Naked Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 6) by William Bernhardt

Author:William Bernhardt [Bernhardt, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781453278178
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road
Published: 2012-10-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 37

BEN WAS AMAZED AT the speed at which the trial cruised into first gear the next morning. Given the intense scrutiny given every word, every minor action or ruling, the trial made astounding progress. Or perhaps it only seemed that way because he was dreading every minute of it.

All the preliminary matters were dispensed with in less than half an hour. By nine-thirty, Judge Hart called for opening statements. Jack Bullock was standing before the jury again, assuring them in his calm, trustworthy manner that everything he said was correct.

“I’m not here to put on a show,” he told the jury, one hand in his pocket and one hand on the railing. “I won’t patronize you. I won’t humor you. I won’t try to win you over with courtroom tricks or flashy flourishes. I will let the facts speak for themselves. And believe me, they speak volumes.”

He paused, then walked thoughtfully to the opposite side of the jury box. “You already know what happened. I won’t melodramatize it.” He stopped again, and his face screwed up slightly. “The facts are horrible enough as they are.”

He walked to an easel, where several enlarged photos rested face down. “These are the photos taken at the crime scene. I won’t show them to you now. I wouldn’t do that to you. I wouldn’t be that … cruel.”

Ben suppressed a smile. In fact, Bullock had wanted to use the photos in his opening, but the judge wouldn’t permit it.

“You will, unfortunately, have to look at them later in this trial. This is what you will see.” He held his hands up chest-high, as if creating an imaginary television screen for them. “The defendant’s wife and the mother of his children—lifeless, draped backward over a dining room chair, almost every inch of her skin and clothes soaked and smeared with coagulated blood. Knife punctures in over twenty different places. She died, although the coroner’s testimony will reveal that she died neither quickly nor painlessly.”

Bullock removed the second of the still facedown photos. “In the upstairs bedroom, the defendant’s four-year-old daughter lying on her bed, a fatal puncture wound through her heart. Her hands folded across her chest in a grotesque parody of sleep.”

Bullock withdrew the third photo in the stack. Ben could only admire Bullock’s brilliant presentation. He was using the photos without showing them. In fact, this was better. He was creating an enormous sense of anticipation, causing the jury to hang on his every word and to wait breathlessly for the evidence he had to share with them.

“And finally,” Bullock continued, “in the bathroom, the defendant’s eight-year-old daughter. Dead—stabbed. Many times. And once again—blood everywhere.”

Bullock stepped away from the exhibits and rubbed his hands, as if washing away the blood and horror. “The crime scene alone tells us much about the person who committed these horrors. Obviously it was someone strong, someone … physical. Someone with access to the Barretts’ home. Someone consumed with hate. Not just a random grudge but a personal and specific enmity.

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