Deadly Justice bk-3

by William Bernhardt

  There was a gentle knock on his front door. Ben checked the oven clock: barely six-thirty.

  He opened the door and found his landlady outside.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Marmelstein.”

  “I understand you have a new job, Ben.”

  “True. With the legal department of the Apollo Consortium. Looks like I finally made the big time.”

  She sniffed. “I guess that explains why you didn’t come by to check my books last night.”

  “Ohmigosh.” Ben tried to assist Mrs. Marmelstein whenever he could by managing her business affairs, such as they were. Mrs. Marmelstein had lived comfortably off her late husband’s oil holdings—till they gave out. Her wealth had long since been depleted, but she hadn’t quite figured that out yet.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Marmelstein. I had to work late at the office last night and—”

  “And I was left on my own to deal with Mr. Perry.”

  Mr. Perry was the downstairs roomer, a man Ben had never met. “What’s his complaint this time?”

  “He says the air-conditioning in his room doesn’t work and he’s in a twist about it. Can you imagine?”

  The ingrate, Ben thought. After all, it was only ninety-five degrees yesterday. “Did you call Jack Abel?” Abel was a local handyman Ben used whenever possible to keep Mrs. Marmelstein’s repair costs down.

  “No. Mr. Perry was so aggravating I decided to call a professional.”

  Ben groaned. “Who’d you call?”

  “Air. Professionals. They’re professionals, you know.”

  Yeah, and they bill like professionals, too. Oh, well, Ben thought, what’s done is done. I’ll find some money to pay them somewhere.

  “I suppose this is the shape of things to come,” she said sadly. “Now that you have this big important corporate job, you won’t have time to look after my unimportant little problems.”

  “That’s not true. It’s just that I had to stay at the office so late—”

  “Save your excuses. I’m sure I seem very insignificant next to those cigar-chomping fat cats at Apollo. From now on you’ll spend your days whizzing around in corporate jets and cavorting with well-endowed floozies.”

  “Well,” Ben said, “I don’t want anything to do with corporate jets.”

  “If I see you at all in the future, it’ll probably be in the company of your police buddy—”

  Ben’s ears pricked up. “Police buddy?”

  “He’ll be tramping through my garden, dragging the nasty element into this nice neighborhood.”

  Ben was certain Mrs. Marmelstein was the only person in town who would describe this low-rent district on the North Side as nice. “What brings my police buddy to mind?”

  She shrugged her shoulders lightly. “He’s outside.”

  “Mike? Mike is here?” He rushed past her and started down the stairs.

  She sniffed again. “Soon you won’t be able to tell the people who belong here from the pimps and the pushers.”

  Ben bounded down the stairs and opened the torn screen door. Mike glared at him, looking very impatient.

  “About time, Kincaid. I thought I was going to have to get a search warrant.”

  Over Mike’s shoulder, Ben saw four other men, two in plain clothes, two in uniform. There were two police cars parked on the street; a red beacon swirled around, casting an eerie glow on the faces of the police officers.

  “I take it you aren’t all here to escort me to work,” Ben said.

  Mike shook his head. “We found your corpse.”

  “Hamel?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “And he’s dead?”

  “Very.”

  “Boy, that was fast. You guys must be great detectives.”

  “I wish we could take credit for this, but we can’t. Someone else discovered the body. We received an anonymous phone tip.”

  “Well, however it happened, that’s great news.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  Ben’s enthusiasm clotted in his throat. Why did Mike have such a grim expression on his face?

  “Where did you find the body?” Ben asked slowly.

  “In the alley behind this boardinghouse,” Mike replied. He pointed toward the back. “You know. Where you park your car.”

  “Behind this house?” Ben found himself repeating the words, but not assimilating their meaning. “How did it get there?”

  Mike exchanged a look with the police officers on either side of him, then turned back to Ben. “Well, the popular opinion is that he arrived in your car, given the copious quantities of his blood and hair we found there.”

  Ben felt a sudden tightening in his stomach.

  The large man standing to Mike’s left stepped forward. “Mr. Kincaid, I’m Chief Blackwell, Chief of Police here in Tulsa. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  13

  BEN GAZED AT THE imposing figure of Chief Blackwell. He was a thick, strong man. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tensed as he spoke.

  “A—a few questions—?” Ben stuttered.

  “Just a few harmless inquiries,” Blackwell said nonchalantly. “You can imagine how we might be somewhat curious.”

  “I want to see the body first,” Ben said, trying to remain calm.

  Blackwell flipped open his notepad. “All in good time. I want to ask—”

  “I don’t see any harm in letting him see the body,” Mike said. “Sir. After all, it’s just around the corner. Maybe a quick look-see will illuminate his answers.”

  Mike grabbed the sleeve of Ben’s robe and pulled him through the door before Blackwell had a chance to protest. Blackwell grunted, obviously annoyed to have his authority usurped.

  The alley behind the house was usually just a rough patch of gravel and weeds where Ben parked his aging Honda Accord. Today, it was a hotbed of activity such as Ben had never seen before. At least ten different officers, some uniformed, some not, swirled around the crime scene with tweezers, cameras, and magnifying glasses. Three interns had lifted Hamel’s body onto a stretcher, which they were now loading into an ambulance.

  Ben stifled his natural revulsion and looked at the body. It was just as it had been when he had last seen it. There was no visible mark anywhere on Hamel or his clothes. He was just dead, that’s all. There was a certain peacefulness about him—perhaps even a suggestion of contentment. If Ben hadn’t known better, he might’ve suspected Hamel was just sleeping.

  “What killed him?” Ben asked.

  “Koregai hasn’t even done a preliminary examination yet,” Mike answered.

  “I don’t see any bloodstains. Where’d the blood you claim you found in my car come from?”

  “Don’t know. We’re going to let the coroner explain that to us, too.”

  Blackwell approached another officer and barked out some instructions. Ben tried to stay out of his line of sight. He saw another man with a camcorder packing up his equipment; the scene had no doubt been photographed and videotaped from every conceivable angle. Two more men were crawling back and forth across the alleyway, crouched on their hands and knees, their eyes close to the pavement.

  “Hair and fiber boys?” Ben asked.

  Mike nodded. “We’ve already searched for prints, both in the alley and in your car. Didn’t find any. Except, of course, yours.”

  “You realize you had no right to search my car without a warrant.”

  “I disagree. The driver’s side door was wide open when we arrived. Under those circumstances, we don’t believe you had any reasonable expectation of privacy.”

  “How convenient.”

  Mike stepped toward Ben and lowered his voice. “Look, Ben, I can’t hold off Blackwell much longer. If you have anything you want to tell me privately—”

  “I didn’t kill him, Mike.”

  “I know, I know,” Mike said, although he appeared relieved to hear the words spoken aloud. “But do you have any idea who did?”

  “Not a clue.”r />
  “What about your boss, Crichton? Was Hamel having any problems with him?”

  “Could be. I don’t know.”

  “What about that guy who was with you last night? We know he was in the office building.”

  “I already told you. Rob was with me all day, right up until we found the body. We weren’t apart for ten seconds. So unless this stiff has been dead for over twenty-four hours, Rob is out.”

  “I don’t need a coroner’s report to confirm that he hasn’t been dead that long.”

  “Ditto.”

  Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “What about some of those other goons at your office? For one, the clown you caught in flagrante delicto last night. Maybe he didn’t like being caught with his pants down. Literally. Maybe this is a revenge frame.”

  “Maybe. Then again, maybe not. I have no idea. I don’t know enough about these people.” He paused. “Yet.”

  “Good attitude. Your involvement could be key, Ben. I’ll have my men search the area thoroughly, and I’ll send some boys around to question your neighbors—but as I told you, we’re up to our eyeballs in this serial killer mess. That’s why Blackwell is here. He’s coming to every homicide site until that case is solved.”

  “Taking a personal interest in the murders?”

  Mike smiled thinly. “Taking a personal interest in his public image. The press has not been kind to the Tulsa P.D. since this wave of murders started. The heat has been on Blackwell, even to the point of the city council calling for his resignation. I think Blackwell decided it might help if he put on a show of aggressively investigating these murders. Healthy fodder for the six o’clock news.”

  “Yeah, but does his involvement mean a speedier solution to the murders?”

  Mike bent over and lit his pipe. “Rather the opposite, I’d say.” He took a few swift puffs, then removed the pipe stem from his lips. “Blackwell doesn’t have many resources available to assign to this unrelated murder. It would be much simpler for him if this minor distraction were solved quickly. And the best way to bring an investigation to a hasty close is to bear down on the most obvious suspect. And that suspect, Ben, is you.”

  “Can you define bearing down?”

  “Taking you in for questioning, locking you up on suspicion, maybe even planting leaks of dubious veracity to convict you in the press. And, of course, pounding on you till you crack. That’s the gist of it.”

  “Oh.” Ben tried to smile. “Thanks for the colorful details.”

  “My pleasure.”

  Ben saw Joni and Jami Singleton, the teenage twins who lived with their family in one of the upstairs rooms of his boardinghouse. They were both peeking around the corner of the building.

  “Hiya, Joni,” Ben said, wiggling his fingers.

  Joni cautiously stepped out of the shadows, with Jami close behind.

  “Don’t worry, I’m unarmed. Hi there, Jami.”

  “It’s not you I was worried about, Benjamin,” Jami said, eyeing Mike and the other police officers. “What’s happening? You helping the cops solve another case?”

  Mike arched an eyebrow.

  “Well,” Ben replied, “this time it seems I’m Suspect Number One.”

  “Oh?” Jami fluffed her long black hair with the palm of her hand. “What’s the charge?”

  “Murder.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “In the first degree,” Mike added. “Maybe.”

  “Wow!” Joni said, echoing her sister. This development obviously increased their estimation of Ben many times over. “Was it, like, a crime of passion?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “I didn’t do it.”

  She folded her hands across her chest, clearly disappointed. Then she noticed the police officers swarming around. “Oh, I get it. Of course—you’re innocent.” She winked. “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You were probably framed.”

  “As a matter of fact—”

  Chief Blackwell swaggered back to Ben, interrupting their conversation. “Are you ready to be grilled, Kincaid?”

  “Well, since you put it like that…”

  “Good. Let’s get started.”

  “Don’t you want to wait till the Action News team arrives?”

  Blackwell straightened and patted down his hair. “You think TV people are com—” He stopped. “Oh, I see. You’re a wiseass.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  “Morelli already gave me the line you fed him about what happened at the Apollo offices.”

  “The line? I told him the truth.”

  “Yeah? Then maybe you can explain how someone got that stiff out of that high rise?”

  “Sorry. I can’t.”

  “I lifted that body, and let me tell you—it wasn’t light. According to you, you were only gone three or four minutes.”

  “True.”

  “So where did he go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What was he doing in your office?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did he get in your car?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How did he get in the alley behind your apartment?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Blackwell made a loud growling noise. “Goddamn it. You lawyers are all alike. Always got a slick answer for everything.”

  Ben and Mike exchanged a glance.

  “Maybe you think you can bullshit your old college roomie, but I’m not buying it, kid.”

  “I’m not asking you to buy anything, Chief. Just don’t lock me up because I’m the most convenient suspect. I’m more valuable to you on the outside.”

  Blackwell cocked his head to one side. “How so?”

  “Since Hamel was killed in the office building, the key suspects are his colleagues in the legal department at Apollo. Where I work.” He leaned, in close to Blackwell. “Leave me free, and I can check out these people, see if I can turn up any leads.”

  “You?”

  “I’ve investigated crimes before. Ask Mike. I used to work at the D.A.’s office. It’s clear you don’t have enough free men to staff this case. Let me take up the slack. And if I don’t come up with anything, you can still lock me away and throw away the key. You haven’t lost anything.”

  Blackwell appeared to be considering. “You’ve got access to the office where Hamel worked?”

  “Yes.”

  “And access to all his co-workers?”

  “Yes again.”

  “Hmm. It is better having someone on the inside than having some cop march through taking statements. No one ever wants to tell us anything. And this would be a lot simpler than trying to plant someone undercover. All right, I’ll give you a try. You have one week to see what you can find out. I expect you to report in with Morelli every day. Every day. Understand?”

  “Perfectly.”

  He laid a finger on Ben’s chest. “If you don’t have another suspect for us, with solid evidence, by this time next week, my boys’ll be hauling you into the station for questioning. Very lengthy questioning. Could go on for days. And if we don’t hear what we want, we could become very grumpy.”

  “Got it,” Ben said.

  “Good,” Blackwell said gruffly. “Remember, one week. Period. No extensions.” He spun on his heel and almost slammed into Mrs. Marmelstein.

  “Mrs. Marmelstein,” Ben said. “What are you doing out here so early in the morning?”

  “I brought you a fruitcake,” she said. She held the comestible chest-high. “I thought that if you men are going to stand out in the chill all morning long, you should at least have something to eat.”

  Ben saw a pained expression cross Blackwell’s face, then a similar expression on Mike’s, then on those of the other officers, all of whom appeared to be subtly inching away.

  Didn’t anybody like fruitcake?

  14

  BEN TOSSED HIS FILES into his briefcase and hurried toward the co
nference room where the depositions were to be taken. Fortunately he had prepared yesterday; he had certainly had no time to prepare this morning. After finding a corpse in his backyard and narrowly escaping a trip to the big house, he was lucky to make it to the office at all.

  Ben mentally reviewed his plans and goals. A deposition allows an attorney to ask the opposing party questions while a court reporter takes down everything the witness says. Objections can be made, but since there is no judge present to rule on them, the objections are made for the record, to be ruled upon later if necessary. The witness answers the question regardless of any objections made, unless specifically instructed not to answer by his or her attorney.

  It was supposed to be a simple, unemotional fact-finding exercise. Ben hoped that proved true.

  He certainly didn’t plan to protract matters any longer than necessary. He would ask the essential questions to elicit the plaintiffs’ version of what happened and gather any other information that might help defend Apollo against the design defect claim. Then he would close the deposition as gracefully and painlessly as possible. At least, that was the plan.

  “Morning, Ben,” Rob said, as Ben entered the conference room. “You’re late.”

  “Don’t start with me, Rob. I’m not having an Up-With-People kind of day.”

  “Sure, no problem,” he said, backing away. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” He pointed toward a pleasant-looking woman in a blue skirt. “Trudy here is going to be our court reporter this morning.” Ben shook her hand. Then Rob directed his attention to an extraordinarily obese man perched on the edge of a chair in the corner of the room. Rolls of flesh cascaded from his chin; he had no neck at all. “This is the attorney for the plaintiffs, George Abernathy.”

  Ben stepped forward and shook the immense man’s hand. “George Abernathy. Seems like I’ve heard that name before.”

  Abernathy beamed. “Perhaps you’ve seen my commercials on TV.”

  “Your…commercials?”

  Abernathy adopted a deep anchorman voice. “ ‘Have you got a bone to pick with your boss? Have you been fired for no reason? Have you been injured, and no one wants to pay the bill? If so, then you need a fighter in your corner.’ Then you hear the sound of the bell, and we show some footage from one of the Tyson prizefights.” He resumed the anchorman delivery. “ ‘George Abernathy will go the distance for you. And you don’t pay a penny unless he collects. Call—’ And then we give our phone number. It’s been a big hit.”