Hate Crime

by William Bernhardt

  “So you’re certain Johnny didn’t kill Tony Barovick?”

  “More than that. As ironic as it might seem, Johnny saved that boy’s life.”

  “Thank you. Pass the witness.”

  That had gone well, Christina thought, as she returned to her seat. Better than she’d expected, actually. She couldn’t gauge whether the jury was buying it, but the points had been established. Whether they made an impact, ultimately, would depend on whether the jury believed Mrs. Christensen was telling the truth. At any rate, she hadn’t left any openings for Drabble’s cross, at least as far as she knew.

  Drabble slowly approached the podium. Christina could only imagine what he had up his sleeve. She had cautioned Ellen not to become restless; this cross could easily go on for hours.

  Drabble gazed at the witness for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was with a sort of sigh. “Mrs. Christensen, aren’t you the defendant’s mother?”

  She hesitated a moment. “I’m his stepmother. I said that.”

  He continued to look at her for a long while. “Mrs. Christensen,” he repeated. “Aren’t you the defendant’s mother?”

  “Y-yes. Yes, I am.”

  Drabble smiled, nodded, closed his notebook. “Thank you, ma’am. I have no more questions.”

  42

  Mike finally found Special Agent Swift in the basement firing range, protective earphones over her head. She was pouring long-range automatic ammunition into a man-shaped figure fifty feet away, and she looked as if she was enjoying herself. Which Mike didn’t doubt.

  She didn’t hear him coming, no surprise, given the earphones and the thunderous clatter. He lifted the cushioned cones over her ears and said, “Boo!”

  She started, but quickly recovered herself. “Mike! What’s up, sugah? Come to take out your frustrations on a cardboard target?”

  “No. Came looking for you.”

  “Really?” Her eyebrows danced. “You finally gonna take me up on my offer?”

  “Yes, but possibly not the one you have in mind. Remember when you said you were going to come clean with me?”

  “Ye-esss…”

  “Well, now you really are.” He guided her into a nearby room and closed the door. “I want to know why you came down to Tulsa and started messing around in my murder investigation. And this time don’t give me any bull about drugs.”

  “But Mike-”

  “Mind you, I’m not saying there aren’t drugs running around that club or that Manny Nowosky wasn’t peddling them as a sideline. But that’s not enough to get a top Feeb wrapped up in an Oklahoma murder.”

  “I’m certain that your murder was connected to our Chicago murder.”

  “I am, too, but that still wouldn’t bring it under federal purview. What’s the real reason you thrust yourself into this case?”

  She locked a finger around one of the buttons on his shirt. “With you involved, Mike, I didn’t need much of an excuse. For thrusting myself into things.”

  He slapped her hand away. “Oh, give me some credit. I’m not so blind that a little flirting will turn me into an unquestioning idiot.”

  “But I-”

  “You’re not working any drugs case. You’re working the same case you were always working. The Metzger kidnapping.”

  The humor drained from her face. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I finally realized where I’ve seen that guy before. Charlie the Chicken. I knew I’d seen his face, but the image was slightly different, and I couldn’t figure out why. Until I did.” He paused. “It seemed different because the last time I saw him, I was way down looking up at him. Through the crosshairs of a sniperscope.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Yeah. That creep was one of the thugs who kidnapped the Metzger boy, and I’m willing to bet that Manny Nowosky was in on it, too. And Tony Barovick. My hunch was right about them being co-conspirators in some crime-I just had the wrong crime.”

  “What a theory.”

  “It explains a lot. Like why a two-bit punk like Manny had fifty grand lying around. And it helps me figure why Charlie was leaving town-given what had already happened to two of his partners.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “We always thought the kidnapping was handled by a gang of four, and we were right. The fourth man-the only one who isn’t dead-is still on the loose, having knocked off his former partners.”

  “But-why?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to share the ransom they got away with. Maybe he knows they’re the only ones who can testify against him.” Mike turned, pacing around the tiny room. “But why am I telling you this? You’ve known all along these murders were linked to the kidnapping. That’s why you’re on the case. Right?” He leaned in closer. “Am I right?”

  She stared back at him. “You are so hot when you’re mad.”

  It was all Mike could do to restrain himself. “Am I right?”

  She released a long stream of air. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “Then why the hell-”

  “But don’t start screaming at me. We had an anonymous tip linking the drill bit murder to the kidnapping, but I was under strict instructions from my superiors not to give you the lowdown. I didn’t like it, but it wasn’t my call.”

  “Did it ever occur to you… pompous… goddamn white-shirts… that local law enforcement might actually be able to help you? If you’d give us half a clue what’s really going on!”

  “I told you. It wasn’t my decision!” She stomped around a few moments. “But now that you know, I don’t see why I can’t tell you the rest.”

  “Please do.”

  “We think the fourth man-the remaining living kidnapper-is based here in Chicago. Now that he’s killed off his associates, assuming he has the ransom money, he should have no reason to remain. So we’ve got to catch him quick.”

  Mike folded his arms across his chest. He still wasn’t pleased about this, but he was happier inside the loop than out. “And how do we do that?”

  “Remote Control seems to be the nerve center of this operation, even after Tony Barovick’s death. Since we don’t have any leads and don’t know who Mr. Big is-we look for his shadow. Traces of his presence. Disruptions in the normal routine. People flashing a lot of cash who shouldn’t be. Signs of people being roughed up or acting in a strange-”

  “Wait a second,” Mike interrupted. “Go back to the part about being roughed up.”

  “You would like that part.” The corner of her lips turned up. “You know someone who’s been roughed up?”

  His eyes seemed intensely focused, but not on anything in the firing range. “I think just maybe I do. Come on.”

  She followed close behind. “Where are we going?”

  “Out for a drink,” he said, putting on his coat. “Back to Remote Control.”

  Hard to know what to think of that development, he thought, as he left the courtroom. Mother taking the witness stand. Pleading on her boy’s behalf. Surely the jury would take that for being exactly what it was. A desperate attempt by a loved one to save her son-by lying. Not to be believed. More sad than evil.

  I should’ve killed those damn lawyers when I had the chance, he thought, as he crushed the newspaper between his hands. I had them in my sights. And I let them get away.

  He’d been beating himself up about it ever since, not that that made the two any more dead. He’d screwed up-and now he was paying the price. Sure, he’d been reluctant to tote up another murder or two when there had already been so many. How long could the cops remain so ignorant? But it seemed as if every time he rested a bit, every time he thought he might be secure, could relax, prop up his feet and watch this case go away permanently-something happened. Something that made him worry that the whole mess was going to crumble all around him. Again.

  He’d gotten another revolver, to replace the one he had dropped before. He was ready to go. He would content himself to watch and wait, for the time being. But when t
he time to move arrived-and given the way he felt at the moment, it wouldn’t be long-he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d go after them. The chick and her partner. If he got half a chance, he’d take out Christensen, too. Save the state the trouble.

  Your days are numbered, he thought, as he passed through the courthouse doors and stepped into the sunlight. He had a plan now. One that was certain to solve his difficulties, once and for all. And leave the world with two less lawyers.

  So much the better.

  43

  “Personally,” Christina said, taking her seat at the head of the office conference table, “I thought Drabble’s cross of Ellen was lame.”

  Ben’s eyes fluttered closed. He hated these posttrial postmortems. “I thought it was brilliant. What did you think, Vicki?”

  The petite intern couldn’t seem to bring her eyes up off the table. “I… did think he made his point.”

  Christina frowned. “Well, whether the jury bought it or not, Johnny has to make a good impression.”

  “You’re telling the wrong person,” Ben said, pointing at the defendant sitting between them.

  “Johnny,” she said, looking intently into his eyes. “You understand how serious this is, don’t you?”

  “Hard to miss.” He was wearing more casual clothes than the blue suit Christina dressed him in for court each day, but under the conference table, his feet were shackled. The marshals were posted in the corridor just outside their office. The court had allowed him to come back to the office to prep for his testimony, but they still weren’t taking any chances. “This trial isn’t exactly going my way.”

  “That’s all right. Tomorrow is another day. Have you got that legal research I asked for, Vicki?”

  “On restricting hearsay admitted against the defendant’s interest? Some.” Her voice became even less audible than usual. “Most of it isn’t helpful.”

  “Then keep looking. If we could suppress some of the testimony Drabble is sure to use to impeach Johnny, it would be a big help.”

  She nodded. “I’ll be at the computer terminal just across the hall.” She left the room.

  “The most important thing is that you seem sincere,” Christina explained to Johnny. “Even when you admit to less-than-admirable things, as you’re going to have to do. You must seem truthful. And remorseful. The prosecution has been painting you as a monster. You have to show them that you’re not.”

  “I’m not anyone’s monster,” Johnny said indignantly.

  “Don’t act defensive. Best to speak in a calm, relaxed manner,” Ben said. “Maybe a little slower than you normally would. Give yourself time to think.”

  “That’s especially important on cross,” Christina added. “Drabble will try to rev things up, get you talking fast, talking before thinking, leading you down the garden path, then catching you in some kind of trap. Before you answer any question, you have to ask yourself-what is he after?”

  “You think he’ll cross me more than he did my mother?”

  “I can guarantee it. Your mother was a sympathetic figure, so he made his point delicately and sat down. With you, the gloves will be off.”

  “Is it so important that he trashes me?”

  “To his case, yes,” Christina answered. “But more to the point-it will be easy.”

  “What, because I’m so stupid?”

  “No. Because what you did-what you’ve admitted you did-makes you such an easy target.”

  “Look at the jury from time to time,” Ben advised, “but not all the time. They don’t want someone playing to them, they want to observe you interacting with the prosecutor. But glance their way occasionally, especially when you’re making important points. Just to show them you’re not afraid to. Eye contact always suggests sincerity.”

  “Okay. I can do that.”

  “Most of all,” Christina said, leaning in close, “you must not lose your temper. No matter what Drabble says. Losing your temper would be disastrous.”

  “Not a problem. I’m not a hothead.”

  “Johnny-”

  “I’m not!”

  “Johnny, almost every time I’ve talked to you, you’ve started shouting.”

  “That’s because you ask me things just to cause trouble.”

  “And you think Drabble won’t? His whole cross will be designed to get your goat. Because if he can make you blow up on the stand, the jury will be all that much more likely to believe you lost it the night of March 22 and beat a man to death. Intentionally. With malice.”

  “Okay, no temper flares. I promise.”

  “One more thing,” Ben interjected. “You cannot rattle on about your personal beliefs regarding gay people or gay lifestyles. Not a word of it.”

  “I thought we had the First Amendment in this country.”

  Ben’s teeth clenched. “If you want to die by lethal injection for your First Amendment rights, fine. Because I can guarantee that if you start rattling on about wreaking God’s vengeance on sodomists, that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “This isn’t San Francisco, you know. Some of those jurors might agree with me.”

  “Yeah, they might, but this isn’t a political debate. It’s not a referendum on lifestyle choices. This is your trial for your life.”

  “It goes to motive,” Christina explained. “If you start some jeremiad about homosexuals, the jury will believe you could feel self-righteous enough to do what the prosecutor says you did for the reason he says you did it.”

  “Well, I’m not going to lie.”

  “I’m not asking you to lie.”

  “But,” Ben jumped in, “I can guarantee Drabble will grill you on your beliefs regarding gay people. And if you launch into some hyperzealous screed, he’ll crucify you. No-you’ll crucify yourself.”

  Johnny’s brow creased. “Then what the hell am I going to say?”

  “I think it’s okay to say that based on your Christian values, you disagree with the homosexual lifestyle,” Christina said. “But there’s no reason to go on and on about it. And you have to say it without the least trace of anger or malice.” She paused. “I think that’s the most important thing, don’t you, Ben?”

  “No. I think the most important thing is to seem remorseful. That’s what the forgiving, unconvinced jurors-if there are any-will be looking for.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “It’s a lead-pipe cinch Drabble will ask you about the beating-the part to which you’ve already confessed. He’ll probably take you through it blow by blow. You’ll have to repeat what you’ve already admitted-but you can’t seem proud of it. You can’t try to justify what you did. To the contrary, you need to seem awash in regret. Tell the jury it was a mistake-you lost control, you were swayed by your friend, whatever. But don’t say you were right to do what you did or that you enjoyed it or that you were doing God’s work. You do that, you’re blowfish.”

  “I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.”

  “I’m just asking you to be smart. I know for you that may be a tall order. But your life depends upon it.”

  At ten o’clock sharp, the marshals knocked on the door and escorted Johnny back to the county jail.

  “Think he can pull it off?” Christina asked.

  “No,” Ben said flatly. “But you have no choice. You have to put him on. And hope for the best.”

  “I still don’t see where he came from. His mother is so different.” She shook her head. “It must be particularly hard for you. Since you knew her, all those years ago. And cared for her.”

  “No discussion.”

  “I know, I know.” She sighed. It was late, and they were the only two people left in the office…

  “Thanks again,” she said quietly. “For helping with this case. I know you didn’t want to.”

  Ben shook his head. “I should’ve been on board from the start. I just-” He turned his eyes toward the window. “I can’t explain it. Hearing from her again, after all this time. Because she needed somethin
g from me. Seeing her again. It just… I don’t know. Threw me for a loop. I wasn’t rational.”

  “You’ve got ample cause.”

  “No excuses. Just-I’m sorry.”

  They sat for a long while, not looking at each other. Ben stared out the window; Christina pretended to be intrigued by the stack of unopened transcripts on the table. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she reached out and squeezed his hand.

  “Ben?”

  “Yes?” he said, looking up.

  “I-I-” She fumbled for a moment. “I’m sorry we haven’t had time for Scrabble lately.”

  “I think there have been extenuating circumstances.”

  “I just wondered…” She pursed her lips, tried again. “I wondered if you would like to…”

  Their faces drew closer together.

  “Yes?” he said, when their noses were practically touching.

  “I wondered if…”

  They heard a clattering in the corridor outside. Perhaps it was Jones, locking up.

  “We should probably get some sleep,” Ben said.

  “You’re right, of course.” She pushed away from the table, suddenly very embarrassed. “Big day, tomorrow. Make or break.”

  “Right,” he agreed. “Best to get a good night’s sleep.”

  And a moment later, she was gone.

  You stupid fool, he told himself, as he watched Christina leave the office.

  But the timing wasn’t right. It couldn’t possibly be, not with the trial, and Ellen, and…

  And the wounds all too present and deep and well remembered. Like that day at her apartment. The one that turned out to be the true last time he ever saw her. Until now.

  When she wouldn’t answer the bell, he pounded on the apartment door. When she still didn’t answer, he shouted, so loud that everyone in that Toronto apartment complex near campus could hear. It wasn’t until he threatened to set fire to the place that she finally answered.

  “Ben!” she said, standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here? I told you-”