“Like I mentioned before,” he said quietly, “a picture is worth a thousand words. Here’s one more picture I wanted to show you.” He held it up so the jury could see. “This is the smashed framed photograph of Caroline Barrett found at the scene of the crime. It must’ve been smashed by the murderer. Certainly, neither Wallace Barrett nor any other defense witness has ever suggested otherwise.”
He paused, took a deep breath. “Ask yourselves this question, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Would a hit man have any reason to smash Caroline’s picture? Would Councilman Whitman have any reason to smash her picture? Would anyone—other than him?” Bullock whirled around and pointed directly at Wallace Barrett. “Only one man would have smashed her picture. The man who hated her, the man who was so overcome by jealousy and rage that he lashed out and destroyed everything in sight. Forget these fairy tales and contrived fantasies. We all know who killed the Barrett family. We all know! He’s sitting right over there!”
Bullock turned back around and closed his eyes. “Ladies and gentlemen, do the right thing. Find this man guilty. Not because you have to. Certainly not because you want to. Because he is.”
When Bullock took his seat, the courtroom was still, but for the barely audible whirring of cameras and the soft intake of breath. The trial, everyone realized, was finally over. All except for the final act.
After closings, all that was left was the part of the trial that Ben hated most. Waiting. Judge Hart calmly and deliberately read the instructions to the jury. It was one of those irrational, unfathomable eccentricities of the jury system that the instructions—which basically told the jury what was important and what they should be listening for—were read only after all the evidence was completed. The sun was just beginning to set when the bailiff escorted the jury into the deliberation room.
Ben sat in the courtroom with Wallace Barrett while Christina and Jones made a run to Coney Island for dinner. It was a tradition of sorts for the lawyers to go into the judge’s chambers while the jury deliberated and to swap war stories, but Ben wasn’t in the mood. And he thought Wallace might prefer to have some company.
“So,” Barrett said, with a painfully unconvincing smile on his face, “what do you think?”
Ben shook his head. “I never try to predict what a jury will do.” Especially not this time.
Barrett nodded. “Sure. I understand.” He pressed his hands together. “Well, however it turns out, I want you to know—you did a good job. No matter what happens, I’ve got no complaints. I’ll pay your fee in full, as promised.”
Ben smiled. “Well, that will make my creditors happy, anyway. Not to mention my staff. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even be able to get a new Honda.”
Barrett grimaced. “Honda? Ben, think big. You’re a celebrity now, man. How about a BMW? Better yet, a Jag.”
“I don’t think so. I’m not the type.”
“So you say. Try driving my XJS convertible for a week. You’ll never go back to Hondas, believe me.”
Ben leaned back in his chair. “Well, we’ll see.”
There was a long pause. Barrett stared at his hands for a long time.
“Ben,” he said quietly, “do you think they believed me?”
Ben closed his eyes. “I hope so, Wallace. I really hope so.”
It was barely two hours later when they got the word that the jury was returning.
“Wow,” Barrett said. “I thought we’d be here all night. At least.”
“So did I,” Ben echoed.
“How did they make up their minds so quickly? What does it mean?”
Ben didn’t answer. The O. J. Simpson case aside, traditional trial lawyer wisdom was that a speedy return meant a guilty verdict. He opted not to share that nugget of wisdom with Barrett.
The jurors took their places. The television cameras came on and white-hot lights burned across the courtroom. The tension and suspense in the room were almost unbearable.
Just get it over with, Ben thought. Just get it done.
The piece of paper went from the foreman of the jury to the bailiff to the judge. Unfortunately, Judge Hart did not use color-coded jury forms; Ben had no way of knowing what it said till it was read aloud. He tried to scan the jurors’ faces, hoping to pick up a clue. But every face was set and solemn. No one was telling. And, he noticed, no one was making eye contact with Wallace Barrett, either.
Judge Hart’s eyes scanned the verdict form. The judge then returned it to the bailiff, who passed it back to the foreman.
“Madame Foreperson, have you reached a verdict?”
Juror Number Six rose. “Yes, your honor. We have.”
Judge Hart nodded. “The defendant will rise and face the jury.”
Wallace Barrett did as instructed, Ben at his side.
“Well,” the judge said, turning back toward the jury, “the whole world is waiting. Give us your verdict.”
Chapter 66
THE FOREWOMAN CLEARED HER throat, and her hands began to tremble, as if, given the judge’s instruction to proceed, she suddenly became aware of the enormous number of people listening to her words, breathlessly awaiting what she had to say.
“We the jury, duly formed and constituted pursuant to the laws of the great state of Oklahoma, having heard the evidence set forth against the defendant, who has been charged with murder in the first degree of Caroline Barrett, Alysha Barrett, and Annabelle Barrett, three human beings and citizens of this state, do hereby find and declare the defendant to be—”
She paused, catching her breath, while everyone in the courtroom held theirs in suspense.
“Not guilty!”
Ben gripped Barrett by the shoulders. Barrett slapped Ben’s hands, his eyes closed, and his face relaxed for the first time since the trial had begun. “Thank you,” he said, just under his breath. “Thank you for believing me. Thank you so much.”
The courtroom went totally out of control. Pandemonium ensued— a flurry of shouts, cries, and rushing feet. The gallery was blanketed by a blinding glare of flashbulbs and key lights.
Judge Hart pounded the gavel, trying to reestablish control. “Is that your verdict?” she shouted.
The jurors nodded.
“So say you one, so say you all?”
Again, there was no dissent.
“Marvelous.” She thanked them, then dismissed them, warning them that they were not required to speak to the press, the lawyers, or the parties unless they chose to do so. Finally she looked down at Barrett, smiled, and said the magic words. “Mr. Barrett, you have been found not guilty of the charges against you. You are free to go.”
There were cheers from the back of the courtroom. Judge Hart dropped her gavel and stepped down from the bench.
Barrett embraced Ben, his face overcome with relief and joy. “Did you hear that? Did you hear it?”
Ben smiled and clasped his shoulder. “I heard it. Congratulations!”
“Congratulate me? Hell, you did all the work. I oughta carry you outta here on my shoulders!”
“A handshake will be fine, thanks.”
Ben held out his hand, but Barrett gave it a yank, pulled Ben close, and gave him a huge bear hug. “I can’t thank you enough, Ben. I really can’t. You’ve saved my life. I owe everything to you.”
“Nonsense. You were innocent, so you weren’t convicted. It’s that simple. Despite what some people think, the justice system does work. At least most of the time.”
Barrett pulled away, wiped his eyes, and straightened his tie. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll have a few words with the press.”