Cruel Justice Read Online Free PDF Page A

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.”

3
    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