Rough Justice: Three Ben Kincaid Stories (The Ben Kincaid Anthology Series)

by William Bernhardt

  Damn! Last week he managed to help two suspected drug dealers and a bank robber. Why couldn’t he help Tess?

  “Did I blow it?” she asked.

  “Of course not. You were perfect. Colby just had some motions he wanted to sling at the judge. That’s how those big firm guys run up their billables. The case will proceed, just as we planned.”

  “Is it going okay?” she asked. “I mean–are we winning?”

  He remained silent. The judge’s warning weighed heavily on him. “We’re going to be fine. If we just tell the jury the truth, I don’t see how they can help but find in your favor.” Assuming the case gets to the jury.

  “Excuse me.”

  He turned and, to his surprise, saw the defendant, Peggy Bennett, standing beside her husband, Dr. Edgar Bennett. Colby stood beside her. Dr. Bennett was the one who spoke.

  “Pardon me for interrupting,” Dr. Bennett continued, “but I just wanted to tell Miss Corrigan how sorry we are—”

  He glared at opposing counsel. “Colby, if this is some ploy to–“

  “No, no,” Dr. Bennett said, holding up his hands. “Mr. Colby had nothing to do with this. He didn’t want us to have any contact with you at all. But I feel compelled—” He stretched out his hands toward Tess. “I mean–I just want you to know–how sorry we are. We genuinely don’t believe this was Peggy’s fault. But we still regret the consequences.”

  He peered deeply into the man’s eyes. What was going on here? Bennett did seem genuinely disturbed—about something.

  “Edgar,” Peggy said softly, “perhaps we should go.”

  “That’s for me to decide,” Dr. Bennett said. “Please remain quiet and let me handle this.” A beep sounded in the doctor’s suit coat. He pulled out a cell phone, punched the Send button, and said, “I’m busy. Call back in ten minutes.” He disconnected the line and returned his attention to Tess. “I also wanted you to know, miss, that if there’s ever anything I can do–“

  ”You could accept our settlement proposal,” Ben said.

  Dr. Bennett drew in his breath. “I can’t do that. My insurance carrier is calling the shots on this, and they don’t think your case will hold up in court. Besides, it would be perceived as an admission of guilt. It wouldn’t be fair to my wife.”

  “Then I don’t know what more we have to talk about.” Ben sidestepped, closing off Bennett’s line of sight to Tess.

  “I understand,” Dr. Bennett said, his head bowed. “Still–you have our sincere regrets.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” Ben said, after they left. “The man obviously wants to assuage his conscience–without opening his checkbook. We’ll figure out something that—”

  “I don’t know what to do,” Tess said abruptly. She covered her scarred face with her hand. “I don’t know where I can go. It’s as if everything I had–everything that mattered–was taken away from me in the blink of an eye.”

  “There’s more to you than your looks,” he replied. “You’re a good person. You’ve put in more time than anyone I know for charity. You spent ten hours a week working with kids down at the women’s shelter—”

  “Which I also can’t do any more,” Tess said, and all at once, the tears she held back during the trial streamed from her eyes. “My face is too scary, they say. I frighten the children. They—” Her voice caught. “They asked me to stop coming.”

  He felt as if someone had drilled a hole in his chest. Not only was Tess without a career–she was without a purpose.

  She really had lost everything.

  *****

  Ben had several other matters at the courthouse that required his attention. He had to file a motion in the Marquez robbery case and get a hearing scheduled in the Mary Mathers solicitation matter. He saw Judge Hart in the hallway and ducked. She was still waiting for his brief in the Cantrell contract dispute and he didn’t want to explain why he hadn’t done it yet. Sometimes he felt like he had so many cases going at once he couldn’t keep them all straight. Other times he wondered how he could possibly stay so busy and still not make any money.

  Afterward he made a quick stop at his apartment to feed Giselle, then an even quicker sojourn to The Right Wing for takeout. Finally he headed back toward his office. It was after dark before he arrived.

  Thanks to the determined and occasionally less-than-legal efforts of his investigator, Loving, he’d secured new office space in the Warren Place complex on the south side of Tulsa. Though budgetary concerns left the space drab and still largely unfurnished, compared to his previous office, it was the Ritz. Now he just needed some Ritzy clients to go with it.

  He was surprised to find his staff still in the office. His legal assistant and intern, Christina, and his secretary and office manager, Jones, were huddled together at a desk, poring over a ledger. “What are you two up to?”

  “Last day of the month,” Jones answered. “Time to do the accounting.”

  “So how’s it look? Grim?”

  “And then some.” Christina brushed her ample mane of strawberry-red hair behind her head. “We’ve barely made enough to cover the essential bottom-line item.”

  “Which is…?”

  “My salary.”

  Jones nodded. “And mine. But after that, there’s not much.”

  “What about our accounts receivable? Any likelihood of collecting anything in the near future?”

  “I’d like to think we might collect on Lauren Grundy’s bill, but she informs me that you agreed to waive your fee.”

  Ben redirected his eyes toward the ceiling. “Her baby’s sick, and she really doesn’t have anything to spare...”

  “And of course, Madame Martel owes us a fortune for that libel suit. But I understand you said she could pay her bill off in tea-leaf readings.”

  “She’s a very nice woman,” Ben explained, “but her business has been falling off since that article in the World...”

  “What were you thinking, Boss? We need cash. Cold hard cash.”

  “I for one am enjoying the tea-leaf readings,” Christina said. “I had one this afternoon. Madame Martel says I will go far.”

  “We can hope,” Jones muttered under his breath.

  “She says I have an effervescent spirit.”

  “I think you can take pills for that.” Jones closed the ledger with a thump. “Any chance of collecting our contingency fee on Tess Corrigan’s case? One-third of a personal injury judgment would be most welcome.”

  Ben shrugged. “We’re still putting on our case...”

  “Can we give them some incentive to settle? Convince them to make a ‘play-it-safe’ payment before it goes to the jury? Get a little something to tide us through the month?”

  “Twist the case around to make ourselves a quick profit?”

  “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

  Ben frowned. “Doesn’t matter–prospects for early settlement are dim at this juncture.”

  “Sorry to hear that. I’m not even sure we’re going to be able to pay the rent.”

  “So you’re telling me this isn’t the month we’re going to buy that fancy new photocopier?”

  “That would be one way of putting it, yes.”

  “Why would you want a fancy photocopier, anyway?” Christina asked. “If you get any extra cash, you need to invest it in decor. This place looks more like a monastery than a law office.”

  “Women,” Jones sniffed. “Always decorating.”

  “Don’t give me that sexist crap. You think I don’t know why you little boys want a new photocopier? You think I haven’t seen what you do? Making goony faces and pressing them into the machine. Mooning the photoelectric lens.”

  “I have never mooned anyone in my entire life,” Ben said. “Much less a photocopier.”

  “Yeah, right. Next time remember to take the copies out of the collator.”

  Loving stepped out of his office. “How goes the war, Skipper?”

  “Not as well as I’d like. I’ve got a job fo
r you.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’d like you to keep an eye on the defendant’s husband. Edgar Bennett. Follow him around, see what you can learn.”

  “You got it. What am I looking for?”

  “I wish I knew. But something’s going on. When I looked into his eyes today, I got the strongest feeling that...I don’t know. Something was bothering him. I’d be a lot happier if I knew what it was.”

  Loving gave Ben a little salute. “I’m on it, Skipper.”

  “Thanks.”

  Ben pivoted just in time to see Tess Corrigan come through the door. Once again, he faced the monumental challenge of looking at her face without reacting.

  “I brought the pictures,” Tess said quietly.

  He took the photos and escorted her to his office. The photos were all black and white glossies–professional shots taken from her modeling portfolio. Ben hoped to get them in front of the jury to emphasize the profound difference between Tess-then and Tess-now.

  “Will I have to testify again?” Tess asked. He could see she was trying to be brave, but more than anything on earth wanted to be spared a return to the witness stand.

  “No. Colby said he doesn’t plan to cross-examine you. It wouldn’t get him anywhere. He could conceivably call you when he’s putting on the defense case, but I think that’s unlikely.”

  “Thank God. So what do we do next?”

  “First thing tomorrow morning, I need to call the defendant to the stand. She won’t want to give me anything. But I have to try. It’s critical that we establish that she was at fault.”

  “I don’t think she’s a stupid woman. She won’t be tricked.”

  “It’s not a matter of tricking her. Just eliciting the truth. If I can do some damage to Mrs. Bennett, her attorney might be willing to talk settlement.”

  “And then?”

  “We start negotiating. To get what we want.”

  “Which is?”

  He hesitated. “What do you want?”

  She didn’t answer, but her eyes drifted to the top photo, the glamour shot of Tess-before, Tess with the unmarred face, Tess with the perfect smile.

  What she wanted, of course, was the one thing she couldn’t have.

  *****

  The next morning, Ben called Peggy Bennett to the stand and had her declared a hostile witness, which allowed him to conduct his direct examination as if it were a cross-examination. He could lead, he could badger, he could interrupt. And he could hope that it did Tess some good.

  “Could you please explain why you were driving your Expedition at one in the morning, Mrs. Bennett?”

  “I was driving my husband to the hospital. He’d gotten an emergency call.” Peggy Bennett remained prim and composed. She was thin and quite attractive, especially given her age.

  “Couldn’t he drive himself?”

  “He could, but if I drove, that meant he could sleep during the drive.”

  “During the drive to the hospital? That couldn’t be more than–what? Ten minutes?”

  “Ten minutes of sleep can make the difference between a surgeon who’s sluggish and a surgeon who’s at the top of his form.”

  “But surely you can’t always drive your husband to the hospital.”

  “No, not always.”

  “So are you suggesting that sometimes when he operates he’s sluggish and tired?”

  “Objection,” Colby said, bouncing to his feet. “Offensive and irrelevant.”

  “I’ll sustain the objection on the latter grounds,” Judge Hawkins said, batting his eyelids. Ben wasn’t sure if the judge was being coy or just trying to stay awake.

  “Mrs. Bennett, you said you got an emergency call from the hospital,” he continued. “Presumably that meant they wanted your husband as soon as possible. Were you driving very fast?”

  “Not at all. Every call from the hospital is an emergency call. I’m used to it.”

  “But you were speeding.”

  “I most certainly was not. I was driving at the limit, no more.”

  “When did you first see my client’s car?”

  “Only an instant before I hit it.”

  “Why didn’t you see it sooner?”

  “Perhaps I misspoke myself.” She smoothed one of the folds in her skirt. “I saw her car–but it was in the opposite lane. I had no reason to believe she would attempt to turn left directly into my path.”

  “Why didn’t you see her sooner? Were you paying attention to the road?”

  “Of course I was. It would be irresponsible not to.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t distracted? Perhaps you were having an animated conversation with your husband?”

  “As I said, he was asleep.”

  Damn. He was well outside the scope of the pretrial deposition he had taken from Mrs. Bennett–which was always dangerous. But he had to try to find something useful. “Maybe you were talking on your car phone?”

  “I don’t have a car phone.” She looked at him as if he was surely one of the stupidest persons who ever lived. “My husband has a cellular phone, like most doctors, but he didn’t have it with him that night. I was fully attentive, with my eyes on the road. Which didn’t help me a bit when your client swerved directly in front of me.”

  He was beating his head against a brick wall and he knew it. Time to change the subject. “What did you do after the accident?”

  “I was stunned initially. And quite injured.” She paused, glancing, if only for a moment, at Tess. “But not nearly so badly as the woman in the other car. Edgar, of course, was awakened by the crash. He hobbled over to the nearest house and called for ambulances. The first to arrive took Miss Corrigan to the hospital. We rode in the second.”

  “Was that the same hospital where your husband works?”

  “Of course. I was treated for minor head injuries and a scrape on my arm. My husband had a gash on his right leg. They performed an MRI on both of us to make sure we hadn’t suffered a serious head injury. Then they sent us home.”

  “But they didn’t send Tess Corrigan home that night, did they?”

  Peggy Bennett’s eyes adjusted themselves slightly lower. “No,” she murmured. “I believe she had to remain for some weeks. Her injuries were, of course, much more severe.”

  Having nothing left to try, he reluctantly dismissed Mrs. Bennett. Reluctant–because he knew perfectly well he had failed to prove she was at fault.

  Ben’s next witness was Maria Verluna. She was much younger than Mrs. Bennett–early thirties, Ben guessed. She had dark hair and a dark complexion.

  “Please tell the jury what you do for a living.”

  “I work in the emergency room at the hospital,” Maria said. “I’m a nurse.” She was nervous. He could see it in the way she fidgeted with her hands. But everyone was nervous on the witness stand.

  “And were you working during the early morning of March 15?”

  “I was. I drew the night shift that week.”

  “Were you on duty when Tess Corrigan was brought to the hospital?”

  “No. She arrived shortly before I did and was treated by other people. I came on about 1:40 a.m.”

  “Were you there when Dr. and Mrs. Bennett arrived?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume you recognized Dr. Bennett. Since you both work at the same hospital.”

  “Yes,” she said, after only the slightest hesitation. “I knew him.”

  “Did you assist in the Bennetts’ treatment?”

  “Yes. Dr. Ferguson was in charge, but I helped clean and bandage the wounds.”

  “Let me ask you about what you saw,” he said, folding his arms. Once again, he was going outside the scope of the pretrial depositions, thus violating one of the cardinal rules of trial practice–don’t ask a question unless you know the answer. But at the moment, he was desperate. “Did the Bennetts’ behavior seem...odd in any way?”

  Maria’s brow creased. “I don’t know what you mean.�
��

  Well, that makes two of us, he thought. “Did they do or say anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I–don’t think so.”

  “Did you see any evidence that they’d been drinking?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Did you smell their breath?”

  “No–but I think I would have knownjkl, if they’d been drinking.”

  “But you can’t be sure.”

  “Yes, I can.” She looked up quickly and glanced at Dr. Bennett. Now that was interesting, Ben thought. Why would she check Dr. Bennett? “We took blood samples from both of them, and at the request of the police department, we had Mrs. Bennett’s sample tested. There was no trace of alcohol. None at all.”

  “You’re certain of that?”

  “We ran the tests twice—standard procedure when a contested automotive accident occurs. She had not been drinking.”

  “Did the Bennetts say anything about the accident?”

  “No. I don’t believe Mrs. Bennett spoke all night, except in answer to direct questions.”

  “And her husband?”

  Maria shook her head. “Edgar never said a word, either.”

  He continued questioning her for another ten minutes, hoping to turn up something that might be of use. She seemed defensive and extremely unwilling to incriminate anyone. In the end, he got nothing. Which was unfortunate. He needed a home run, but all he got was another strikeout.

  During the afternoon break, he spotted the Bennetts in the hallway outside the courtroom. Mrs. Bennett carried a large briefcase.

  “Is that mine?” Dr. Bennett asked.

  “Yes,” his wife replied. “The hospital sent it over. They thought—”

  He snatched it from her. “I’ll take that.”

  “I’m perfectly capable of carrying your briefcase.”

  “You might hurt yourself.” Dr. Bennett scanned the hallway. Ben quickly looked away.

  A moment later, he felt a sharp tug on his arm. It was Colby. “Could I speak to you in private for a moment?”