Murder One

by William Bernhardt

“No one else would know.”

  “That seems likely.”

  “No one except the person who put it there.”

  “Right.”

  Christina pivoted on one foot and moved as close to the witness stand as the judge was likely to allow. “Sergeant Matthews, what exactly did your anonymous informant tell you on the phone?”

  “The informant said that if we searched Kincaid’s office, we might find the weapon that killed Joe McNaughton.”

  “So the informant knew the weapon was there.”

  “Evidently.”

  “But Sergeant Matthews—didn’t you just say that the only person likely to know the knife was in the file cabinet was the person who put it there?”

  There was a considerable pause. “Well …”

  “Surely you don’t think your informant was Mr. Kincaid.”

  “Well …”

  “Do you think Ben turned himself in?”

  “No …”

  “Then someone else must ‘ve known.”

  “I … hmm.” She saw his eyes dart over to LaBelle. “I guess that’s possible.”

  “But why else would someone know? Would Mr. Kincaid be likely to tell anyone he was stashing the murder weapon?”

  “Well, it’s poss—”

  “Because just a few moments ago, of course, you agreed that he would not.”

  Matthews slowly released his breath. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”

  “So the only way your informant could have known about the knife—was if he put it there himself!”

  Matthews’s lips tightened. “Perhaps the informant observed … something …”

  “Sergeant Matthews,” Christina said abruptly. “Who was your informant?”

  “I’ve said before, his identity is confidential.”

  “Are you refusing to answer my question?”

  “If you want to put it that way, fine. I’m not going to tell you who it was.”

  “Then I would suggest, Sergeant Matthews, that the only one who is guilty of concealing evidence or obstructing justice—is you!”

  D.A. LaBelle rose to his feet. “Your honor, this has gone on long enough. Sergeant Matthews is not the defendant.”

  “No,” Christina said, “but maybe he should be.”

  “I object!” LaBelle boomed.

  Judge Cable cupped his fingers. “Approach.”

  At the bench, Christina didn’t wait to be asked to speak. “Your honor, I move for the immediate dismissal of these charges. This is all trumped-up baloney and everyone here knows it.”

  “I must protest that inaccurate statement,” LaBelle said. His deep resonant voice carried well even when they were whispering. “I’ve never filed or prosecuted charges I didn’t believe in and I’m not about to start now.”

  The judge held up his hands. “People, please. Could we just talk about the witness at hand?”

  “Your honor,” Christina said, “the witness has admitted that another person—whom he refuses to name—must’ve been either involved in the planting of the evidence in Mr. Kincaid’s office or acted as a coconspirator in the crime itself. And he refuses to name the person.”

  “I can’t force him to identify a confidential informant, Ms. McCall.”

  “I know that, sir. But how can we prosecute one man for an alleged crime that might just as well have been performed by someone else, in whole or part?”

  “Ms. McCall, this is just a preliminary hearing.”

  “I know that, your honor. But if we allow these charges to go forward, it will do incalculable damage to the career and reputation of a man who is guilty of nothing more than zealously defending a woman whom the law-enforcement community is desperate to crucify.”

  LaBelle leaned forward. “Your honor, if I may. I admire Ms. McCall’s youthful enthusiasm, but she’s tossing out about sixteen issues at once. The question at hand is whether there is sufficient evidence to bind the defendant over for trial.”

  “And whether this whole charge was cooked up by the police and their informants to punish Ben Kincaid for beating them in court,” Christina added.

  LaBelle steepled his fingers. “I remember when I was just out of law school. I, too, was full of excitement and zeal—”

  “Don’t patronize me!” Christina said, jabbing him with a long fingernail.

  “—and I admire her support for the man who has, after all, been her employer for the past many years. But we cannot overlook the fact that the murder weapon was found in his file cabinet, and it didn’t get there by itself.”

  “No,” Christina shot back. “But you haven’t got the least bit of evidence that it was put there by Ben Kincaid.”

  “She does have a point,” the judge said, rubbing the rim of his glasses. Judge Cable was in his midfifties, craggy-faced, with patches of gray. He had a square chin and a no-nonsense gaze. “Your case is pretty thin.”

  “Your honor,” LaBelle said calmly, “we both know the burden of proof at a preliminary hearing is light. All we need to show is the merest rational basis—”

  “Not in this case,” the judge said hastily. “Not in something that looks very much, whether it is or not, like a vengeance prosecution.”

  “But he had the knife,” LaBelle insisted.

  Christina cut in. “His file cabinet did, you mean. Remember, the Rules of Professional Conduct allow a lawyer to take and hold property from a client.”

  “You can’t conceal evidence,” LaBelle shot back.

  “Well, the Rules are a bit murky on that point, aren’t they? And you haven’t established that he got the knife from Keri Dalcanton, or that he knew it was the murder weapon, or for that matter, that he ever saw it until the moment your man pulled it out of the files.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree with Ms. McCall,” Judge Cable said. “This doesn’t smell good.”

  LaBelle drew himself up. “Your honor, with all due respect, we are both officers of this court and we have sworn an oath to uphold the Constitution and the laws of this state. The press and the government will be watching this proceeding carefully, so I know I can trust you to uphold your duty regardless of—”

  “Now you listen to me,” Judge Cable said, pointing his gavel. “You may be rich, and you may be popular, and you may be the D.A., but I’m the judge, and you will not threaten me in my courtroom.”

  LaBelle held up his hands. “No, no, Judge, you misunderstand me.”

  “I don’t think I do.”

  LaBelle’s steady calm seemed to be eroding a tad. “I—I didn’t mean that as a threat.”

  “It sure sounded like one!”

  “I assure you I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Christina buttoned her lip and watched as the great man melted. There were miscalculations, and then there were miscalculations. And LaBelle’s attempted power play had been a major miscalculation.

  Not that she had been exactly lacking for confidence before, but if a great trial master like LaBelle could make such a bone-headed mistake, who could begrudge a little baby lawyer like her a few?

  “Your honor,” Christina said, “why don’t we admit what we all already know? These charges were trumped up to suggest fraud in order to get the Dalcanton case reopened. Well, fine. It worked. Right or wrong, they succeeded, and Ms. Dalcanton’s life is on the line once more, despite the fact that the proceeding constitutes a gross violation of her Constitutional double jeopardy protection.”

  “Young lady,” LaBelle said, “the Court of Criminal Appeals ruled—”

  “I’m aware of how you weenied around double jeopardy. That’s not what I’m here to argue. The point is, they’ve accomplished their mission. They’ve got their case back. They don’t need to keep pushing these frivolous charges against Ben. Frankly, I think they would’ve dropped the charges as soon as they got the decision from the appeals court, except by that time there’d been a lot of press and to dismiss immediately would’ve been a tacit admission that the charges were bogus to begin wit
h.”

  “Your honor,” LaBelle protested, “that is not what happened.”

  Judge Cable ignored him. “I must admit, I’ve wondered if that wasn’t what was going on here myself. The case seems so thin, and the prosecution is so weak, it’s as if you’re begging me to dismiss the case. Like maybe you know the charges should go away, but you’re too cowardly to do it yourself.”

  “Your honor,” LaBelle said, “let me make clear—”

  “As Ms. McCall points out, if you dismissed the charges yourself, you’d probably take a lot of flak from the press. But if you can get me to do it, then you can blame the ‘liberal judicial system’ or ‘revolving-door justice’ or something like that.”

  LaBelle’s voice sounded weaker with each protest. “I can guarantee that our prosecutorial motives were pure.”

  “Yeah.” Judge Cable stacked his papers against the bench and pushed himself out of his chair. “Well, I don’t see any reason to continue with this hearing.”

  Christina jumped forward. “Then you’re going to dismiss the charges?”

  Judge Cable hesitated. “I want to write this one down. I’ll prepare an opinion. You’ll have it tomorrow morning.”

  “With an apology?” Christina asked.

  Cable squinted. “Excuse me?”

  “An apology. From the D.A.’s office. Or the bench. Or both.”

  “Lady, your man should be grateful just to be off the hook.”

  “And I’m sure he will be, your honor. But I also think there should be an apology for the great injustice done to Mr. Kincaid, the damage to his career and reputation and so forth. I think it would be appropriate.” She swallowed. “Under the circumstances.”

  Judge Cable pushed his eyeglasses down his nose and gave her a stern look. “You’re not exactly shy, are you, Ms. McCall?”

  “No, sir,” she said, smiling. “Shy is Mr. Kincaid’s thing. I’ve got a style all my own.”

  22

  “ALL CHARGES DISMISSED!” CHRISTINA cried, as she danced through the office lobby. “And ‘the court regrets the inevitable inconvenience to the defendant.’ We won!” She flung the judge’s order into the air, then did a spritely jig around Ben. “We won, we won, we won!”

  “That’s great, Christina.” Ben scooped the order off the office carpet. “No apology from the D.A?”

  “Did you think there would be?”

  “I thought it unlikely, but you never know. After the turn you gave LaBelle in the courtroom, anything was possible. You had him quaking in his boots.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “You did. I bet he’s never been so terrorized by a new grad doing her first prelim.”

  “Well, that’s possible.” She smiled. “The best part is, this frees you up to handle the Dalcanton trial.”

  “Christina, I want to thank you. You did a great job in that courtroom.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just pay your bill on time, okay? Most of this firm’s clients are total deadbeats.”

  “But seriously, Christina. I know you took on a big load in a short time, and I’m grateful.”

  She leaned into his ear and spoke in low dark tones. “If you want to show your gratitude—keep your lips zipped.”

  “Christina, I already promised you—”

  “Do you think I don’t know that woman is in your office? As we speak?”

  “Christina, we’ve got a trial to prep. I have a million things to do—”

  “Yeah, and she can’t help you do any of them. She probably won’t even take the stand. Since when did you have clients lurking around while you prepared a case?”

  Ben squirmed a bit. “She’s very unhappy right now, Christina. And … lonely. She has nowhere to go. She feels more comfortable being here.”

  “I’ll just bet she does.” She grabbed Ben by the shoulders. “You just remember what I said. If I get the slightest idea you’re playing smoochy-goochums with our client, I’m out of here. I mean it. I’d rather go back to Raven, Tucker & Tubb than put up with that.”

  “Understood. And I will. I mean—I won’t.”

  “Good.” She marched off to her interior office.

  Jones emerged from the storage room just in time to see Christina stomp past him. “Is this how Christina celebrates?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Jones nodded. “I’ll keep the champagne on ice.”

  Paula rushed out of one of the back offices. She wrapped her arms around Jones, practically clubbing him with the papers clutched in her hands.

  “Puddin’, look what I found!” She was bouncing up and down with excitement.

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “I assume it’s either the winning Lotto ticket or an invitation to visit Buckingham Palace.”

  “No, silly. A new research file.”

  “And that’s exciting?”

  Jones shrugged. “It’s a librarian thing.” He took the papers out of her hands and scanned them. “Hey, this is hot stuff.”

  Ben couldn’t resist any longer. He scrambled behind them. “What is it?”

  “Joe McNaughton’s employment file.”

  “I thought those were confidential.”

  The corner of Jones’s mouth turned up. “Nothing is confidential when my honey-pie starts hacking. She can get anything. FBI files. Department of Defense secrets. She even hacked out the secret formula for Coca-Cola.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Paula winked. “Come over to my house sometime. I’ve got my own still in the garage.”

  “Look at this,” Jones said, pointing to a line on the top page. “Something happened to McNaughton about a year and a half ago.”

  “Something? Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But up till then he was rocketing through the ranks. Then all at once, he gets bucked back down to patrolman, no explanation given.”

  “But when he died—”

  “And that’s even more interesting. He only remains a patrolman for about two months. Then he gets promoted again—back to Sergeant!”

  Ben squinted. “That makes no sense at all.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But it’s what happened. See for yourself. The promotion was formalized with a new employment contract. Witnessed by a Sergeant Bailey.”

  “Paula, can you follow up on this?” Ben asked. “Find out where this Bailey is at?”

  “Of course. If you promise to never again end a sentence with at.”

  Ben dipped his chin. “I’ll ask Loving to see what he can ferret out, too. This might have nothing to do with our case. But I’d still be happier if I knew what was going on with McNaughton before his death.”

  Paula scurried away just as quickly as she had come. Ben grabbed some papers from his in box and started down the corridor—when he saw an attractive, dark-haired woman making her way through the front office doors.

  He recognized her immediately. And he felt the short hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge.

  The woman seemed elegant and composed—almost too much so, as if she were making a concerted effort to keep something bottled up inside. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m Andrea McNaughton. Joe McNaughton’s widow.”

  “I know. I remember.” A stupid response, but at the moment, Ben’s brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly. He couldn’t believe this woman had actually come to his office.

  “I came to see Christina McCall. Is she in?”

  “Uh … yes. Yes she is. May I ask …?”

  “She visited me not long ago. Asked me some questions. I tried to tell her everything I knew, but I remembered something after she left. Something that … could possibly be important. If she’s available …”

  Ben shook himself out of his stupor. “I’ll get her.”

  Before he could so much as move, however, a woman emerged from one of the interior offices. Unfortunately, it was not Christina.

  “You!” Keri ran forward, her eyes wide with disbelief—and anger. “What are you doing here?”

  Ben tried to calm
her. “Relax, Keri. She just wants to talk to Christina.”

  “To Christina? Why?”

  “It has to do with the—”

  “I thought you people were on my side,” Keri said. “I thought I could trust you.”

  “You can, Keri. Take it easy.”

  Keri whipped her platinum blond hair behind her slender neck. “I want this woman out of here. Now!”

  Andrea’s face tightened, but she said nothing.

  Ben tried to intervene. “Keri, be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable? This woman ruined my life!”

  “Now wait a minute.” Andrea’s jaw clenched. Her eyes became small piercing points of light. “If you want to talk about who ruined lives—”

  “I don’t want to talk to you at all!”

  “You stole my husband!” Andrea fired back at her. “First you took his love, then you took his life!”

  “Ladies, please,” Ben said, but to no avail.

  “For your information,” Keri said, “I didn’t take anything. He gave me his love. He gave it to me because you evidently didn’t want it.”

  “You little bitch.” Andrea’s nostrils flared. “Don’t presume that you know anything—”

  “Why else would he have needed me? He wouldn’t’ve come to me in the first place if you were giving him what he wanted.”

  “That isn’t true!” Andrea shouted, her voice choking. “I loved Joe. And he loved me till he met you. Till you forced yourself on him like the cheap whore you are!”

  “That isn’t what happened!”

  “Like hell!”

  “I’ll bet Joe hated you! That’s why he came to me. And it made you so crazy that you killed him yourself!”

  Andrea sprang at her like a panther after its prey. Keri rocketed backward. Andrea slammed her against the wall so hard it knocked off a framed diploma. Although she was much smaller than Andrea, Keri fought back with considerable strength. She pounded the woman on the sides of her neck. Andrea’s hands clenched around Keri’s throat.

  Ben raced behind Andrea and tried to break them up. He wrapped his arms around Andrea’s waist. He managed to pull her back somewhat, but Andrea lurched forward again. She and Keri tumbled down to the carpet on top of one another, dragging Ben with them.

  “Jones!” Ben shouted. “I need help!”