Cruel Justice Read Online Free PDF Page B

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