Who, indeed? The question hung heavily in the courtroom. Who could have dreamed?
“Did you have any further contact with the Barrett family?”
“Yeah. About half an hour later, after I finished watching Little House. That fight I’d heard next door was still weighing heavily on my mind. I thought by then, though, they might’ve cooled down a bit and I could go over and make sure things were okay, you know?”
“So what did you do?”
“I stepped outside my front door and started toward their house.”
“And what happened?”
“Well, the strangest thing. Before I got five footsteps out the door, I saw Wallace Barrett tearing out of his house. Fast. I mean, those quarterback thighs were pumping like pistons. In nothing flat he crossed his front lawn and jumped into that red sports car of his that was parked on the street.”
“Did you speak to him?”
“I shouted at him. ‘Wally! Hey, Wally!’ But he didn’t hear me. Man, he didn’t hear nothin’. He was the wind. He was out of there.”
“And what did you do next?”
“That was pretty much it. Since he was gone, I figured there was no reason to go over. Still, something about the whole situation bothered me. I argued with myself for a while, then ultimately called the police. Reported a domestic disturbance. Let them go in and make sure everything’s hunky-dory, you know. And then I turned the tube back on and vegged out for a bit. Imagine my surprise when, maybe a couple hours later, the news guys broke in with some special report, and it was Wally! In that same red sports car, doin’ the blitz down the Indian Nation Turnpike.”
Bullock took a videotape from his legal assistant. “Your honor, I have a videotape recording of a special report that aired on most stations the night of March 11. With your permission, I’d like to play it and to ask the witness to identify it.”
So this was how Bullock planned to get it in, Ben realized. Well, he had to try to stop it. “Objection. The witness was not responsible for the creation of this exhibit. He can’t authenticate it.”
“Your honor,” Bullock replied, “all I’m asking the witness to do is tell us whether this is what he saw on television the day of the murder and to tell us whether the man and car in the tape are the man and car he saw at the crime scene.”
How convenient. Under the simple rubric of identification, he would give the jury a chance to watch a tape that was not at all probative but massively prejudicial. “Your honor,” Ben said, “I don’t believe this tape has any value—”
Judge Hart waived his objections aside. “You’ve already raised these issues in your pretrial motions in limine, counsel. I overruled them then and I will do so again. Please do not continue asking the court to revisit matters that have already been resolved.”
And so the tape got to the jury. Bullock already had the equipment set up from the last videotape. All he had to do was slide it in and watch the jurors go into their video-drone modes. Bullock showed almost twenty minutes of frenzied flight, from the moment the minicams in the helicopters first picked up Barrett’s car to the moment he crashed into the tollbooth. They saw the copters swirl over the speeding sports car; they saw the police broadcast commands that were ignored. They saw Barrett’s car swerve erratically all over the road, like a man who was drunk, or crazed, or desperate to get south of the border. Ben knew the questions that had to be racing through the jurors’ brains. Why would Barrett desert his family in this moment of crisis? Why was he heading south in such a hurry? Why would an innocent man flee?
After the tape was completed, Bullock shut off the VCR and took his place behind the podium. “Mr. Sanders, was the man you saw in that videotape the same man you saw bolt out the front door of the Barrett home a few hours before?”
“Yes, sir. It was.”
“Any doubt in your mind about that?”
“No. None whatsoever.”
“Was he wearing the same clothes?”
“Yes. And driving the same car. It was him.” Sanders shifted his gaze, turning to look for the first time directly at his friend and neighbor. “Sorry, Wally, but I gotta tell the truth. It was you.”
Bullock closed his notebook. “Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I have no more questions for you at this time.”
Chapter 44
AFTER A BRIEF BREAK, Ben began his cross-examination. He knew he had to be careful with this witness. Sanders was articulate, smart, and appealing. The jury was responding positively to him. Ben had to find a way to poke holes in his testimony without suggesting that he was a bad person.
“Mr. Sanders,” Ben began, “you seem to have been very fond of the Barrett family. True?”
“Oh yes. I liked them all. Even Wally—sometimes. I didn’t particularly want to testify here but—you know—a man has a duty.”
“I’m sure. But you seem to have been particularly fond of Wally’s wife, Caroline.”
A frown line appeared above Sanders’ eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I mean you seem to have been very fond of my client’s wife, Caroline Barrett. Is that true?”
“What are you trying to suggest?”
“I’m not trying to suggest anything, Mr. Sanders. Why are you being so defensive?”
“Well, I just don’t like you casting aspersions—”
“And I assure you I’m not casting aspersions, sir, but I must insist that you answer my question. Were you very fond of Caroline Barrett?”
“I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”
“So are you saying you didn’t like her?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then you did like her?”
Sanders pursed his lips. “Yes, I liked her.”
“Very much?”
Sanders spoke slowly through tight lips. “Yes, very much.”
“You know what, Mr. Sanders?” Ben kept his voice even and calm. “I think maybe you loved Caroline Barrett.”
“This is outrageous. I would never do anything improper.”
“I’m not suggesting that you did. It’s not a crime to love someone, is it?”
“Of course not.”
“But you did love Caroline Barrett. Didn’t you?”
Sanders glanced down at his hands. “Suppose I did. So?”
“You thought Wallace Barrett was … mistreating her, didn’t you? That she deserved better.”
“That’s certainly true.”
“And that leads me to think that, well, if you loved her, and thought he wasn’t very nice to her—you probably wouldn’t like him very much.”
“I had no axe to grind against Wally.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“So it didn’t bother you when he called the woman you loved those awful names?”
“Well…” Sanders began fidgeting with his hands.
“Mr. Sanders, why don’t you just tell the jury the truth? You hated Wallace Barrett, didn’t you?”
His chin lowered, and his voice became quiet. “Yes, I suppose I did.”
“It wouldn’t break your heart at all to see him locked away in jail, would it?”
“No. But if you’re suggesting—”
“Thank you, Mr. Sanders. I think you’ve answered my question.” Ben moved quickly to his next subject, not wanting to give Sanders a chance to rationalize his answer. “Now, you testified that during the fight that preceeded the deaths, you heard Wallace Barrett’s voice but did not hear his wife. Is that right?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, now, it takes two to fight, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re both aggressors. One can be the attacker and one can be the victim.”
“Mr. Sanders, is it possible you just didn’t hear what the woman you loved—Caroline Barrett—had to say?”
“I heard a lot.”