boss. I’ve begun comparing DeCarlo’s records with Lombardi’s. There are several discrepancies, and numerous unexplained financial contributions from DeCarlo to Lombardi. I think you’ll find that DeCarlo had a definite motive for offing Lombardi. If Lombardi went down, so would DeCarlo.”
“That might work,” Ben said, thinking aloud. “Even if we can’t absolutely prove that DeCarlo killed him or hired out the job, the mere suggestion of motive and involvement by such a notoriously shady figure might create reasonable doubt about Christina’s guilt.”
“Can we subpoena DeCarlo?” Jones asked.
“Probably not at this late date,” Ben said. “Especially since he doubtless has a battalion of lawyers who would try to quash it. But he was in the courtroom today. Maybe he’ll be foolish enough to show up again tomorrow. Draft a subpoena dated tomorrow, Jones. Just in case.”
“Will do, Boss.”
“Loving, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. This is the first piece of solid evidence we’ve turned up. You may have helped save a woman’s life. Consider us even. Square.”