Ben nodded. He’d been sick-right after he’d gotten his first glimpse of the grotesque, blood-soaked corpse pinioned to the treetops. It was Tess all right, but nothing like the Tess he had met a few days before. This atrocity was more rag doll than human being.
He’d tried to contain himself, but to no avail. “Sorry. I don’t normally react this way.”
“Ben,” Allen said, “there is no normal for something like this. It’s not a normal situation.”
Shortly thereafter, the rest of the crime team arrived. They began the deliberate process of collecting evidence, trying to find any trace of the monster who had done this.
The worst lot fell to the two men from the coroner’s office. They were supposed to recover the body. But how? Could they pry her loose? The standard coroner’s bag didn’t include a claw hammer.
“We can’t just leave her like this,” Allen said bitterly. “Go back and find something that will do the job.”
The coroner’s men did as they were told. Ben noticed they didn’t seem all that upset to be leaving the crime scene. But then, who would be?
Eventually, the coroner’s team returned with ladders, heavy-duty prying equipment, and two more burly-looking associates. Ben didn’t envy them in the least. The task they had before them was so gruesome he couldn’t watch. He didn’t even want to think about it.
The next two hours were spent photographing the crime scene and collecting trace evidence. Ben hung around, hoping the investigators might turn up something he could use at trial. One thing was certain: Tess was not killed by George Zakin, who had been behind bars when this murder occurred. Granny would no doubt claim that there were two different murderers at work. But if Ben could prove both killings were the work of the same killer, it would prove the killer wasn’t Zak.
And-more disturbingly-it would prove that the true killer was still at large.
“I can’t say that I see any connection between the two crimes at all,” Sheriff Allen said, taking a short break from supervising the crime-scene detail. “The previous murder was of a logger. This victim was a Green Rager.”
“You’re assuming the motive is linked to the tree-cutting dispute,” Ben said. “But what if it isn’t? What if it’s about something altogether different?”
“Like what?”
“If I knew that, this would be a very short trial. Unfortunately, I don’t.”
“You’re just speculating, Ben.”
“Maybe. But look at it this way. By all appearances, this crime was committed by someone in the logging camp. Someone free, on the loose, and capable of murder. Presumably, that person was around when Dwayne Gardiner was killed, too. So who’s to say this sick bastard might not have committed the first murder?”
“I don’t agree that it appears this crime was committed by a logger. I’ve grown up with loggers. Most of them are good, calm, decent men. This could just as easily have been done by one of your terrorist pals.”
“Why?”
“How should I know? Maybe they had an internal dispute. Some fight for power or authority. I hear these terrorist groups spend half their time squabbling among themselves.”
“Green Rage is not a terrorist group.”
“Or maybe someone did it to throw suspicion on the loggers. Try to get your man Zakin off the hook.”
Ben frowned. It was theoretically possible, he supposed. Disturbing, but possible.
“Thanks for inviting me out here,” Ben said. “I probably won’t sleep for weeks. But I needed to know what was happening.”
“No thanks necessary. No matter what you think, the local law intends to give everyone a fair shake.”
“I wish everyone in this town shared your intent. You think some of your men could give me a ride back to town?”
“Yep. You can ride in the coroner’s truck.”
Ben winced.
“Don’t worry. They’ll have room for you up front.”
Well, that was a relief, anyway. “Thanks again, Sheriff. If there’s ever anything I can do for you …”
A sheepish grin came over the man’s face. “Well, you could put in a good word for me with that legal assistant of yours.”
Ben nodded. Yes, he certainly could. And probably should.
But would he?
That was the question.
Chapter 37
The second trial day in Judge Pickens’s courtroom evidenced no diminution of local interest. If anything, there were even more spectators; Ben noted that the sergeants-at-arms had allowed more spectators in to fill the seats vacated by yesterday’s jury pool. All the familiar faces Ben had noted the day before had returned.
Ben had barely slept. Even after he returned from the site where Tess’s body was found, escorted by two coroner’s attendants with distressingly lively senses of humor, he hadn’t been able to sleep. The scene was too memorable, too horrific, and besides, he needed to practice his opening statement.
Of all the various components of a trial, this was perhaps the one Ben hated most. Although, come to think of it, he probably said that about every phase of the trial at one time or another. But in opening statement, it was possible to prepare in advance, to can it-and most lawyers did. Some of them were very polished speakers, adept at delivering rehearsed speeches.
Ben wasn’t. He much preferred having another person to interact with, a witness or a juror. Standing in front of fourteen people and delivering a prepared monologue only served to remind him why public speaking was most people’s greatest terror. And sleep deprivation wasn’t making it any better, either. Judge Pickens had announced in advance that openings would be limited to a half hour for each side-a disappointment for Granny, a godsend for Ben.
When the sheriff’s deputy brought Zak into the courtroom, he appeared even more furious than the day before. “What the hell is going on out there?”
Ben lowered his eyes. “You’ve heard about Tess.”
“Damn straight.” Zak reached up to brush back his hair, then realized he’d cut it short. “They say this woman was part of Green Rage? I never even met her.”
“She was new,” Ben said, repeating what Maureen had told him. “She was local.”
“And they killed her? Man. This thing is out of control. Totally out of control.”
Ben was inclined to agree. But unfortunately, nothing had happened yet that was likely to stop the pattern of strikes and strike-backs. At this rate, the spiral of hate would continue to expand until it finally culminated in something even more horrible than what happened to Tess.
“This group is falling apart!” Zak moaned. “They’ve got everyone so scared-even Deirdre won’t go into the forest. How the hell is she going to find the world’s largest cedar tree if she won’t go into the forest?”
“I appreciate the dilemma,” Ben said gently, “but at the moment, you have worse problems to worry about.”
“Yeah, but-”
“And that’s what I want you focused on. This trial. One hundred percent.”
Zak folded his arms and gave Ben a grudging nod.
The bailiff made the usual announcement, and in walked the Honorable Judge Tyrone J. Pickens. The Time Machine was on time this morning, and Ben for one was relieved.
Pickens ran briskly through all the introductory instructions to the jury, admonishing them not to discuss the case till the presentation of evidence was completed, reminding them that their decision should be based upon the testimony and the evidence-and that what lawyers said was not testimony or evidence. On that happy note, he called for opening statements.
Granny took center stage with a solemn expression on her face. She signaled from the outset that there would be no fun and games during this opening. She wanted to impress them with the gravity of the crime-and the necessity of punishment.
“Dwayne Gardiner was only thirty-two years old,” she said, adopting the narrative tone of an evening newscaster. “He had a wife and a small boy.” She paused, allowing the import of her words to sink in. “Dwayne had worked for WLE Logging all his adult life, since he was eighteen. He was a hard worker and a good one, often putting in as many as sixty hours a week. He was up for promotion, and had he lived another six months”-another ponderous pause-”he would probably have been given a position that would almost double his salary. He and his young wife would have been able to buy that three-room house on Lincoln they had their eye on. But now that will never happen.”