Ben let that pass. “Why didn’t you show anyone these pictures before last night?”
Wesley shrugged. “After Joe’s death, the IA investigation was naturally terminated. I put the pics in storage. I didn’t see any use for them at that point, and I didn’t want them to cause any unnecessary grief to Joe’s widow.”
“What changed your mind?”
Wesley nodded toward the prosecution table. “D.A. LaBelle. I told him about the photos last night while we were preparing for trial. He insisted that I collect them and bring them to court.”
I’ll bet he did, Ben thought. “Did it not bother you that you were spying on your alleged friend and colleague? That you were betraying his trust?”
“Who was betraying anyone? I didn’t think for a minute that Joe did anything wrong and I expected my investigation to prove it.”
“I doubt if Joe would’ve been so sanguine about it if he’d known you were photographing him having sex.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Remember, he’d told me all about it in great detail. He didn’t have to, but he did. He was having sex—great sex—with a very young woman, doing new things, getting it regular. You know how it is. Guys like to brag about that sort of thing.” He glanced down at the packet of pictures. “I don’t think Joe would’ve minded so much. In fact, I think he might’ve put them up in his locker.”
There was no graceful segue out of this cross-ex, so Ben just ended it. Judge Cable recessed for the day, and the reporters raced out the back, happily toting several salacious tidbits for the evening news.
“You’ve got a lawsuit against that creep,” Ben told Keri, “and against the Tulsa P.D. for authorizing him. Invasion of privacy. It’s a slam-dunk, and I’ll be happy to file it for you.”
She nodded. “But that’s not going to do me much good, is it? Not if I’m in prison.”
Or worse, Ben thought but did not say. “Let’s meet back at the office in one hour,” Ben told Christina. “Strategy meeting.”
He began gathering his materials, thinking about what they might do next. Honestly, what could they do? Ben wondered, as he watched the jurors file out of the courtroom. Even those who suspected she was guilty could not possibly have loathed her with the intensity that they did now. They would never forget those photographs. They would never like her. No matter what Ben did or said, they would always see the cheap amoral slut who pleasured herself in bizarre ways. Who got her jollies pretending to inflict pain. Who had a taste for violence.
Or, in other words, exactly the sort of person who would commit murder.
33
“BEN, I’M WORRIED.”
Ben glanced up from his desk. Christina was standing in the doorway, her shoulders drooping, her head hung low. She was her usual cute strawberry blond self, one of the few women he had ever known who actually looked good in a business suit. But the inevitable toil of trial was beginning to wear on her. She looked stressed, tired.
What time was it, anyway? A quick glance at the digital readout on his phone gave him the bad news. It was well past his bedtime—and hers, too.
“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said reassuringly. “Go home and get some rest.”
“I’m concerned about the coroner,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “He’s going to be an important witness for the prosecution. Maybe the most important one.”
Ben shook his head. As long as Andrea McNaughton remained on the witness list, there was no way the coroner could be the “most important.” Still, he would be critical to the prosecution’s effort to tie the murder to Keri. “So what’s your worry?”
“I don’t think I should do this witness. He’s too important. You take him.”
Ben pushed away from his desk. “Christina, you’ll be fine. I have every confidence in you.”
“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a nice guy. I’ve never done this before and we both know it.”
“You’ve watched me do it a hundred times. And you’ve watched some good attorneys, too. You’ll be fine.”
“What if I freeze up? What if I clutch? What if the coroner makes me look like a fool?”
“Bob? He won’t.”
“You don’t know that. This case is too important to be taking risks.”
“Putting you in charge of a witness isn’t a risk. It’s a sure bet.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. “There’s no one I’d rather be trying this case with. Seriously.”
She smiled a little, but did not appear much comforted.
All right. Then he’d try the bad-cop routine. “Look, Christina, are you going to be my partner or not? Because if you are, you’re going to have to earn your keep.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I’ve got no use for a partner who chokes every time a trial gets hairy. Because as you well know, every trial gets hairy, at one point or another. That’s why people hire lawyers.”
“But—”
“No buts. You’ll be great. Assuming you don’t develop an ulcer between now and tomorrow morning. So go home and get some rest, okay?”
She shook her head. “I think I’ll review my cross-ex outline again.”
“Read my lips, Christina. Go home.”
“I just want to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”
He twirled her around and gave her a gentle push toward the door. “Leave. Depart. Vamoose. That’s an order.”
She smiled slightly, then nodded. “All right.” She looked up at him, then tentatively reached out, her fingers brushing the side of his face. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
She hesitated another moment, her eyes locked on his. Finally, she turned and headed for the outer door.
Then stopped. “Hey, who said you could give me orders, anyway? We’re partners, remember?”
“My apologies. It’s just an expression.”
“Well … okay. But don’t let it happen again.”
“Ben, I’m worried.”
Once again, Ben looked up from his desk. Was he experiencing déjà vu? Or was he caught in some pretrial time loop?
Neither, as it turned out. The words were the same, but the woman standing in his doorway this time was platinum blond rather than strawberry blond and she was his client, not his partner.
Keri looked as if she had been exercising. She was wearing a halter top with an exposed midriff, short shorts, and sneakers. He could see beads of perspiration in various places all over her body.
Sweat. Sexy sweat.
“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you,” she said. “I was just in the neighborhood.”
“The neighborhood of the seventh floor?”
“Seriously. I was out jogging, and Warren Place is a good location for it. Well lit.”
“Why on earth would you be jogging at this time of night?”
She shrugged, and Ben tried not to notice the effect that had on her sport bra. “I had to burn off some steam. Couldn’t sleep. And …”
“Yes?”
Keri twisted her fingers around themselves. “And to be honest … I wanted to see you.”
Ben crossed his office to her, although he was careful to keep a few feet between them. “What’s wrong, Keri?”
“I don’t know exactly. I guess it’s—all those things LaBelle said in court today. The way he tried to make me look like—well, you know. Some kind of tramp. Like I spend my whole life dreaming up new kinds of kinky sex.”
Kinky sex was not a phrase Ben ever needed to hear coming out of her mouth. Especially when they were in the office alone. “Don’t let it get to you. It’s a standard prosecution technique.”
“Yes, but it’s working. I saw the way the jurors looked at me when they filed out of the courtroom today. Not that they’ve ever looked at me with eyes of love. But today was … different. Worse. Before, it was like, ‘I wonder if you’re capable of murder.’ But today it was more like, ‘I wonder if there’s anything you’re not capable of.’ ”