Christina nodded. “She made a phone call.”
“Right.” He checked both ways down the corridors. They were empty. He grabbed the doorknob to Cynthia’s office and ducked inside. “Come on.”
Christina followed, closing the door behind him. “Do you know what will happen if we get caught?”
“So don’t get caught.” Ben scanned the desktop. “We’ll only be in here for a minute. I just wanted to see if we could figure out who she called.”
“Well, Sherlock, if I were you—”
“Don’t try to talk me out of it. We won’t be in here long.”
“Fine, but—”
“Shh. I’m thinking.”
Christina folded her arms and arched an eyebrow.
“I know.” Ben picked up a pad of paper on the desktop. “Maybe she scribbled down the number.”
“But why would she—”
“Shh.” Ben picked up a pencil and lightly drew across the sheet. “Maybe we can pick up an imprint.”
“Ben, this is pathetic.”
“Don’t be so negative.” He continued scribbling. Nothing appeared. “Rats. Didn’t work.”
“Ben, if you want to know—”
“Would you stop already? I’m detecting.”
Christina tapped her foot.
“I’ve got it.” Ben grabbed an open phone book on the corner of the desk. “Maybe she looked the number up. Maybe she left an imprint or smudge next to the number.”
“Ben, you’ve been watching too many late movies.”
“Always the skeptic.” He held the book up to his nose and scanned the pages. “Blast. I don’t see anything.”
“Ben, if you want to know—”
“Shh. I’m working.”
She threw up her hands in disgust. “I can’t stand this any longer.” She walked up to the phone console and pressed the Redial button. Half a second later, a seven-digit number appeared on the LED readout. The phone began dialing. “There’s your number, Sherlock. Hope I didn’t waste too much of your valuable detecting time.”
Ben stared at the readout. “I was going to try that next.”
“No doubt. Shall we see who it is?” She pushed the Hands-free button for the speakerphone. A few seconds later they both heard the line answered.
“Good afternoon. You’ve reached City Hall. The city council is now in session. How may I direct your call?”
Chapter 21
THE PRELIMINARY HEARING TOOK less than a day, and probably wouldn’t have lasted that long if the press hadn’t been there in force. Ben had known all along there was no question about whether Barrett would be bound over for trial; there was more than enough evidence to take him to trial, and even if there hadn’t been, a judge would have had to be suicidal to set him free in the midst of the constant barrage of media attention and scrutiny, almost all of which had at least implicitly assumed Barrett was guilty. Judge Hawkins bound Barrett over for trial and set a court date barely three weeks away.
“So this is it,” Barrett murmured to Ben under his breath. “Now it really begins.”
Ben nodded somberly. Barrett had not seemed his usual self today. Even when the TV cameras began rolling, he remained reserved, even cool.
Ben wondered what had happened. Was the inherent stress of being charged with murder getting to him? Had he moved beyond the denial stage and realized that his life was actually in danger? Or was there something more?
“What now?” Barrett asked.
“Now we get ready for trial. No holds barred.”
“The judge thinks I did it.”
“No, the judge simply ruled that there was sufficient evidence to make you stand trial. And frankly, there is. Don’t let that worry you. The standard for conviction is much higher. You can’t be convicted unless the jury finds you guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.”
“I can’t believe all these people think I could do such a horrible thing.” His eyes seemed tired, almost beaten. “That I could hold my own precious little girls’ lives in my hands and take them away. It’s just… inconceivable.”
Ben wished there was some way he could alleviate Barrett’s distress, but he knew there was none. He’d seen this before. Being a criminal defendant was like going through the stages of grieving. First there was denial, which Ben had seen plainly enough when he’d visited Barrett in his cell. But he was past that now; Barrett was beginning to realize that he was actually going to be on trial—for his life. He was coming to grips with the fact that his entire family was gone, and that most people thought he was to blame. If they didn’t correct that misapprehension, Barrett would end up sentenced to death.
“Is there anything else the court should take up before we adjourn?” Judge Hawkins asked.
“Your honor.” Bullock rose to his feet. “The state would move that the parties be permitted to submit juror questionnaires prior to voir dire to obtain more detailed information about the prospective veniremen.”
“I oppose that motion,” Ben said.
Hawkins turned his way. “Why?”
“That’s my question,” Ben answered. “Why? What does a questionnaire get us that voir dire can’t? I don’t think we have to blindly adopt every new judicial flavor of the month. Just because questionnaires are all the rage in California is no reason for us to follow suit.”
“I think there is a reason,” Bullock interjected. “Time. I don’t want to waste it. Time-wasting may be part of the defense strategy, but it’s not mine.”
“This won’t save time,” Ben argued. “It just adds one more very long step to the selection process.”
“It will save time,” Bullock insisted. “If we cover a lot of questions in advance on paper, we won’t have to waste time on voir dire covering the same territory.”
“It hasn’t saved time in California,” Ben said. “To the contrary, trials in California run twelve times as long as they do in Oklahoma.”
“Your honor.” Bullock stepped closer to the bench and used his quieter, lower “sincere” voice. “We all know perfectly well how hotly contested jury selection will be in this case. We know that neither party will leave any stone unturned”—he glanced over at Ben—“especially the defense. Given that we’re going to cover a huge amount of material, why not get through some of it in advance on paper?”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Judge Hawkins said. “I think it will save time and eliminate repetition, especially in a case of this nature. Of course, the final decision will be up to the trial judge, but I see no reason why you can’t begin drafting your questionnaires.” He peered down through his glasses. “I might also remind all the attorneys in the room that this is not California, and it would be best not to forget it. None of the judges in this district have forgotten why trials have judges. We will take control of the courtroom. If you think we’re going to protract this trial with an endless parade of witnesses or interminable examinations, guess again. It won’t be permitted.” He pushed back his glasses and looked toward Bullock. “That being said, your motion is granted.”
“Thank you, your honor,” Bullock said, bowing his head slightly. He turned to the cameras in the gallery and smiled, doing his best to provide a lovely Kodak moment.
“All right, then,” Hawkins said, rapping his papers on the bench. “Anything else?”
“Yes, your honor.” Ben stepped forward. “The defense has two motions in limine pending.”
“Those are motions to suppress,” Bullock said, making sure the press understood what Ben was doing without having to translate the Latin. “More evidence that proves Mr. Kincaid’s client is guilty. So of course he doesn’t want the jury to see it.”