Capitol Offense

by William Bernhardt

  “It wasn’t obvious! I didn’t know!”

  “I’ll tell you what I think, Mr. Thomas. I think you didn’t want to find your wife. That’s why you didn’t think to look in the obvious place.”

  “Noooo!”

  “Maybe the real reason you were so angry that day is because the police found her!”

  “It’s not true, you—”

  “You were mad at her. You wanted to be free of her. That’s why you hit her!”

  “Nooo!” Dennis rose to his feet. “I loved my wife! I loved my wife!”

  Ben slumped in his seat. It was horrifying. Dennis was melting down right before their eyes.

  “Your honor,” Ben said, “could we take a short break?”

  “No!” Guillerman barked. “I’m not done. Don’t let this man have another powwow with his attorney. Who knows what they might cook up next!”

  “I’m going to allow the cross to continue,” Judge McPartland said.

  Guillerman pressed ahead. “You planned this murder, didn’t you, Mr. Thomas? Planned the whole thing from start to finish.”

  “I did not! I never—”

  “You did your research, found out what you needed, got your gun, tracked Sentz down, and shot him in cold blood.”

  “No!”

  “You hated him!”

  “I never wanted to hurt him!”

  “Then why did you hit him?”

  Dennis fell silent.

  Guillerman continued. “First your wife, then the cop. You have a nasty little temper, don’t you?”

  “I never meant to hurt him. I just—I lost control.”

  “I believe it. More than once.”

  “It wasn’t like that!”

  “Didn’t you hit Detective Sentz at the scene of your wife’s accident?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Objection!” Ben shouted.

  “Overruled,” the judge said in a firm tone that permitted no rebuttal.

  “Funny thing to do to someone you didn’t want to hurt,” Guillerman continued. “Logical thing to do to someone you wanted to kill.”

  “I just swung—”

  “So hard he was scheduled for root canal surgery. Except you killed him before he could get there.”

  “I did not want to hurt him!”

  “He could’ve pressed charges against you, but he didn’t. He withdrew them. An act of charity that cost him his life.”

  “He scraped up the entire right side of my face!”

  “You probably wanted to kill him right then and there, but others stopped you, so you waited until he was alone and did it then!”

  “That isn’t true!”

  Guillerman leaned in for the kill. “And after you hit him, you threatened him.”

  “No!”

  “Didn’t you scream, ‘There will be a reckoning!’ over and over again?”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t bother lying about it. I have lots of witnesses.”

  “I said it, but—”

  “And that was a death threat, right? By a ‘reckoning,’ you meant a murder!”

  “That is not true!”

  “There will be a reckoning, you said repeatedly. And a few days later, there was! You shot Detective Sentz in cold blood!”

  “No!” He looked at Ben, as if pleading for help. “No!”

  “One last question, Mr. Thomas. Just one and then we’re done. And be honest, because if you are not, this jury will see through you, just as I do. My question is this. You claim you weren’t out to get Detective Sentz. You claim you blacked out and you don’t know what happened. Very well. When you finally came to, when you awoke and someone told you that Detective Sentz was dead, murdered—what was your reaction?”

  Dennis’s eyes darted to the defendant’s table.

  “Don’t look to your lawyer for an answer! I think he’s done quite enough for you already. I want the truth this time. I want to know—when you found out that Christopher Sentz was dead—how did that make you feel?”

  Dennis hesitated. His lips parted, but no words came out.

  “We’re all waiting for an answer, sir. Tell us the truth! What was your reaction?”

  “I—I—”

  “Don’t pretend you were filled with remorse. Don’t give this jury any more trash. Tell us the truth. What was your reaction?”

  After all the shouting, Dennis’s voice seemed so tiny he was barely audible. “I was glad Sentz was dead.”

  Ben’s eyelids closed.

  “What was that, sir? I’m not sure the jury could hear you!”

  “I was glad,” Dennis said, much louder. “I was glad, okay?”

  “You were glad!” Guillerman turned to the jury. “Did you hear that? He was glad!”

  “The man killed my wife!” Dennis said, matching his volume. “He deserved to die!”

  “Thank you for your honesty.” Guillerman threw up his hands. “Nothing more. I’ve had as much of this calculating killer as I can take.”

  “Counsel!” the judge said, eyes flared.

  “No more questions. I will pass the witness.”

  “You will pay a five-hundred-dollar fine for contempt of court, that’s what you will do. I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my courtroom. You are an experienced …”

  The judge’s chastisement went on for some while, but Ben knew it wouldn’t matter. Guillerman’s tirade was well worth the five hundred dollars his office would pay, and then some. The judge would instruct the jury to ignore his remarks, which was rather like asking a mouse to ignore the elephant about to step on its head. Impossible.

  Dennis had been seriously damaged during this examination. He wasn’t sure Guillerman had actually brought out anything new. What he had attacked was not so much Dennis’s veracity as his character. If the jury didn’t trust him, they wouldn’t cut him a break. They wouldn’t believe he was temporarily insane and they wouldn’t be motivated toward jury nullification.

  If they bought what Guillerman was peddling, the only thing they would be motivated to do would be to find Dennis guilty of murder in the first degree.

  33

  It was ten past two in the morning when the blip on the transponder screen told Loving that Officer Shaw had finally arrived at the hospital.

  He slumped down in the front seat of his van, making sure he wasn’t spotted. He had waited too long for this to screw it up now. The floating beam of the headlights told him that Shaw’s PT Cruiser had passed him by. Then he slowly inched upward in his seat and waited for something to happen.

  As far as he could tell, the operation was going down exactly as Dr. Sentz had planned. Loving had successfully intercepted the text message: LOADING DK THU 2. He had picked up a few other text messages, too, which told him more than he ever wanted to know about Shaw’s personal life and those massage parlors on Cherry Street.

  They were at the hospital’s rear loading dock. A truck had been parked here more than an hour. It was not a large truck, however. More like the size of your average armored car. So what exactly was going to be transported? Money? Gold bullion? And why were they picking it up at the hospital? There had to be a reason. No one would choose this location if they could avoid it. Unlike most buildings, a hospital remained active all through the night. It was a dangerous place to be doing anything you didn’t want other people to know about.

  Why did the oncologist need to be involved? And why was it happening here? He remembered that Sentz indicated to Shaw that someone else was the primary boss orchestrating the operation. Who was it? Loving had no answers—yet. But he was determined to get them.

  Shaw left his car. Loving wanted to be in a position to keep an eye on him. He had intentionally parked his van far enough away to avoid attracting attention. But he was too far removed from the loading dock. He needed to be closer. He could try to follow the truck, but he might lose it, and even then there was no guarantee that following the truck to its destination would give him the informa
tion he wanted. He would feel much better if he could see and hear what happened. Better yet if he could get a GPS tracking device on that truck.

  He was a little worried about exiting without attracting notice. But he had rigged his van a long time ago so that no noise was made and no lights went on when he opened his door. Carefully he eased the door just enough and slid his wide frame through the opening, then began creeping forward. Didn’t appear to have attracted any attention.

  There was no moon tonight, and that was cutting two ways. It decreased the chances that anyone would spot him. But it also decreased the chances of him being able to spy on them. He wondered if they hadn’t chosen this particular spot because there were no lamps or any other prominent illumination. Fortunately, he had retrieved his night-vision goggles from the kit in the rear of his van. He put them on. He didn’t much care for the way they made everything look neon green. But it was better than stumbling around in the dark. Especially when you were stumbling around people who seriously did not want to be detected—and might have resorted to extreme means in the past to avoid it.

  There were two men standing close to the hospital, in front of the truck. Shaw joined them. Loving crept a little closer, still not getting anywhere near close enough to be spotted. There was a retaining wall on the edge of the driveway that gave him some cover. He wanted to be close enough to hear what they were saying.

  He slid a small plug into his left ear. It was a direction amplifier. Sort of like those eavesdropping dish guns you saw in toy stores, except more powerful and much smaller. He hated the James Bond gimmickry. But they lived in a Google-driven world. The technophobes were not going to rule the earth, much less catch very smart doctors engaged in nefarious activities.

  Careful not to make any telltale sound, Loving crept to the rear of the truck and slid a GPS transponder under the bumper. Now he had a backup plan. Time to figure out what was going on.

  He hid behind the retaining wall. A few more steps and he was able to pick up some of the conversation, even though they were talking in whispers.

  “Everything ready?” Loving did not know who was speaking.

  “It will be.” That was Sentz. “I didn’t want to break in until I knew you were ready to take it away.”

  “I didn’t think you had to break in. Don’t you have access?”

  “Do you want it to be obvious?” Sentz spoke to him as if he were a child, which Loving was beginning to believe was his usual way of speaking to everyone. “There are only a handful of people who have access.”

  “And did you make sure everyone else was out of the way this time?” The speaker gave the last two words a particular emphasis.

  “Absolutely. Only one other oncologist on duty, and he is very busy.”

  “Good. We can’t afford screw-ups.”

  “Agreed. Eventually someone is going to notice what’s missing—probably soon.”

  “I got a question.” This time it was Shaw speaking. “Shouldn’t I be wearing some kinda suit?”

  “You’re good as long as you don’t open the pig. And you wouldn’t do that, would you?” The doctor’s question seemed particularly pointed.

  “Of course not. I just want to be sure. I saw that guy.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “Make sure it doesn’t. I’m doing this so I can have a life. It would spoil the whole plan if I ended up dead.”

  “Granted.” Sentz glanced at his watch. “I’ll go to the vault now. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Good. Hurry.”

  The pig? What are they smuggling, farm animals?

  The doctor disappeared. Shaw lit a cigarette. The other man rubbed his hands together, glancing occasionally at the sky.

  Loving wondered how long this would take. Every moment he was out here, he was potentially in danger. He didn’t have any doubts about what these guys would do if he were spotted. Shaw was surely carrying his service revolver. Loving didn’t care to test his aim.

  He wasn’t sure whether it would be best to rush them as soon as Sentz emerged with the contraband or to wait and try to follow the truck to its destination. The surest way to find out what was being smuggled would be to rush them as soon as Sentz presented the goods. But there were three of them, and it was dark, and at least one of them was armed, probably all of them. It would be safer to wait, though riskier, because even with the tracer, they might escape. On the other hand, the police would be able to charge them with more if the goods were actually transported, and they would need big charges to threaten these people enough to get them to talk, maybe offer some immunity deals to find out what was going on and how it related to the Dennis Thomas case. Decisions, decisions …

  There were too many questions, and it was too hard to know—

  A hand gripped Loving around the mouth.

  His eyes went wide. Loving tried to shake the hand free, but he couldn’t. Whoever was behind him had locked his other arm around his chest. He was strong. Loving’s cover was probably already blown, but he still wasn’t anxious to attract the attention of the men on the loading dock. Maybe he could still get out of this alive …

  Loving kicked back against the retaining wall, knocking his assailant on his butt. His grip on Loving remained strong, even on his back. Loving tried to break away, unsuccessfully. This guy had some serious muscle. Loving pushed again and they went rolling down the grassy hill, locked together like lovers, Jack and Jill, tumbling out of control.

  They hit the bottom with a thud. Finally the attacker’s grip loosened just enough for Loving to wrest himself free. He swung around, then pushed himself up on his knees and took a swing.

  The other man ducked, then lunged under Loving’s arms and wrapped his arms around him, tackling him. They both crashed once more to the ground. It knocked the breath out of Loving. He shook himself, trying to get his bearings. The darkness made it almost impossible. He felt a fist clock him on the right side of his jaw.

  Enough. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag. He jumped up and lunged.

  The other man pulled a gun. Loving froze in his tracks.

  “Police,” the man said breathlessly.

  Blast. Probably one of Shaw’s buddies. Now Loving would never find out what he needed to know.

  He heard the hammer of the gun cock. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “I’m not sayin’ anythin’.”

  After a brief pause, the man said, “Loving?”

  The dirty cop recognized him. He was a goner now.

  “Is Ben here?”

  Loving wasn’t sure how to answer. He decided to go with the truth. “No.”

  “Thank heaven for that. For once, he actually showed some sense. Now get down before those jerks on the dock see you.”

  “You mean,” Loving whispered, “you’re not with them?”

  “With them? I told you, I’m with the police.”

  “So is Shaw.”

  “Good point.” He took a small pocket flashlight out of his coat and shone it on his face. “Now are we both on the same page?”

  It was a face Loving had seen in the office a dozen or more times. Ben’s best friend. Homicide detective Mike Morelli.

  34

  “Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is not a complex case. The defense has tried to complicate what even they admit is a simple matter, but I think you’re smart enough to see through that. You may remember what I asked of you all those days ago when we began this trial. Nothing has changed. All I ask is that you honor the oath you swore when you took on the most important civic duty, that of being a juror. All I ask is that you weigh the evidence fairly and intelligently and that you apply the law.”

  Guillerman was starting low-key, Ben observed, but he suspected the man would work himself up to a fiery frenzy before he sat down. He would begin with appeals to logic and common sense, but before he was done there would be dramaturgy worthy of a Baptist preacher, filled with tear
s and invocations of “the thin blue line.”

  “The crime with which Dennis Thomas has been charged is murder in the first degree. What are the facts that led to this charge? I will tell you. And please remember: these facts are not in dispute.”

  He raised his hand and began ticking them off, one after another. “He has admitted that he blamed Detective Sentz for the death of his wife. He has admitted that he attacked the man, causing serious injury, and stopped only because other officers were present. He has admitted that he met with a high-profile defense attorney on the day of the murder. He has admitted that he took deliberate steps to discover Detective Sentz’s location. He has admitted that he purposefully and intentionally went to the hotel room where he learned Sentz was.” Guillerman lowered his chin, looking at them levelly. “And he has admitted that he went there with a gun.”

  Guillerman moved into the center of the courtroom, taking their attention with him. “This is the honest truth—I’ve gotten murder convictions on a lot less than that. There’s not much doubt about what happened in that hotel room, and I notice that the defense hasn’t tried very hard to convince anyone differently. Did we believe for one second that Detective Sentz would harm himself? No. Is there any indication of a third party? No. So why isn’t this trial over already?

  “There is only one reason. Because they have asserted the defense of temporary insanity. This is called an affirmative defense, meaning that the burden of proof is shifted. They must prove the truth of their defense. As the judge will later instruct you, if they do not, the defense must fail, and you must find the defendant just as responsible for his own actions as you would anyone else.”

  He took a few more steps backward, bringing himself up beside the defendant’s table. “So what actual evidence of temporary insanity do we have?” He gestured toward Dennis. “What proof did you receive that this man was insane? We know he was angry, yes. Obsessed, certainly. We know he had a serious temper and was given to bouts of violence, not only with his wife but with others. He was given medication that might help suppress his violent impulses. But insanity? Where was the proof of that? The entire process of getting the gun, tracking down his intended victim, stalking him at the hotel—none of that sounds like the irrational act of a crazy man. It sounds like the cold, calculating, deliberate act of a man determined to take a life.”