Whitman leaned forward and answered. “You’re right, counsel. Barrett did a lot better than me on the college football team. Happy now?”
“The question,” Ben shot back, “is whether you were happy. I suspect you were very unhappy.”
“I had hoped to do better, sure. Things don’t always go the way you wish they would. What of it?”
“You and Barrett both moved to Tulsa after college, right?”
“Well, not together.”
“True enough.”
“Barrett made a few movies, then went into business and became a big success.” Ben glanced at the notes he had made from Jones’s report. “Your first three business ventures flopped, didn’t they?”
“They were speculative ventures, and they failed. There’s no shame in that. Everyone knows what the economy has been like in the Southwest since the oil bust. All my creditors were paid.”
“Must’ve been embarrassing to tell your father, though. The successful oil tycoon. And you couldn’t even drill a well without losing your shirt.”
Whitman’s teeth clamped down on his lower lip. “Is there some point to these questions, Mr. Kincaid?”
“There certainly is.”
“Well, I don’t see it.”
“You don’t have to. All you have to do is answer the questions.”
“Your honor,” Bullock said, “I protest. Mr. Kincaid is being abusive.”
“To the contrary,” Judge Hart said, not missing a beat, “I think he has summarized the witness’s role admirably. I only hope the witness will take his words to heart. Proceed, counsel.”
“So,” Ben continued, “your businesses flopped, while Barrett’s flourished.”
“I did all right in time. I’m the president and owner of Whitman Oil Corporation.”
“Actually,” Ben said, referring to his notes, “you inherited that business, correct?”
“Well … yes, but still, I’ve been making money with it ever since I got it.”
“Your biggest accomplishment, if I’m not mistaken, was the hostile takeover of the Apollo Corporation.”
“That’s probably true.” Whitman folded his hands proudly across his chest. “That shook the business world up. Got coverage on business pages all across the country. Doubled the value of my stock.”
“Put a lot of people out of work, too,” Ben noted. “The Apollo Corporation had been the city’s leading employer. You bought them out, cannibalized the resources, and sold off the assets piece by piece.”
“That’s just good business. And for the record, my corporation employs people, too.”
“Your honor!” Bullock just couldn’t stay down, even when he was striking out every time. “What is this? A referendum on sound business practices?”
Judge Hart turned her attention to Ben. “Are you going to be bringing this back to the case at hand soon, counsel?”
“Yes, your honor. Very soon.”
“Fine. Proceed.” Bullock sat down in a huff of moral outrage obviously intended for the cameras, but unfortunately for him detected by the judge. She peered down at him with a look that could melt steel. “Mr. Bullock, do you have a problem with my ruling?”
“But I—it’s just—” Bullock swallowed. “No, ma’am.”
“Good.” She turned back toward Ben. “Please proceed, counsel.”
“So,” Ben continued, “you’re not denying that the success of your company is founded on the demise of another.”
Whitman edged forward. “Look, counsel, that’s the reality of business. Apollo was our leading competitor, so we bought them out. Not only did we acquire some valuable assets, we garnered a larger market share. The fact is, Apollo had been a thorn in my side for years. I know how to deal with my enemies. They don’t last long.”
“Shortly after the takeover, you ran for city council and were elected. True?”
“That’s true.”
“Of course, Wallace Barrett had leapfrogged right past the city council and become mayor.”
“Yes, he became the mayor. Of sorts.” Whitman’s patience seemed to be fraying.
“You have ambitions to be mayor, don’t you, sir?”
Whitman squared his shoulders. “I don’t know why I should deny it. Yes, I do. I plan to run this next term.”
“In truth, you’ve been planning your campaign for some time, haven’t your
“True. These days, you have to start early if you hope to make a serious bid.”
“That includes fund-raising, speechmaking, poll taking—right?”
“Right, right.”
“The only problem is, according to your campaign manager, another council member, every poll you took showed you being beaten by Wallace Barrett. By a substantial margin.” Ben stared down at him. “Isn’t that true?”
He hesitated.
“My investigator met with Loretta Walker for some time. I have her affidavit right here, if you’d like to see it.”
Whitman stared back emotionlessly. “That’s quite all right. It’s true.”
“It must have seemed like, no matter where you turned, Wallace Barrett was there doing just a little bit better than you were.”
“I don’t measure my worth against”—his teeth clenched—“him.”
“Don’t you, though? Sure looks that way to me. You wanted to be mayor, and that was impossible, because once again, Wallace Barrett was in the way. You must’ve hated him, didn’t you?”
Whitman turned toward the jury. “Again, I see no reason why I should lie. Relations between Barrett and me were not good. That’s hardly a secret.”
Ben closed his notebook and put away his notes. It was time to take the plunge. Off the script, into never-never land. “And that’s when you decided to get in touch with Buck Conners, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“Buck Conners. Our last witness. Surely you recall.”
“Right. I know who he is.”
“You work together at the city building.”
“Right.”
“And according to him, before he crouched behind the Fifth Amendment, you and he had some business dealings together.”
Ben could see the same analytical clockwork going on in Whitman’s brain that he had earlier seen in Buck’s. How much could he get away with? “That’s true.
“According to Mr. Conners, you employed him to do some … yard work.”
A slow smile tickled the edges of Whitman’s lips. “Actually, Buck is probably being modest. He has done yard work for me. But at the time of the murders, he was working on a different project.”
Ben could see the jury subtly leaning forward. “And what project was that?”
Whitman smiled. “A marketing brochure.”
Ben nearly tripped over his podium. “What?”
“A marketing brochure. Something to help the council market Tulsa to major corporations looking for a place to locate. It’s a common practice. As you mentioned yourself, Tulsa needs new job opportunities. I was trying to create some.”
Ben tried to get his bearings. How did he take this lie apart? “Did Mayor Barrett know about this project of yours?”
“No. I was hoping to surprise him. I wanted to wait until I had a completed prototype. Thought it would make it easier to push the project past the council.”
“And you expect us to take this story seriously?”
Whitman remained calm. “It was a serious project.”
“If it was so serious, why on earth would you use Buck Conners?” Ben pointed dramatically with his finger, forcing the jury to turn to scrutinize the scruffy, ill-clad, ill-groomed data processor.
“Simple,” Whitman replied. “I needed a good photographer, and I knew he was good and wouldn’t charge me as much as a professional. It’s his hobby, you know.”
“What did you tell him to photograph?”
“I left it at his discretion. To be honest, I’m not very artistically inclined. I don’t have a good eye for that sort of thing.”