The jurors had all sworn not to expose themselves to media accounts of the trial or to discuss the case amongst themselves before the time for deliberation. They had given their word. You would think that would be enough. But instead, the jurors were restricted and monitored constantly. They were treated like children, children who had to be surrounded at all times by hall monitors to prevent them from talking. It was insulting and degrading. Clearly the judicial system did not trust them. A woman giving up her time, separated from her loved ones, ought to be entitled to better treatment.
And in the midst of all these miserable living conditions, all Deanna could think about was her Martha. She felt certain that Martha would not intentionally participate in any murders. But Martha had a huge blind spot where Buck was concerned; she had proven that many times over. She might have done something unwittingly, might’ve helped in the tiniest way. Tiny, but still enough to get her a felony conviction. And jail time. Enough to ruin her life.
If Wallace Barrett went free.
That was the rub. She was convinced that Barrett was innocent. Maybe no one else on the jury believed it, but she did. She had believed it from the instant she’d heard his neighbor describe the strangers he’d seen casing Barrett’s home. The tall man with the goatee wearing fatigues. The shorter, younger, dark-haired girl with the blue headband.
How could she doubt that Buck was involved? She had seen his camera; she had developed the pictures herself. Pictures of Barrett’s house taken from every possible angle. The work of a hit man planning his crime. Indeed, she could believe a monster like Buck could commit this crime a good deal more easily than she could believe Wallace Barrett did it.
But what if Barrett was acquitted? What if, in the jury room, she argued her heart out and convinced the rest of the jury to acquit? Barrett would go free, and the DA, feeling pressure from all sides, would start looking for a new suspect. He would follow the only other real lead they had—the tall stranger casing the neighborhood. If they worked hard enough at it, in time they would eventually find Buck.
And Buck would lead them to Martha.
Deanna couldn’t let that happen. She couldn’t let her little girl’s life be ruined before it had really begun.
But the alternative was watching an innocent man go to prison. Or worse.
Even if he avoided the death penalty, Barrett would have to live the rest of his life with the shame and despair of knowing that the world believed he had killed his own wife. His own two small children.
When he hadn’t.
The defense case was not expected to take more than a day or two. If she hadn’t spoken up by then, it would be too late.
Deanna buried her face in the pillow. There had to be some way out, some solution, some compromise. Some way to prevent this great injustice without destroying her little girl’s life.
But she was damned if she could think of it.
She rolled over onto her back, wiping the tears from her eyes. She was damned, all right. Either way she went, any way she turned, she was damned.
Chapter 57
THERE ARE MOMENTS IN every trial when time stands still. Even in the most ordinary exercises in judicial fact finding, there are unexpected moments, moments of upset or revelation or salvation or despair. A trial is simply too huge, too complicated; even the best attorney on earth cannot anticipate everything. It is during these breakthrough moments that the true character of the jury trial system is revealed.
The trial of Wallace Barrett was far from ordinary. But its breakthrough moment was close at hand.
“Your honor,” Ben said, “I call Wallace Barrett to the stand.”
It was the announcement everyone had waited for, hoped for, speculated about. Everyone knew that a criminal defendant was not required to testify; the Fifth Amendment protects the innocent as well as the guilty. Everyone knew all the perfectly sound reasons why even the most innocent of defendants often opt not to take the stand. But at the same time, everyone hopes that they will. There’s no substitute for hearing the story from the defendant’s own lips. There’s nothing quite as telling as being able to look into the man’s eyes as he tells it.
O. J. Simpson never took the stand. Lee Harvey Oswald never took the stand. James Earl Ray never took the stand.
But on this day, Wallace Barrett did.
Flashbulbs, supposedly barred from the courtroom, erupted like lightning. Minicam operators climbed onto seats and chairs, craning for a better view. The courtroom was pandemonium, a loud roar punctuated by the judge’s futile pounding of her gavel. Despite what Ben had said in opening statement, everyone had expected the defense to begin with its less important witnesses, evaluating as they went the need for placing Wallace Barrett in the witness stand, making him subject to scrutiny by God, his country, and cross-examination.
But on this point, the defense had fooled them all.
And for about the ten millionth time, Ben wondered if he had done the right thing.
They had been over and over it, almost throughout the entire night. After the explosion, Mike had insisted that he and Christina go to the police station to file reports and provide any information that might possibly allow them to track down the bomber who was stalking Ben. It was after eleven before they got out of there. And then they had to return to Barrett’s jail cell and prepare him to testify.
To his credit, Barrett had come through all the pretrial rehearsals with flying colors. And why not? He was a seasoned media veteran. Barrett had insisted on testifying, had demanded his chance to confront his accusers and to tell his faithful followers the truth. Given his insistence on testifying, the only decision left to Ben was when. And he had decided to put Wallace on first.
There were a few other possibilities for lead witnesses. Jones had lined up a crime reconstructionist, a man who used computer graphic reenactments to show the jury how a crime was committed even when there were no eyewitnesses. His presentations suggested for a variety of reasons that it was unlikely (though not impossible) that one assailant committed all three murders. But his testimony was founded on a host of likely but unprovable assumptions, assumptions Ben knew Bullock would tear apart on cross. Besides, all the prosecution had to prove was that Barrett had committed one of the murders. Any one of them would be sufficient to strap him down on the lethal injection table.
Jones had also found some forensic experts who were willing to testify for the defense, assuming Barrett would pay their not insignificant fees. There might have been some value in calling their own experts on blood or DNA. But the bottom line was that these witnesses would only reiterate the issues Ben had already introduced during his cross-examination of the prosecution’s witnesses. The points had already been made, and they had not been sufficient to overcome the presumption of guilt created by the prosecution’s mountain of evidence. If he was going to win this trial, he needed something more.
He needed Wallace Barrett. On the witness stand.
Barrett took the stand with his usual deliberative, confident manner. Ben had coached him to be careful not to seem in any way smug or overbearing. He should at all times seem helpful, even deferential, to the judge and jury. And without being indignant or melodramatic, he must make it clear that he did not enjoy this. After all, a tragedy had occurred, a tragedy that had struck him personally. He had to make sure the jury never forgot that.
As Ben elicited the introductory information, Barrett performed flawlessly. He was striking exactly the right chord, making exactly the right impression. At this stage, the information being conveyed didn’t much matter. Everyone already knew who he was, what he did for a living, why he was here. What mattered was the impression he made on the jury while he was saying it.