“Right.”

“What’s more-the front door was open.”

“That’s true.”

“So anyone could’ve brought the boy into that house. As far as you know.”

“The coroner’s re-”

“As far as you know, Officer. You’re here to tell the jury what you know.”

Montgomery sat back in his chair. “I didn’t see who brought him into the house.”

“Good. Thank you for clearing that up for me.”

During the break, Ben asked Vicki if she had any suggestions. She might be a bit on the meek side, but she was very organized, and organization was by far the most important asset when trying a case. Her notes were detailed and accurate; her files were systematically arranged and accessible.

“Anything I left out?” Ben asked.

“I thought you were great,” she said, not quite making eye contact. “I didn’t see how you could do anything with that witness. But you did-without being confrontational or alienating the jury. I could see where you were going. I think the jury could, too.”

“Let’s hope. I’m going to get some coffee. Can I get you anything, Johnny?”

He shook his head. For a boy sometimes given to great bursts of Sturm und Drang, he had been quiet, almost invisible, since the trial actually began. Ben had see this phenomenon before. Pretrial-it never seems quite real. More like some crazy TV movie-of-the-week that’s sure to have a happy ending. But once testimony begins, it becomes very real. As do the potential consequences.

“I could use some coffee. Assuming I can’t have anything stronger.”

“A safe assumption. Okay, that’s three coffees and one chocolate milk.”

Vicki put down her legal pad. “I’ll come with you.”

“There’s no need-”

“I want to,” she said, looking down toward his shoes. “I’m going to stick to you and Christina like glue. I want to get the full trial experience.”

Ben gave Christina a look. “Maybe we should let her take the next witness.”

33

Sergeant Sasser was one of three officers who went to Remote Control the night of the murder, following up on the lead from Sergeant Montgomery. He was a middle-aged man with a bushy salt-and-pepper mustache and hair that reminded Ben of praline pecan ice cream.

“What did you do when you entered the club?” Drabble asked him.

“We made a few inquiries and soon found the group of young men from the Beta house. There were six of them, all sitting together in a corner booth around a table. They were laughing and drinking, hooting and hollering. They weren’t hard to find.”

“Are any of the men who were at that table in the courtroom today?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding toward the defendant’s table. “Jonathan Earl Christensen.”

“Did you confront the men?”

“Not at first. The other two officers and I took a seat at an adjoining booth. I wanted to hear what they were saying.”

“And were you able to overhear anything?”

“Oh yeah. They didn’t seem to care who heard.”

“What were they saying?”

“Objection,” Ben said, rising to his feet. “Hearsay.”

Judge Lacayo nodded. “Sustained.”

Drabble frowned, then rephrased. “What, if anything, did you hear the defendant say?” Admissions by the defendant against his own interest constituted an exception to the hearsay rule.

Sasser did not hesitate. “He was bragging about beating up Tony Barovick.”

“Did he call Mr. Barovick by name?”

“No. He called him ‘that flaming faggot’ and ‘that sick queer’ and-well, other harsher terms.”

“The court appreciates your discretion,” Judge Lacayo said speedily. “And it does not believe any further detail is necessary. We get the idea.”

“Did he provide any specifics about what he had done to this… victim?”

“Yes. He specifically mentioned using a Taser. In fact, he showed it to his friends. He talked about cutting him. And he talked about swinging a hammer. His exact words were-pardon me, your honor-’we broke that little cocksucker’s legs into a million pieces.’ ”

Several members of the jury gasped-literally gasped. In a split second, Ben knew that the “magnitude of hate” about which Drabble had spoken in his opening had been transformed from the theoretical to the all-too-real.

“Did he seem regretful or remorseful about what he had done?”

“Objection,” Ben said. “This is a fact witness, not a psychiatrist.”

The judge frowned. “Well, the witness can describe the defendant’s demeanor or emotional state, as he witnessed it. Perhaps you should rephrase, Mr. Prosecutor.”

Drabble nodded. “Did you hear the defendant say anything that suggested that he showed any remorse about what he had done?”

“No. As I said, he was bragging. He and his buddy were proud of themselves. That was evident. The whole group was laughing it up.”

Ben felt the eyes burning his way-and past him-to Johnny. He knew what the jurors had to be thinking. What kind of monster was this?

“How long did you listen to the conversation?”

“As long as we could. As far as I was concerned, it was the easiest way to obtain rock-solid evidence. Sit in a chair and listen while the perp inadvertently confesses in front of three police officers. But after a while, one of them started to leave. That’s when I moved in.”

“What did you do?”

“I put the defendant and his friend Brett Mathers under arrest. We had heard more than enough to justify it. Pursuant to the arrest, we searched them.”

“Find anything?”

“On the defendant, we found the Taser. His friend had the hammer in his car. They both had split knuckles with blood smeared on them. Later tests showed that-”

“Objection,” Ben said. It was an easy win. The jury would have to wait and hear from a forensic expert what the later tests showed-namely, that the blood and skin fragments under Johnny’s nails came from Tony Barovick.

“Did you participate in the later custodial interrogations of the defendant?”

“Yes, I did. Christensen was tight-lipped at first, didn’t want to talk. Used his phone call to contact his mother, denied doing anything wrong. Claimed he’d been lying to his friends, that it was some sort of hazing game they played to scare new members. But he cracked pretty quick. Before the sun came up, he’d begun confessing. He admitted to participating in the assault on Tony Barovick. Using the knife, the Taser. Shattering Barovick’s jaw. Helping his buddy with the leg fracturing. Pretty much everything.”

“Thank you,” Drabble said solemnly. “Pass the witness.”

Small gains, Ben reminded himself as he approached the podium. That’s what you strive for. This was the prosecution’s case, not his, and Drabble wasn’t putting people on the stand to make Ben happy. If he could accomplish any little thing, it was a successful cross.

He didn’t waste any time. He knew a police witness would never warm up to him-they were specifically trained not to-so there was no point in trying to win him over.

“You testified that there were six men sitting around the table where you eavesdropped. But you only arrested two of them, right?”

Sasser was nonplussed. “Jonathan Christensen and Brett Mathers were the only two who talked about assaulting the victim. The other four were just the audience. They seemed to think it was a wonderful thing the boys had done and a great cause for merriment, but they didn’t admit to participating.”

“Did you ever consider the possibility that Johnny Christensen might have been exaggerating?”

“That he might be claiming to have hurt the victim more than he really did? Why would he?”

“You said yourself that his audience seemed to enjoy this talk. Maybe he was trying to impress them.”

Sasser shook his head. “You know, counsel, I might be willing to go along with you on that-if I hadn’t seen the corpse upon which every disgusting act they described had been perpetrated.”