They were watching him.
Ben was also riding a perceptual tightrope, vacillating between the formality required by the court and the casual friendliness necessary to show the jury that Ben liked the man. “Wallace, how long had you and Caroline been married?”
“Twelve years.”
“And how would you describe your marriage?”
“I would describe it as being very happy, for the most part. Sure, we had fights now and again, like any other couple. But the bottom line was I loved her, and she loved me. And we both loved the kids.”
The kids, the kids, the kids. The specter of those poor horribly murdered children hung over this trial like a thundercloud. “Some of the prosecution’s witnesses have suggested that your marriage was an unhappy one.”
“They’re wrong.” Barrett seemed firm, not pushy, but certain. “Believe me, I’m the one in the position to know. We had a very loving marriage. The fact is, Caroline’s sister never liked me from day one. I don’t know why. But she’s never made any bones about it. This is not the first time she’s tried to embarrass me publicly. And now that she’s got this six-figure book deal—well, she’s not going to do me any favors, put it that way.”
“We’ve also heard testimony from your neighbor, Mr. Sanders, and Caroline’s … friend Dr. Fisher.”
“They were both in love with her,” Barrett said flatly. “I don’t think anything ever came of it. I don’t think Caroline would’ve allowed anything to come of it. I think she loved me too much. But that didn’t stop them from trying. Sanders was constantly at our house on the feeblest of excuses. He wasn’t protecting Caroline; he was trying to get close to her. And Dr. Fisher was just the same.”
“That seems a bit … unusual.”
Barrett shook his head. “It wouldn’t if you knew my wife. She was beautiful. More than beautiful … breathtaking. And she was smart and funny and fun to be with. She was the perfect companion. Of course everyone wanted her. Who wouldn’t?”
“So it was not true that your marriage was unhappy?”
“No, it was not. That was a figment of their imagination. That was the way they wanted it to be, not the way it was.”
“Wallace, some of these witnesses have suggested that you … physically hurt your wife.”
“Absolutely one hundred percent not true.” He leaned forward in his chair, still remaining calm, but making it clear that he did not like or appreciate these vile accusations. “I did not. Never.”
“You didn’t fight with her?”
“Fight, yes. We fought verbally. But I wouldn’t hurt her, not physically. I’d rather have died first. Really. I’d rather have died.”
“We’ve heard intimations that the police were called out to your home.”
“The police came twice. That’s it. I’m sure Harvey Sanders, our resident nosy neighbor, called them both times. They came out, saw that nothing serious was going on, and left. Although they stopped once to lecture Sanders on misuse of police resources on their way out. I guess he forgot to mention that part. And that’s it. That’s the only time police ever stepped inside my home until … until … well, you know.”
Ben did know. They all knew. Ben paused, swallowed, then continued. “We’ve also been told that on one occasion after a fight you locked Caroline out of the house wearing nothing but her underwear.”
“Again, that’s a major distortion. She locked herself out of the house. She ran out for the mail in her underwear, the wind blew the door shut, and she was trapped. The doorbell was broken and I was sleeping, so I didn’t hear her pounding on the door. Eventually she went next door to see Sanders, which I’m sure was the cheap thrill of his life. She called from his place and I let her in. That’s all there was to it. Sanders imagined the rest. It was no great big deal.”
“So you did not lock her out of the house to punish her?”
“Of course not. That’s nuts. Why would I want to do that, even if I was the maniac Sanders wants you to think I am? Do you think I liked having my wife running around the neighborhood in her underwear? Believe me, I didn’t.”
Ben made a quick and unobtrusive visual survey of the jury. They seemed to be going along with him, following with him, maybe even believing him. At any rate, they were definitely paying attention.
“Wallace, we’ve also heard about an alleged incident with a baseball bat—”
“That was a lie.”
“But Dr. Fisher—”
“I don’t care what he said. That was just a bald-faced lie. I never did anything like that. I never would. I guess Fisher thinks that”—his voice quietened—“now that Caroline is dead he can claim she told him anything. That simply never happened.”
“You never aimed a baseball bat at your wife’s head?”
“Of course not. Think about it. If I had done a thing like that, do you think Caroline would’ve stayed in the house with me? Do you think she would have left the kids in the house with me? Despite this battered-woman stereotype her sister is determined to force on her, the fact is, Caroline wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t weak, either. If something like that had happened, she’d have been out of the house in a heartbeat, with the kids, and she would’ve never returned.”
Again, Ben checked the jury, and to his delight saw a few heads subtly nodding. Barrett was winning them back with his calm, logical presentation. He was making them believe.
“One last question about your wife, Wallace. Did you know she was pregnant?”
“No, I did not. I don’t think she did, either, at least not for long, or she would’ve told me. I loved our kids, and despite the lies her would-be Romeo told you, I wanted more. Specifically, I wanted a son. Not that I didn’t love my daughters, but you know how it is. I guess every guy wants a son, someone to carry on after he’s gone. We’d been trying for some years, without any luck. We’d been to all the doctors, and they were telling us it probably wouldn’t happen. They were telling us Caroline wouldn’t have any more children. This baby boy”—he raised his hands to his face—“he must’ve been a godsend. I mean, a miracle. And now—” His voice cracked. He shielded his face with his hand and didn’t make a great show, but it was clear he was crying.
Ben noticed a few moist eyes in the jury box as well. He waited several moments till Barrett collected himself.
“You had no idea your wife was pregnant?”
“I did not. And what’s more—” His head raised, and he stared down at the prosecution table. “I am revolted by the thought that the police and prosecutors have known for weeks, and not one of them ever saw fit to tell me. Apparently they saw no reason why the father—the father!—had any right to know. They preferred to keep it quiet so they could use it for shock value in the courtroom. That sickens me.”
There was another long pause. For once, the eyes in the jury box turned to do a careful scrutiny of Jack Bullock.
“What about your children, Wallace? How was your relationship with them?”
“The best. Absolutely the best. They were great kids and I loved them. Yes, I did spank them, but believe me, I got no pleasure from it. I’m talking about real spankings, not little love pats like the one I gave Annabelle at the ice-cream parlor. Sometimes children do have to be punished, but we never hit hard enough to leave a mark. Caroline and I used spankings only for extreme cases—life-and-death issues, like playing in the street, getting in a car with strangers. I know it’s fashionable now to say you never spank your kids, but let me tell you something. I could live a lot easier with the knowledge that I gave my girls a little spanking now and again than I could live with knowing they’d been hit by a car because I failed to apply the appropriate discipline.”