“So true. And so originally put, too.” She gave him a gentle jab on the shoulder. “Way to go, slugger. You hit a home run.”
Ben shivered. “I always love your sports analogies.”
She fluffed her long strawberry-blonde hair back over her shoulder. “So who does the prosecution have left?”
“Only the complainant. Erin Faulkner.”
“Tough witness to cross. But she didn’t really see much, did she? How much damage can she do?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said, and reluctantly he let his eyes return to the fifteen-year-old girl who would now walk with a cane for the rest of her life. “I just don’t know.”
“We’re winning, right?” Ray said as he reclaimed his chair at the defense table beside Ben. He kissed Carrie again, squeezed her hand, then let her return to her own seat in the gallery.
Ben wouldn’t play. “I never make predictions.”
“I respect that.” He paused. “But we are winning, aren’t we?”
“Ray-”
“Carrie thinks we’re winning. I realize she’s not impartial. But she thinks you tore the prosecutor’s heart right out of his chest.”
Ben tried to resist the mental image. “The last witness went… very well for us. I agree. But anything can happen. Juries are unpredictable.”
Ray faced the front of the courtroom. “You’re right. Of course you are. That’s fine.” He glanced almost impishly at Ben out of the corners of his eyes. “But we are winning. Aren’t we?”
Ben gave him a small smile. “I hope so.”
Packed as it was, the entire courtroom fell silent as Erin Faulkner hobbled to the witness stand. Ben knew her left leg had been so severely damaged in the assault that for months she had not been able to walk at all, and even now could only do so with supreme effort. Her struggle to cross the courtroom underscored the inherent drama that her presence, and her testimony, would lend the proceedings.
Slowly, painfully, she led the jury through her first-person account of the night of horror. She told them how she and her mother and siblings had returned home to find a brute in a ski mask torturing her father. How he had held them all at gunpoint, had beaten and abused and cut them, one after the other. How she had watched helplessly as her family was brutalized. And finally, how he had broken her leg and knocked her out.
The account of her time locked in the basement was perhaps even more riveting. The story of a fifteen-year-old girl, naked, disoriented, suffering from a broken leg, nonetheless mustering the presence of mind and the courage to break her own thumb in order to escape was a resounding testament to the indomitability of the human spirit. Ben knew she was making a profound impression on the jury.
At last she reached the end of the tale, how she fought her way out of the cellar and up the stairs only to be greeted by a bloody tableau worse than anything Edgar Allan Poe ever dreamed about: her entire family dead, butchered-with their eyes cut out of their skulls.
“After the police arrived,” she said, in a quiet but steady voice, “they called the ambulance. I passed out soon after that and didn’t wake up until three days later in the hospital.”
“I see.” With a solemn expression, DA Bullock closed his trial notebook. “Miss Faulkner, I know this will be painful for you, but I am required by the court to ask. Do you have any knowledge regarding the identity of the man who invaded your home? Who killed your parents and your six siblings?”
“I do. I know who it was.”
Bullock paused. Ben felt his pulse quicken. “And what is the basis for your identification?”
“I was there. I saw him.”
“Wasn’t he wearing a mask?”
“He was. But I could still see his eyes, his lips. I have a very good memory.”
“And is that the basis for your identification of the killer?”
“Not entirely, no. The main basis I have is… his voice.”
Ben sat up straight. He hadn’t heard anything about this before.
“You heard his voice?” Bullock asked.
“Of course. Repeatedly. At length. It’s a very distinctive voice.”
“And you remember it?”
“How could I forget?” Erin leaned forward, gripping the rail. “This is the man who slapped me across the face and said-I apologize for the language, but this is what he said-‘I’ll get to you later, you little cunt.’ This is the man who hit me, groped me, all the while calling me names and making disgusting remarks. ‘I’ve got something that’ll cool you off but good, you li’l bitch.’ That’s what he said. ‘I’ll hurt you till you scream for me to stop. But I won’t stop.’ That’s what he said when he pressed his knife against my throat. When he broke my kneecap.” She lowered her head. “You don’t forget something like that.”
Ben swore silently. He’d been planning to cross on her identification of a man who was wearing a ski mask the whole time she saw him. But this voice angle complicated matters-because it made her ID seem so much more credible.
“When did you have an opportunity to make a formal identification?” Bullock asked her.
“About a week after the incident. The police prepared a lineup. There were six different men. They had them all step forward and say the same thing-about how he was going to cool me off.”
“And were you able to make an identification?”
“I was. Almost immediately.” She folded her hands and sat up straight. For a young woman who had been through as much as she had, she was remarkably composed. “I thought it was him as soon as I saw him. But after I heard the voice, I was absolutely certain.” She raised her hand and pointed. “The man who killed my family is sitting right over there, at the defense table. Raymond Goldman.”
The stir in the courtroom was audible. Judge Kearns rapped his gavel several times to quiet the gallery.
“Are you certain about this?”
“Absolutely. Without a doubt.” She turned and looked directly at the jury. “Please listen to me. I know what I saw. And heard. I remember what happened. Much as I’d like to forget it, I will never be able to.” She paused. “Raymond Goldman was the killer. There’s no doubt in my mind whatsoever.”
Ben rose slowly. “Your honor… I think she’s answered the question.”
Erin continued unabated. “I’ve lost my home, my family,” she said, and all at once her voice began to crack. Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I’ve lost everything I ever had. All I have left is my faith. My faith that you will do the right thing. That you will not let my family die unavenged.”
“I object,” Ben said, loud and forcefully. “This is grossly improper.”
“Sustained,” Kearns ruled. He pounded his gavel. “The witness will be silent and wait for a question.”
Erin ignored him. She rose to her feet, wiping the tears from her face. “Please. Please!” She reached out toward the jury, pleading with them, begging them.