Ben nodded. He supposed Barrett had earned that right. For weeks now, he’d been living with biased reports that implied, if not declared, his guilt. How could he possibly resist the opportunity to ram all those words down their throats?
Ben heard a voice, barely discernible above the clamor. “So you got another one off.”
Ben closed his eyes. “Bullock, I’ve had about as much of you—”
He whirled around. It wasn’t Bullock. It was Judge Hart. And she was smiling. “Just teasing,” she said.
“Oh. Right.” Ben tried not to appear puzzled. The joking judge? “Is there … something I can do for you?”
“No.” She seemed hesitant, as if unsure herself what exactly she was going to say. “I just wanted to … congratulate you.”
Ben blinked. What? Since when? “Thank you, your honor.” Congratulations from the judge? What on earth was going on?
“There was something else …” She glanced over her shoulder, obviously making sure none of the media reps were listening in. “When we were in chambers this morning … you remember?”
Ben nodded. He did, although it was hard to believe that it was only this morning. It seemed like a million years ago.
“When that juror—Ms. Meanders—told us what she knew, gave us the names of her daughter and her boyfriend, Buck … I noticed how astonished and surprised you were.”
“Yes,” Ben agreed. “I was.” His forehead creased. “If my behavior was inappropriate, I apologize.”
“No, no, it was entirely natural, given the circumstances. What was unnatural was”—she glanced over her shoulder again—“your worthy opponent. Mr. Bullock. Did you notice him?”
Ben shook his head. “I guess I didn’t.”
She nodded. “As I said, you were astonished. But he was … not. Which seemed very odd to me. And the other odd thing was that, when your investigator tracked Buck down and brought me his full name so I could issue the subpoena, I was almost certain I had heard it before.”
“Really? Where?”
“That’s what I wondered. It took me a while, digging through the file, before I figured it out.” She paused, frowned. “It was on the prosecutor’s preliminary witness list. You’ve never seen it. It was something they filed with the court in camera to get warrants and subpoenae issued. I checked it myself. Sure enough, Bradley J. ‘Buck’ Conners’s name was on it.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “He knew.”
Judge Hart nodded. “He did. I don’t know how exactly, but somehow in the course of the investigation, after Bullock had already charged Barrett, he tumbled onto Buck. Brought him in. Interviewed him. And did nothing.”
“He knew Barrett was innocent?”
“I don’t know about that,” the judge said. “It’s possible he thought the Buck connection was unimportant, that he couldn’t get Buck to admit he’d been out to the mayor’s home, and that he still thought Barrett was guilty. Probable, in fact. But what’s unforgivable is that he withheld Buck’s name from you—the defense. Buck’s testimony clearly would tend to exculpate Barrett. He had a duty to inform you. But he didn’t.”
“He wanted to win that bad.”
Judge Hart agreed. “So you can understand why I’ve been somewhat … well, less than charitable to Mr. Prosecutor today. I considered calling a mistrial, but since the information had come out, and we were so close to a resolution, I decided against it. If the jury had voted to convict, I would’ve declared a mistrial sua sponte, but since the man has been acquitted, and since the eyes of the entire world are upon us …”
“I understand,” Ben said.
“Still, I wanted you to know. And I wanted to congratulate you. Sincerely. This business of treating trials like they’re intramural scrimmages—us against them, shirts against skins, anything to win—it’s just repugnant to me. Practicing law is not about winning. It’s about justice. Simple, naked justice. It’s about finding the truth. People like Bullock and his police cronies who disregard leads that don’t point the way they want them to seem to have forgotten that”—her eyes met Ben’s—“but you haven’t.” She extended her hand. “Thanks, Ben.”
“My pleasure, your honor.”
Judge Hart returned to chambers, and Ben was confronted by a barrage of reporters shouting questions. He tried to be cooperative, for his client’s sake, but his heart wasn’t in it. These people had made it virtually impossible for his client to get a fair and impartial trial. He wasn’t going to play nice-nice now.
Ben pushed his way through the reporters to the back of the courtroom. Christina was waiting for him; when he approached, she threw her arms around his neck. “Congratulations, champ. I knew you’d come through.”
Ben grinned. “Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without your help.” He noted the many boxes of files and documents beside her. “Let me help you with some of that.”
She held up her hands. “No way, hero. Jones and I can manage. You deserve a rest.”
“Well, if you insist.” He grabbed his coat. “I’ll meet everyone back at the hotel room in half an hour, okay? We should celebrate. Room service, maybe even. I’m buying.”
“You’re on.”
Ben pushed through the remainder of the courtroom into the hallway. He managed to clear a path to the elevators, waited the usual interminable length of time for one to come, then stepped inside.
Just as the elevator doors were about to close, a tall young man Ben didn’t recognize darted between the doors.
“Just made it,” the man said. The doors closed behind him. “Going down?”
“All the way.” The man punched one.
Conforming with usual elevator etiquette, they stood on opposite sides, folded their arms, and didn’t speak. Until, as they dropped below the fourth floor, the other man said, “Bet you’re glad that’s over.”
“Definitely.” Ben smiled politely. Who …? Must’ve been in the courtroom, although Ben didn’t recall seeing him. A journalist, perhaps? He hoped not.
“I have to say, I was surprised. I thought your client was guilty as sin.”
“A lot of people made that mistake.”
“In fact, I would’ve bet on it.”
“Well,” Ben said cheerily, “you would’ve lost your money. Barrett isn’t a killer. He isn’t the type.”
The elevator glided past the third, then the second floor. “Isn’t he?”
Ben turned his head slowly. “No, he isn’t. He doesn’t have the killer instinct.”
“Oh, I never thought he had that,” the other man said, just as the elevator touched down on the first floor. “I just thought he had a … sick heart.”
Chapter 67
BEN FELT THE HAIRS prick up on the back of his neck. “What did you say?” he whispered hoarsely.
“I think you heard me.”
The bell rang and the elevator doors began to part. Ben threw himself toward the doors, but he was too late. The other man knocked him to the side and hit the close button.
Ben scrambled up and found himself face-to-face with a pistol. “Don’t think I won’t shoot,” the man said. “I will. I want to. I’ve been dreaming about it for weeks.”
“What is it you want?” Ben asked, gasping.
“For the moment, I want you to walk out of this building, without attracting any attention, and to get in your car. Your rental car. I’ll be your passenger. Do it right, and I won’t shoot you or anyone else. Do something stupid and I’ll shoot you and everyone else in sight. And there are a lot of people in this courthouse right now.”
Ben eyed the young man carefully. He didn’t doubt for a moment that he was capable of carrying out his threat. “I’m parked downstairs. Near the city building.”
“I know.”