“I tried to get Caroline to do that.”
“So the whole time your sister was alive, you didn’t say a word, but as soon as she’s dead, and there are book publishers offering you a quarter of a million bucks, then suddenly you’ve got a story to tell.”
“That’s all wrong.”
“What did I say that was wrong?”
“It wasn’t what you said. It was … the way you made it sound. It wasn’t like that at all.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Besides, I’m giving the money to DVIS and several battered women’s shelters.”
“All of it?”
“Well … no, not all of it. I have to live.”
Ben nodded. “I’m sure. And I bet you’re living a lot better now than you were before this book deal, huh?”
“Objection! Argumentative.”
“Sustained.” Judge Hart gave Ben a stern look. “Counsel, you know what is and isn’t permissible. Don’t cross the line again.”
“Yes, your honor.” Ben glanced down at his notes. Personally, he hated this, but Cynthia and others like her had turned this into a showbiz trial, not him. The jury had to realize the extent to which showbiz was coloring what they saw and heard. “Let me put it this way. If you hadn’t had anything interesting to say, the publisher probably wouldn’t have paid you all that money for your book, would they?”
“Obviously not.”
“Thank you.” He’d made his point as clearly as he could. It was time to move on. “Now, Ms. Taylor, you’re not exactly an unbiased witness, are you?”
Tiny tendrils of irritation were beginning to crease her eyes and lips. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, you yourself said you were very close to your sister, right?”
“Right. Absolutely.”
“You want to see her murder avenged, right?”
“That’s … right.”
“And you’ve never liked Wallace Barrett, have you? Not from the start.”
Her head bobbed slightly as she considered her response. “No, I’ve never liked him.”
“And your testimony today hasn’t done him much good, has it?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
“Basically, you’ve come in and trashed a man you admit you don’t like, even though you in fact never witnessed any of the incidents to which you testified, correct?”
“That’s not correct.”
“Did you ever see Wallace Barrett strike your sister?”
“Well—no.”
“Did you ever see him strike either of the children?”
“No, I—”
“Did you ever see him hug, or kiss, or show affection to his wife or children?”
“Well, yes, of course, but—”
“Nonetheless, you’ve sat before this jury and painted him as a cold, uncaring monster, based on incidents you never saw, and totally ignoring the many loving moments that you did see.”
“He’s a mean, cruel bastard!” Her sudden cry echoed through the courtroom. “She knew it and so did I. She was going to leave him.”
“But we have only your testimony to that, right?”
“Perhaps so. But it’s true. She told me she was going to leave him.”
“But she didn’t, did she?”
“No. He never gave her a chance.”
Ben bit his tongue. Left himself wide open for that one. Best to just ignore it and move on. “Did you perhaps … encourage her to leave her husband?”
“I told you I tried to get her to leave. I wanted her out of there before he killed her.”
“Your own marriage had broken up.” So?
“What was the cause of your divorce?”
Bullock was back on his feet. “Your honor, I protest. This is—”
“I’ll allow it,” the judge said, cutting him off. “Proceed.”
“What caused your divorce, ma’am?”
Her head lowered until nothing was visible but a shadow. “My husband … drank. Not too much. But when he did … well, he changed. One day he came home and … hit me. That’s when I left.”
Ben nodded soberly. He had suspected as much. “You were a victim of spousal abuse yourself.”
“Yes. I’ve never told anyone, but—yes.”
Ben paused, asking the next question as gently as he could. “Ms. Taylor, is it possible that you, having had this horrible experience, assumed that your sister was having the same problem?”
“No.”
“It’s quite a coincidence.”
“It’s not a coincidence. Wife beating is an epidemic.”
“Still, after the murders, when you were looking for answers, perhaps you invented one that seemed … appropriate.”
“That’s not true. I had proof. I saw her black eye.”
“You had facts which you interpreted to prove what you wanted to prove.”
“My sister told me!” Cynthia leaned forward, almost tipping out of the box. “I know what I heard. Don’t try to”—her voice had a catch in it—“don’t try to make her life a lie.”
“Ma’am, I’m just trying to determine what happened.”
“I told you what happened!”
“After you made your two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar book deal.”
“That had nothing to do with it.”
“Perhaps you wanted a dramatic story to dramatize the cause of battered women. After all, it’s not as if it could do Caroline any harm now if you … exaggerated a few details.”
“I’m telling the truth!” Her voice screeched out and filled the courtroom. “The man beat her! He’s a maniac! She was going to leave him!”
“And if she did,” Ben said, “then she’d be free to spend more time with you, right?”
“What?”
“You wanted her to spend more time with you, didn’t you?”
“Well … yes.”
“You encouraged her to leave her husband.”
“Damn right I did.”
“Where were you all going? Hawaii? I suppose Caroline would have paid your way.”
“So? That was her decision.”
“Was it?” Ben turned just enough to check the jury. “First you encouraged her to tell you a grossly exaggerated story of spousal abuse that you wanted to hear; then you talked her into leaving her husband, which freed her up to take you to Hawaii.”
“That’s not true!”
“Your honor, I object.” Bullock had positioned himself so that he could make eye contact with both the judge and the television cameras. “This is the most outrageous, cruel abuse of cross-examination I have seen in my entire career. He’s not uncovering any new information. He’s just torturing a woman who has lost her sister. This is inhuman!”
Judge Hart seemed to think carefully before responding. “Mr. Kincaid, I do have the sense that we have explored this area about long enough. Can we move on?”
“Certainly, your honor.” Ben hadn’t enjoyed this any more than anyone else. He was more than happy to skip to the next subject. “I just have a few more questions. Ms. Taylor, you spent a great deal of time with your sister, both before and after you were in Chicago, right?”
Cynthia’s jaw was tight and grim. “That’s right,” she said curtly.
“As a result, you must have spent a great deal of time in the company of her husband, Wallace Barrett.”
“That’s true.”
“Ms. Taylor, in the entire twelve-year history of their marriage, did you ever hear Wallace Barrett threaten his wife?”
“She told me—”
“That wasn’t my question, ma’am. Please listen carefully and answer the question put to you. Did you ever hear Wallace Barrett threaten his wife?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Never even once?”
“No.”
“Did you ever hear him threaten his children?”
“No.”
“In fact, he was very loving toward his children, wasn’t he?”
“He …” She exhaled heavily. “Yes. He treated his girls very well.”