Ben couldn’t believe it. Swain was actually going along with this whitewash. He must’ve wanted Dunagan’s testimony in a big way.
“Absolutely not. We had no part in that.”
“And ASP wouldn’t set fire to someone’s home?”
“Of course not. I thought what happened out at Coi Than Tien the other night was tragic. Hell, I approve of Coi Than Tien—a community where the members of a single race live among their own. I think there should be more like them.”
“Was there anyone at ASP who felt differently about the use of violence?”
Dunagan took a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Well … I hate to talk about my own men. …”
“You’re under oath,” Swain reminded him.
“Right. Well … there was the defendant. Donald Vick.”
In the corner of his eye, Ben could see the jurors leaning forward, straining to pick up each word.
“Vick favored the use of violence?”
“Vick is a hothead. Always was. I’ve known him for years, and he’s always been the same.”
Ben stared at Dunagan in disbelief. What on earth was going on? Dunagan was selling his old buddy Lou Vick’s boy right down the river.
“What did Vick want to do?”
“Oh, there were so many nasty cockeyed ideas. … Let me think.” He paused for a moment. “Well, he was a big fan of planting burning crosses in Vietnamese front yards.”
The connection wasn’t lost on the jury. The murderer was fond of burning crosses, too.
“What else?”
“He was always picking fights. Like he did with this Vuong fella. For no reason at all. He was just a mean SOB, to tell the truth. He liked to toss a Molotov cocktail or two, also.”
“Like the one that exploded a car on Maple and burned three people?”
“Well …” Dunagan said slowly. “Since that happened … I’ve had to wonder. …”
Swain returned to counsel table and thumbed through his legal pad. Ben knew he didn’t need to check his notes. He was just taking his time, letting all this sink in before he moved on to the next topic.
“Mr. Dunagan, do you know where Donald Vick was on the night of the murder?”
“No.” He folded his hands calmly. “He left the camp early that afternoon. Told some of the boys he had something to do. Didn’t specify—acted real mysterious about it. Of course, now I realize he was going to pick that fight in the bar—”
“Objection!” Ben interrupted. “Lack of personal knowledge.”
“Right, right,” Judge Tyler said. “Sustained.”
Swain picked up right where he left off. “Mr. Dunagan, do you stock crossbows at your camp?”
“Oh, yes. As I said, we have to defend ourselves.”
“Have you seen the particular crossbow that has been identified as the murder weapon in this case?”
“Yes, I have.”
“Do you have an opinion as to where that crossbow came from?”
“I’m afraid I do.” He sighed, then looked directly at Vick. “It came out of our armory.”
“And who would have access to your armory?”
“It’s not a prison camp. Anyone could get in if they really wanted to.”
Swain leaned in for the clincher. “Including Donald Vick?”
Dunagan looked as if his answer filled him with regret. “Including Donald Vick.”
Ben saw the jurors settle back in their seats. He had the disturbing feeling they thought they had heard enough.
“Thank you, Mr. Dunagan.” Swain turned toward Ben and smiled. “Your witness, Mr. Kincaid. Good luck.”
52.
BEN CONSIDERED WAIVING CROSS-EXAMINATION altogether. Dunagan apparently was determined to destroy Donald Vick, and if that was the case, the sooner he was off the stand, the better. But Ben had to try to keep the jurors from making up their minds before the defense called its first witness.
On the other hand, there was no point in pretending he was friendly with this man. So he didn’t.
“Are you trying to tell this jury that ASP is just a peace-loving, civic-minded bunch of regular guys? Kind of like the Peace Corps? Or the Boy Scouts?”
“Well,” Dunagan said, “I see no cause for sarcasm.”
“Grand Dragon Dunagan, isn’t the ASP motto ‘The only good gook is a dead gook’?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And of course, Ben couldn’t prove he was lying, since he hadn’t pocketed any of the man’s propaganda.
“Isn’t it true that you and your followers are expecting a big race war any day now?”
“Some people do believe that will happen, including people who are not members of ASP. I just hope it doesn’t come to pass.”
“Come on now. Isn’t it true you’re setting up all these armed camps so that when the big war hits, you can take over and turn the South into a gigantic whites-only country club?”
“Your honor,” Swain complained, “I don’t see the relevance of this. Mr. Dunagan is not on trial.”
“Agreed. Move on, counsel.”
“Your honor,” Ben said. “Mr. Swain opened the door to this line of questioning. It goes to the witness’s credibility.”
“I said move on, counsel!” Tyler’s bushy eyebrows moved together till they formed a straight line across his face.
Ben gritted his teeth and changed the subject. “Didn’t you tell me that your armory didn’t have any bolts that fit the crossbow that was stolen?”
“It seems I was mistaken. After I talked to you, I was informed that—”
“I don’t want to hear any hearsay,” Ben said, cutting him off. He didn’t know what Dunagan was about to say, but it didn’t sound helpful. “Is a crossbow difficult to fire?”
“Hell, no. All you do is point it and pull the trigger. A five-year-old could do it.”
“Do you train your men in the use of the crossbow?”
“Of course. Including Donald Vick.”
“Despite your haste to single out Donald, the fact is, all your men had access to the crossbow and knew how to use it, right?”
“That’s true.”
“Thank you. I have—”
“But of course, all the other men were in camp, where they were supposed to be, at the time of the murder. The only man missing was Donald Vick.”
Ben squeezed his eyes tightly closed. It would be pointless to object. The jury had already heard it.
He couldn’t think of any more questions to ask. And every second Dunagan remained on the stand, prospects looked a little dimmer for Donald Vick. “No more questions, your honor.”
Ben returned to his seat at defendant’s table. He just hoped that he had sewn enough seeds of uncertainty to keep the jury from making up their minds.
But he doubted it.
53.
AFTER LUNCH, THE COURTROOM reassembled itself with relative calm. Or at any rate, this time no rocks came through the windows.
“Any further testimony from the prosecution?” Judge Tyler asked.
“One more witness,” Swain said. “But he’ll be brief. The State calls Richard Litz.”
Richard Litz was a nondescript man with brown curly hair and a bushy brown mustache. He was wearing glasses with tinted lenses. Ben didn’t have a clue who the man was. And judging from the expressions on the other faces in the courtroom, neither did anyone else.
Except Henry Swain. “Mr. Litz, would you please tell the jury what you do for a living?”
“I’m the order clerk for Domestic Soldier in Hot Springs.”
“And what is Domestic Soldier?”
“Domestic Soldier is a mail-order supplier of equipment for outdoorsmen. Tents, compasses, hiking boots. You name it, we carry it.”
“Would your inventory include weapons?”
“Yes, it would.”
“Crossbows?”
“Definitely. All shapes and sizes.”