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

by William Bernhardt

  Colby shrugged him away. “Please, Kincaid. No one likes a sore loser.”

  “This isn’t about winning and losing.”

  “No, this is about representing my client. Which I did. The Rules of Professional Conduct charge us with a duty to defend our clients to the best of our ability.”

  “I’m sick and tired of hearing people use the ethics code like it was some kind of Get Out of Jail Free card. The Rules were supposed to improve the moral responsibility of practicing attorneys. Instead, they’ve become an excuse trotted out at opportune moments to justify shameless tactics–winning at all costs. That isn’t what we’re here for!”

  Colby tried to brush past him. “This is quite tiresome, Kincaid. If you’ll excuse me—”

  “Not yet. I want to talk to your client. And since your vaunted Rules of Professional Conduct say I can’t do that outside your presence, stay put.” He leaned in close. “I want you to understand two things, Dr. Bennett. I will never let this case rest. I don’t care what your high-powered law firm throws at me. I will never give up until you take responsibility for what you did.” He took a deep breath. “And here’s the second thing you need to know. From now until the day you step up and act like a man, I’m going to make your life a living hell.”

  Colby looked shocked. “Mr. Kincaid!”

  “This will be my holy crusade, Dr. Bennett. I will make sure everyone in town knows you were driving drunk, that you hurt someone, and that you refuse to take responsibility for your actions. What happens to your practice then? What happens to your social life? Does high society stick with the reckless irresponsible physician who destroys lives and cheats on his wife? I’ll make things so hot for you, you won’t be able to sleep at night. Every time you take a breath, I’ll be lurking right over your shoulder.”

  Colby pushed himself between them. “Kincaid, your conduct is shocking. I’m going to report you to the Disciplinary Committee of the Bar Association.”

  “Do whatever the hell you want, Colby. I’m not afraid of you. Or your law firm.” He cast a backward glance at Dr. Bennett. “I meant what I said. Every word of it.”

  Slowly, Dr. Bennett’s lips parted. “What do you want?”

  “Like I’ve said all along,” Ben fired back. “Five hundred thousand in damages. Not a penny less.”

  Bennett shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “You’re worth ten times that much.”

  “That’s not the point. If I make a financial settlement with you, I’ve admitted liability. I’d be drummed out of the hospital. I might even lose my license to practice.”

  “There’s no admission of liability in the settlement agreement.”

  “It wouldn’t matter. People would know.” Bennett drew in his breath. “I’m sorry, but I can’t pay your client a dime.” Bennett pushed himself out of his chair. Colby grabbed his briefcase and followed behind.

  “Wait,” Ben said, just before they were out of earshot. “I have one more proposal.”

  *****

  Ben gathered the entire office staff, Christina, Loving and Jones, in the main conference room.

  “All right, Ben, spill,” Christina said. “What’s the big secret?”

  He smiled. “I’ll tell you as soon as—” He looked up abruptly. “Tess, please come in.”

  Tess stepped into the conference room. The last bandage had been removed from the center of her face, but otherwise, she was unchanged. “I was told you wanted to see me?”

  “We have a settlement proposal from the Bennetts.”

  Her eyes widened. “We do?”

  “Subject to your approval. But let me tell you up front–there’s no money involved. Bennett doesn’t want to pay you a penny, and he’s prepared to stonewall for the next five years to avoid it.”

  The light in Tess’s eyes dimmed.

  “But here’s the deal. I suggested, if he wouldn’t pay you in cash–how about agreeing to pay for reconstructive surgery? He is a doctor, after all. He knows others doctors. They all do favors for one another, provide services on the cheap. Surgery to repair your face would cost you millions, but Bennett could get it for a lot less. He might be able to get it done without any money ever changing hands.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “He did. If you accept the offer, he’ll arrange for your treatment. Whatever it takes. Till you look the same way you did in those black and white glossies.”

  Tess’s lips parted. “I–I don’t know what to say—”

  “You don’t have to take it. I’m willing to fight this thing as long as—”

  “He’ll fix my face? Really?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “If that’s what I want? That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Tears spilled out of her eyes. “I didn’t care about money. It wouldn’t have been enough. All I ever wanted was my face–my smile—” She threw her arms around Ben and hugged him tightly.

  “So...does this mean I should accept?”

  She laughed, then planted a kiss on his cheek. “Please. As soon as possible.” Her damaged face nonetheless managed an ear-to-ear smile. “Thank you so much.”

  Ben shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

  *****

  After Tess left, Jones leaned across the conference table. “Well, I have a question, Boss.”

  Ben loosened his tie. “I bet I know what it is.”

  “How do we take a contingency fee on the promise of medical services?”

  He took a sudden interest in a spot on the wall. “We...uh...don’t.”

  “So,” Christina said, “basically, we’re in dire financial straits, we’ve spent months on this case, and we’re not going to get paid a dime.”

  “That would be...um—” He cleared his throat. “That would be more or less accurate, yes.”

  Christina shook her head. She rose to her feet, stepped forward–and planted a kiss on Ben’s cheek. “You old softie, you.”

  He squinted. “Then...you’re not mad at me?”

  Christina smiled. “How could anyone be mad at you?”

  “Well—” Jones started.

  “That was a rhetorical question. Don’t worry. We’ll pay the rent somehow. And we can always wait on your photocopier.”

  “And my fall wardrobe,” Jones grumbled.

  “The important thing,” Christina said, “is that we got our client exactly what she wanted. Correction–exactly what she needed. And that’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

  All Ben could do was smile. And agree.

  AFTER HOURS

  by William Bernhardt

  This story takes place between the events depicted in the novels Capitol Conspiracy and the next book in the Ben Kincaid series (to be released Fall of 2014).

  AFTER HOURS

  Major Morelli shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “Damn it all to hell.”

  His partner, Lieutenant Baxter, was so stricken she could barely speak. “It’s...a tragedy, that’s all,” she finally spit out in a halting, broken voice. “Just...a tragedy.”

  The corpse sprawled across the king-size bed was, he thought, perhaps the most luminous woman Morelli had ever seen. Even now, with the color drained from her face, she possessed a spellbinding quality that he rarely observed these days in the living or the dead. A purity that came only with youth. A feminine dignity that even so much blood could not obscure.

  “Must’ve been a heart-breaker,” he added, to no one in particular.

  “And such a baby. I got a niece about her age.” Baxter turned her back on the grisly tableau. “Think of everything she’ll miss, everything she’ll never know. Just makes me sick.”

  “Try to keep your emotions out of it,” he warned. “We have a job to do.”

  “Always in control, right? Always the professional. Even when you’re looking at a crime so horrible it makes your stomach turn. Makes you want to give up being a cop and just slit your wrists.”

  He didn’t blink. “Let
’s interview the boyfriend.”

  On his way out of the bedroom, he glanced through the still-open sliding door that led to the terrace. The Tulsa skyline beckoned with its twinkling lights and irregular skyline, innocent as a Christmas tree. He loved this town, loved its earnestness and well-meaning naiveté. Working here was like policing an amusement park in the middle of an untamed jungle. Who would ever dream that here, after hours, you could uncover a horror like this?

  He headed into the main living room where Baxter already waited. Dr. Barkley, the county coroner, had just arrived. Barkley had the expertise of a doctor and the personality of a surfer dude, a combination Morelli never failed to find disturbing.

  “The corpse is in there.” He jerked his thumb back the way he’d come. “I’d like to know as much as you can tell me as soon as you can tell me.”

  Barkley frowned. “Mike, you know I can’t reach any final conclusions until I’ve–”

  “I know the drill.” He placed his finger on the lapel of Barkley’s white lab coat. “Nonetheless, I want to know as much as you can tell me as soon as you can tell me. I’d like a preliminary report in fifteen minutes. Understood?”

  “Whatever.” Barkley passed into the bedroom.

  “Bit grumpy tonight, aren’t you?” Baxter asked.

  “Can’t let people start making their own rules. We’re all part of a team, no part more important than any other.”

  “No, that girl is getting to you. The corpse. You’re totally on edge.”

  “Don’t like having my sleep disturbed.”

  “That I already knew.”

  She handed him the photos from the videographers, always careful that their hands didn’t quite touch.

  The affair had started years ago. First it was an unexpected kiss during a stakeout. Now they spent most weekends together. No one knew. Departmental regulations didn’t permit intimate relationships between officers. If word got out, one of them would have to quit. Not to mention put up with endless harassment from fellow officers.

  He crossed the living room of the penthouse apartment and found the boyfriend huddled in the far corner of an elegant white sofa.

  Terry Farnum was a delicate, slender man, in some respects as beautiful as his slain companion. He wore his hair buzzed down almost to the scalp. Ironically, the extreme crewcut did not give him a hard, military appearance but instead made him seem simple and unadorned, almost childlike. His eyes were red and swollen to such a degree that Morelli couldn’t get a clear impression of his features.

  “You knew the girl? Kim Masters?”

  Farnum’s response was more a tremble than a nod.

  Times like this Morelli hated his job, absolutely hated it. Farnum was grieving hard, and nothing hurt worse than trying to pry information out of someone who needed a comforting arm around the shoulder.

  “Could you describe your relationship?”

  Farnum pressed his hand against his forehead, obscuring much of his face. “We were lovers.”

  “I see.” Damn, damn, damn. Damn this job to hell and back again. “How long had you...uh...been together?”

  “Almost seven months now.” Farnum’s voice cracked. “I met her in this club I own down on Peoria. The Red Parrot. When I first saw Kim, I–I can’t explain it. You know how, sometimes, you look back on a particular moment in your life and realize that was when everything changed? That’s how it was when I connected with Kim. From the very first, I knew this was something special.”

  “I gather your relationship was...” He coughed into his hand. “...sexual in nature.”

  “It wasn’t the most important part of the relationship, but yes. That first night, after I finally worked up the courage to speak, Kim came home with me. But there was nothing cheap or sleazy about it. We stayed up all night talking, telling secrets, baring our souls. Kim had not led an easy life. We were both confused, troubled, despondent. Kim felt everyone was judging. ‘Why can’t people just let us be who we are?’ I hear that several times that night. ‘Why can’t we be who we want to be?’”

  Farnum closed his eyes and continued. “I told her not to worry. Told her she was safe with me. Told her everyone is entitled to a small measure of happiness. And that included her. I don’t know how to explain this but, by the time the sun rose, it was as if–we both knew. Can you understand that? We both knew this was right. It was only natural that we should become lovers. Natural and so very very right. She was the great romance of my life. Nothing else came close.”

  He watched Farnum’s face carefully. The police department’s initial suspect was always the spouse or significant other. But watching this man’s grief-ridden face, hearing his cracked and broken voice, he found it impossible to believe Farnum would do Kim Masters any harm. Nothing could have driven him to kill her.

  “Do you know anyone who might have reason to kill Kim?”

  Farnum shook his head. “I can’t imagine. She quit her job after we got together. She lived here with me. Most days, she never even went out, unless it was a brief trip to do some shopping or some such. She had very little contact with other people. I think...I think she liked it that way.”

  “What about yourself?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does anyone bear a grudge against you? Someone who might try to get to you by killing your girlfriend?”

  Farnum’s eyes widened, suddenly and horribly. “No. I mean, I can’t— It wouldn’t— No.”

  Baxter cut in. “But there is someone with an axe to grind against you? Right?”

  Farnum’s eyes dropped a notch. “I...owe some money. Business at the club dropped off this year but, unfortunately, my debts didn’t. I had to borrow. It’s purely a business arrangement.”

  “With the mob?”

  Farnum took a deep breath. “Do you know a man named Albert DeCarlo? Intercontinental Imports?”

  He did. DeCarlo was the top gangster in Tulsa Town. Inherited the position from his daddy. Intercontinental Imports was a front for all his illegal operations. “I know him.”

  “He likes to hang out at my club. Has for years. But we only recently had occasion to do business together.”

  “How much do you owe?”

  “Half a million.”

  He whistled. “And DeCarlo wants to be paid.”

  “He’s expressed that desire on repeated occasions, yes.”

  “Maybe the hit was a warning,” Baxter said. “Pay up or you’ll be next.”

  “I don’t think so. I mean–well, I know that isn’t so.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “For one thing, I told DeCarlo yesterday that I’m taking bankruptcy. My assets are all in the control of the court receiver. It wouldn’t matter who DeCarlo killed. He’ll never get more than ten cents on the dollar.”

  Baxter flipped her long brown curls behind her shoulders. “That wouldn’t deter that bloodsucker. He might’ve thought if he pushed you, you might find some more money somewhere. Or maybe the hit was to teach you a lesson. Or to send a message to other schmucks who owe him money.”

  “I’ve known DeCarlo for years. Since he was a lieutenant working under his father. That isn’t his style.”

  “But you said–”

  “You asked if I knew anyone who had a grudge against me, and I do. But if DeCarlo wanted to send a message, he would’ve hit me, not Kim. He fancies himself a respectable businessman, in his own twisted way. He might’ve had me rubbed out, but he would never murder an innocent third person.”

  Baxter moved in. “That’s a crock of–”

  Morelli stopped her in mid-sentence. “No. Farnum’s right.” He was familiar enough with DeCarlo’s file to know. The young DeCarlo had been linked to a number of high crimes and misdemeanors, including contract killings. But no one had ever suggested that he’d struck against a target’s wife or family or loved ones. He considered it a point of honor. He wouldn’t ice the woman to get at Farnum, no matter how much money was on the line.

/>   “Okay,” Morelli said, “if not DeCarlo, then who was it?”

  Farnum shrugged. “If I knew that, don’t you think I’d tell you?” He wiped puddles from his eyes. “Maybe a burglar.”

  “The terrace door was open. A burglar with good repelling gear could have lowered himself from the roof.”

  “These are expensive apartments. Most of the people here are loaded. We’ve had a lot of break-ins lately. Maybe Kim caught someone in the act.”

  Part of that was true–the Malador Apartments had a crime rate way above average. “We’ll check it out,” Morelli promised. He glanced up at Baxter. “Anything else you want to ask?”

  “Well–yeah. You haven’t asked about her family or friends or bad habits or–”

  “I think that’s enough for now.” Morelli pushed himself to his feet. True, they hadn’t covered all the bases, but he wanted to know more about the crime itself. And he wanted to give poor Farnum a break. “Let’s see if the coroner can shed any light on this mystery.”

  He returned to the bedroom. He stopped just before he entered and pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket.

  “You going to pick up DeCarlo?” Baxter asked.

  “I don’t see the point. But I would like someone to speak to him.”

  “He’ll deny everything.”

  “But he might tell us something useful, just the same.” He snapped his fingers. “Do you know a mug named Ernie Bartello? They call him Bart the Dart.”

  “DeCarlo’s top enforcer, right?”

  “Right. If DeCarlo hired this done, Bartello’s the one who did it. And if I’m not mistaken, Bartello likes to hang out at the Blue Rose when he’s not working.” He punched a few buttons. “I’ll send someone out to pick him up. You send someone over to visit with DeCarlo.”

  After they made their respective calls, they entered the bedroom.

  Barkley was in the process of covering the corpse with a bed sheet. Apparently he had finished his preliminary investigation.