The hearing in the judge's chamber took fewer than five minutes. Ben had said he was ready for trial and now he was going to have to stand by his word. Justice would not be delayed because "some investigator had a hunch of no apparent significance." And so the direct examination of Dennis would proceed.
"Dennis, if you're ready to continue, I have a few more questions," Ben said.
"Of course." He seemed a little steadier. His voice was almost back to normal, though his face was flushed.
"What did you do after they found Joslyn?"
"I kind of lost control at the scene of the accident. Detective Sentz finally showed up and he was angry and bellowing because Torres had initiated the search. The search that found her, if too late. That was just the last straw. I'm embarrassed to say I got in his face and he grabbed me and threw me to the ground. That's when my face was scraped up. He later made it sound as if he had to take precautions to protect himself. That was a crock. He was covering his rear, once he saw how much attention the case got."
"You had been through a horrifying experience," Ben said. "Were there any further incidents?"
"Yes. After Joslyn died. I attacked him and I managed to get one good punch in before his buddies pulled me away. He had me arrested. I spent the weekend in jail. By the time I was released, Joslyn had been cremated. I never got to see her again. Never really got to say goodbye."
"That must have been heartbreaking." Ben was having to fight back tears, as were many in the gallery. "What about later? After you got home?"
"For days, I did nothing. I pretty much fell apart. Let myself go. I felt so bad. So… guilty. As if there were something I should have done. Something more. Beating myself up night and day."
"I can understand that."
"And I was angry at Detective Sentz. I will admit that. Thought about him all the time. But please realize-this man had the power to save my wife's life. I didn't! I couldn't save her. But he could. He could and he chose not to. That was… that was a very hard truth to deal with."
"You saw your therapist?"
"Yes, and he tried to help, but there was only so much he could do. I was totally consumed with these thoughts about Detective Sentz."
"Did your therapist give you medication?"
"Yes."
"Did you take it?"
"Of course. Couldn't tell that it made any difference, though. I was too far gone."
Not the words Ben would've chosen. Keep it moving…
"When did you obtain the gun?"
"I had it already. We lived out in the country, remember? Everyone has a gun. It isn't unusual. It made Joslyn feel safer. But I never used it. Never once. Couldn't even remember where it was at first."
"But you did remember eventually."
"Yes." His features seemed to slow as if he was trying to recall, trying to revisit someplace he didn't really want to go. "I found it. Loaded it. I had become increasingly obsessed with Detective Sentz. I couldn't think, read, watch television. I saw him everywhere I went. I just-" He looked skyward. His eyes were watering. "I wanted him to acknowledge that he did a bad thing. That's all. Just wanted him to take responsibility."
"So what did you do?"
"I went to the police station. Turned out he wasn't there, he was on some kind of stakeout. So I made a stakeout of my own. I watched the police station until he turned up. When he did, I followed him, all the way to the Marriott. I went in and waited. If you sit in the central lounge, you can see the outside of every door on every floor. I watched and waited. Eventually, I saw him go into a room. I took the elevator up."
"Did you meet anyone along the way?"
"Yes. That police officer. The one who testified. Shaw. He tried to stop me. But he didn't try hard. I think he was sloshed. You know." He made a drinking gesture with his hand. "I'd seen him sitting in the hotel bar swishing martinis for several hours. So I pushed past him and went on up to the hotel room. I wasn't planning to hurt Sentz. I just wanted to force him to acknowledge what he had done. I wanted him to take responsibility for the death of my wife."
"And what happened next?"
Dennis took a long deep breath. He seemed almost lost in thought, his eyes turned inward. "I don't know. That's all I can remember."
"Nothing more?"
"I know I got in the elevator. I got off. I have a vague memory of seeing Sentz, of him letting me in the room. We talked. I don't remember what was said. And that's it." He shook his head, obviously frustrated. "I woke up several hours later in the hospital. Apparently I blacked out."
"Objection," Guillerman said quietly.
"Sustained," Judge McPartland replied. "The witness will limit himself to what he saw and heard."
"Do you remember anything more?" Ben asked. "More than what you've told us?"
"No. Nothing. But I want to say this-I did not go to the hotel to kill that man. Yes, I took a gun. Maybe I even wanted to scare him a little. And definitely I wanted him to admit that he had been wrong, that his actions had killed my Joslyn. If there was something going on with him and that man at the station, I wanted to know about it. But I did not plan to kill him. Never in a million years. Joslyn would not have wanted that. And neither did I."
"Thank you," Ben said. "I'll pass the witness."
As Guillerman approached, Ben realized that his chore now was almost as difficult as Ben's had been. This was cross-examination. The DA had to be aggressive. At the same time, if he came on too strong with a man who had just lost his wife in a horrible manner, it could well put off the jurors. He had to find a middle ground, at least until he uncovered some lie or inconsistency. Then, and only then, could he pounce.
"Mr. Thomas, you talked a great deal about your life after you lost your wife and what you did then. But aren't you leaving something out?"
Dennis's head tilted to one side. He obviously didn't know what to say. Questions like that were insidious. The correct answer, of course, was no. But even the most confident witness had to wonder what the DA was about to spring on him. And nothing eroded confidence like uncertainty.
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"You talked about seeing your shrink, going to the funeral… but for some reason you're leaving something out. Aren't you?"
"I'm still not aware of what you mean."
"You saw Mr. Kincaid. Didn't you?"
Ben sat up straight, ready to respond. Guillerman was entering dangerous territory. He could establish the fact of a meeting, but any questions regarding the nature or content of the discussion were strictly forbidden. And given that Guillerman had already narrowly escaped a mistrial motion for a closely related leak, he expected the DA to toe the line carefully.
"I–I saw my lawyer, yes."
"And when did you see him?"
"Well…"
"It was the very day you shot-excuse me-when you were arrested on the charge of shooting Detective Sentz. Right?"
"Yes, it was."
"How long did you and your lawyer chat?"
"Perhaps fifteen minutes."
"That was all it took. Wow." Guillerman shook his head from side to side, commenting without commenting. "Did you do anything else that day?"
"Only what I've already described. From there I went to the police station."
"So after you had your little chat with the good senator, you went directly to the station, where you waited for Detective Sentz to arrive and then stalked him with a gun."
"Objection!" Ben said.
Guillerman held up his hands. "I'm only repeating the man's testimony."
McPartland was unimpressed. "I think there might have been a little rephrasing mixed in with the repeating. Sustained."
Guillerman continued. "You left Mr. Kincaid's office, you went to the police station, you followed the detective to the hotel, you discovered his room, and you went up. With a gun. Is that correct?"