The question then was, would she keep quiet about it, or would she do the right thing?
And the problem was, if she did the right thing, what would happen to Martha?
She couldn’t believe that Martha had knowingly played a part in the murders. Despite all the heartache they’d shared these past few years, she knew Martha was fundamentally a generous, caring person.
But the district attorney, of course, did not know Martha. If Barrett was acquitted and the DA had to find another suspect, he might just stumble onto Buck. And from Buck, it would be a short hop to Martha.
Would he go after Martha as an accessory? Of course he would. He would have no choice. The public would demand it. The media would cry for it. They much preferred conspiracies to lone gunmen, after all. Conspiracies were so much sexier, so much more intriguing.
Martha would go to prison. Maybe not forever, but long enough to irreparably ruin her life. Scars like that you didn’t bounce back from.
So would Deanna do the right thing?
How could she? She was a mother, for God’s sake. Her whole life was based on the premise that she must take care of her daughter, protect her, shepherd her, help her find a happy and productive life. She couldn’t let this tragedy happen. She just couldn’t. Even if …
She turned her head slightly and gazed at ex-mayor Wallace Barrett sitting next to his attorney at the defense table. He was trying to be strong, she could tell, but he was worried. She could see it in his face. Who wouldn’t be? With what he was going through. What, in part, she was putting him through.
She looked away and stared at her hands.
Yeah. Even if.
Chapter 35
BULLOCK, AS LEAD ATTORNEY for the prosecution, got the first shot at the panel of prospective jurors. He approached them with his usual calm demeanor. He was very good in front of juries, as Ben well knew. He was also smart, knowledgeable, and determined, but most of all, he had that special quality that evoked a positive response from the jury. A certain confidence, perhaps, or an air of truthfulness. Whatever it was, it was something that couldn’t be learned or taught. You either had it or you didn’t.
Bullock did. Ben didn’t.
Many times Ben had tried to emulate the man’s bearing, his approach, but it never worked. In fact, it was futile to try. All he could do was be himself, and hope for the best.
The usual problem with voir dire was that it was tedious and time-consuming—a too-long prologue before the main event. The jurors were ready to get on with it; but instead, they had to sit through hours of questioning. It was immediately apparent that this would not be a problem today, however. This case was anything but dull, after all, and the jurors were all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and eager. They wanted to be on this jury. Who wouldn’t? It was the trial of the century.
Bullock looked the jurors square in the eye and began. “You know why you’re here,” he said.
He paused, allowing the words to sink in. “Personally, I wish you didn’t. It would make this business of choosing a jury much simpler. But I know you do know. You know what case this jury will hear. And you know … the importance of what we are trying to do. The importance of seeing that justice is done.”
Ben had to marvel at Bullock’s cleverness. He was not making an argument—well, not exactly, your honor—and he was not urging them to convict—well, not exactly, your honor. But close. Close enough that they couldn’t possibly miss the point.
“The defendant in this case is a man named Wallace Barrett.” He gestured toward the defendant. “Is there anyone here who does not know Mr. Barrett?”
No hands rose.
“Now, that’s a problem. We prosecutors always worry about trying celebrities. When people see a man on television or in some sporting event, they start to feel like they know him. They don’t, of course. They don’t know anything about what he’s really like. But they think they do. He’s that smiling face on the television screen in their living room. They like him. And that makes it a lot harder to convince them that he may have done something wrong.” His voice slowed and dropped an octave. “Even when the crime committed is as hideous as the one in the present case.”
Bullock strolled confidently to the opposite end of the jury box. “So I have to ask you this question. Is there anyone who feels that what they already know about Mr. Barrett—or what they think they know—would prevent them from judging the facts and evidence of this case with an open mind? Anyone? Please be honest. I won’t put you on the spot. I just want to know.”
An older woman in the back row, Marilyn McKensie, hesitantly raised her hand.
“Mrs. McKensie. You think you might have a hard time giving us a fair shake?”
She pursed her lips together, speaking slowly. “No. I’m just afraid … Well, I’ve heard so much about all the awful things he did to his family, I just don’t know if I could believe anything he or his lawyer had to say.”
A loud buzz rose from the press section. Ben jumped to his feet. “Your honor—”
Judge Hart nodded. She knew very well the prejudicial nature of the remarks the woman had just made in the earshot of every prospective juror. Remarks like that could end the trial before it had begun.
Judge Hart leaned toward the jury box. “Mrs. McKensie, you must realize that no one has proven that the defendant has done anything. He is presumed to be innocent.”
“Oh, right. But everyone knows—”
“Mrs. McKensie,” the judge continued firmly, “in this state, defendants are innocent until proven guilty. No evidence has yet been adduced against the defendant. That means that at this point in time he is innocent and you must be able to consider him as such. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I know the rules, but—”
“There are no buts. That’s the way it is.”
Mrs. McKensie licked her lips, fell back into her chair, and didn’t say anything more.
The judge addressed the jury at large. “I will admonish the jury—that is, all the prospective jurors—that they should not discuss or draw any conclusions until the evidentiary part of the trial is over, and furthermore, what conclusions you do draw should be based upon the evidence presented at trial and nothing else. Mrs. McKensie’s remarks should be disregarded in their entirety.” She turned back to Ben, a weary expression on her face. “All right, counsel?”
Ben nodded. “Thank you, your honor.” He could read what was in her eyes quite clearly; he was thinking the same thing himself. If they couldn’t get past the first voir dire question without a prejudicial incident, what hope did they have of actually completing a fair and unbiased trial?
Mrs. McKensie was excused and replaced, and Bullock continued with his questions, carefully but systematically probing the venirepersons about their jobs, their significant others, their habits and hobbies. Most of his questions did not bear a direct relationship to the case. Many followed up on seemingly trivial matters that had been mentioned in answers to the written interrogatories. Most were easily answered questions. Bullock never pressed anyone or embarrassed them.
And Ben knew why, too. He could still remember the advice Bullock had given him so many years ago. “People think the main point of voir dire is to find out about the jury,” he had said, “but they’re wrong. That’s okay if you happen to be able to read minds. But the realistic best thing you can do during voir dire is let the jury find out about you. Let them learn to like you, to trust you. If you can get that, then later in your closing argument when you tell them to convict, they will. They’ll do whatever you want. Fact is, trials are long and complicated, and the jurors have a hard time following everything. Most of their decisions are based principally on who the jurors think they can trust, not on the evidence. Once they figure out who they can trust, they do whatever that person tells them to do.”