Ben laid a hand on her shoulder. “If he doesn’t turn up soon, I’ll ask Mike to put out an APB. He’ll turn up.” He turned his attention to Wallace Barrett. He looked well—exceptionally well, given the circumstances. Shaved and groomed, he was wearing a tailored suit rather than the usual prison garb. He even looked as if he’d been working out. “Is there some occasion I don’t know about?” Ben asked. “I assume you didn’t get all spiffed up for me.”
“That’s true.” Barrett didn’t quite make eye contact. He glanced at Christina, then down at the floor.
“What is it?” Ben asked. “What’s going on?”
Barrett adjusted his tie, then rose to his full height. “Ben, I’m giving some interviews today.”
“What?”
“Look, I know you don’t like this, but I don’t think I have any choice.”
“Choice? Of course you have a choice. You can just say no.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing. Taking your advice. And look what’s happened!” The sudden boom in the bass register of his voice told Ben this was something Barrett felt strongly about. “Everyone in the goddamn world is convinced I slaughtered my own family!”
“That will change at trial.”
“You’re delusional! Everyone’s mind will be made up before we get to trial, if they aren’t already. How long do you think people can resist this constant media bombardment, day after day, always insinuating that I’m guilty? Oh, sure, they never use those words, but that’s what they’re saying. You can see it in the slant, what they choose to report and what they choose to leave out. They don’t want the truth. They want a hero turned murderer. That’s where the big ratings are.”
“But still—”
“How do you think I feel, sitting in the jailhouse every day, listening to the lies they spew out about me? How would you like it if they said those things about you?”
Ben shook his head. “Cases should be tried in the courtroom, not in the media.”
Barrett’s large hands balled up. “That’s pretty damn easy for you to say, Mr. High-and-Mighty. It ain’t your neck on the chopping block. People aren’t saying you killed your wife, your precious children.”
Ben turned away. He didn’t know what more he could say. “Christina, come talk to him.”
Christina didn’t budge. “Sorry, Ben. I think he’s right.”
“What?”
“In a perfect world, I’m sure what you say would be true. But we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in a world where gossip passes for news, and sensationalism passes for journalism. If we don’t play along, we’re going to lose out.”
Ben turned back to Barrett. “Look, I’m your lawyer, not your mother. I can’t tell you what to do. But I think this is a mistake. If you do it anyway, remember—anything you say can and probably will be used against you by the prosecution.”
“I understand,” Barrett replied. “I know how to handle myself. It’s not like I’ve never given an interview before.”
“Fine.” Ben popped open his briefcase. “Any other little surprises you’d like to spring on me?”
“Actually, yes.” The same nervousness Ben had spotted before seemed to return. “I was talking to your legal assistant here.”
“Yes?”
He took a deep breath. “I think we should hire a jury consultant.”
“Oh, jeez.”
Barrett held up his hands. “I know, Christina told me you thought they were a waste of money.”
“Worse than that. They can be a real pain in the butt.”
“But I think we’re going to need some help on this one.”
“You mean you think I’m going to need some help with this one.”
“We all need help, Ben. Now more than ever.”
“Christina is an excellent judge of people,” Ben noted. “She’s better than any professional know-it-all I’ve seen in my entire career.”
“Probably so, but she’s got work of her own right now. I want someone who can go out and take the pulse of the people, maybe run some polls, find out what they think. Then we can tailor our defense accordingly.”
“Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I always try to tailor my defense around the truth.”
“C’mon, Ben, get with it. Of course we’re going to tell the truth, but the consultant will tell us how to tell it. What notes to play, what buttons to push. How to win the people over.”
“Wallace, I think you’re confused. This is a trial, not a campaign.”
“Is there a difference? We’re trying to win the votes of twelve people.”
“Christina?”
She shrugged. “Sorry, Ben, I—”
“Right. You agree with him.” He turned back to Barrett. “Fine. It’s your money. You want to throw it away, that’s your business. But I don’t want him butting in and trying to tell me what to do at trial. Once voir dire is over, he’s gone.”
“Understood.”
Barrett sat down on the lower bunk in his cell. “One last thing, Ben.”
“There’s more?”
“Yeah. Something I didn’t tell you.”
Ben didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Tell me now.”
“There was a time in my life when … well, when I was pretty damn depressed. It was after my football career, before I got my business going. I didn’t know what to do with myself. No one seemed interested in me anymore. I’d gone from constantly being in the limelight to being nobody. I couldn’t handle it.”
Ben nodded sympathetically. “Yes?”
“Not too many people know this, Ben, but I had a nervous breakdown. Had to get some psychiatric counseling. In fact, I spent two weeks in a hospital. In—you know. One of those hospitals.”
Ben tried not to evidence his reaction, but the possible impact of this little development on the trial was obvious.
“Yeah, I know,” Barrett continued. “If the prosecution finds out, they’ll say crazy once, crazy always. They’ll use my psychiatric history to try to make me look unbalanced, like some psycho.”
Ben nodded grimly. He pulled some papers out of his briefcase. “See this? It’s a subpoena. They want your medical records.”
“Then they already know.”
“I don’t think so. The subpoena’s too vague. This is just standard procedure. They’re on a fishing expedition.” Ben put the subpoena back in his briefcase and snapped it shut. “We have to see that they don’t catch anything.”
“Can you do that?”
“I’ll do my best. The hearing’s just before the trial.”
A new voice interrupted. “Excuse me.”
It was one of the sheriffs, standing outside the cell door. “Didn’t mean to cut in, but there’s a message for you, Mr. Kincaid. Looks urgent.”
Ben took the message from the man, scanned it quickly. “Oh my God.”
Christina’s eyes widened. “What is it?”
Ben grabbed his briefcase. “We’ll check back with you later, Wallace. We’ve got to get back to the office.” He nodded toward Christina. “Come on.”
Loving was in the lobby, sprawled out in a desk chair. Jones was pressing a large ice pack against the back of his head. “What happened? Are you all right?” Ben asked as he and Christina huddled round.
“Sorry, Skipper,” Loving said. Each word seemed to cause considerable pain. “I screwed up.”
“Never mind about that. Are you hurt?”
“Aww … nothin’ serious. Someone bashed me in the head with a baseball bat.”
“Oh, is that all? Loving, have you seen a doctor?”
“I don’t need no doctor. I’ve been hurt a lot worse than this before. I’m just sorry I let the creep get the drop on me.” He bit down on his lower lip. “They were there at the park. Just like you said they’d be.”