“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t-and didn’t-but it would be more accurate than what you did say.”

“Objection,” Canelli said. “He’s getting argumentative.”

Judge Pitcock shrugged. “It’s cross-examination. I’ll allow it.”

Ben continued. “What you’re really saying, Mrs. O’Connell, is that you saw someone who you took for Father Beale.”

“I know what I saw. The man had gray-white hair and a beard-”

“So it could’ve been Alvin Greene.”

Ruth paused a moment. “I don’t-”

“He has gray hair. And a beard. Doesn’t he?”

“I don’t recall whether Alvin was there.”

“He was. As leader of the Altar Guild, he has to be at all major functions, to prepare and to clean up afterward. But you know that even better than I do, don’t you, Mrs. O’Connell?”

“I suppose.”

“For that matter, on several occasions I’ve noticed a homeless man sleeping in the prayer garden at St. Benedict’s. I’m sure you’ve noticed him, too, Mrs. O’Connell-since you introduced a motion at the last vestry meeting to have him forcibly removed.”

“It’s not an appropriate image for a church…”

“Come to think of it-that poor homeless man has gray hair, too, doesn’t he? And a beard. Well, stubble, really. But still.”

Ruth began to get indignant. “Mr. Kincaid, I could not possibly mistake a homeless man for my priest! Their faces are nothing alike.”

“Ah, but you didn’t see the face, did you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You testified that you saw a man entering the office. But the front door to the office suite faces north. You were at the north end of the corridor. That tells me that, at best, all you saw was the man’s back.”

“Well… I…”

“Come to think of it, Father Beale and Alvin Greene look a lot alike-from the back. Don’t they? For that matter, Father Beale and a whole lot of people probably look the same from the back.”

“You’re wrong. You’re twisting-”

“I’m not convinced you even saw a gray head and beard. At that distance, I don’t think you could tell whether someone was actually entering the office suite. I think you saw someone’s back and subsequently filled in the details to make it Father Beale because, consciously or unconsciously, you wanted to incriminate him.”

“You don’t know-”

“The truth is, ma’am, you couldn’t possibly know with any degree of certainty who you saw, not at that distance with your vision. Studies have shown that eyewitness testimony is inherently unreliable; in controlled experiments, test results from eyewitnesses are barely more accurate than if the witnesses were just guessing. What you’ve done is called unconscious transference. The mind drafts a familiar face to play a role that could not otherwise be cast based upon the available information.”

Canelli rose to his feet. “Is Mr. Kincaid giving expert testimony now?”

Ben ignored him. “You only decided the man you saw was Father Beale-after the murder was discovered-because that’s who you wanted it to be. Because, as you told the jury in great detail, you and the rest of the vestry strongly despise him and have been trying everything possible to get rid of him.”

“That’s not true! I mean, that’s not why-”

“So you say, but how else can you explain giving a positive identification from a distance where your vision simply makes it impossible that you could be sure of anything?”

Ruth had no answer. She clutched her handbag and stared at the floor.

After Ruth was dismissed and court was on a ten-minute recess, the defense team took its first huddle.

Christina gave Ben a high five. “Nice job, killer. You totally blew that meddling crone out of the water.”

Father Beale agreed. “I have to admit, you were quite effective.”

“I had to undermine that ID,” Ben explained. “It was too convenient, given the time of death the coroner will later establish.”

“But I worry about you, Ben,” Beale continued. “The position you’re in. Your job virtually requires you to humiliate people. To make them look like fools and liars.”

Ben felt a burning in his cheeks. “We’re trying to get at the truth.”

“Right. And Ruth was mistaken in her identification. You made that clear. But at what cost to her personally? Am I to be saved only by destroying others? Is that what Jesus would do?”

“No,” Christina said, “but as I recall, Jesus’ trial didn’t turn out so hot.”

“I’m not going to let you martyr yourself,” Ben added, “if that’s what you’re thinking. We’ll do everything possible to fight this thing. Even if it means embarrassing a few people on the witness stand.”

“I know that,” Beale said. “You misunderstand. I’m not concerned about the effect of this trial on me.” He turned, adjusting his eyes to meet Ben’s. “I’m concerned about the effect of this trial on you.”

“And what did you see when you entered the church, Sergeant?”

The slim, square-jawed man with perfect posture cleared his throat. “A large crowd of people huddled in the foyer just outside a suite of offices.”

“And who were these people?”

“As I learned subsequently, most of them were either attending or participating in a wedding.”

“What did you do next?”

“I proceeded through the crowd and made my way to the offices. Following the pointed fingers of some of the spectators, I found a large office in the rear. I went inside.”

“And what did you find?”

The man’s emotionless expression didn’t waver, although Ben detected just the slightest tremor in his voice. “I found the body of Kate McGuire sprawled across a desk, her dress hiked up around her waist. Blood was caked and smeared across the side of her face. Her skin was a pale blue. She was obviously dead.”

“Was there a name on the door to this office?”

He nodded solemnly. “Father Daniel Beale.”

As Ben well knew, Sergeant Cooper had been the first officer on the scene after the police were called. Mike showed up about fifteen minutes later, but before then, it was Cooper’s show.

Christina whispered into Ben’s ear. “Should we object? He couldn’t possibly be certain she was dead just by looking at her.”

“To what end? She was dead, and everyone here knows it. An objection would only irritate the jurors.”

That was the last thing Ben wanted to do, especially at this stage. He had been at the scene, after all, and he knew Cooper had conducted himself and the preliminary investigation in a professional by-the-book manner. Ben didn’t like what he knew the man would say next, but making a lot of objections would only highlight it in the jurors’ minds.

A few minutes later, Cooper described his first encounter with Father Beale. “I found him by himself, in one of the small Sunday school rooms in the opposite corridor. He was on his knees. His face was red and streaked; he appeared to have been crying.”

“What did you do?”

“I lifted the man to his feet, read him his rights, and attempted to question him.”

“Attempted?”

“Yes, and not very successfully. He seemed confused, dazed, as if he had just-”

“Objection,” Ben said. “The witness is here to provide facts, not to speculate.”

Judge Pitcock agreed. “Sustained.”

Sergeant Cooper resumed. “I wasn’t able to get any clear answers out of him. He was not cooperative.”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the defendant at this time? About his appearance?”

“Yes. Blood.” Cooper drew in his breath, extending his ramrod back even higher. “He had spots of blood on his robe. Some in his beard. And under his fingernails. He had tried to wash it off in the bathroom before the police arrived. But he missed some of it.”

Ben watched as the jurors looked at one another. The importance of that detail was not lost on them.

“Did anything else happen, Sergeant?” Canelli asked.