Justice Returns

by William Bernhardt

  I faked it.

  My gut told me we’d turned over a rock and exposed a rattlesnake. But since we had no idea where it was, we couldn’t possibly stop it before it struck.

  25

  Witness Affidavit

  Case No. CJ-49-1886

  I knew Kincaid’s flunky would find nothing. Our listening devices, the kind I surreptitiously placed in the lawyer’s home and office and elsewhere, possessed what techies call a “cloaking device” or a “sonic blanket.” They could not be detected by conventional means. Since they contained no metal, a traditional detection sweep would not find them. They were made exclusively of components commonly found in walls, so they would attract no notice. They could not be detected by electronic means so long as they were not recording at the time the sweep was conducted. I deactivated them remotely for a brief time. I doubted that would cost me much. The principals were already taking their sensitive conversations elsewhere. The government’s clumsy, lead-boot tactics undermined my much subtler and more effective methods.

  I would still probably be able to hear what they said, through their cell phones or by other means. They did not realize yet that they could not escape me. They were flies in a spider’s web, only alive so long as the spider wanted them alive.

  Our primary concern was beyond my powers of surveillance so long as he remained behind bars, though we had spies on the inside who might recover useful intelligence. Anything he told the lawyer, however, was likely to be repeated to his wife. And I would hear.

  The attack on Nazir had turned this city into a powder keg. This heartland town would send its flames virally throughout the nation.

  It was time for us to take the next step.

  It was time to deploy the weapon.

  The lawyer believed he had everything under control. But I observed his reaction to the death threat. He did not know what he was up against. He did not understand the magnitude of the game he had chosen to play.

  As always, I relayed my information to my handler.

  “Other than that, there have been few developments. The lawyer is headed toward his decadent home.”

  “Understood. And al-Jabbar?”

  “The next step will be the hearing in which the judge determines whether he will be released on bail.”

  “We do not want that to happen.”

  “Then it will not.”

  “Do you have someone who can get to the judge? I hear this egotist considers himself untouchable.”

  “Everyone can be touched. You only need to know where to touch him.”

  “Let’s offer a generous incentive plan.”

  “I think an emotional incentive plan might be more effective.”

  “Whatever works. Just do it.”

  “I will.”

  “It would be good to have some ammunition against the lawyer as well.”

  “It would be simpler to kill him.”

  A moment of silence. “He would only be replaced by another. Lawyers are the thousand-headed hydra. Control is more effective.”

  I gazed through my high-powered binoculars, staring through the broad lobby windows. “I have an idea. I will put it into action.”

  “Not yet. Just . . . be ready. When the need arises.”

  “As you wish.”

  “Tell me if something develops. Otherwise, don’t contact me again until after midnight.”

  “Understood.” I disconnected the line.

  Not everyone has the patience for this work. Most of it is simply watching. Waiting. Maintaining a heightened level of awareness, so if necessary I can spring into action in a split second.

  Would that my life was nothing but watching. But it has never been that simple. Not before, across the wide ocean, or now. There are too many factors, too many loyalties, often divided. So many wrongs to be righted.

  Watching is only the appetizer. The swift sword of justice delivers the main course.

  26

  The next few days passed in a fast-forward blur. I wrapped up the package-delivery case and devoted several sixteen-hour workdays to the legal and media firestorm. The bail hearing was another procedural necessity—some would say antiquity. Given the enormous amount of attention this case had already attracted and the magnitude of the charge, I couldn’t imagine this resulting in a favorable outcome. Indeed, Thrillkill’s strongest argument might be that Oz should be left behind bars for his own protection.

  I wished I could put my family behind bars. At least until this was over.

  The Oklahoma City federal courthouse was an undistinguished cinder block, completely devoid of any personality or architectural distinction. It was like federal housing, except it had judges. No one came here unless it was required. Once you passed through the metal detectors and checked the directory to determine your destination, you were filled with a sort of omnipresent unease and, usually, a strong desire to be elsewhere.

  Uniformed officers and federal marshals lined the hallways, trying to maintain order despite the bulging assemblage of reporters, rubberneckers, and, in a few instances, people who were actually supposed to be there. Someone wasn’t doing their job, because far more people had been allowed in than should have been, far more than they would ever be able to squeeze into a courtroom. Some thought it was time for the feds to give in and allow cameras, or at least closed-circuit cameras, in the courtroom. I disagreed, but it would eliminate the squabbling over seats.

  The environment was calmer in the courtroom. The judge’s clerk chatted up the court reporter, obviously killing time till the judge appeared.

  Thrillkill tapped me on the shoulder. I didn’t even hear him approach. Apparently, he had ninja skills in addition to all the others.

  He cut to the chase. “Withdraw your bail request, Kincaid. Save yourself a lot of grief.”

  “I’m getting a strong feeling of déjà vu.”

  “You’ve already lost one hearing. Do you really want to lose another?”

  “I can’t withdraw my request.”

  “You’re going to lose.”

  “Maybe. I still can’t withdraw.”

  “If you push for bail, I have to respond. That means a lot of ugliness about your client comes out.”

  “Something you’ve kept to yourself?” We both knew that if he had any information he hadn’t shared, it should not be admissible at this hearing.

  “Nothing you don’t already know.” He paused. “But I might give it a different spin than you do.”

  “If you bring up something irrelevant to trash my client, I’ll object and file a complaint.”

  “But the judge will still hear what I said. As will the press.”

  “So, basically, you’re threatening to engage in unethical conduct to win a bail hearing.”

  “No, I’m threatening to do my job and offering you a chance to protect your client from a lot of embarrassment.”

  “Still sounds like a threat to me.”

  Thrillkill headed back to his table. “Suit yourself. Don’t say I never tried to help you.”

  The bailiff announced the arrival of Magistrate Hamilton.

  “This hearing is called to order.” After determining that all parties were present and the defendant was represented by counsel, he asked the court to read the indictment. Given that this was a homicide case, the clerk would have to read the whole thing.

  My eyes rolled back into screen-saver mode. People watched TV shows and thought criminal cases were so exciting. They had no idea.

  The clerk read all the special circumstances, then nodded toward the bench.

  Hamilton nodded back. “How does the defendant plead?”

  We rose. I had advised Oz that he would have to speak for himself. “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  The judge was not surprised. “And I believe the United States seeks to deny bail?”

  Thrillkill spoke in a booming voice. He wanted to impress the crowd. I presumed he didn’t feel the need to impress the judge, because he thought he already ha
d this in the bag. “We do, sir. This is a homicide case, one with political, national, even international ramifications. The defendant has been linked to a terrorist organization. He has committed at least one murder and has been interrogated with respect—”

  I guess my reflexes were slowing with age. “Objection, Your Honor. My client has not been convicted of—”

  Hamilton waved me into silence. “You are correct, Counsel. Mr. Thrillkill, you know better than this.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor, but this is a capital case, and the defendant was found at the scene of the crime with the murder weapon in his hand. I don’t think anyone in their right mind doubts—”

  The judge sighed audibly. “Counsel? Last chance. Talk to me, not the reporters.”

  Thrillkill pursed his lips, as if all these irritating lawyers were getting between him and his quest for justice. “The defendant’s acknowledged links to organizations on NSA and CIA watch lists, plus his international connections make him not only a danger but also a serious flight risk.”

  “My client is willing to surrender his passport,” I interjected.

  “He probably has a drawer full of them,” Thrillkill replied.

  “Objection.”

  The judge removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “I did warn you, Mr. Thrillkill. You know the rules. I’m hereby sanctioning you—and I mean you personally, not your office—to the tune of five hundred dollars. Deposit that with the clerk before you appear again in my courtroom.”

  Thrillkill shook his head and shoulders, an aw-shucks gesture he must’ve copied from Ronald Reagan. “I meant no disrespect, Your Honor.”

  “So pay the fine. Did you have anything else to say?”

  “No, Your Honor.”

  Usually, lawyers don’t care much for being sanctioned, but I think Thrillkill actually enjoyed it—possibly deliberately invited it. He wasn’t worried about the outcome of the case. He thought he had a lock on that. His goal was to cast himself as the underdog, the lone crusader for the rights of the people and the safety of the nation.

  He was campaigning in the courtroom.

  “Mr. Kincaid?”

  “Your Honor, there’s no flight risk because, as I said, my client is willing to surrender his passport. He is also willing to wear a GPS bracelet so the government can monitor his whereabouts. Despite his prior detainment, he has never previously been accused, much less convicted, of a crime. He is not a wealthy man, and he does have long-standing ties to this community.”

  “Is his family in the courtroom today?”

  Ouch. Nice catch. “No, Your Honor, given the crowd and the reporters and whatnot—”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “In fact,” Thrillkill interjected, “he has not seen any member of his family in years. He has maintained no contact with anyone in this area.” He smirked slightly. “Except maybe his lawyer.”

  “That’s not true!”

  The voice ringing out from the rear of the gallery was all too familiar. Even before I turned, I knew who spoke.

  Julia was in the back row.

  The magistrate’s surprise was expressed with a mildly raised eyebrow. “And who might you be, ma’am?”

  “My name is Julia McKeown. I’ve known the defendant since high school.” Her eyes darted briefly toward the floor. “And I saw him again, the night before the press conference.”

  That got a reaction out of the crowd—and me. Imagine what they’d think when they learned she was my sister. I stared at her as intently as I could, but she pointedly refused to make eye contact.

  Thrillkill turned, stress lines stretching across his forehead. “Wait a minute. Isn’t that your sister, Kincaid?” I wondered how he knew that. “Is this some kind of setup? This is the lowest ploy that—”

  “You will address your comments to me, Mr. Thrillkill.” Hamilton reached across the bench, the gavel poised in his hand. “And no one else.”

  Thrillkill bowed his head. “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “I will not tolerate bickering between counsel.”

  “No, sir.”

  “This is a serious matter, and you will conduct yourself with the utmost professionalism. Do you understand?”

  At this point, Thrillkill was practically groveling. “Yes, Your Honor. Of course. Please accept my apologies.”

  “I don’t accept apologies. I accept professional conduct. And nothing less.”

  I kept my mouth shut. Yes, the odds were not in my favor today. But at least for once I wasn’t the one getting chewed out by the judge.

  Hamilton directed his comments to Julia. “I appreciate you coming forth, ma’am. I’m sure that took a great deal of courage. If you believe you have useful testimony, you should see one of the attorneys. But I can’t formally acknowledge remarks made by unsworn witnesses from the gallery. Please continue, Mr. Kincaid.”

  “That’s about it, Your Honor. I would add that my client is not going anywhere. He has been wrongfully accused, and he is anxious to clear his name in court.”

  Hamilton ran his palm across the top of his head. “I’m afraid I must agree with the prosecutor. I think it might be better for all concerned if the defendant remains in custody. I’ll set this down for the earliest trial date to which both counsel will agree.”

  As I suspected. He probably wouldn’t let a homicide defendant out in any case, but he certainly wasn’t going to do it when there was a good chance he might be harmed before trial. Or devoured by reporters.

  “Anything else?” And without waiting for a reply, Hamilton banged his gavel. “The defendant will be remanded into custody. This matter is concluded.” Another bang of the gavel and it was over.

  Oz took it as best as could be expected.

  “I’ll be back to visit soon,” I assured him.

  He nodded. “Thank Julia for me.”

  “I will.”

  The bailiff took him away, and I walked to the gallery. I knew the press would converge on Julia as soon as she left the courtroom, and I wanted to prevent it.

  I pulled her aside. “Didn’t expect to see you here today.”

  “It’s okay. Mom’s Day Out has the girls.”

  “This was still an extremely stupid move.”

  “I wanted to help. Isn’t that what you always do?”

  I had no answer. I thought the best idea was for us to get out of there.

  “Julia, I think it’s time we sat down and had a talk. A real one.”

  “That sounds grim.”

  “Doesn’t have to be. You still addicted to coffee?”

  “Big time.”

  “Come with me. I know where we can get the best cup in town.”

  27

  A short drive took us to The Underground. Great coffee and a wide variety of board games made it my favorite. We nestled into a table in the rear. There were no other customers, and the barista did not appear remotely interested, so I thought we might have a real talk. An honest one. Something we should have done a long time ago. Even around Christina, the woman I trust with everything, conversation with Julia was somewhat inhibited. This time it would just be the two of us.

  Someone had to break the ice. “When did you start seeing Oz again?”

  I could tell she didn’t want to answer, but we’d never lied to one another, and thank goodness we weren’t going to start now. “About a year ago.”

  “A year? You’ve been in town a year, and I didn’t know it?”

  “It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t seeing him continuously. Just off and on. I was lonely. You know how that feels. I was going through some problems.”

  I felt something in my stomach clench. “Drugs again?”

  She looked away. “It’s just so easy. You’re lonely and stressed, and every day is another round of pain. One little pill and you’re not feeling it anymore.” She ran a hand through her long blonde hair. “Way too easy. Keeps the weight off, too.”

  “You know, Oz has a drug problem.”

  “He’s working o
n it.”

  “I understand that divorce is stressful, but—”

  “You don’t understand.” She lifted her latte and downed half of it in a single swig. “There’s been no divorce. I knew it would be hopeless. I just walked away.”

  And I didn’t even know. That was the saddest part yet. Once upon a time, Julia and I had been the best of friends. Our father was an egotistical brute, and our mother was unfathomable, but we two were inseparable. No matter what else might be going on at home, we had one another’s backs. Us against the world.

  And then things changed. We never fought. We just drifted. She dated Oz in high school, then later married my college roommate. The marriage was a disaster. He was a cop, and she was used to unlimited funds and Porsches and living in that ginormous house in Nichols Hills. She split and married a doctor, had a baby, they broke up, got back together, split up again, etc.

  I saw Julia once, during my brief stint with a big law firm, Raven, Tucker & Tubb. She was the one who pushed me to go home, to see our father one last time before he passed. It was probably a mistake. Closure did not occur. The next time I saw her, she left Joey in my care, and the next time was when she collected him. I hadn’t seen her since. Not even when our mother died.

  Once thick as thieves. Now all but strangers.

  “We need to get your family situation straightened out.”

  “I think you’ve got enough on your plate right now, Ben.”

  “As soon as Oz’s case is over, you move to the top of the agenda. I don’t care what happened in the past. You seem fine now. Taking a child from his mother in unconscionable. Why didn’t you consult me before?”

  “I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome.”

  I looked up at her. “You will always be welcome.”

  A faint smile crept into the corner of her lips. “That’s good to know.”

  “So you rekindled your relationship with Oz. I assume this was more than a friendship. A romantic relationship.”

  “We were sleeping together, if that’s what you’re asking.”