“Something wrong?” Benedict asked when Wing looked blankly at the weak blue color of the mixture. Mary Maguire, the judge, and all of the jurors leaned forward.
“Er, um, the color is a little pale, but . . .”
Wing poured in the acid. The mixture fizzed.
“What’s going on, Officer Wing?” Benedict asked.
Wing shook his head and stared dumbfounded at the bubbly mess in the test tube. He added the chloroform but no blue appeared.
“This . . . this shouldn’t be happening,” Wing stuttered.
“What shouldn’t?” Benedict asked.
“It’s reacting like baking soda,” Wing said in disbelief.
“What!” Maguire shouted.
Gardner rapped his gavel. “Are you saying that the powder in Exhibit Six is not cocaine?” he demanded of the witness.
Wing looked as if a piano had just landed on him. “I swear, Judge. This tested positive for cocaine in the lab.”
“Where no one could see the test,” Benedict told the jurors. “But when there are witnesses present we get baking soda, don’t we, Officer Wing?”
Wing opened his mouth, then shut it quickly.
What Benedict didn’t say was that he had memorized everything about Exhibit Six and taken a photo of it with his cell phone when he’d viewed it in the property room. Then he had created a duplicate baggie filled with baking soda, which he’d switched for the real exhibit during Kyle’s outburst.
“He did this,” Maguire shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Charles Benedict.
“Ridiculous,” Benedict protested.
Gardner banged his gavel. “George, take the jurors to the jury room,” he told his bailiff.
As soon as the jurors were out of the courtroom, the judge glared at the lawyers.
“Both of you, in my chambers, now! And I want to see Officer Wing, too.”
Benedict led his client to the judge’s chambers. Mary Maguire followed with Justin Wing in tow. They found Gardner sitting behind his desk. He did not look happy.
“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” the judge said.
“I certainly hope so,” Benedict said. “I for one would like to know why Mr. Ross was forced to go through the agony and expense of a trial for possession of baking soda.”
The prosecutor turned to the judge. “Justin Wing is as honest as the day is long. If he swore that powder was cocaine, it was cocaine.”
“Everyone makes mistakes,” Benedict said magnanimously. “I have no idea how or why Officer Wing screwed up, but it’s obvious that he did.”
“Wing didn’t screw up. You had something to do with this,” Maguire insisted.
“Enough,” Gardner said. “Officer Wing, how do you explain this?”
Wing looked thoroughly befuddled. “I can’t, Judge. That powder tested for cocaine in the lab. The only way it could test as baking soda is if it was switched.”
“And how was that accomplished?” Gardner asked.
“I have no idea,” Wing said. “I put it in our vault after I tested it. Then I brought it to court.”
“There was no break in the chain of custody?” Gardner asked.
“I guess someone could have gone into the vault and switched the cocaine. That’s the only thing I can think of.”
Gardner looked upset. Maguire looked like she wanted to say something but couldn’t think of a thing to say. But Benedict could.
“Judge, I believe it would be appropriate to dismiss the charges against Mr. Ross.”
“Miss Maguire?” the judge asked the prosecutor.
“I . . . I’ll have to talk to Mrs. Blair. I’ve never had anything like this happen.”
Gardner turned to his bailiff. “George, tell Carrie Blair she’s wanted in my chambers ASAP.”
Judge Gardner read his mail and signed documents while everyone waited for Carrie Blair. Ten minutes later, Blair was ushered into the judge’s chambers and Gardner explained why he had summoned her.
“It’s obvious that your case has fallen apart,” Gardner concluded. “The question is, what do you intend to do about it? Unless you can suggest something that will keep it afloat, I will entertain a motion to dismiss if Mr. Benedict makes it.”
“May I confer with Mary and Officer Wing?” Blair asked.
Gardner nodded and Blair led Maguire and the witness into the hall. She glared at Benedict as she passed him. The defense attorney didn’t react. Fifteen minutes later, Blair, Maguire, and Wing reentered the judge’s chambers.
“In light of what happened with the retest, my office has no recourse but to dismiss the case,” Blair told Gardner. She looked furious.
“May I assume there will be an investigation conducted to try to discover how this fiasco occurred?” Gardner said. He sounded as upset as Blair.
“Yes. I’ll get the ball rolling as soon as I get upstairs.” Blair looked at Benedict, who smiled blandly. “And I assure you that the investigation will include a talk with Mr. Benedict.”
Chapter Nine
Carrie Blair stormed upstairs, with Mary Maguire and Justin Wing following close behind. As soon as they were in her office, Blair slammed the door.
“What the fuck happened, Justin?”
“Honest, Carrie, I have no idea. Hurley gave me the baggie at the lab. It tested positive for cocaine.”
“Could you have made a mistake?” Carrie asked.
“There is no way the powder could have tested for cocaine if it was baking soda. You weren’t in court. The powder fizzed.”
“So what’s your explanation?”
“The only one that makes sense is that someone switched the cocaine for baking soda.”
“When could that have happened?”
“It had to have been after I tested it at the lab. Either someone got into the vault or it happened in the courtroom, because I put the baggie in the vault and I took it out of the vault and I had it in my possession until I gave it to the bailiff.”
“Tell me everything that happened in court with the ziplock bag,” Carrie said to Mary Maguire.
The young prosecutor walked Blair through her examination of Officer Wing and the beginning of Benedict’s cross. Then she told her supervisor about Kyle Ross’s outburst.
“Wait!” Blair said. “Where was the baggie when Kyle started shouting?”
“Charles Benedict had it.”
“Go step by step from the time Benedict got possession of the exhibit.”
“He . . . he took it. Then Ross jumped up and . . .” Maguire paused. “I was watching Ross so I don’t know what Benedict did. I know he handed the baggie back to the bailiff. I saw him do that. He only had it for a few seconds. Then he calmed down his client.”
“What happened after Ross calmed down?”
“Benedict asked the judge for a recess so Ross could compose himself.”
“And the judge called a recess?”
“Yeah.”
“Where was Benedict during the recess?”
“He . . . he talked to his client. Then . . . I stayed in court and I think . . . yeah, he left the courtroom.”
“Fuck!”
Blair grabbed her phone and called the head janitor. “This is Carrie Blair. I’m the head of the narcotics section in the commonwealth attorney’s office. I think someone flushed cocaine down one of the toilets in the fifth-floor men’s room. Where would the coke go if that happened?”
Blair listened for a few minutes. “Shit!” she swore the moment she hung up.
“You think Benedict switched the dope?” Maguire asked.
“I know he did, but we’ll never be able to prove it.”
“But how? The bailiff had the baggie, and Benedict only had it for a few seconds.”
Blair put her head in her hands. She knew exactly what had happened. She’d seen Benedict pull one of his sleight-of-hand tricks in the bar at the Theodore Roosevelt. She was certain another magician could explain the disappearance of the cocaine and how Benedict
had substituted the baking powder.
“Justin, can you look in the toilets and pipes in the men’s room and tell if the cocaine was flushed down it?”
“I might be able to find traces if no one used the toilets or sinks after it was flushed but there’s probably a lot of traffic in that restroom.”
“Get a crew up there. I’ll have the janitor close the room.”
Wing left and Blair called the janitor again.
“What do you want me to do?” Maguire asked.
“Go home. This isn’t your fault.”
“But I—”
“Stop. You are not to blame yourself, do you hear? I know who’s to blame.”
Seconds after Mary Maguire and Justin Wing left her office, Carrie’s cell phone rang.
“Yeah,” she said distractedly.
“It’s me, Charlie.”
“You son of a bitch . . .”
“Calm down. I know you’re mad, but we have to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about unless you want to confess.”
“It’s about your prenup.”
Carrie froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“I know all the details but I don’t want to discuss this over the phone. Drive to my condo at eleven tonight. Go down the back alley and park in my garage. I’ll leave the garage door up.”
“I’m not going to your house.”
“Then I’ll have to show Horace the DVD.”
“What DVD?”
“Tonight, eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
Chapter Ten
Less than an hour after the case of Commonwealth v. Ross disappeared, Devon Ross deposited a hefty bonus in an offshore account Charles Benedict kept for income resulting from special illusions such as the magic tricks that had led to the mystifying disappearance of things like Kyle’s cocaine and the late Norman Krueger. Benedict celebrated at his favorite restaurant with a fine wine, a foie gras appetizer, and a steak that melted like butter the moment it touched his tongue.
The attorney arrived home a little after ten and parked in his garage, leaving space for Carrie Blair’s Porsche. Then he got a DVD from the safe in his bedroom and slipped a snubnose .38 revolver into his pocket. Carrie was rumored to have a bad temper and he wanted to be prepared.
Promptly at eleven, Benedict heard a car drive into his garage. He opened the door that led from the garage to the first floor and pressed a button to close the garage door. Carrie Blair stomped up the stairs and pointed an accusing finger at him.
“You used Kyle Ross’s outburst to distract everyone’s attention. Then you switched the cocaine for baking soda.”
“Whoa,” Benedict replied calmly as he held up his hands in a mock defensive gesture. “That’s too many negative vibes for such a mellow hour of the evening.”
“You think you’re so clever. You just had to show off with those sleight-of-hand tricks at the Theodore Roosevelt, knowing I’d remember what you’d done when the coke disappeared. Tomorrow I’m going to find a magician who will show me how you pulled the switch, but right now I’m having the plumbing in the fifth-floor men’s room examined, and you know what we’re going to find?”
“I would assume feces and urine.”
“We’ll see how funny you are when I have you perp-walked out of your office with as many TV crews as I can get to film every moment.”
“I’m sorry you have such a low opinion of me.”
“It was always low, but this stunt . . .”
“There wasn’t any stunt, and I don’t appreciate being accused of dishonesty. Besides, you and I have more important things to discuss than Kyle Ross. Would you like a drink?”
“No. Now get to the point.”
“You have a prenuptial agreement that is supposed to be a secret between you and your hubby. You stand to lose a fortune if you tell anyone about the agreement or if you have an affair before it terminates.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Carrie, you told me all about the agreement the evening you stayed here.”
“What?”
“You were pretty drunk, so you probably don’t remember what you said.”
“If such an agreement existed I would have nothing to worry about because I haven’t cheated on Horace since we were married.”
“Actually, you have. Remember when I told you that nothing happened between us the evening you were here?” Benedict cast down his eyes shyly. “I lied.”
“You what!”
“I have a—what do they call them on those celebrity news shows?—a sex tape. It shows a naked Carrie Blair in several intimate positions on my bed. It’s pretty risqué.”
“You drugged me!”
“Of course not. You were horny, we felt a connection.” Benedict shrugged. “These things happen between soul mates.”
“You bastard,” Carrie said as she fought to keep from panicking. “You gave me a date-rape drug.”
“That would be illegal.”
“That’s why I don’t remember what happened. They cause amnesia.”
Carrie was filled with rage but she forced herself to stay calm.
“Assuming you actually have this DVD,” she said, “what do you want for it?”
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars should do it.”
“Are you crazy?”
Benedict’s features hardened. “Don’t fuck with me, Carrie. You told me exactly how much money you’ve salted away during your marriage. And you’re going to be a very rich woman when the prenup terminates. A quarter of a million dollars will be chump change then. Get cheap with me and I’ll sell Horace the DVD. Then you’ll be out in the cold without a penny. Just be thankful that I’m not greedy.”
Carrie felt sick. “Let me see it,” she said.
“Have a seat,” Benedict said, pointing to a couch that faced a forty-six-inch TV. He turned on the set, inserted the DVD, and pressed PLAY. There was no sound track. On the screen, Carrie Blair was being embraced by a man. The man’s face was hidden but Carrie’s face was easy to make out, as was the fact that she was naked. Carrie’s fists knotted. The son of a bitch had set her up; he’d drugged her and raped her and now he wanted her to pay for the privilege.
On the screen, the man kissed Blair and lowered her to the bed. She fell back and the man mounted her.
“It goes on like this for a while,” Benedict said. “Then we do it doggie style, and there’s a little oral sex thrown in. Shall I pause the entertainment?”
Carrie showed no emotion. Benedict stood up and crossed to the TV. When he turned his back and bent over to eject the DVD, Carrie grabbed a vase and rushed at him. Benedict stood and threw up a hand. The vase crashed against his forearm. Benedict jumped back and fell against the TV. Carrie flew at him and stabbed at his face with a shard. As he spun away, Benedict pulled the .38 out of his pocket. Carrie was so intent on stabbing Benedict that she didn’t see the gun. They crashed together and there was an explosion. Carrie’s eyes went wide and she stopped her assault. Benedict jumped away from her. Carrie stared at her stomach. Blood was spreading across the inside of her blouse, dying the white fabric red. She stumbled backward and slipped to the floor.
“I’m shot,” she gasped. “You shot me in the stomach.”
Benedict had killed people but not in his apartment. He stared at the blood and was suddenly afraid. Blood had DNA in it, and DNA would tell the crime lab that Carrie Blair had been bleeding on his floor.
Benedict rushed into the bathroom and grabbed a thick towel. He gave it to Carrie and told her to hold it against the wound. He wanted her to think that he was helping her stop the bleeding, and he was, but not to save her life. He just didn’t want any of her blood in his apartment.
“Get me to a hospital,” she wheezed as she struggled for air.
Benedict’s mind was swirling. If he took Carrie to the hospital there would be an investigation. What would she say? The sex tape would come
out. She would accuse him of blackmail, and he’d shot her with his gun.
Did Carrie tell anyone she was coming here? Fear flooded him. By now, everyone at the courthouse would have heard about the disappearing coke and how angry Carrie was at him. He’d told her to tell no one she was visiting him, but did she tell anyone? Twenty million dollars was at stake, so she had probably kept her mouth shut, but Carrie was unpredictable. Her attack was proof of that.
And there was the Porsche in his garage. What if a neighbor saw her drive in? He had to get rid of the Porsche.
Benedict forced himself to calm down. Carrie moaned pitifully. It took all of his willpower to tune her out and focus on his problem. Suddenly an idea occurred to Benedict and a bizarre plan formed in his mind. It might not work. He didn’t have time to think it through now. He would figure out if it made sense after he’d given the idea an objective, unemotional analysis, but there were some things he would have to do now if it was going to work.
“Please, Charlie, I’m dying,” Carrie managed. “Take me to the hospital. I won’t tell what happened.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m going to help you.”
“Thank you.”
Benedict looked around until he spotted Carrie’s purse. It was lying on the couch. He opened it and found the key to her Porsche and a ring that held many more keys. Benedict dangled the key ring in front of Carrie’s eyes.
“Which key opens your front door?”
“What?” Carrie asked dully. She was having trouble focusing.
“We’re going to the hospital, but you have to tell me what key opens your front door so I can help you.”
Carrie stared at Benedict. He wasn’t making sense, but she was also finding it hard to think clearly. She pointed to her house key.
“Are any of these other keys for a car Horace drives?”
“Jesus, it hurts.”
“Focus, Carrie. Are any of these keys for a car Horace drives?”
Carrie started to gag but she forced herself to point to a key.
“What car is this key for?” Benedict asked.
“Bentley,” she gasped.
“Good girl. Now let’s take care of you.”
Benedict picked up the wounded prosecutor. She was heavy, and it was a struggle to get her down the steps to the garage. He opened the Porsche’s trunk and dropped her in it.
Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) Page 6
