and strong he couldn’t break through. “So you’re telling me the only reason you’re testifying today is because you have such a highly developed sense of civic duty?”
Geppi looked down at his hands. “That’s not … the only reason.”
At last! Ben thought. “And what’s the other reason?”
Geppi spoke haltingly. “I … I have a sister. Had a sister. Angela. Just a scrawny thing-but pretty, in her way. She was killed at a gas station. No fault of her own-she was caught in the middle of a robbery. It didn’t make any sense.” His hand covered his face. “But when I heard this man talk-brag-about what he had done to this logger, I thought of my sister. She died for no reason, through no fault of her own, just as he did. I understand he had a family too, a wife and a little boy. A boy about the same age as Angela.” His voice broke, then trailed off.
Ben stared at the witness stand. What was going on here? Was that man actually crying up there? Ben had marched in determined to bring out the truth, and now this slimy convict had taken total control of the examination.
He glanced over at the jury. As far as he could tell, they were entirely sympathetic. Two of them looked as if they were about to cry themselves. He had no way to impeach this melodramatic story about Angela, and he knew that battering the witness would not win Zak any points with the jury. But he couldn’t sit down now, not on this note. There had to be something else he could try. Perhaps if he showed how unlikely it was that this conversation ever took place …
“Mr. Kincaid,” Pickens said. “Are you done?”
“Not quite,” Ben said. He looked squarely at Geppi’s tear-streaked face. “My client denies your story. Every word of it.”
Geppi looked away, dabbing his eyes. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why would he tell you about this? He doesn’t even know you. He’s smart enough to realize you might testify.”
Geppi shook his head, his face the mask of tragedy. “Don’t you see? He was bragging. He’s proud of it-he’s proud of what he done. All the hurting and killing, all the fighting and turmoil-he thrives on it. He thinks he’s some kind of hero. A freedom fighter for the revolution. But he’s not.” Geppi’s voice became low and almost guttural. “He’s not. He’s just a murderer. A coldblooded goddamned murderer.”
Judge Pickens rapped his gavel, but Ben noticed his heart wasn’t really in it.
Ben proceeded to bring out Geppi’s priors, based on the criminal history the prosecution was required to provide. A conviction for petty theft, another for possession. Geppi didn’t try to deny them. And none of it made the jury forget what he had said before.
“I’m done,” Ben said bitterly. He grabbed his notebook and stepped down.
Pickens gazed across the courtroom. “Anything more, Madame Prosecutor?”
“Nothing, your honor. The State rests.”
“We’ll resume the trial Monday morning at nine with the defense.” He gave his closing instructions to the jury, then rapped his gavel. “Court is in recess.”
It seemed as if half the gallery rushed forward to defendant’s table-reporters asking questions, locals hurling epithets. Ben nodded to Christina, implicitly asking her to become a human shield while he and Sheriff Allen got Zak out of the courtroom. They had much to do.
As he left, though, Ben couldn’t help scanning the jurors, still transfixed in their fourteen chairs. Their faces were transparent; he felt as if he could see right through to their brains. He knew what they were thinking.
If they were voting today, here, now, they would find Zak guilty. Guilty of murder in the first degree. And they would recommend the ultimate sanction.
Four
Chapter 58
“First of all,” Ben said, keeping his eyes on the road, “we have to keep our heads together. Things always look bleak when the prosecution closes its case. The jurors’ minds will begin to change when we start putting on our witnesses. At the very least, they’ll begin to doubt.”
“I don’t know,” Christina replied. “I looked at those faces. And I didn’t see much doubt.”
Ben made a left onto the highway. “We still have Molly as an alibi witness. She can put Zak in an entirely different place at the time of the murder. And she has the most honest face I’ve ever seen in my life. How could anyone not believe her?”
“Maybe,” Christina said noncommittally.
“And we have the drug-pusher angle-Alberto Vincenzo.”
“You really think that’ll fly?”
“I do. Granted, I could use some evidence. But at least we have a theory. A good faith theory. A reasonable theory. It has to make the jurors wonder if the prosecution is giving them the straight scoop.”
They were taking advantage of the weekend break to drive their rental car to Seattle. Mike had finally gotten someone at the DEA to meet with them, although he pointedly made no guarantees about what would happen when they arrived.
It took Ben and Christina almost three hours to get to Seattle, but Ben didn’t mind a bit. They could both use a break from the drudgery of trial. For that matter, Ben was glad to be out of town. The longer he stayed in Magic Valley, the more claustrophobic it seemed. The walls were closing in on him. All the secrets and plots and conspiracies were like tentacles from some great unseen behemoth, slowly but surely tightening around his throat.
It was time for a change of scenery.
They arrived in Seattle just before three in the afternoon. As it turned out, the regional DEA office was about three blocks from the Farmer’s Market. They resisted the temptation to shop; they had work to do.
They found the office building and, with even more difficulty, managed to park. Then they found themselves killing time in the lobby, thumbing through
It was almost four-thirty when a fortyish-looking woman stepped out the interior door. “Mr. Kincaid?”
“Right here,” Ben said, jumping to his feet. Together, he and Christina followed the woman back to her office.
It was a nice-size office, and decently decorated, too, which Ben was glad to see-it meant they hadn’t drawn someone at the absolute bottom of the DEA totem pole. In fact, as the woman-Madeline Chessway-explained, she was the regional administrator for narcotics-related investigations in the State of Washington.
“So,” Ben said, “if there’s a DEA investigation going on in the state, you’re going to know about it.”
“I think that’s a fair assumption,” she said, folding her hands on her desk. “Now what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for information about Alberto Vincenzo,” Ben said. “He’s a drug dealer. And, I understand, the subject of a DEA investigation.”
“What’s your interest in Vincenzo?”
“I’m handling a legal matter for a client. A murder trial. And I think Vincenzo may be involved.”
“Well, if you think Vincenzo is going to be your star witness,” Chessway said, “you can forget about it.”
“All I want at this time is information,” Ben explained. “I’m trying to put a lot of puzzle pieces together. And I think knowing more about him might help me fill in the gaps.”
“Is this a drug-related homicide you’re trying?”
“That’s what I don’t know,” Ben answered.
“It isn’t so far,” Christina explained. “But we’re looking for alternative motives.”
“I see.” Chessway’s head bobbed. “It’s a fishing expedition.”
“That’s not so,” Ben said firmly. “We’ve already received some information from … an informant suggesting a
