Murder One

by William Bernhardt

  Ben arched an eyebrow. “I’ll check the budget.”

  Jones cringed. “Don’t bother.”

  Christina looked distinctly annoyed. “Listen up, you muggles. This is serious business. I can promise you LaBelle will have his ducks in a row, not to mention a staff of thirty or so people supporting him. He’s going to make us look like amateurs. And that’s not acceptable. A woman’s life is on the line.”

  Jones fluttered his eyelashes. “Not to mention your brand-new professional reputation.”

  She gave him a look that would chill fire. “Listen to me, you—”

  Ben rose from his chair. “Perhaps this would be a good time for me to get the updates I didn’t get earlier—”

  “Because you were off trying to get yourself killed strong-arming major mafiosi.”

  Ben ignored her. “Did you ever find out what Andrea wanted to tell you, Christina?”

  “No. After the big catfight in our lobby, she’s not talking to any of us. Not even me. Wouldn’t even come to the door.”

  “Great. Don’t stop trying.”

  “Of course not. Goodness knows I have nothing else to do but to harass widows.”

  “What’s your take on her, anyway? You know, Keri thinks she’s Suspect Number One.”

  Christina thought before answering. “It’s hard to say. She’s very sympathetic when she tells her story. She’s going to be devastating on the stand, unless maybe we can get her to lose her temper and slug somebody.” She hesitated. “There’s something else, though. I had a real sense that something is … bothering her. Something she’s not telling us. Or anyone, probably. But I have no idea what that would be.”

  Interesting, Ben thought. But not helpful, unfortunately. “Does anyone know where Keri is? I called and asked her to be here.”

  Christina nodded. “I called and asked her not to be here.”

  Ben did a double take. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “And why may I ask did you take it upon yourself to do this?”

  “Because we have a lot of work to get done,” Christina fired back, “and we can’t get it done if you two are off making—”

  “Excuse me! I think your law degree has gone to your head.”

  “Baloney. I just know we won’t get anywhere if you’re busy groping—”

  “Hey!” He glanced at Jones’s and Loving’s attentive and somewhat astonished faces. “Not in front of the children.”

  Christina shook her head, exasperated. “Loving, have you heard any more from your cop informant? Barry whatsit?”

  Loving shook his head. “We’ve talked, but he ain’t said much.”

  “Is he worried about retaliation?”

  “Yeah. But I think he’s pretty much told me everything he knows.”

  “So … have we seen the last of the Blue Squeeze routine?”

  “I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t think it’ll end until Matthews has a heart attack or Keri Dalcanton gets convicted.”

  “Which isn’t going to happen,” Ben said firmly. “Not if I can help it.”

  “Unfortunately,” Jones said quietly, “that’s a big if.”

  “Where’s your one true love, Jones? “

  “Search me. Paula’s probably at the library. Trying to get more dope on McNaughton. The mystery of his sudden fall and rise in the police department.”

  Ben nodded. “I’ll be interested to hear what she learns. Everything Catrona told me suggested there was something dirty going on in the police department. Something involving McNaughton. Or maybe Matthews and his Blue Squeeze brigade. Or both.”

  “I got a question about that, Skipper,” Loving said.

  “Which is?”

  “If some of the boys were on the take, or tied in with Catrona somehow, why would Catrona be so eager to tell you about it?”

  “A good question,” Ben said, stroking the side of his face. “But alas one to which I don’t know the answer.” He glanced at Christina, who had climbed down from the table and started plowing through the document bags. “Is my trial notebook ready?”

  She gave him a stern look. “Yes, Ben, our trial notebooks are ready.”

  Whoops. This was going to take some getting used to. “Exhibits?”

  “Oh yeah. I just wish some of them were our exhibits rather than the State’s exhibits.”

  Ben nodded. “Then I’d say we’ve done about all we can do tonight.”

  Christina glared at him. “Are you kidding me? Ben—we don’t have a defense! We don’t have an alternate explanation for what happened to McNaughton. We don’t even have a decent alibi.”

  “No, and we’re not going to get one tonight, either. It’ll take LaBelle at least a week to put on his case, and we’ll continue to investigate. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  Ben drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Excuse me, but aren’t I suppose to be the worried one and you the supportive one?”

  “That was before I got my law degree. Now I can wring my hands with the best of them.”

  “Pity. I’d rather have someone hold my hand than wring it.”

  “Well, that’s why you’ve got your cute little client.”

  Ben’s expression was indescribable.

  “Look, we’re not doing any good here.” Ben checked his watch. “It’s late, we’re tired, we’re cranky, and we’re getting on one another’s nerves. Some of us are getting snappish”—he cast a harsh look in Christina’s direction—“and I’m sure it’s making everyone else uncomfortable.”

  “Actually,” Jones said, “I’m rather enjoying it.”

  “We’re not going to get anything more done tonight. So let’s go home and get a good night’s sleep for once. It’s the best thing, really.”

  “I’m not ready to call it quits,” Christina said, almost immediately. “I want to review the witness outlines.”

  “You’ve already reviewed those things so many times you can probably recite them from memory.”

  “I’d just feel better if I looked everything over again. Made sure we haven’t missed anything.”

  “That’s not necessary.”

  She looked down. “You … just don’t understand.”

  “I do. I remember my first trial. How nervous I was. How sure I was I’d do something wrong. Which I did. But I got through it, and you will, too. Are you feeling sick yet?”

  “Seriously. Haven’t been able to keep anything down.”

  “Knees knocking?”

  “Like pistons.” She looked up. “Does it get any better, after you’ve got a few trials under your belt?”

  “Not really. But you do learn when it’s time to go home and get some sleep.”

  She grinned. “All right. I’ll bow to the voice of experience.”

  “Good. Lights out in five minutes. Anyone caught on the premises is docked to half pay.”

  Jones pushed himself out of his chair. “Half nothing is still nothing.”

  She stepped out of the elevator and moved down the darkened corridor, a thick bundle of papers under her arms. The front doors to the office were locked, but she had her own key. Quietly, she turned the tumblers and stepped inside, not locking them behind her. She was only going to be here a minute.

  She knew Ben would be angry if he knew she was here, but she had something she had to check and it couldn’t wait until morning. Besides, as well she knew, her chances of getting any sleep tonight were about nil. If she had some little detail nagging at her that she couldn’t resolve, she’d toss and turn till sunup.

  She pushed the power button on Jones’s computer. The sudden blue illumination reminded her that she hadn’t turned on the lights. Probably just as well, since she wasn’t supposed to be here. Still, she would need something. She flicked the switch on the lamp hanging over Jones’s desk blotter. The sixty-watt bulb helped a little, but not nearly enough.

  “That’s just not going to cut it,” she murmured. She started away f
rom the desk—then stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Is someone in here?” She couldn’t explain why, but for some reason she suddenly had the distinct, almost certain feeling that she was not alone.

  Had she heard something? That wasn’t it, not exactly. It was more like she … felt something. Like she sensed a presence. A warm body emanating from… somewhere. But if someone was here, why on earth didn’t they answer?

  “I said, is somebody here? Answer me!”

  There was no response. But she was certain she was not alone.

  Springing away from the desk, she ran toward the light switch on the opposite wall. Before she arrived, however, she collided. With something. Something that shouldn’t be there.

  Not something. Someone.

  “Who are you?”

  She felt two powerful arms grip her, pinning her against the wall. She peered at the person before her, but in the near-total darkness, she was unable to make out her assailant’s features.

  She pounded her fists against her attacker’s chest, not that it did any good. “Who is it? Who are you?”

  When at last the intruder spoke, the voice was eerily soft, almost as if it were drifting in from a distant location. “Call me the strong right arm of justice.”

  “And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” She continued to struggle, but to no avail.

  “Justice has not been served.” The soft flat voice made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. There was something inhuman about it, something rough but cutting, like a dull knife.

  “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but—”

  “It’s time justice took a firmer hand.”

  An instant later, she felt the intruder’s right hand leave her arm. She thought this might be her chance to break away, but before she could, the hand came back and slammed hard into her abdomen.

  She doubled over, the pain so sharp and abrupt she couldn’t immediately tell what had happened to her. She pressed her hands over the place on her stomach where he had hit her.

  There was blood on her hands. Lots of it.

  The shock was enormous, more than she could bear, more than her brain could catalog. The intruder released her and she crumpled to the floor.

  “Who … are …” She pulled her hands away from her abdomen. They felt warm and sticky. Even in this darkness, she knew she was losing blood, lots of it, fast. She heard footsteps on the carpet and realized with some relief that the intruder must be leaving.

  “Who … why …?” The blood was forming a large puddle all around her crumpled body. She tried to cry for help, but found she had no strength for it. All she could do was lie there, helpless, gushing blood.

  And then, all at once, the pain kicked in. She felt the full force of what had happened to her, her gut ripped open, her insides torn apart.

  She clenched her teeth together, trying to block out the pain. She had never felt anything like this, never in her entire life. It was as if she had been broken, eviscerated, as if she had been violated in some permanent, elemental way.

  Her head throbbed. She imagined she could feel her blood flowing through her heart, pumping past her temples and oozing out onto the floor. She felt her strength flowing with it. Sleep was coming on, or something like it. She told herself to fight it. Don’t give in, she said to herself. If you sleep now, you’ll never wake.

  Another flash of pain coursed through her body. What did that person do to her? She couldn’t conceive of anything that would hurt like this. Her eyes watered from the anguish but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

  Was this what it was like to die? she wondered. Was this how it felt?

  “Please … help …” she said, but she knew there was no chance that anyone would hear. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Her eyes closed and she was glad. She didn’t know whether she would ever wake again, but at this point, any kind of sleep seemed like a blissful retreat.

  Her head fell back and she was gone. Blood continued to ooze out of her wound, spreading all around her, swirling and flowing until at last it soaked her dress and her hose and her name tag, the standard Tulsa City-County Library identifier, and the five letters of her first name.

  Two

  The Strong Right Arm of Justice

  26

  “PAULA!”

  Jones raced down the hospital corridor, his overcoat flapping behind him. He rounded a corner, skidded, reoriented himself, then peeled off in the next direction.

  “Sir!” The nurse behind the receiving desk shot out of her chair, but she was much too slow to stop him. Jones was halfway down the corridor before she felt the breeze of his passing.

  Jones kept racing, tracing the numbers posted by each door. 510, 512, 514 … There it was. 522.

  He practically dove toward the door, but a uniformed security officer interceded before he had quite reached the threshold. “Excuse me, sir. That’s a private room.”

  Jones tried to push past him, but the officer wouldn’t budge. “Is Paula Connelly in there?”

  The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “May I see some identification, sir?”

  “I don’t have time for this! I need to see her!”

  The officer raised a firm hand, restraining. “I have instructions to prevent any unauthorized persons from entering the room.”

  “I’m not unauthorized. I’m Jones!”

  The officer pulled a list from his shirt pocket and scanned it. “First name?”

  “Jones. Just Jones.”

  “And your relationship with Ms. Connelly?”

  “I’m her, er, boyfriend. I guess. Look, I’ve got to get in there!” The hospital room door opened slightly and a familiar face emerged. “Ben! Tell this lug to let me in.”

  Ben gave the officer a nod. “He’s okay.” The officer relaxed and stepped away from the door.

  Jones surged forward. “What’s his deal, anyway? Why the guard?”

  “You’ll understand in a minute.”

  Jones entered the room. Christina was seated next to the bed. And in the bed …

  Her face was a ghastly white; even her lips seemed colorless. Her face was marred by blue-black bruises in several places. An IV was connected to her wrist; an emergency respirator covered her mouth.

  Jones broke down on the spot. He crumbled beside the bed, his eyes wide and watery. “What happened?”

  “We don’t know exactly,” Ben answered, in a quiet, solemn voice. “Someone attacked her when she came back to the office. Left her for dead. We don’t know how long she lay bleeding. No one found her till Christina came in this morning. Fortunately, she came in about four-thirty.”

  Jones gently tugged back the edge of the sheet covering Paula’s pale fragile body. “What did they do to her?”

  “She was stabbed. At least twice.”

  Jones clenched his eyes shut. “With what?”

  “We don’t know exactly. A knife, probably.” Ben turned his head. “A big one.”

  “Is she … is she …?”

  “We just don’t know, Jones,” Christina said softly. “The doctors haven’t told us anything. The wounds themselves were serious enough. She was barely breathing, and probably wouldn’t be now without the respirator. And she’d lost so much blood by the time I found her …” She shook her head, not finishing the sentence. Not that it was necessary.

  Tears tumbled out of Jones’s eyes, one after the other, like a waterfall. “This is all my fault.”

  “What?”

  “She wanted to get married. I knew she did. She never said as much, but … I knew. And the crazy thing is—I wanted to get married, too. I just couldn’t bring myself to say the words. And now … now …”

  Ben placed his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “Jones, don’t torture yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

  “I should’ve known. I should’ve known that life is precious. And short. I shouldn’t’ve wasted so much time.”

  Christina walked to the opposi
te side of the bed and wrapped her arms around him.

  Ben stood silently by his friend. Which at a time like this, was about all he could do. Certainly words were useless.

  After a long spate, Jones lifted his head and wiped the grief from his eyes. “Ben … I won’t be in the courtroom today.”

  “Understood.”

  “All your trial materials are ready and waiting for you. You shouldn’t have any problems …”

  “Don’t even think about it, Jones.”

  “I have to stay with her. I have to. Just in case. If there’s even a chance.”

  “I know. I took that for granted.” Which was true. He had known Jones would want to remain here, even if the trial started without him, and even if Paula’s chances were … remote at best.

  “Why?” Jones said, as if that single syllable spoke volumes. His fist clenched the bed sheet. “Why would anyone do this?”

  “We don’t know,” Ben answered. “But she was attacked in the office. There was no sign of forced entry.”

  “She was a librarian, for God’s sake!” Jones cried out. “She never did anything to anyone. She’d die before she’d hurt someone. How could anyone possibly be so cruel?”

  “I don’t have the answers, Jones—”

  “Do you think it has something to do with your damned Dalcanton case?”

  Ben hesitated before answering. Hard words to say, but he couldn’t lie to Jones at a time like this. “I have to assume her attacker thought she was a member of my staff. Or Keri. Or me.”

  Jones’s voice flattened. “That’s what I thought.”

  “That’s what I think, too.”

  Ben turned slowly and found, standing behind him, to his horror and disgust, Detective Sergeant Matthews.

  “What in the name of God are you doing here?”

  “I’m a detective, remember? I’ve been assigned to this case.”

  Ben’s face was stony. “No way. No way in hell.”

  “It’s already done.”

  Ben glanced back at Jones. He didn’t need any more trauma in his life. He grabbed Matthews by the coat sleeve and jerked him outside the hospital room.