“And bolts?”
“Wouldn’t be much point in selling the crossbows without the bolts, would there?” He chuckled at his own little joke.
“Have you ever supplied any equipment to the ASP camp just outside of Silver Springs?”
Ben was beginning to see where this testimony was leading. And he didn’t like it a bit.
“Yes, many times. They’re regular customers.”
“Do you carry the bolts for the”—he held up Exhibit A and read the label—“KL-44 Carvelle crossbow?”
“Yes. We’re one of the few in this country that do. It’s a fairly rare item.”
“Do you sell those bolts to the ASP camp?”
“Normally not. But we did get an order from them for that item just a few weeks ago. First and last time ever.”
“Now, this is important, sir, so please take your time before answering.” Of course, Swain wasn’t really telling the witness this next bit was important; he was telling the jury. “When did this order come in?”
“July twenty-first. They were delivered on the twenty-fourth.”
“Right. And the crossbow murder occurred on the twenty-fifth.” Swain nodded thoughtfully, then returned to counsel table. He was almost there when he suddenly stopped and pivoted around to face the witness. “One last question, Mr. Litz. Who placed the order for the crossbow bolts on the twenty-first?”
“A man named Donald Vick.”
The murmur in the courtroom crescendoed. Judge Tyler banged his gavel and demanded silence.
“That’s all,” Swain said. “Pass the witness.”
Ben strolled to the witness box, thinking all the way. “You take phone orders for a mail-order company, right?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So you didn’t actually see Mr. Vick when he ordered?”
“True …”
“He was just a voice on the telephone.”
“That’s true, but—”
“Then it could’ve been anyone,” Ben said. “Anyone could’ve claimed to be Donald Vick.”
“I guess that’s true,” Litz said. “But I know who picked the order up.”
“What? I thought you said you delivered them.”
“Right. I delivered them to the ASP man who came for them on the twenty-fourth. And that was the man sitting right there in the gray coveralls.” He pointed directly at Vick. “I saw him with my own eyes.”
Swain jumped to his feet. “Let the record reflect that the witness has indicated that the pickup man was Donald Vick.”
“It will so reflect,” Judge Tyler intoned. “Anything else, Mr. Kincaid?”
Damn. Ben hated to end his cross on such a negative note. But he wasn’t prepared for a follow-up question. The coffin was nailed tightly shut.
“No, your honor.”
“Redirect?”
“I see no need,” Swain said, displaying his understandable confidence to the jury. “And the prosecution rests.”
“Very well,” the judge said. “We’ll start up again tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock with the defense case. Court is dismissed.”
He banged his gavel, and instantaneously the silence was broken. The exodus from the gallery was swift. Only the jury remained seated. And their eyes, Ben noticed, all twenty-four of them, were focused on Donald Vick.
Ben leaned forward, blocking the jury’s view, and whispered into Vick’s ear. “Why in God’s name did you pick up those crossbow bolts?”
“That was my job. I made all the supply runs.”
“You did?” If he had known that, he could have brought it out during cross. Now it was too late. “Why you?”
“Who else? Dunagan always gave me the grunt jobs.”
Ben observed that Vick invoked the name of the exhalted Grand Dragon with somewhat less reverence now. At least he realized what the man had done to him. “I’m going to have to put you on the stand, Donald.”
Vick glared at him. “I already told you. I won’t talk.”
“I won’t ask questions about any subjects you don’t want to discuss. I won’t ask you what you and Vuong fought about. But I have to get you on the stand so the jury can hear you say you didn’t kill him.” Ben glanced over his shoulder, just to make sure no one else was listening. “Otherwise, frankly, I don’t think you have a chance.”
Vick stared back at him, his voice caught in his throat. Surely he realized the trial was going badly, but that probably wasn’t the same as having his own attorney tell him straight out that he was headed for death row.
“I—I’ll think about. I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll be outside your cell tomorrow morning bright and early. So we can prepare your testimony.”
Vick nodded, and the deputies took him away.
Ben watched as Vick faded out of the courtroom. Every time Ben saw him, he looked less and less like a hardened hatemonger and more and more like a scared little boy who thought he saw the bogeyman lurking underneath his bed. A terrified youth who didn’t know what to do next.
And the tragedy was, his attorney didn’t know what to do next either.
54.
BEN REVIEWED HIS FIFTH draft of the direct examination he’d prepared for Donald Vick. He moved his lips as he read, trying each question on for size. It was the hardest direct he had ever written. Normally he would just take a witness through his story. What could be easier than that? In this case, unfortunately, Vick’s story was like a mine field. It was filled with dangerous subjects Vick refused to mention. Ben had to hone his questions to draw out responses on topics Vick would discuss without making the jury wonder about the topics he hadn’t.
Jones and Mike dropped by, but neither had any new information to report. They hadn’t found a trace of the woman Ben rescued from the burning Truong home, and they hadn’t found any witnesses who were willing to testify on Vick’s behalf. Loving, they said, was at the Bluebell shooting pool, as he had been for the last several nights. They weren’t sure if he was onto something, or if the Bluebell crowd was just his kind of people.
And Christina still adamantly refused to help.
It was almost ten-thirty before Belinda quietly opened the front door and walked to the back desk where Ben was working. She sat in a chair several arm’s lengths away from him. It was a long time before she spoke.
“What are you working on?” she asked.
“A direct examination for my client.”
“You’re going to put him on the stand? Is that wise?”
“Most defense attorneys prefer not to if it can be avoided. But I don’t have any choice. Vick doesn’t have any other witnesses. Even ASP appears to have turned against him. Our only chance is to put him on the stand and hope the jury believes him.”
She nodded. It was obvious she wanted to discuss something other than the case, but couldn’t quite bring herself around to it. “Most of the evidence the prosecution put on is circumstantial.”
“Most? All.” Ben pressed his hand against his forehead. “But there was so much of it. The jury can’t overlook so many links between Vick and the crime.”
“You think the jury is leaning toward a guilty verdict?”
“I’ve seen men convicted on less.”
“Ben—” She paused, then started over. “Ben, I know you take your work seriously, and I admire that. But don’t forget who it is you’re representing. This is Donald Vick, the Vietnamese assassin. The man probably responsible for the car bombing that maimed three people. The man who tried to beat Vuong senseless at the Bluebell Bar. Even if he didn’t commit this crime, he’s probably committed others as bad or worse.”
“If he didn’t commit this crime, he shouldn’t be convicted of it,” Ben said flatly.
Belinda sighed. She fidgeted with her hands, turned them over in her lap. “Ben … this isn’t what I wanted to talk about. I didn’t want to be the one to bring it up. I figured, if that’s the way you want it, fine. If you already got all you want—”