Barrett blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Quite a performance. But, I’m sure, no great trick for an old media hound like you.”
“I’m not following you.”
“Of course you’re used to being grilled. Press conferences, debates. You’re used to being sent out to pitch a story to the audience.”
“Your honor, I object,” Ben said. He preferred to let Barrett take care of himself; it would look better to the jury than having Ben come to his rescue. But this was beyond the pale. “This is offensive and argumentative, and as far as I can tell, Mr. Bullock hasn’t even asked a question yet.”
Judge Hart pushed her glasses up her nose. “I would prefer if you used your cross-examination time to ask questions, counsel. You can save the color commentary for closing argument.”
“Very well, your honor. I’ll ask questions.” He stared back at Barrett. “You’re accustomed to handling yourself in front of an audience, aren’t you, sir?”
“I suppose.”
“In fact, you’ve done quite a bit of … acting, haven’t you?”
Barrett’s teeth set together. “You mean, ever? Or here in the courtroom?”
“You have a fairly extensive acting background, don’t you?”
“I made a few films. Low-budget action pictures. After I got out of college.”
“They didn’t do too well, did they, sir?”
“Well, I didn’t give Denzel Washington anything to worry about, let’s put it that way.”
“But people did compliment you on your ability to … play a part convincingly, didn’t they?”
Barrett leaned forward. “Mr. Bullock, have you got some kind of point to make? ’Cause if you do, I’d rather you just made it, and stopped all this weaselly beating around the bush.”
Judge Hart pounded her gavel. “I will direct the witness to restrain himself. Just answer the questions.” Then she looked at Ben. “Counsel, you’re responsible for your witness.”
“Yes, your honor. I’m sure it won’t happen again.” Although if it did, he wouldn’t complain. Personally, he’d enjoyed it, and he hoped some of the jurors did as well.
“My problem is this, Mr. Barrett,” Bullock continued. “How do we know whether you’re telling the truth now, or just giving another brilliant performance?”
“I’m telling the truth.” Barrett’s voice was low and flat.
“Are you? Are you really? You claim you never physically hurt your wife. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct.”
“Yes, and cleverly phrased, too. Your lawyer asked if you hurt her, and you said no. But I notice he never asked if you’ve ever hit her.” There was a stir in the gallery. “What about it, Mr. Barrett. Did you ever hit your wife?”
“I—” Barrett’s shoulders rose, then sank. “I—never meant to hit her.”
“You’re very clever with words, aren’t you, Mr. Barrett? And very careful. I suppose your lawyer has taught you that. My question was whether you ever hit her, and I want an answer. Did you ever hit your wife?”
The disparity between the bellowing by Bullock and Barrett’s quiet answer was jarring. “I—did hit her once. It was an accident.”
“An accidental hitting?”
Barrett shrugged. “We were arguing. I was talking with my hands, as usual. Flinging them around. Her face got in the way.”
“Her face got in the way? Mr. Barrett, please.”
Barrett almost rose out of his chair. “It’s what happened!”
Ben’s brain raced, trying to come up with some objection, some excuse to interrupt.
“Was that the time you blackened her eye,” Bullock asked, “or the time you pushed her down the stairs?”
“That’s not true!”
“We have witnesses who say it is.”
“Your witnesses are full of—” Barrett caught himself just in time. His fists were clenched; veins were protruding in his neck.
Ben tried to make eye contact, tried to send him mental messages. Stay calm, Wallace! Ride it out!
“And what about your daughters?” Barrett continued, not missing a beat. “Did you ever hit them?”
“I’ve already said I gave them spankings.”
“How?”
“How?” Barrett shrugged. “On their bottoms.”
“Through their clothes. Or did you pull the clothes down?”
Barrett frowned. “I pulled the clothes down.”
“Of course. It hurts more that way, doesn’t it?”
Ben jumped up. “Your honor!”
Judge Hart didn’t wait for the objection. “Counsel, you will discontinue your comments and side remarks immediately, do you understand me? This is not a request.”
Bullock bowed his head. “Yes, your honor.” He went right back at Barrett. “And what did you use to administer these punishments? A stick? A paddle?”
“My hand.”
“Your bare hand. I think we have the idea now, sir. You pulled down their little panties and applied your bare hand to their bare bottoms. Did you enjoy that?”
Barrett boiled. “You son of a—”
Judge Hart pounded her gavel. “Counsel, you are treading on very thin ice!”
Bullock spread his hands. “Your honor, I’m demonstrating that the man has a propensity for violence.”
“Then do it! And stop these offensive insinuations!”
Bullock turned back to the witness. “Mr. Barrett, how often did you administer these punishments?”
“I don’t know. Once or twice a month.”
“Once or twice a month! Meaning, twenty or thirty times a year!”
“If you say so.”
“So. Twenty or thirty times a year, you applied your bare hand to your young daughters’ bare bottoms.”
“If they needed it!”
Bullock clamped up, letting Barrett’s words reverberate through the courtroom. Ben checked the jurors. Bullock’s cross was indeed beginning to have its intended effect.
They were losing them.
“Tell me,” Bullock continued in a soft, precise voice, “did they need punishment on the day they were murdered?”
Barrett was so close to the explosion point Ben was afraid they would never make it. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m just wondering if you punished them on that day. Their last day.”
Barrett’s head lowered. “I … did have to spank Annabelle. I don’t mean that little nothing at the ice-cream parlor. I mean later. I didn’t want to, but after the disappointment of not getting any ice cream, she started getting out of hand.” He raised his head. “Sometimes children need discipline. In fact, they want it. They expect it.”
“I don’t think your daughters wanted what they got that day, sir. Although I wonder if they didn’t expect it.”
“Your honor!” Ben shouted across the courtroom.
Judge Hart pounded her gavel. “That’s it, Mr. Bullock. This is over. I’m instructing the jury to disregard this entire cross-examination thus far. It will be stricken from the record. And I will be strongly considering disciplinary action when this case is completed. Now move on.”
“Very well, your honor.” He flipped over another page of notes. The judge’s words, of course, had been utterly ineffective. Instructing the jury to disregard something was like cementing it into their memories. And Bullock could care less about the judge’s threats. Like always, he was playing to win. As long as he won, what did he care if she sanctioned him later? She would just be helping to make him a hero. A martyr, even.
“Mr. Barrett, your performance—excuse me—your story is that you and your wife had a big fight on the day she was killed and you ran out of the house and missed all three murders, right?”
“That’s right.”
“How convenient. So you didn’t see anything. One minute, everyone’s fine, and the next, everyone’s dead.”
“That’s … right.” His voice cracked slightly.