Barrett’s hand went toward his face, covering his eyes. “Imagine if you will—imagine what I faced when I came home, an hour or so after I’d left. I hadn’t expected anything to happen. I just thought it was best to leave until Caroline’s rage blew over, to keep her from hurting me or me from hurting her. If I had stayed, I knew one or the other would happen. So I left for a lousy hour, just to let her cool off, and I come home—” The color drained out of his face; his eyes became glassy and wet. “And my children are dead!” His voice was broken, hurt. “My two precious babies, the most beautiful things in my world—dead. Murdered. By their own mother.”
He looked up suddenly. “And do you know what she said? Do you know what she said? She looked straight into my eyes and said, ‘No more babies for you, you son of a bitch. Explain that at a press conference.’ ”
He shook his head. Tears streamed from his eyes. “I lost control. Truly and utterly lost control. I don’t know what came over me. I was just enraged. I ran at her, grabbed the knife away, and just started pounding. Just started slicing away. Killing her. I couldn’t stop myself. I was so angry. So … angry.
“We fought, but she was outmatched. I’m sure that’s when she got my skin under her nail and made me bleed a little. She was no weakling. But I was stronger. And I wanted her to die. I really truly wanted her to die.”
He looked up suddenly. “And then it was over. Just as quickly as it had started, it was over. The rage passed. I regained control. But Caroline—” He shook his head. “Next thing I remember, she was sprawled backwards over that dining room chair. Not moving. I checked for a pulse, tried to do CPR— but it was no use. She was dead.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I just don’t know what happened to me. The rage—the uncontrollable rage. I never felt anything like that before. I don’t know how to explain it to you.”
“Don’t bother,” Ben said quietly. It wasn’t necessary. He knew all about it. It was a family trademark.
“I was so confused afterwards. I couldn’t get my head together—didn’t know what to do.”
“So you ran.”
“Well, I didn’t see that hanging around would do my family any good, and I knew perfectly well what the chances were of a public figure getting a fair trial. Next to zilch. So, yeah, I ran.”
“And when you didn’t make it, when they caught you, you called me. And fed me that crock of bull about the city council.”
Barrett stretched his neck, wiped away the tears. “Ben, you don’t know how sorry I am about what happened. I know what I did was wrong. I’ve felt horrible about it ever since it happened. But I was not prepared to spend the rest of my life in jail because of it.” He pressed his hand against his forehead. “I knew Whitman had some chump following me. Not to kill me. I think he was supposed to take pictures. That’s why he was following me around, stalking outside the house. He was hoping to catch me in a compromising position, capture it on film, and feed it to the press. Whitman found out I was having an affair with my secretary—who could blame me? Anyway, that’s what he meant when he told Buck to ‘get the nigger.’ He wanted color glossies he could spread across the front page. Some of my boys tipped me off to it, though, and when it became patently obvious that I needed a scapegoat, I let Whitman and his pet hood fill the role. Killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
“He could go to prison.”
“He won’t. They don’t have any evidence against him—because none exists. Besides, the DA obviously prefers to play the high and mighty part. Before they could institute further investigation, they would have to admit that they made a mistake the first time, which they appear to be unwilling to do. Whitman won’t do time. And if his reputation is ruined—fine. He deserves it.”
“But that meeting in the park. And your neighbor spotted Whitman in your neighborhood.”
“Did he? I wonder. Whitman did meet Buck in the park. I think he saw that he was about to be dragged into this thing and wanted all the incriminating evidence—especially those photographs—destroyed as soon as possible. As for Harvey Sanders spotting Whitman in the sedan, that moron—” He grinned suddenly. “You may have noticed that the first time Sanders testified, he didn’t know who it was he saw in the brown sedan. Despite his professed lack of knowledge about city government, he must’ve seen Whitman’s picture at some time in his life, or seen him in the courtroom. But he didn’t identify Whitman as the man in the car until his second time on the stand, and then only in the most protracted, melodramatic manner possible. You have to understand—Harvey is an actor. He saw his big break in this trial, and he wasn’t going to blow it. His first trip to the witness stand had gotten him some publicity. He must’ve thought, Imagine what might happen if I became a critical witness, if I altered the course of the whole trial.
“So that’s what he did. He embellished a bit, made himself important. Said exactly what you wanted him to say. And now the media drones are swarming around him, talking about how honest and charismatic he is.”
Ben stared at the man wordlessly.
“So that’s it then,” Barrett said, clasping his hands together. “Now you know everything I do. I hope you’re a lot happier for it.”
Slowly, clumsily, Ben pushed himself out of the chair. “You must realize I’m not going to keep your dirty little secret to myself.”
Barrett glanced up, a look of pure astonishment on his face. “Why, Ben, you have no choice.”
“I certainly do—”
“Have you forgotten a little thing called attorney-client privilege? Anything I tell you must be held in the strictest confidence.”
“The case is over.”
“Yes, but your representation of me is not, as you very well know. This conversation directly pertained to a legal matter which you handled on my behalf. It’s privileged.”
“I don’t care. I’m not going to be a part of this conspiracy of silence.”
“Fine. Suit yourself. Go to the press. What will that accomplish? Well, first, you’ll be disbarred, no question about that. You’ll have your livelihood taken away as punishment for—what? For telling the truth. How ironic. Meanwhile, what will happen to me? Well—nothing! Nothing at all! I’ve already been tried and acquitted on this charge, the maximum possible charge. Double jeopardy has attached! They can’t touch me. Hell, I could go tell my story to the press myself, and there would be absolutely nothing anyone could do to me.”
Barrett smiled briefly, then sighed. “But I won’t do that. I have my career to think of. And you won’t do it either. Pious as you are, I don’t think you’re stupid.”
Ben turned abruptly, feeling his way, tripping over an edge of carpet. “I can’t believe I was so blind. It was all right in front of me. People kept telling me. Bullock, Mike. And I wouldn’t listen. I looked into your eyes, decided that you couldn’t kill your children, and stupidly thought that that meant you were not guilty. I’m so used to seeing things in terms of us against them, of right against wrong, defense against prosecution, that I missed the real truth. I was like a kid on the playground—I was the skins and the prosecution was the shirts. And we all wanted to win. And now, because I screwed up”—his head snapped around, and his eyes burned toward Barrett’s—“a guilty man goes free.”
Barrett nodded, eyes wide. “Life sucks, doesn’t it?”