Cruel Justice (4 page)

She removed her glasses and laid them on the bench. “I really should find you in contempt and toss you in jail, but I’m so anxious to hear your examination of the next witness that I’m going to hold off. At least for the moment. You have two minutes, Mr. Kincaid. Teensy-weensy ones.”

Ben tossed his briefcase on the defendant’s table, nodded politely at Bullock, and exchanged a cursory greeting with his client, a nineteen-year-old bleached blonde named Jessie (short for Jezebel) Johnson. She had run away from home a few months before and somehow ended up in Tulsa, totally broke. According to her, she was wandering the streets a few days after she arrived, aimless and destitute, when the prosecution’s star witness approached her and suggested an interesting way she could make some fast money.

Ben scanned the courtroom for his legal assistant, Christina McCall. She wasn’t hard to find. Her vivid strawberry-blonde hair billowed out, adding several inches to her five-foot, one-inch height. But the glaring clash of unmatched colors below was the real eye-catcher. Today she was decked out in a sleeveless white blouse, a bell-shaped blue skirt with large yellow polka dots, green ankle socks, and black-and-white oxfords.

“What are you wearing?” Ben asked as he approached. This is a courtroom, not a sock hop.”

“It’s part of my new summer wardrobe.” She twirled around in a small pirouette, letting her skirt and hair swirl around her. “I told you I hit some flea markets last weekend, remember?”

“Yes. The prospect of your obtaining a new wardrobe was very exciting. Now I’m having second thoughts.”

“I’m not wearing some stuffy business suit in this heat,” Christina said emphatically. “Take me or leave me.”

While Ben considered, Judge Hart spoke up. “One minute left, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Great. Listen, Christina, have you got any ideas for my cross?”

“Of course. Am I not your faithful aide-de-camp? I stayed up all night rereading the preliminary hearing transcript, and I think I’ve detected a critical discrepancy. A major faux pas. Problem is, it involves some rather, um, outré elements. … It’s … somewhat risqué. …”

Ben’s eyes rolled at the barrage of bad French. “Christina, what are you saying?”

“You won’t be able to get near it without discussing certain delicate matters relating to human sexuality, a subject with which I know you are pitifully uncomfortable.”

“Not true.”

“
Is
true. I’ll never forget your expression when you were channel-surfing at my place and stumbled across the Playboy Channel. And I thought you were going to die that time we went to the zoo.”

Ben noticed the judge alternating between impatient glances at her watch and hostile glares at Ben. “No time for modesty, Christina. Tell me what you’ve got.”

A
FTER THE BREAK, BULLOCK
recalled the complainant to the stand. He was a middle-aged balding man named Harvey Applebee. According to his direct examination testimony, Jezebel propositioned Applebee just off the corner of Eleventh and Cincinnati. She took him back to a “health facility” she was sharing with five other working girls, removed her clothes, removed his clothes, and placed him in a hot tub. The complainant didn’t actually do any complaining until after the vice squad burst through the front door. Applebee traded his testimony for personal immunity from prosecution.

“What exactly did the defendant say to you when she approached you on the street?” Bullock asked.

Applebee cleared his throat. “She said I looked as if I could use some exercise and she invited me over to her facility to, er, firm up.”

Sitting beside Ben at counsel table, Jezebel giggled. Ben jabbed his elbow in her side.

Bullock continued. “Did she indicate that she had any specialized training as a … personal fitness trainer?”

“She did demonstrate a great deal of … flexibility, and she suggested some positions—I mean, exercises—that she thought I might find beneficial.”

Bullock was becoming annoyed. “Mr. Applebee, let’s stop beating around the bush.” A gruff laugh emerged from the gallery. Ben’s face turned bright crimson. “I mean, let’s get to the point. Did Ms. Johnson offer to engage in sexual intercourse with you?”

“I don’t recall that she ever used those words, no.”

“Well … did she touch you?”

“You mean, emotionally?”

Bullock ground his teeth. “No, sir. I mean did any part of her body come into contact with any part of your body?”

“At what time?”

“Before you got into the hot tub.”

“She called it a relaxation temple.”

“What
ever
.”

“I don’t think so. She touched my clothes, of course, but I don’t think she ever touched me.”

Bullock’s frustration mounted. “Mr. Applebee, are you changing your testimony from … earlier?” Bullock was attempting to remind the witness his immunity could be revoked without reminding the jury that his testimony had been bought and paid for.

“Not at all. The touching came later.”

“Fine. Where were you when it occurred?”

“In the relaxation temple.”

Bullock’s eyes looked skyward. “What were you wearing?”

“I was in my shorts and she had, um, removed all her clothing.”

“Were you sitting or standing?”

“Sitting.”

“And where were you sitting?”

“On the bottom of the tub. Temple, I mean.”

“And where did she touch you?”

“Well …” He looked down at his hands. ‘That’s kind of personal.”

Judge Hart intervened on Bullock’s behalf. “I’m afraid you’ll have to answer the question.”

Applebee squirmed uncomfortably. “All right, ma’am. If you say so. I just hate to—you know. Especially with ladies present.”

“Answer the question,” Bullock growled.

“She touched me on—” He stretched his neck and loosened his collar. “Well, she touched Little Elvis.”

Ben stared down at his legal pad. What a classy practice he had. No wonder he’d endured three years of law school.

Bullock continued. “And with what part of …
her
anatomy did she touch you?”

“Please, Mr. Prosecutor,” Judge Hart said. “Can’t we leave a few things to the jurors’ imaginations?”

“If you wish, your honor. Mr. Applebee, did this … touching appear to occur by accident?”

“Uh, no.”

“And did Ms. Johnson appear … awkward about it?”

“Oh, no. On the contrary, she handled herself very adroitly.”

“What happened after she … touched you, Mr. Applebee?”

“That’s when the police broke in.” He sighed heavily.

“Indeed.” Bullock’s face became stern. “But you weren’t disappointed about that,
were
you?”

“Oh, no. Of course not,” Applebee said. “I was relieved. I had begun to suspect that she … wasn’t a trained health-care professional.”

Ben and Christina exchanged a look.

“That’s all I have,” Bullock said, stepping away from the podium.

“Very well,” Judge Hart replied. “Care to cross, Mr. Kincaid?”

“Yes, your honor,” Ben said, springing to his feet.

“You may inquire. If you dare.”

Ben positioned himself between the prosecution table and the witness. “Tell me, Mr. Applebee, had you ever been in a hot tub before?”

“No.”

“Did you find it … unpleasant?”

“Well, no. I found it … quite stimulating.”

“How deep was the water?”

Applebee frowned. This was obviously not the line of questioning he’d been prepped for. “I’d say about three feet, from the bottom to the top. Maybe more.”

“I see.” Ben moved in closer. “And I believe you testified that you were sitting on the bottom of the tub.”

“That’s correct.”

“Did you move later?”

A line formed between Applebee’s eyes. “No.”

Bullock rose to his feet. “Your honor, I’m not following Mr. Kincaid’s line of questioning.”

That’s the general idea, Ben thought. “I’ll tie it up, your honor.”

“Please do, counselor. We’re all waiting breathlessly.”

Ben turned back to the witness. “Then you were still sitting on the bottom of the tub when Ms. Johnson allegedly touched”—he pressed his fingers against his forehead—“Little Elvis.”

“That’s correct.”

Ben paused. “Mr. Applebee, let’s be honest with the jury. You’ve been granted immunity by the prosecution, right?”

“Well …” He glanced uncertainly at Bullock. “Yes …”

“The only reason you’re testifying today is because you made a deal with the prosecutors exonerating you if you testify against Jessie.”

“Well … that isn’t the only reason. …”

“Tell us the truth, Mr. Applebee. When you got into that hot tub, you weren’t trying to get fit. You were trying to get laid.”

“That isn’t so!” He began to fluster. “I thought it was a health spa!”

Ben put on his best disbelieving sneer. “Give us a break.”

“I did!” Applebee said indignantly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Well, what did you think when she took off her clothes?”

Applebee twined his fingers nervously. “I thought that was … very therapeutic. …”

“Come on, now. A naked woman snuggles up to you in a hot tub and you think it’s time for calisthenics?”

Applebee began to stammer. “But—but it wasn’t like that!”

“It wasn’t?”

“No. She didn’t snuggle up to me in the tub. Temple, I mean.”

“She didn’t?”

“No!” Applebee insisted. “She never even got wet.”

“I see.” Ben faced the jury and smiled. “That’s what you said at the preliminary hearing, too. She never even got wet.”

“It’s true. Amazing woman.”

Ben leaned in for the kill. “Sir, would you please explain how it would be possible for her to touch you, um, there, when you’re sitting on the bottom of three feet of water—without getting wet?”

Applebee’s mouth opened, then closed.

Ben continued. “If the water was three feet deep, even subtracting a few inches for your, um, buttocks, that would leave your lap over two and a half feet underwater. It would be impossible for Ms. Johnson to touch you without getting wet—unless Little Elvis is over two and a half feet long.”

Amused expressions crossed the faces of a few of the jurors. One older woman covered her eyes.

“Well,” Ben asked insistently. “Is it?”

Applebee’s eyebrows met in the center of his face. “Is it what?”

“Is Little Elvis over two and a half feet long?”

“You mean now?”

“Or at any other time, sir. I’m not particular.”

“Your honor,” Bullock said, “I must protest.”

“Indeed you must,” Judge Hart replied. “Have you got any grounds?”

“Well … Mr. Kincaid is ridiculing the witness.”

“Is that forbidden in cross-examination now? Procedures must’ve changed since I went to law school.”

“But it doesn’t have anything to do with the case!”

“I disagree,” Ben interjected. “It goes directly to the credibility of the witness’s testimony.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree,” the judge said. “Proceed, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Thank you, your honor. So, Mr. Applebee, I repeat: Is Little Elvis over two and a half feet long?”

“Well … I don’t exactly know.”

“How long is it? Or should I say, how long is he?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“Well, there’s an easy way to find out, isn’t there?” Ben whipped a tape measure out of his coat pocket.

Applebee looked horrified. “What the hell!”

Ben addressed the judge. “Your honor, I move that the evidence in question be produced by the witness and published to the jury.”

“Wh-what?” Applebee yammered.

Judge Hart rubbed the place where her glasses had rested on her nose, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Any response, Mr. Bullock?”

Bullock waved his arms in the air. “Judge, surely he doesn’t need to … to do this to … to prove this to the jurors.”

She glanced back at the prosecutor. “Well, they can hardly be expected to take it on faith.”

“But there must be another way. Perhaps some sort of medical examination …”

“I don’t think so,” Ben said. “Under the best-evidence rule, hearsay testimony is not an acceptable substitute for a … hands-on inspection.”

“You never told me I’d have to do anything like this,” Applebee protested. He was speaking directly to Bullock. “I won’t do it. Wouldn’t be accurate, anyway,” he added, sniffing. “Circumstances are different now than they were at the temple.”

“I’m sure we can simulate the circumstances at the temple,” Ben suggested.

“I’m not simulating myself right here in the middle of the courtroom!” Applebee shouted.

“Your honor!” Bullock protested. “I can’t have my witness …
expose
himself to the jury.”

“Mr. Bullock,” the judge said sternly, “you put this man on the stand and elicited the testimony that began this entire line of questioning. I have to give Mr. Kincaid a fair opportunity to impeach the credibility—”

“Well, I ain’t doin’ it,” Applebee said, folding his arms across his chest. “And no judge on earth can make me. No way, no how.”

Judge Hart covered her mouth. “Mr. Bullock, perhaps you should reconsider your decision to use this particular witness.”

“But your honor! Without this witness, I don’t have a case!”

“I’m glad to hear you admit that, counsel. It appears that way to the court as well. Perhaps a brief conference with your co-counsel is in order.”

Grumbling, Bullock whispered a few words to the female attorney sitting beside him at counsel table. A minute or so later he announced, “Your honor, all things considered, we move to dismiss the charges.”

Jezebel sat up straight and clapped her hands.

Judge Hart looked at Ben. “I take it you have no objection?”

“None at all, your honor. We’ll even pay our own costs.”

“Smart move, counsel.” She apologized to the jurors and formally discharged them. “This case is dismissed. Court is adjourned.”

Ben ran forward to intercept the judge before she retreated into chambers. “Your honor, I want to apologize again for being late. And I’m also sorry about, well, the disruption in the courtroom. I know it’s not the first time—and I’m truly sorry.”

“Not at all, Mr. Kincaid,” she replied, smiling. “Your cases do tend to be a bit irregular. But my goodness, they’re always entertaining.”