Murder One

by William Bernhardt

  “What in the—Is this about Kincaid? Because if it is, you can forget—”

  “That your house?” Loving asked, pointing. “On the other side. The one with the white picket fence?”

  Dodds’s already tiny eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at? Is this some kind of a threat?”

  “I bet that’s a nice place to live,” Loving continued, ignoring him. “Comfy. Bet your wife and kids like it there.”

  Dodds was still sweating. He didn’t know whether he should run, shout, or fight, and given his current condition, he suspected he couldn’t do any of them very effectively. “Yes, Loving, we like our house. I worked hard for that house. A long career catching bad guys. I earned that house.”

  “Earned that house. What a pompous ingrate.” Loving walked closer to the much smaller man, his immense shadow dwarfing him. “You’d be living in a goddamn flophouse right now if it weren’t for Ben Kincaid. Your wife would’ve left you years ago, and you’d never see your kids at all, except maybe once every other Saturday for a trip to the zoo.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talkin’ about givin’ a man his druthers, you pissant,” Loving said, jabbing Dodds in the chest. “I’m sayin’ you owe him.”

  “I don’t owe that lousy cop killer anything.”

  “You do,” Loving barked back. “And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. You owe me! I’m callin’ in my markers.”

  “You’re crazy, Loving. Delusional.”

  “You know damn well Internal Affairs had you dead to rights. Not that you’d really done anything wrong. Nothing major, anyway. Nothing half the force hadn’t done. But they had you cold. More than enough of what passes for evidence these days to toss you right into the unemployment line, if not in prison. Ben Kincaid saved your sorry butt.”

  “He did his job and I paid him for it.”

  “You paid him peanuts. You couldn’t afford a real attorney. Too much money blown at the bar and the bingo parlor. If Kincaid hadn’t taken your case, you wouldn’t’ve stood a chance. And if I may remind you, he took your lousy worthless case because I asked him to, as a personal favor.” Loving squared his shoulders. “You owe him, and you owe me, Barry. And today is payback time.”

  Dodds moved away, reeling sideways. He grabbed the back of a park bench to steady himself. “Loving … I can’t talk to you. You know what would happen.”

  “What? The Blue Mafia gonna put a horse head in your bed?”

  “If Matthews and the boys knew I was talking to you—”

  “They don’t need to know. No one’s gonna know but me, and I won’t tell. I’m not askin’ you to take the stand, Barry. I just need some background information. I need to know what’s goin’ on.”

  Dodds stared down at the park bench, his lips trembling, but no sounds coming out.

  “It’s the Blue Squeeze, right, Barry?”

  Slowly, trembling, Dodds began to nod.

  “Who’s behind it? Who’s doing it?”

  “I—can’t say—”

  “C’mon, Barry, you can do better than that. It’s Matthews, ain’t it?”

  “I don’t know!” he shouted. The strength of his voice seemed to startle even himself. “I mean, I assume it is, but I don’t know. I just hear whispers.” Dodds started moving away, as fast as his rapidly sobering feet could carry him. “I can’t say any more.”

  Loving grabbed his wrist and slung him around. “Talk to me!”

  Dodds’s eyes roamed wildly on all sides of him. It was pitch-black, the dead of night, and they were obviously alone, but none of that seemed to comfort him. “There’s this secret group of cops, see.”

  Loving’s face crinkled. “Like a special task force?”

  “Yeah, sort of. Except it isn’t official, if you get my drift. It’s … private.”

  “And what exactly does this group try to do?”

  “Fight crime. Right wrongs. Prevent injustice. All the things cops are supposed to do. Except … without the problems cops have. Without the obstacles.”

  “You’re sayin’ a bunch of the boys get together and play Dirty Harry in their off-hours?”

  “You have to admit, Loving, things are pretty screwed up these days. Cops work their butts off, putting their lives on the line, taking all kinds of risks. We’ve got bad guys out there with Uzis, terrorist weapons, stuff that shouldn’t even be allowed in a civilized nation, and they’re out there taking potshots at us. And we hang in there like clay pigeons so we can catch the creeps and bring them to justice. And what happens then? Half the time some judge lets them go free on a technicality.”

  “Gimme a break. Outside of movies and TV, that rarely happens.”

  “The streets get more and more dangerous, and it gets harder and harder to convict anybody. So what are cops supposed to do? Watch all the bad guys get away? Or try to do something about it?”

  “How long has this gang been operating?”

  “I can’t say for certain.”

  “What have they done?”

  Dodds began wringing his hands. “I don’t know how far it’s gone. I thought it was mostly talk. You know, barroom bluster and poker table bravado. But then this thing with Joe McNaughton came up and … well, everything changed.”

  “They wanted to avenge Joe’s death.”

  “Well—yeah. Of course. Everyone loved Joe. He was a great guy.”

  “So these clowns decided to hammer out some justice on their own?”

  “Not at first. Everyone assumed the Dalcanton chick was going up the river, probably to death row. But after your boss pulled his fancy courtroom sleight-of-hand, and Joe’s killer got set free … well, that was too much for anyone to take.”

  Loving grabbed Dodds by the arms roughly. He glared into the shorter man’s eyes. “They planted the weapon, didn’t they? They put that knife in Ben’s file cabinet.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.” Dodds’s trembling intensified. “Really.”

  Loving squeezed him harder. “I have to know, Barry.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know. I mean, it makes sense. All the tests show that the knife really is the murder weapon. You have to assume the killer didn’t put it there. So who else would be likely to have the murder weapon except …”

  “Except cops.” Loving pushed Dodds away from him, disgusted. “Dirty, crooked cops.” He paused. “But if they had the knife, why didn’t they use it at trial? Didn’t they want a conviction?”

  “Of course they did. Everyone wanted a conviction. If they’d had the knife, they’d’ve made sure the D.A. used it.” A silence fell. “Unless …”

  “Unless somethin’ about the way they found it didn’t incriminate Keri Dalcanton. Unless it pointed to someone else. Then they would’ve hidden the weapon, at least until they could plant it somewhere that would bolster their case.” Loving looked up abruptly. “Like in Dalcanton’s lawyer’s office.”

  “Could I be going now? My wife is expecting me before midnight, and if I don’t show she’ll be worried.”

  “Barry, I have to know who planted that knife.”

  “Y—You’ll never find out from me.”

  “I’m serious, Barry.”

  “I don’t know who did it!”

  Unfortunately, he appeared to be telling the truth. “Can you find out?”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  “You still owe me, Barry.”

  “Correction—I owed you. I paid you back. We’re square.”

  “We’re not even close yet.”

  Dodds squirmed, trying to break free. “I’m telling you, I can’t do it.”

  “And I’m tellin’ you, you can.” Loving’s eyes burned like fire into Dodds’s. “Ben Kincaid saved your life. And now you’re going to save his.”

  21

  “WHERE’S BEN?” CHRISTINA SAID, as she whipped through the front doors of the office. She was looking frazzled. Between researching the legal precedents relating to the
day’s hearing and investigating the case itself, she was running herself ragged. Somehow, she had thought, once she finally got out of law school, things would slow down.

  Wrong again.

  “So where is he? We’re due at the courthouse in ten minutes.”

  From his desk, Jones gave her a tight-lipped response. “I think he’s in his office. Keri’s here.”

  “Keri? This hearing’s about him, not her. Why is she here?”

  “Don’t ask me,” he said, slow and pointedly. “She’s been hanging out at the office a lot lately.”

  Crinkles formed around Christina’s eyes. “Why would she be—” She paused. “Jones, what’s going on?”

  He swiveled around in his chair. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the office manager. I don’t know anything. No one listens to me.”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “We’ve got a hearing. We can’t be messing around.” She marched toward Ben’s interior office.

  The door was closed. Without pausing a beat, she flung the door open …

  Ben and Keri jumped away from one another, startled and embarrassed. Ben wiped his mouth dry. Keri readjusted the strap on her blouse.

  Christina’s jaw dropped low enough to tickle the carpet. “What in the name of—”

  “Did you need something, Christina?” The look in Ben’s eyes told her in unmistakable terms to keep her trap shut.

  Christina spoke through clenched teeth. “We’ve got a hearing. We’re going to be late.”

  Ben glanced at his watch, then at Keri. “She’s right. I’ve got to go. I, uh, I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll wait here.”

  “Oh, you don’t need—”

  “I’d rather.”

  “Well …”

  “Unless you don’t want me to.”

  “No, it’s not—”

  Christina’s eyeballs practically propelled themselves from their sockets. “Ben, we’ve got to go!”

  “Right, right.” He took a step toward Keri, hesitated, lowered his head toward hers, stopped, then finally patted her on the shoulder. “Be back soon.”

  The sound of four heels racing down the marble-tiled hallway of the county courthouse made a lot of noise, but it was nothing compared to the thunderous sound of Christina’s voice.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Christina, please. It’s … personal.”

  “It’s not personal. She’s your client.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  Ben kept his eyes focused on the courtroom at the far end of the hallway. It was a lot easier than looking at her. “I really don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

  “You don’t, huh? Well, let me remind you of something, Lothario. We’re partners now. I’m in the firm. That means she’s my client, too.”

  “Technically, that’s correct.”

  “Technically? It’s a fact, period. And you’re screwing around with my client!”

  “Christina, keep your voice down!” His own voice dropped to a whisper. “We are not, as you so delicately put it, screwing around. We’re just … very close.”

  “Very close? You were practically doing a tonsillectomy on her with your tongue!”

  “Christina …”

  “Not that she was exactly anesthetized. I guess that dance training really comes in handy.”

  “Christina, honestly. It was nothing.”

  Christina stopped dead in her tracks. “Nothing? Have you forgotten about the Rules of Professional Conduct which, last I checked, preclude lawyers from performing tonsillectomies on their clients?”

  “The Rules don’t absolutely forbid all relationships—”

  “Don’t get technical on me, buddy. What you’re doing is wrong and you damn well know it.” She started marching down the corridor again, leaving him in her wake.

  Ben double-stepped to catch up to her. “Look, Christina, I didn’t plan this. It just … happened.”

  She halted again, outside the courtroom door. “You’ve got to promise me this is not going to occur again.”

  His face took on a sickly expression. “Christina …”

  “Promise me. Or I’m not walking into that courtroom.”

  “What are you, my mother?”

  “No, Ben. I’m your lawyer. And I will not represent someone who’s screwing around behind my back, endangering his case as well as someone else’s. I wouldn’t take that from a stranger and I certainly won’t take it from you!”

  “Christina, this is blackmail.”

  “You’re damn straight it is. Now am I going in there or not?”

  Ben inhaled deeply. “All right, I promise. I’ll break it off with Keri. At least until our cases are over.”

  Christina grabbed the courtroom door and swung it open, her anger not subsided in the least. “That’s damn white of you, Casanova.”

  Christina felt certain that Judge Cable already knew every single detail of the case currently before him, but he made a good show of acting as if it was no different than any other matter on his docket.

  “State versus Kincaid, Case No. CJ-01-578C,”he said, in a disinterested tone. Judge Cable was one of the older members of the Tulsa County judiciary. He sported gray hair and bifocals, and was known to be a staunch conservative—the last thing they needed on this case. “The defendant is charged with the concealment of evidence pertaining to a criminal investigation and obstruction of justice. This is the preliminary hearing, to determine whether the defendant should be bound over for trial. Is the defendant ready?”

  Out of habit, Ben began to rise. Christina grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “We are, your honor.”

  “Very well.” He turned his attention to the prosecution table. “Will the prosecution be calling any witnesses?”

  D.A. LaBelle rose, in a slow, dignified, fluid motion. “We will, your honor.”

  “Very well.” Again, Judge Cable made no reaction. But as he and everyone else in the courtroom knew, the fact that LaBelle was handling this matter himself signified that it was an extraordinary case. “Proceed.”

  LaBelle called Sergeant Matthews to the stand. Matthews was relatively contained and quiet—for Matthews, anyway. Christina wasn’t surprised. LaBelle was known for his attention to detail, his perfectionism. She imagined he’d had Matthews in the woodshed for a good long time, rehearsing his testimony and beating the obnoxious sarcasm out of him.

  Matthews said what everyone expected. He refused to reveal the identity of his anonymous source, but claimed he had revealed the source to Judge Hart when obtaining the warrant to search Ben’s office. He had no idea what he might find or where he might find it, but given that they were dealing with the murder of a police officer, he took no chances. He ordered backup, an SOT team, snipers, and the police helicopter. He and several other officers searched the office and soon found—in Ben Kincaid’s file cabinet—the knife that was believed to be the weapon used to kill Joe McNaughton.

  After LaBelle finished direct examination, Christina decided to try a little cross. Traditionally, defense attorneys don’t cross much at preliminary hearings. They have little to gain, since defendants are almost always bound over for trial, so they prefer not to give the prosecution any advance warning of what they might do at trial. In this case, however, Christina thought the charges against Ben were so meritless that there was some chance, however remote, that she might get the charges dismissed before they went to trial. A long shot, to be sure, but one she was determined to try.

  “What did you think you might find when you searched Mr. Kincaid’s office?”

  LaBelle didn’t hesitate. “Objection. Calls for speculation.” LaBelle was an imposing figure in the courtroom. Not only was he one of the best attorneys in the state, he looked good. He was tall and handsome, with just enough gray at the temples to appear distinguished without looking remotely old. There was something about the expression in hi
s eyes, Christina noted, that made you want to believe what he said—even when you were on the other side of the case.

  Judge Cable nodded. “Sustained.”

  Christina pursed her lips. Her first ever cross-ex question, and she’d already lost an objection. Great.

  She tried again. “Were you surprised,” she asked, “when your uniformed officer pulled that knife out of Mr. Kincaid’s file cabinet?”

  Matthews stayed calm and restrained his tendency to sneer. “Not especially.”

  “Why were you so sure you’d find something?”

  “I wasn’t sure. But obviously, I hoped we would. Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve been there.”

  “Did you obtain any evidence indicating how the knife got in the desk?”

  “Well …” He smiled slightly. “It was in Kincaid’s office. And he was her lawyer.”

  “So you think she gave him the knife and he hid it for her.”

  Matthews was too smart to be drawn into positively asserting something he couldn’t prove. “That would be my assumption, yes.”

  “But why?”

  “To keep it from the police, obviously.”

  “Why would Mr. Kincaid want to hide the knife from the police?”

  “If you’re asking me about motive, Ms. McCall, I could only speculate. We have had some indication that Mr. Kincaid’s relationship with Ms. Dalcanton is … more than professional. It has also been suggested that he may have felt that a big win in such a high-profile case would be good for his somewhat … struggling career.”

  “So he puts the knife in his file cabinet? Does that make any sense? Not exactly a brilliant hiding place.”

  “I doubt if he expected his office to be searched.”

  “Are you aware that Mr. Kincaid has a safe in his office?”

  Matthews paused a moment. “I do seem to recall seeing that, yes.”

  “Wouldn’t the safe be a better place for something as incriminating as the knife?”

  “I couldn’t say. He probably didn’t want anyone else in the office to know he had it.”

  “No, he wouldn’t, would he? He probably wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

  “I would think not.”