Trial by Blood

by William Bernhardt

  “I just thought it was time we had a talk.”

  “By all means. Did you bring your swimming trunks?”

  His head cocked to one side. “Uh, no. Why would I?”

  “This is the time of day when Dr. Sweeney takes his regularly scheduled exercise. For a busy man like him, if it isn’t on the schedule, it doesn’t happen. He was happy to accommodate your last-minute request—but the schedule is sacrosanct.” She turned her attention to Garrett. “I’ve been instructed to show you some documents I think you’ll find of great interest.”

  “Documents pertaining to what?”

  “The Ossie Coleman case. Dr. Sweeney understands you obtained little from Bradley Ellison.”

  “Well, we left before—wait. How would he—”

  “Privilege prevents Ellison from revealing much. But as the client, Dr. Sweeney can reveal anything he wants.”

  “You’re saying Ellison has been working for Sweeney?”

  “Was it a secret?”

  “Ellison said he was just indulging his own curiosity.”

  “Well, investigators often won’t disclose their clients’ identities.”

  “And you’re going to share what you got?”

  Prudence stepped closer to Dan, practically nose to nose. If that was meant to be intimidating, it almost worked. “Surely you realize Dr. Sweeney only wants to help.”

  “I didn’t get that, no.”

  “And I feel the same way.” She inched even closer. Her eyes widened. “I think maybe we could help each other.”

  Even though he desperately wanted to step back, he didn’t. “If this is meant to be sexy, it isn’t working.”

  She leaned in, lips parted. “My only interest is in being of service.”

  “To...?”

  “To whomever I find worthy.”

  “Meaning Sweeney.” He stepped back and winked at Garrett. “But I didn’t bring swim trunks.”

  “As it happens, I have some in precisely your size.”

  “How would you know my size?”

  She gave him a long look. “The pool is outside. I’ll show you to your cabana. Mr. Wainwright, my associate will show you to the reading room.”

  Garrett shook his head. “I’d rather stay with Dan.”

  “Not an option, I’m afraid. This is a private meeting.”

  “We’re a team. Wherever he goes—”

  “Dr. Sweeney contemplated the possibility of this discussion expanding to matters other than the pending case. Private matters.” She gave Dan a penetrating look. “Family matters.”

  He pursed his lips. “It’s okay, Garrett. I can handle this.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Prudence gently pushed Garrett aside. “Ready to see the pool, Mr. Pike?”

  “I am.”

  “That’s what I like,” she replied, as she led the way. “Someone who’s always ready to jump off the deep end. Come what may.”

  * * *

  What Prudence had not mentioned was that Sweeney was not yet in the pool. He was in his own custom-built cedar steam room, not far from his private pool, private Jacuzzi, and private juice and coffee bar, with its own barista on call whenever Sweeney was on the premises. Dan passed on the blood-orange spinach cocktail, changed clothes, and got ready to take the heat.

  He’d seen people in movies sitting round in steam rooms, but he’d never understood the point in real life. He’d rather plunge into the ocean and stay cool than plunge into a steam room and be uncomfortable. Matter of taste, he supposed.

  Or perhaps the whole point was to make him uncomfortable. Dress in next to nothing, go someplace vision was limited and sweat was certain to pour down your face. They were clearly on Sweeney’s home turf, even more so than if they’d met in his office.

  He stepped inside. A strong eucalyptus scent cleared his sinuses. A gush of steam hit him, blinding him. There were probably benches along the walls, but he couldn’t see them.

  He wasn’t sure what to do. Maria would strut into the fog. Jimmy would try to use the Force.

  “Ride the wave.” The voice came from somewhere in the steamy haze, low-pitched with a bit of gravel in it.

  “I’m...not sure what that means.”

  “You’re a surfer, aren’t you?”

  Of course, Sweeney would know that. And it probably gave him pleasure to show that he knew all about someone he’d never met before. “Sometimes.”

  “Major wave jockey, from what I hear. Conventional. Corkscrew. Kite. You love the water, don’t you, Mr. Pike?”

  He tried to get a fix on the source of the voice, but it was impossible. He steered away, assuming that he would eventually collide with one of the benches but not end up in Sweeney’s lap. “Always have.”

  “I love the water myself.” Was he joking? Impossible to know, since he couldn’t see the man’s face. “Just not so crazy about people.”

  “Unless you can control them?”

  Sweeney ignored the jab. “I hate crowds. All those people jostling around. Beaches, malls. Even parks. Not my métier.”

  Seriously? He couldn’t—

  And that’s when it hit him. The real reason they were meeting for the first time in a steam-filled room. Sweeney had undoubtedly learned about his gift for reading people. For collecting small observations. In here, that skill would be almost completely negated. If he couldn’t see or even hear clearly, the playing field was level.

  He bumped into a bench, found the seat with his hand, and slowly lowered himself onto it.

  “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Pike. I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Likewise.” A general outline of his companion started to emerge. Of course, he knew Sweeney was a big man. But he didn’t come off as obese. More like strong. Formidable. “Your name keeps coming up.”

  “You mean in your current case.”

  “And my previous case. And I think you had something to do with one before that.”

  “I do try to stay involved. Help out when I can.”

  He tried not to smirk. “Is that what drives your quest for power and control? Your desire to help others? That would certainly explain these palatial digs.”

  If he’d expected some kind of denial, he was disappointed. “You can’t do much for others if you don’t take care of yourself. Fortunately, I’ve been able to build SweeTech into one of the most prosperous firms in the state. And I’ve used that money to make life better for a lot of people.”

  “Judging from this spread, you’ve spent a little money making life better for yourself, too.”

  “True. And my workers. I employ over a thousand Floridians. I grow the economy. But I also believe in self-care.”

  “And the art collection?”

  Even through the fog, he could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “I do love paintings. Is it wrong to indulge my passions?”

  “Depends on which passions you’re talking about.”

  “You love your boat, right?”

  “True.”

  “And water sports. And our beautiful mayor.”

  All at once, he felt distinctly uncomfortable. “You were part of the conspiracy to get rid of her. Lock her up on a trumped-up murder charge.”

  “You have no proof of that.”

  “I’m not the only one who believes it. Someone wanted Camila put away.”

  “I’ve tried to help the woman.”

  “I know you contributed to her campaign. But that’s just something you do, right? Spread money around, call in favors later.”

  “As I said, I like to stay involved.”

  “But some people think you aren’t too keen on inclusion. You liked the world better when it was dominated by rich white males like you. You’ve consistently opposed immigration policies that—”

  “I do think we have a completely irrational approach to immigration, both in this state and this nation. But please don’t try to turn me into some petty redneck
in a white sheet. I’m nothing like that.”

  He wondered. Men who crave power are always driven by something. And every time he tumbled across the government railroading someone, every time he discovered some gross inequity in the system, Sweeney seemed to be involved. “Can we talk about the Ossie Coleman case? Do you know anything about this cabin the woods? The dead man? The mummies?”

  “Nothing whatsoever. Disgusting matter. All those boys, alone and taken advantage of. Sickens me.”

  He heard a flapping sound, wet and heavy. Apparently Sweeney had removed his towel.

  Was he doing this just to put him off guard? Was he sitting there naked?

  “I’ve known Zachary Coleman for decades,” Sweeney continued. “We both started in business about the same time. I went into tech. He’s more old-fashioned. Prefers to invest in simple things he understands, like hotels. That man was devastated when his grandson disappeared.”

  “He has a granddaughter now. And a great-grandson.”

  “Not the same. That whole mess with the boy’s mother, running off, killing herself. So unfortunate. I hired investigators then and I’ve hired investigators now. But we’ve never gotten any solid information about what happened to the boy.”

  “You mean—until now?”

  “Are you referring to that young man you represent? He’s an imposter.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Common sense, for starters. A boy suddenly appears out of nowhere. Can’t be quizzed because he’s lost his memory. Can’t be ID’d because someone disappeared the prints and dental and DNA records. Can’t account for the missing years. Only a fool would believe this fairy tale.”

  “Stranger things have happened.”

  “Maybe. But when a billion dollars is ripe for the taking, I have a tendency to be skeptical.” He slowly rose to his feet. Was he going to walk around in here?

  “Ossie tells a convincing story.”

  “I thought he didn’t remember anything.”

  “I mean, he himself is very convincing.”

  “I’ll have to take your word for it.” Sweeney paced back and forth in the sauna. “I know Zachary isn’t convinced the boy is the real thing.”

  “But given how much time has passed, how could he possibly know?”

  “He’s Ossie’s grandfather. He would know.”

  “He’s elderly. His memory is imperfect.”

  “That would make him more likely to accept the imposter. Zachary’s skepticism shows he still has a grip on himself.”

  “How do you explain the cabin? Quite a coincidence, don’t you think? Ossie describes a cabin with a yellow triangle, and not too long thereafter, someone finds one. Isn’t that proof?”

  “Not to me. And not to my investigator.”

  “He found what you paid him to find.”

  “Mr. Pike, is it possible that in your quest to demonize me and blame me for all your problems, you’ve missed the much more obvious explanations?”

  That slowed him down.

  “As we speak,” Sweeney continued, “Prudence is showing your partner all our files on the case. Everything. Regardless of where it came from.”

  “Thank you.” But would you please stop sashaying your big naked body around the sauna? “Maybe we could talk again after I’ve had a chance to review the files.”

  “You’re not running off, are you? We haven’t even made it to the pool yet.”

  “I need to prep for—”

  All at once, Sweeney plopped his considerable girth down beside him. The bench shuddered. “Aren’t you going to ask for what you really came here for?”

  “I came here because I represent Ossie Coleman.”

  “Bull. You came here because your father died in prison. You know Ellison had something to do with it and you think maybe I did, too.”

  His throat felt extremely dry. “Did you?”

  “No. I knew your father. Good man, if a bit naïve. I wasn’t completely surprised when he ended up getting a raw deal.”

  “You’re saying he was framed?”

  A long pause ensued. “I can’t say that. Bradley says he killed a man.”

  “Bradley lied.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “The obvious answer would be, for money. From someone with a lot of money to throw around.”

  Sweeney leaned forward. Good God, he wasn’t going to put his arm around him, was he? “If by that you mean me, you’re wrong. I have no interest in causing miscarriages of justice.”

  “Even if they benefit you?”

  “Why would putting your father behind bars benefit me?”

  “I don’t know.” This time, he stood. “But I intend to find out.”

  Sweeney wasn’t ready to let him go. “Is this some crazy notion Mr. K put into your head?”

  His eyebrows knitted. “What do you know about Mr. K?”

  “More than you, I’ll wager.”

  “I’ve been working for him—”

  “But you have no idea who he is. Or why he finances these quixotic quests of yours.”

  “He does it because, like me, he can’t stand to see innocent people get railroaded.”

  “Is that it? Or is that you projecting your own motivations on someone you don’t know. Someone you can’t even see.”

  He was becoming uncomfortable, and not just because of the heat. “I think this conversation is over.”

  “I could help you, Mr. Pike.”

  “I don’t need or want your help.”

  Sweeney wiped sweat from his brow. “Such exuberance. Or arrogance, perhaps. But still, I admire your verve. You know, I’m subject to a constant stream of lawsuits. Happens to everyone in business today. I could use a firebrand like you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Would it be so bad? To work for someone you can actually look in the eye?”

  “Forget it. I can’t be bought.”

  Sweeney chuckled. “You’ve already been bought, son. Mr. K gives you a ton of money and you come when he calls.”

  “I only take cases—”

  “You’re his little toy solider. Give the boy a sports car and he’ll believe anything you want him to believe.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  For the first time, Sweeney’s voice took on an edge. “He’s using you, and you’re going along with it because he pays well and bloats your Zorro self-image. Let me tell you something. The true crusaders aren’t showboats. They’re people like me who work quietly behind the scenes, doing what is necessary to make the nation strong, to quell the forces that want to destroy our way of life.”

  “Codewords for racism and old-school smoke-filled-room politics.”

  “You’re being childish.”

  “You’re trying to bribe me out of the courtroom.”

  “The truth is—I already have enough information to keep you out of the courtroom. Permanently.”

  “Then why don’t you use it?”

  “Because that’s not in my best interests. At this time.” Sweeney slowly rose to his feet. He was naked. And extremely imposing. “You don’t want to mess with me, son.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “I don’t make threats. Why warn? When it’s time to act, I act.”

  “Were you behind the delivery guy who came to my office and tried to kill me?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Not so obvious to me.”

  Sweeney leaned forward, towering over him. “If I had wanted to kill you, Mr. Pike—you'd be dead.”

  Chapter 27

  Dan rushed into the courtroom. He didn’t like being late. Since Judge Smulders was new, he had no idea how the jurist handled tardy lawyers.

  He spotted Jazlyn at the prosecution table. “Thank goodness,” he said, smiling. “After what you said last time, I was afraid you might not be here.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “And you’re more comfortable with someone you know you can beat?”


  “I’m more comfortable with someone I know I can trust.”

  “Now you’re just buttering me up.” Pause. “But don’t stop.”

  “I don’t trust your boss at all. I’m convinced Belasco is in deep with Sweeney. And I definitely don’t trust anyone associated with Sweeney.”

  “Are you sure? That Prudence is a looker.”

  He pulled a face. “Not my type.”

  “Gorgeous. Athletic. Smart. Sure, nothing there you’d be interested in.”

  “She works for the devil.”

  “No one’s perfect.” She passed him a pile of paper. “Here’s our brief. Sorry I didn’t get it finished sooner.”

  “I’m just glad you’re still here.”

  “Don’t get used to it.” She glanced over her shoulder. “My suspicions were correct. I’m being replaced.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “Nope. Belasco is bringing in a hired gun. He’s supposed to arrive tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “The DA’s idea? Or Sweeney’s?”

  She shrugged. “How would I know? Belasco really wants to win this case.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he’s the DA. Because he’s about to run for higher office and he doesn’t need to lose a highly publicized case.”

  He shook his head. “Camila’s case was just as high profile. But he didn’t bring in a hitman prosecutor. Something’s different this time.”

  “When you figure it out, let me know.”

  “Will do. I suppose this frees you up to focus on your campaign.”

  “Maybe. Belasco has dumped lots of other cases in my lap. Busy work, mostly. I don’t think he’s going to be offering me his endorsement.”

  “You don’t need it.”

  She laughed. “I can tell you’ve never run for office. Rule Number One, Dan—you need all the help you can get.”

  * * *

  Dan rose when Judge Smulders entered the courtroom.

  “Okay,” the judge said, jerking his robe around as he sat. It appeared to be too long and too big for him. He looked like a kid in a Christmas pageant struggling with his angel smock. “We’ve got some kind of motion to keep out evidence or something?”