“Let me carry that catalog case, Mr. Kincaid.”
“I’m fine. Call me Ben.”
“Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Kincaid?”
“Not right now. Ben.”
“Do you need any supplies? Legal pads, Post-it notes?”
“No, thanks.”
“Anything at all? Fresh coffee? Sharpen your pencils?”
Fetch your slippers? Ben took Vicki firmly by the shoulders. “Vicki, I admire your zeal. I know you’re trying to do a good job. But seriously-relax. We hired you to be a legal intern. Not a gofer.”
She flushed, then looked away shyly. “I just know how much stress you and Christina are under. I want to help in any way I can.”
“You are helping. And doing a great job. So don’t worry about it. We’ll get this meeting started, then maybe-”
“Chocolate milk!” the young woman said, snapping her fingers. “Christina told me how crazy you are for it. I’ll get some out of the fridge.”
And she was gone before he could say another word.
Ben took a seat beside Christina at the office conference table. “Have I mentioned how much I like your new intern?”
“At least she talks to you. She gets so bashful around me she can barely finish a sentence. I think she must be a little sweet on you, hard as that is to imagine. You really like her?”
He nodded. “I’ve always gone for those quiet, subservient types.”
“Well, that explains-” She thought better of it. “Jones? Loving?”
“Present or accounted for,” Loving replied.
Vicki returned with the chocolate milk. “I hope it’s okay cold. I didn’t know whether I should warm it.
Ben grimaced. Warm it? “This will be fine.”
“All right,” Christina said, addressing the troops, “I don’t suppose I need to tell anyone that this trial is going against us in a big way. We have to face facts: Drabble saw us coming and headed us off at the pass. Those last two witnesses were disasters.”
“Those last two witnesses just told the truth,” Jones grumbled.
“I don’t know that. And for our purposes, it’s beside the point. Johnny is in trouble.”
“Because he’s a murderous, hatemongering creep.”
“Jones! That’s our client you’re talking about!”
“Don’t I know it! I’ve had to clean up the mess outside the offices twice now, thanks to him. And he’s not even paying his bills!”
“Whether you like it or not, we took the case. And we’re losing.”
“Maybe we should be losing.”
Christina pointed a finger. “What’s wrong with you, Jones? As I recall, you were all for this case when Ellen Christensen first came into the office.”
“Did you hear what he did?” Jones replied. “Did you hear what that kid from the frat house was saying? How our client just… destroyed poor Tony Barovick? And laughed about it?”
“We can’t sit in judgment of our clients,” Ben interjected. “No one is guilty until a verdict is rendered. And for that matter-I talked to Mike earlier today. He asked if I’d send him a copy of Tony Barovick’s journal. He thinks maybe Tony wasn’t quite the sainted martyr the media has painted him.”
Jones slapped the table. “Don’t tell me we’re going after the victim! That’s got to be the all-time sleaziest tactic.”
“Not if it’s the truth.”
“The truth! What are we going to say-that he deserved to have his legs shattered with a hammer?”
“As you know, Mike has been investigating the murder of two low-level criminals. Mike believes they were involved in some kind of drug-pushing deal that operated out of Remote Control. And he thinks Tony Barovick may have been in on it.”
“That’s total bullshit.”
Ben disagreed. “It makes sense. Tony was the manager, after all. He was in every night. How long could something like that go on without him knowing about it?”
“It’s a crock.” Jones swung around in his chair. “I don’t buy it, and the jury won’t, either.”
“I have similar concerns myself,” Christina said. “If we start talking about drug-running at this stage of the game, the jury will think we’re just conjuring up bogeymen to create reasonable doubt.”
“Which would be more or less the case,” Ben answered. “Except Mike says there’s really something to it.”
“But how do we prove it? Does Mike have any evidence? Any witnesses?”
“Not so far. Nothing that would hold up in court.”
“It would take a lot to make the jury forget what Johnny has admitted he did. And failing some concrete proof of a third party, he’s always going to seem like the most likely suspect.” She pushed away from the table. “No, I have to agree with Jones on this one, even if he is a temperamental, irrational hothead.”
“Hey!”
“Until we have a bona fide witness who can take the stand and explain what was going down, this drug-pushing theory is a loser for us.”
“Christina,” Ben said, “think about-”
“And since this is my case,” she continued, “my decision is final.”
Ben dropped his chin.
“Jones,” she continued, “I’ve been reading your reports. You’ve done some great work digging around the nooks and crannies of this case. But I haven’t seen anything that gives us a defense.”
“Guess why?” He folded his arms across his chest. “Because there is no defense. Everybody knows he did what he did.”
“Admittedly, distinguishing between a torturous bone-breaking beating and a murder is a tricky argument. But it’s the one we’re stuck with. Loving?”
He sat up. “Yes, ma’am!”
“I’ve read your reports, too. You’ve really gotten tight with those frat boys.”
He smiled slightly. “I know how to speak their language.”
“Just act sexist, self-centered, and irresponsible?”
“Aww, they’re not all bad.”
“Neither was Hitler.”
“And they’re easy to talk to, once you know the magic words.”
“Which are?”
“ ‘This round’s on me.’ ”
“I’m not seeing that you’ve found anything that gets Johnny off the hook, though.”
“ ‘Fraid not. I got the same story at the frat house that I got from the Minutemen. Some of them might’ve had an ax to grind against gays, but none of them liked what Johnny and his buddy did to Tony Barovick. The Minutemen think it set their cause back; they don’t want anythin’ to do with him.”
“Then why do they keep trashing our offices?”
“They claim they had nothin’ to do with that, too.”
“Judging from that last frat boy witness,” Ben said, “the Minutemen are hoping Johnny goes down, the sooner the better.”
“True,” Christina said, “but he stood up pretty well to your pummeling on cross. To tell you the truth, Ben-I didn’t get the impression he was lying.”
“If he wasn’t lying, then-”
“Yeah. I know.”
A silence fell across the conference table. A grim sense of inevitability blanketed the room.
“The marshals are bringing Johnny by later tonight,” Christina said. “We’ll talk about it. How he explains his absence.”
“And if he can’t?”
No one answered that question. No one wanted to.
Vicki was at the door. “Mr. Kincaid? I mean-Ben.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s someone here to see you.”
“Vicki, we’re in the middle of-”
“It’s Ellen Christensen.”
Ben’s neck twitched. “I’m working.”
“She says it’s important. It’s about the case.”
Ben stared down at the table, his eyes hooded.
Christina looked at him. “Please, Ben? We need all the help we can get.”
After a long moment, Ben slowly pushed himself out of his chair. “This won’t take long.”
Ben started speaking before he entered the room.
“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to have any-”
“I wanted to thank you,” she said. She was a thin, fragile woman, and she seemed particularly so now. “For helping with my son’s case. I appreciate it.”
“I did it for Christina,” he said, his voice low and flat. “Because she asked me. That’s the only reason.”
“Whatever the reason, I appreciate it.” Her face was red and a trifle puffy. She had obviously been crying, which Ben supposed should come as no surprise, given the circumstances. “Johnny is losing, isn’t he?”
Ben had never been one to comfort people with false hope, and he was less inclined than ever now. “Yes.”
“You think he will be convicted?”
“I think juries are utterly unpredictable. But at this moment-it doesn’t look good. That last witness destroyed our defense. If Johnny left the bar at 11:10, and no one knows where he went, then-”
“I know where he went.”
“You do?”
She nodded slightly. “I… I had hoped it wouldn’t come up. But I can testify.”
“We can’t put the defendant’s mother on the stand. The jury would think you were just trying to get your son off the hook. Who else knows?”
“No one. I’m the only one.”
Ben grimaced. “If we put you up there, Drabble will tear you apart.”
“I know that. But I still-”
“No. I’m totally against it. It’s a bad idea.”
“Is that because you don’t care about him?” she said, her voice rising for the first time. “Or because you don’t care about me?”
Ben turned, his hand pressed against his forehead. “Ellen-”
Tears sprang from her eyes. “I know how you must hate me. And I don’t blame you.”
“Ellen… I…”
“But I can’t believe you don’t care. Not even a little bit.”
Ben remained quiet.
“And I can’t believe you’d let my son suffer just to punish me. But that’s how it looks. As if you’re not even trying. As if you want Johnny to be convicted.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” A short explosion, then once again her voice crumbled. She wiped away a stream of tears, which were immediately replaced by new ones. “I know I made a terrible mistake, Ben. Don’t you think I would change things? If I could? If I could do it all over again?”
Ben couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
“But I can’t. I can’t turn back the hands of time. All I can do is… move forward.” She looked up at him, eyes pleading. “Can’t you move forward, too?”
Ben stared at the desktop, trying to reason with himself, trying to force himself to take the next step. Without success. It was as if there was some sort of wall, some psychological barrier that prevented him from making even the tiniest movement in her direction, even when his brain-or perhaps his heart-told him that he should.
“I’ll notify Christina that you want to testify,” he said, moving rapidly toward the door. “It’s her call. You should be ready to go tomorrow morning. In any case.”
“You been here all night?”
Mike looked up from his temporary desk. “As a matter of fact. How’d you guess?”
“Easy,” Baxter said. “You look like a piece of meat that’s been left out too long in the sun. Been working? Or have you perhaps finally taken Special Agent Swift up on her many offers?”
“Swift just likes to kid around.”
“Who’s kidding who? She’s been after your bones since she showed up in Tulsa. They sure make ’em horny down South.”
“Don’t be so crude.”
“How else do you explain it? I mean, you’re okay-looking, but honestly.”
Mike tapped his pencil eraser on his desk. “I seem to recall a night when you didn’t think I was all that unpleasant to be with.”
“I must’ve been feverish. Or seriously bored. You working on the murders?”
“What else would I be working on?”
“How should I know?” She paced around his desk. “Your obsessions seem to come and go. I mean, a few days ago you were all wrapped up in that kidnapping case. Now another mystery comes along, and you’re staying up all night working on that. It’s as if you have no personal life. As if the normal cycles of life never-”
Mike sat upright. “Wait a minute. You’re right.”
“About what?”
He ran for his coat. “You should be proud of yourself.”
“I’d be prouder if I knew what I’d done.”
“What every muse does. ‘Open thine eyes / That the blind might see.’ ” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’re brilliant.”
Her response was a little slow in coming. “I thought we agreed-”
“Sorry. I was momentarily overcome. I’ll be back soon.”
“Morelli! I want to know what-”
But it was too late. He was gone.
The next morning the courtroom atmosphere was even more agitated than it had been before. The throng outside had doubled, and three incidents of violence were reported before Ben and Christina even arrived. The corridors of the courtroom were jam-packed, and spectators jostled and thrust for a chance to get one of the treasured gallery seats. It seemed everyone was anxious to hear what the defense had to say.
Ben was amazed that the case still seemed to hold the media’s interest; he couldn’t think of a network that didn’t have someone on the premises. Most of the familiar faces he’d noticed in the gallery were back again: Roger Hartnell, still hobbling along with his cane, Gary Scholes, the frat boy turncoat. Mario Roma was there, too; Ben made sure he never had a chance to get anywhere near Christina.
And Ellen was present, of course.
“You know I’m a reasonable man,” Drabble said, running his fingers through his hair. “You know it. Tell me I’m a reasonable man.”
“You’ve been a reasonable man,” Ben answered. “Most of the time.”
“I don’t go in for dirty tricks.”
“Right,” Christina said. “That little prank you pulled on me my first day was a clean trick.”
Drabble ignored her. “I’ve turned over the evidence I’m supposed to turn over. I’ve given you access to the witnesses.”
“You coached Gary Scholes to hold back the kicker.”
“I did nothing of the sort. I play by the rules.”
Ben was becoming impatient. “Fine, fine. You’re a paragon among prosecutors. Of course, that’s rather like being the Earl of Earwigs.”
Drabble drew himself up. “But I absolutely draw the line at surprise witnesses plopped into my lap seconds before they testify.”
“It’s not as if Ellen Christensen dropped out of the heavens. You’ve known about her. You’ve talked to her on several occasions. She’s on our list.”
“Only in a pro forma way. You never suggested she was a material alibi witness.”
“Look, if you want to talk fairness, I didn’t know Scholes was going to say Johnny left the bar at exactly the coroner’s estimated time of death, did I? I’m calling her to rebut your surprise assault on our defense. I need her.”
“Well… that’s just too diddly-doggone bad.”
“Don’t be vulgar. It detracts from your rugged good looks.”
“You heard what I said.” Drabble projected his voice so every reporter in the courtroom could hear. “I won’t stand by quietly while you thwart justice. The answer is no.”
But Judge Lacayo’s answer, happily, was yes. He was wary of denying the defense anyone they called a critical alibi witness-especially, Ben suspected, when the case looked like a prosecution win, which would guarantee an appeal. He offered Drabble extra time to prepare his cross which, to Ben’s surprise, he declined.
“That won’t be necessary, your honor,” Drabble grumbled. “I have a pretty good idea what I’m going to do.”
What can he be thinking? Ben wondered. As always, any time a prosecutor knew something he didn’t, he was left with an unshakable foreboding.
Christina handled the direct examination of Ellen Christensen. It wasn’t an easy task for her-especially knowing what she did about the woman’s past with Ben-but she also knew it would be a mistake to ask Ben to do it.
After establishing who she was, where she lived, and her relationship to the defendant, Christina took her directly to the time in question.
“What were you doing on the night of March 22?”
“I was at home. Alone. I’m a widow-my husband died two and a half years ago.”
“What were you doing?”
“After dinner, I read a novel. The new Anne Tyler.”
“Would you please tell the jury where you live?”
“At the corner of Madison and 21st. Near campus.”
“And near Remote Control?”
“Yes. Very near.”
“Did you have any visitors that night?”
“One.” She paused. “My son. John Christensen.”
“And what time was it when he came by?”
“I can’t say exactly, but I remember my grandfather clock striking 11:00, so it was a little later than that. About 11:10, 11:20, I’d guess.”
There was a discernible rustling in the gallery. Now the crowd-and the jury-understood the importance of her testimony. While she had their attention, Christina thought it would be an advantageous time to establish a little essential background information.
“Have you been close to your son in recent years, Mrs. Christensen?”
Ellen’s gaze went downward, not toward the jury, as Christina would’ve preferred. It was acceptable to seem a little nervous-jurors expected that. But Christina didn’t want it to be too extreme-especially not with a witness whom they were likely to be skeptical of from the outset. “We were close for many years. After I married his father. I loved him-I love him-just as if he were my biological son. In my mind, he is. But after Larry died… he seemed to change. He became distant. It was almost as if he blamed me for Larry’s premature heart attack. He started spending less time at home and more time with his friends-often friends I did not approve of. When he finished high school and wanted to go to college, it was a relief.”
“Did you know about his involvement with the fraternity? And the Christian Minutemen?”
“Yes, even as little as I saw him, he made sure I knew about that.”
“Did you approve?”
“Of course not. Larry and I were always very liberal in our thinking. In a way I think perhaps that was why he did it. It was the ultimate way of punishing me, of rebelling. By being a part of something I found truly appalling.”
“How did he look when he came to see you that night?”
“Horrible. Strung out. His hair was a mess, he was drenched in sweat. His clothes were dirty and there were… splatters of blood on his shirt and hands. And he reeked of alcohol.”
“Why did he come?”
“He said he needed to talk to someone-someone he could trust. I was pleased and flattered of course, but that died fast. When he told me what he’d done.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he’d been with a friend. They’d both been drinking. Johnny is not a good drinker. It turns him into someone… someone entirely different from himself. He said they kidnapped a man in a parking lot and beat him. It wasn’t his idea, he said, it was his friend’s-but he felt as if he had to go along with it. He said they hurt this poor man-for a long time. Johnny said he had tried to stop his friend, but the friend wouldn’t listen.”
“Why would he tell you this?”
“Because he felt awful about it. The alcohol had worn off, his friend’s influence had diminished-and he was riddled with guilt.”
Out the corner of her eye, Christina checked the expression on the jurors’ faces. They were skeptical-understandably so. This was directly contradictory to everything they’d heard so far, and the first hint of remorse they’d heard in the entire trial. It was coming too late to be readily convincing.
“How so?”
“He knew they’d done a horrible thing. He hadn’t forgotten everything his father and I taught him. It had just been… buried somewhere. Somewhere deep. But now it all came pouring out of him.”
“What did you do?”
“Not much. I just held him. Tried to comfort him. Told him…” She paused, drawing in her breath. Christina sensed she was struggling to retain her composure. “Told him I still loved him and always would. No matter what. And then he left.”
“Did you notice what time he left?”
“I did. By then, I knew it might be important. It was 11:28, according to the clock in my kitchen. He’d only been there about ten minutes.”
Christina closed her notebook. There were only two more questions left, and it was important that her witness get them both right. “Ellen, in the aftermath of the tragedy, you spoke to the police, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Several times.”
Rather than let the prosecution make a fuss about this on cross, Christina knew it was best to raise the issue on direct. “Did you tell them what you just told us?”
“No. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t have lied about it. But I couldn’t volunteer that he had come to my house and… basically confessed. I didn’t know then that Johnny himself would admit what he had done. I didn’t know then that the principal remaining question would be where he went when he left the bar a little after eleven. When that became an issue-I knew I had to come forward.”
“And you’re absolutely sure that Johnny was with you at the time of approximately 11:10 to 11:28?”
“Absolutely. And there wasn’t time for him to go anywhere else.”
Christina nodded. So far, so good. Only one more hurdle to jump. “Mrs. Christensen, as you know, the main question before this jury at present is not whether your son beat Tony Barovick, but whether he killed him. When he visited you that night, did he refer to that at all?”
“He did.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that his friend Brett had wanted to kill him. As he described it, Brett had been consumed with something like a blood rage, had all but lost his mind. He wanted to murder the boy in some horrible fashion. But my Johnny stopped him.”
“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.”
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 the 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.
“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 something 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-”
“I couldn’t stay away, Ellen. We’re meant to be together.”
Her eyes rolled up. “Did you hear anything I told you in the subway yesterday?”
“I heard it all. And I don’t care.”
Her neck stiffened. “I can’t take this, Ben. I’m not well-”
He reached out desperately, grabbing her arm. “I know that, Ellen. That’s why we should be together.”
“That isn’t possible. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Splitting up isn’t fair! I want to be with you. We’ll fight this thing together. I’ll be with you in the clinics, in the hospital. Wherever you need me to be.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“Fine! I don’t care. Whatever there is, we’ll deal with it.”
“You’re not being realistic, Ben. It’s over.”
“It can’t be over! I won’t let it be.”
“You just don’t have any idea-”
“I know what you mean to me. What we mean to each other.”
“Ben, would you just listen to me for a minute?”
“I know I’m probably not being practical. But why should I be? We’re in love, and-”
“Ben, you don’t-”
“And I know that if we try we can-”
“Ben-”
“-do anything we want. We can make it work.”
“Ben-”
“We can still get married, just like-”
“Ben, stop!”
“We can do it, Ellen, I know we can, if we-”
“Ben, I’m pregnant!”
Silence descended, like a sudden black curtain drawn across the sun. Like an immovable barrier that could not be crossed.
“You mean, we-”
“No, Ben. I don’t mean we anything.”
Ben heard a rustling in the apartment. “Who’s in there?”
“No one.”
“There is someone. You’re not alone.” He tried to push past her in the doorway, but she wouldn’t let him through. “Who is it?”
Her eyes closed. “It’s… Larry.”
“Larry? Who the hell-”
“My boss. At the oil company.”
Ben’s face twisted up in anger and disgust. “You… and your boss?”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen, Ben. It was an accident. Sort of. He’d been acting interested for months, and you and I were about to get married, and I-” She looked at him, her eyes wide and saddened. “I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant. But I am.”
“And-and it’s Larry’s-”
“Yes. Absolutely. But it’s okay. He’s agreed to marry me.”
“He?” Ben reached out to her. “Marry me, Ellen-just as we planned. I don’t care what happened. I’ll take care of you. And the baby.”
“Ben.” She looked at him, and a soft smile trickled across her lips. “You know I love you-but you’re just a kid. You can’t even take care of yourself.”
“And Larry-”
“Is older than we are. He’s got a good executive seat with the oil company, a steady income. He’s got one child already from a previous marriage. He wants to do the right thing by me.” She paused, looking as though all the energy had drained out of her. “And I’m going to let him.”
Ben grabbed her shoulders. “Ellen… please. I-I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know why you would-” He shook her helplessly back and forth. “My father’s a doctor, and he knows lots of others. He’s got lots of cash and-”
“No, Ben.”
“Why would you marry some guy you don’t love when you can still marry me? It’s all arranged. We’ve got a church reservation, for God’s sake. My parents and everyone will be here in two days.”
“Ben! Haven’t you told them it’s off?”
“I-I couldn’t do it until-I was sure-”
“Ben!” All at once, anger flared across her face. “This is sure. You and I are not getting married.”
“But why not?”
Her eyes began to mist. “You just won’t let this be easy, will you? Won’t let me leave without-” She turned away, her lips trembling. “I want you to go away, Ben. I want you to leave me alone and never come back. I don’t want to see you ever again. Ever!”
“But we could still-”
“Would you listen to me for once!” she screamed. “Go away!” She broke loose, then shoved him backward as hard as she could. Ben tumbled down the concrete steps onto the sidewalk.
Before he could pull himself off the pavement, he heard her door slam shut. All around, he saw neighbors peering out of their doors and windows, watching the show. He felt stupid and embarrassed and desperate. He felt as if a part of him had been torn away, like something had been ripped out of his body, more like he’d lost a limb than a lover.
He stood shakily, brushed himself off, and stared at the closed door. It really was over, he realized. After everything they’d shared, after feeling like he had never felt before. She wasn’t his any longer.
She was gone. Forever.
As a good Scotch-Irish-extraction Presbyterian, Christina didn’t believe God intervened in the everyday minutiae of people’s lives. Consequently, she didn’t pray for positive outcomes from traffic lights, parking lots, Scrabble, basketball games, or criminal trials. Usually. This time, she was making an exception.
I can’t promise to get me to a nunnery, she thought, eyes clenched shut. But I’ll try to come up with something else good. Ministering to the poor. Caring for the sick. I’d offer to adopt a child, but I’ve already got Ben to take care of, and that’s about the same thing.
“Ms. McCall,” Judge Lacayo said, in clear, crisp tones that rang through the crowded courtroom. “Are you ready to proceed?”
“We are,” she said, rising. “We call Johnny Christensen to the stand.”
Ben had told her long ago that every trial had a pivotal moment, the one upon which everything depended. Usually that was the part of the trial that was most anticipated, the part the spectators-and the jury-had been waiting for. No question about what that was in this trial. They wanted to hear what Johnny Christensen had to say for himself. What he could possibly say for himself.
As before, Christina had put him in a good suit, but not too good. He was from a reasonably well-off family, and the jury knew it, but she didn’t want them to feel as if he were trying to con them with the slick pantlines of Italian designers. Johnny looked as though he had made an effort-it would be disrespectful to do otherwise-but not as if he were trying to put anything over on them.
Johnny had been out in the corridor with the marshal when the judge called the case, and she did not envy Johnny his walk to the front of the courtroom. Must be like running the gauntlet. Just to his left was Mario Roma, growling and glaring and looking as if it was all he could do to keep from driving a stake through Johnny’s heart. Gary Scholes and the other fraternity guys collectively turned their heads as he passed. Roger Hartnell looked as if he were about to cry. And in the very front row sat Johnny’s mother, her head cradled in her hands, tears seeping through her fingers.
Must be the longest walk in the world.
Except for the one he’d be taking down death row, if this didn’t go well.
“I don’t hate all homosexuals,” Johnny said, his voice smooth and flat as a pane of glass. “I don’t know why people keep calling this a hate crime. It wasn’t.”
“You are a member of the Christian Minutemen, correct?”
“Yes, and they don’t hate homosexuals, either. It was like Gary said. We disapprove of the gay lifestyle. We think it’s contrary to what God taught us through the Holy Scriptures. But that doesn’t equal hate. I disapprove of people who cheat on their taxes, too. But I don’t hate them.”
Point made, and let’s move on, Christina thought quietly. She wasn’t going to give him a chance to get into any major philosophical exegesis. “But you don’t deny that you participated in the beating of Tony Barovick.”
“That’s true. I admit it. It was wrong, but… I did it.” He even hung his head a bit, and Christina thought he looked genuinely sorry. Maybe he was remembering what Ben had told him about the importance of remorse. Or maybe he meant it-who could know?
“And you did it because he was gay?”
“No, we did it because he was a gay guy who came on to us. In public.” He swiveled around in his chair, choosing this moment to make brief eye contact with the jurors. “I’m not saying I was right, or that I was justified, or anything like that. But you have to understand the situation. Here I was in this bar. It’s a popular place. All my friends go there. All my fraternity brothers. And it’s a singles bar-people go there to hook up. So I’m sitting there minding my own business, and this obviously, flamboyantly gay man comes up and starts propositioning me. More that that-starts making seriously crude suggestions and insinuations to me. And everyone can hear. Can you imagine what people thought?”
“So you were embarrassed?”
“More than that. I was humiliated. Thinking what it could do to me, if word got around. The stigma. The rumors. You can’t fight that sort of thing, once it gets started. I had to make it clear that I didn’t like it. And I had to make sure that it didn’t happen again.”
“So that’s why you beat up Tony Barovick. To teach him a lesson?”
“That’s how it started, yes.” Johnny ran a hand along his smooth white cheek. He was a handsome boy, especially when he’d scrubbed up a bit. It wasn’t hard to believe someone might single him out in a bar. “I admit-it got way out of control. We’d both been drinking. I don’t do that much and I’m not used to it. Still, the really crazy, mean stuff-that was Brett’s doing, and I’m not just saying that because he isn’t here. And I’m not saying that means I’m not responsible. But I tried to get Brett to stop, I really did. I tried to get him to slow down, cool off. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He just kept at that kid, and he acted like if I didn’t participate-then maybe I was gay, too.”
“So you’re saying Brett Mathers was the principal actor during the beating?”
“He did the worst of it. I admit I was willing to punch the guy around a few times. But all that extreme stuff was Brett’s idea. He was the one who brought the Taser. He was the one who brought the hammer. His fingerprints were found on the hammer-only his. It was his idea to break the kid’s legs. I thought that was way too cruel-almost insane. And I tried to stop him-I really did. Tried hard. But Brett wouldn’t listen.”
“When did the beating finally stop?”
“After he broke both legs. After that, the anger seemed to wash out of Brett. Maybe he realized he’d gone too far. Plus, that poor man’s screaming and wailing in pain was so loud-I think it kind of woke Brett up from whatever weird psycho state he was in. He grabbed all his stuff and said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’ And we did.”
“Where did you go?”
“Back to the house. We hung out for about an hour, then I went for a walk. To clear my head. Then Brett and I went back to Remote Control. A few minutes later, four more guys from our frat house arrived. They joined our table.”
“And that was where you… bragged about what you had done?”
“Brett bragged. Mostly, I just sat still and kept my mouth closed. Nodded occasionally.”
“Did you speak out against what had happened? Condemn it. Express your regrets?”
“No.” His eyes fell toward the floor. “I wish I had. I was feeling really guilty about what had happened. I knew we hadn’t done right. I knew-we’d sinned. But I couldn’t tell my brothers that. I had to play along.”
“How long were you there?”
“Not all that long-I don’t know exactly. But about 11:10 or so, the guilt I was feeling became so overpowering I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to get up-had to go somewhere. So I left the bar.”
“And you went?…”
“I can’t explain it, but-all at once, I knew what I had to do. I had to see my mother.”
“Were the two of you close?”
“Not at the time. I’d been a real jerk to her lately. But-she was still my mother, you know? That’s how I thought of her. So I went to her place. It’s very near campus.”
“And what happened there?”
“It was pretty much just as she described it. I wasn’t looking to be forgiven-I knew I didn’t deserve that. I just had to tell someone. And I suppose-” He looked up, his eyes misting. “I suppose deep down somewhere I knew that your mother always loves you. No matter what you’ve done. No matter how horrible it is.”
Christina stared at the witness, wanting to be cynical about his testimony, but finding herself unable to do so. He seemed amazingly genuine-too good to be faked. And she considered herself a pretty good judge of character. Maybe this boy wasn’t quite as heartless as he let on.
“How long were you at your mother’s home?”
“Only about ten minutes. It was enough. Then I returned to the bar. It was-I don’t know-another half hour or so before the group started to break up-and the cops stepped in.”
“Did you resist arrest?”
“Not in the least. I knew what I’d done. I didn’t clam up or demand a lawyer or any of that. I figured-I hurt someone. I’ll do my time.”
“Then what happened?”
“What happened was they didn’t charge me with assault or battery-they charged me with murder! I tried to explain to them that we didn’t kill him. We didn’t beat him so badly he might die from it, either. I know we gave him a hard time, but there’s no way the beating was fatal. Something else must’ve happened to him. After we left.”
“Did you explain that to the police?”
“Of course. But they didn’t listen. As far as they were concerned, they had two suspects who had confessed. They didn’t want any complications.”
Good enough, Christina thought. Maybe not quite a sow’s ear into a silk purse, but the best she could hope for with this witness and these facts. “Johnny, how do feel now about what you did on that night?”
“Objection,” Drabble said, breaking the spell they were casting for the first time. “The facts are relevant. His feelings are not.”
“In this case, I disagree,” Christina replied. “The prosecutor’s motive is all about how my client supposedly felt. Most of his opening statement was a long rant about how my client supposedly feels. What he believes. How it motivated him. I think we’re entitled to rebut.”
Judge Lacayo pondered for a longer than average time before answering. “It is unusual, but I think Ms. McCall’s point is not without merit. And I think this will be of interest-and perhaps of use-to the jury.”
In sentencing, Christina thought. That’s what he’s thinking. The jury will want to know how he feels now when they decide later whether to give him the needle.
“The objection is overruled,” Lacayo said. “The witness may answer.”
“I’m very sorry about what I did,” Johnny said, his voice raw and earnest. “Truly sorry. There’s no excuse for it. Even though I didn’t do the worst parts. But I watched them being done. And I didn’t prevent them. I know it’s not an excuse, but I really am not used to drinking like I had that night, and I think it somehow… sort of drained my will. I was just going along when I should’ve been resisting.” He looked first at the jurors, then out into the gallery. “I truly regret what I did, and I believe I should be punished for it. I will accept any punishment for it. The only thing I ask is-don’t punish me for a crime I didn’t commit. I did not kill Tony Barovick. I did not cause his death. Brett did not cause his death. His death could not have resulted from the beating we gave him.” He turned his eyes back to the jury. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”
After the direct, Judge Lacayo called for a recess. Christina was glad for the chance to relax and tell Johnny how well he was doing-but she was not pleased to see Drabble get additional time to plan his cross. By the time the trial resumed, he was ready.
“You admit that you participated in a beating of the deceased, Tony Barovick, that lasted about thirty minutes, right?” It was interesting how Drabble’s body language had changed, Christina noted. With his own witnesses, of course, he was friendly and open. Even with Ellen Christensen, he was gentle, respectful. But now his body was stiff and tense, his gestures were hard and direct, and his voice was cold, unyielding. Exactly what the jury would want him to be.
“I admit that, yes,” Johnny said cautiously.
“And you say you did this not out of hatred for homosexuals, but because this particular homosexual made advances toward you.”
“I’m not saying it was right, but… yes. That’s what triggered it.”
“And now we’re supposed to believe you’re sorry about what you did, and just say, well, no harm, no foul?”
“Objection,” Christina said, rising. “Argumentative.”
“Overruled,” Lacayo responded. Judging from his manner, he had as little confidence in Johnny’s contrition as Drabble.
“I am sorry,” Johnny said. Somehow, even though his testimony hadn’t changed, it played differently when Drabble stood behind the podium. Now Johnny’s voice seemed thin, even strident. As if he were working to convince rather than simply explaining. “I mean that.”
“And when did you have this sudden epiphany that you had done something wrong?”
Johnny tossed his shoulders. “I think I knew it all along. That’s why I had to see my mother. Absolutely I knew it was wrong when Brett started… seriously hurting that man. When it was all over, I felt terrible.”
“Mr. Christensen,” Drabble said, one hand on his hip, “would you care to guess how many witnesses I have who will testify that you were bragging about what you did at Remote Control?”
He hesitated. “I… don’t know.”
“Come on, take a guess. I’ll give you a hint-it’s a two-digit number.”
“Most of that was Brett.”
“But not all of it.”
“No,” Johnny said quietly. “Not all of it.”
“Why?” The sarcasm in Drabble’s voice was unmistakable. “If you were so stricken with grief, so burdened with the horror of what you had done, why would you brag about it in that bar?”
“I was with my friends. Brett and Gary and the others. I suppose I was trying to impress them.”
“Of course, we’ve heard Gary Scholes testify that he was anything but impressed by what he heard. He said he found your bragging heartless and grotesque.”
“I wish he’d told me that.”
“Maybe an hour later, when Officer Montgomery interrogated you, he said you were similarly lacking any remorse for what you had done.”
“The cops aren’t going to give me any breaks,” Johnny answered. “They were and are determined to nail me to the wall.”
“Imagine that.” Drabble picked up a thick document bound between leather covers that Christina knew to be the transcript of the interrogation. “So did you or did you not express any of this sorrow when you were questioned?”
“I really don’t remember.”
“Well,” Drabble said, turning the pages, “do you recall saying repeatedly, ‘He asked for it! All he got was what he asked for!’ ”
“I… might’ve said that.”
“I have to tell you, Johnny-that doesn’t sound particularly contrite to me.”
“I was just trying to explain-”
“Here’s another one,” Drabble said, flipping to another page. “Apologies to the court for the language, but I think the jury needs to hear it as it was spoken. You said, ‘That goddamn queen touched me. He touched me! So I touched him back. Hard.’ ”
“I was still with Brett when I said that,” Johnny said. “I suppose I was trying to impress him. I didn’t want him to think I was weak.”
“And here’s my favorite,” Drabble said, ignoring him. “ ‘God hates queers. That’s why he sent AIDS. And that’s why he sent me.’ ”
“Look, I was very upset that night. I’d been drinking, and it was late, and I wasn’t thinking straight and-”
“And you just accidentally beat to death someone you hated and then acted self-righteous about it.”
“No!” Johnny insisted. “It wasn’t like that. I was sorry-”
“Why? After all, that flaming queen touched you.”
“I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”
“I suppose you had to do something to speed things along, since AIDS wasn’t doing it fast enough.”
“That’s not what I meant!” Johnny insisted, and each time he did Christina knew he sounded less persuasive. Drabble was ramming the kid’s own words down his throat-probably the most effective cross-ex technique imaginable. “I’ve told you already what I felt, and what I believe. But I would never have done any serious harm to him.”
“Right. Because all the serious harm was done by Brett.”
“That’s true!”
“All you did was rough him up a bit. Maybe cracked a few ribs, that’s all.”
“I did not-”
“Maybe cut him with your knife.”
“That’s not true, either.”
“Isn’t it?” Drabble glanced down at his notes. “It was your knife, wasn’t it? You tried to push the hammer off on Brett, but the knife was yours. Right?”
Johnny’s face began to sag. “Yes. It was mine. Just a Swiss Army knife that my-”
“According to the coroner’s report,” Drabble said, reading, “ ‘Tony Barovick was cut by knife in twelve different places.’ Does that sound accurate?”
“I… don’t remember.”
“Twelve lacerations is not an accident, Mr. Christensen. That’s the work of someone who is enjoying it.”
“They weren’t serious injuries! None of them. Just little cuts. They couldn’t have killed him.”
“No. They would’ve just hurt a lot. Possibly scarred him for life. And terrified him.”
“I-suppose.”
“So your defense is you weren’t trying to kill him. You were only torturing him.”
“Objection!” Christina shouted.
“I’ll withdraw that,” Drabble said, moving on before anyone could take a breath. “Now you’ve admitted you brought the knife to the party, but you claim the Taser was Brett’s, correct?”
“Absolutely.”
“But that isn’t true, is it?” Christina felt a cold chill. She didn’t like the way Drabble said that at all. This was going to be bad; Drabble wouldn’t accuse a witness of lying unless he had the goods.
“It is true. Brett was the one-”
“Mr. Christensen, take a look at this receipt from the P & J Pawn Shop.” He passed it to the witness. “As you can see, it’s for the purchase of a used Taser. Doesn’t give a name, but we traced the credit card number.” He looked up and smiled. “Guess who?”
Johnny looked like a fox surrounded by hounds. “We’d had a break-in at the fraternity house. We thought we needed some way to protect ourselves. Something that wouldn’t be too dangerous to have around.”
“Is that so.”
“I was the floor chairman, so it was my job. I found the Taser.”
“So it belonged to you.”
“It belonged to the fraternity.”
“You bought it.”
“That’s right.”
“And you just happened to bring it along the night of March 22. Just in case you ran into any flaming queens.”
“No! We kept it in the house. And Brett was the one who brought it that night. I didn’t even know-”
“You were responsible for that Taser, weren’t you?”
“Yes, but-”
“Thank you, Mr. Christensen. You’ve answered my question.”
Christina looked across the table at Ben. She didn’t need advanced body-reading skills to know what he was thinking.
“One last thing,” Drabble said. “I know I was touched by your heartwarming reaffirmation of the importance of motherhood and how you turned to your mother when times were tough.”
“It was because I felt so bad,” Johnny said. “I was sorry for what-”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Here’s my problem, though. If you went to see your mother, why didn’t you mention it to the police?”
The silence that blanketed the courtroom was louder than any amount of shouting could be.
“I don’t quite understand…”
“I read this transcript from start to finish last night, Mr. Christensen,” Drabble continued. “I watched the interrogation video. And at no time do you mention being at your mother’s. Not even after you’re told when the estimated time of death was.”
“I… was trying to leave her out of it.”
“Why?”
“I just didn’t want her involved.”
“You thought you could be arrested for murder and your mother wouldn’t be involved?”
“I didn’t want to drag her into the-”
“So you had an alibi witness, but chose not to mention it? Very noble.”
“I didn’t know then how bad this would get.”
“You’re telling me-and the jury-that you knew you had a witness who could testify to being with you at the time of Tony Barovick’s death, yet you chose not to tell anyone? Because you have such a strong sense of family loyalty?”
“I was trying to protect her!”
“Mr. Christensen, don’t lie to us.”
“I’m not.”
“You didn’t tell the police about going to your mother’s house because you didn’t go anywhere near your mother’s house.”
“That’s not true!”
“You went back to the fraternity house and finished what you had started.”
“I didn’t!”
“It must’ve really bothered you, sitting there thinking that flaming queen was still alive. Your own fraternity brother heard you say you were going to finish what you started.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“And if you thought you could impress your friends by saying you beat that boy up, imagine how popular you’d be if you could say you killed him.”
“That’s not what happened!”
“Objection!” Christina shouted. “Badgering the witness.”
“You had the motive and the opportunity,” Drabble continued.
“The objection is sustained,” Judge Lacayo said firmly.
Drabble pressed on. “You wanted Tony Barovick dead. Like you want all gay people dead. So you killed him.”
“I did not!” Johnny screamed. He was sweating, his voice was strained, he seemed shaken and terrified and-
Christina couldn’t pretend otherwise. And guilty.
“I said, the objection is sustained!” Lacayo barked, slamming his gavel.
“Sorry, your honor,” Drabble said, suddenly quiet. He closed his notebook, then let his eyes wander toward the jury box. “No more questions.”
Ben had been in Chicago only a week, but Garfield, the elderly gentleman working the courthouse snack bar, recognized him from the opposite end of the corridor. And the expression on Ben’s face was apparently sufficient to tell him exactly what was called for.
“One chocolate milk, ice cold, coming up,” he said.
“Make it a double,” Ben groused.
“Bad?”
“Real bad. Lethal-injection bad.”
Garfield winced. “Sorry to hear that.” He passed the cup. “Here’s your drink.”
Ben took a long swallow. “Thanks. I needed that. Guess you must think this is pretty wimpy. A grown man, drinking chocolate milk.”
Garfield laughed, rubbing a hand on his stubbled chin. “Hey, after the stuff I’ve seen some of the other attorneys drinking-or smelled on their breath-I’m relieved to see you sticking with the milk.”
Before he could take another swallow, Ben felt a hand on his arm. Funny how he knew who it was, even before he looked. “Ben, we have to talk.”
He looked at Ellen coldly. “That used to be my line.”
“Johnny didn’t do well, did he?”
Ben took another drink. “He did about as well as could be expected. It was an impossible situation. There’s too much evidence against him. And too much of it came from his own mouth.”
“You can’t believe he killed that boy.”
“It doesn’t matter what I believe.”
“He couldn’t have. I know he couldn’t have.”
“Ellen…”
“There must be more you can do.”
“After the break, Christina will redirect, but that’s damage control at best.”
“Aren’t there any other witnesses? Someone who will speak on Johnny’s behalf?”
“We have a doctor who will say that the beating, as described by Johnny and his late friend Brett, would not necessarily have been fatal.”
“And that’s it?”
“Two professors willing to appear as character witnesses.”
“Nothing more?”
“Ellen, believe me when I say we’ve searched high and low. We’ve turned every stone. We haven’t found any miracle witness. And frankly-I think that’s because the miracle witness doesn’t exist.”
Long tapered fingers spread across her face.
“I’ll give it all I can in closing,” Ben continued. “I’ll hammer away about reasonable doubt. The prosecution only has indirect evidence that Johnny caused Tony Barovick’s death. It’s possible that some juror might find that insufficient.”
“But you don’t think so.”
Ben stared down into those black eyes, the dark pools that had once meant so much to him. There was still something there, no matter how hard he tried to pretend there wasn’t, no matter how determined he was to deny that there had ever been any trace of affection.
“No, Ellen,” he said quietly. “I don’t think so. I think the jury will convict.”
“Would you? If you were on the jury? Would you find him guilty?”
Ben didn’t see how any good could come of answering that question. So he didn’t.
“Shelly!” Mike bellowed.
Shelly Chimka froze in her tracks, just outside the front entrance to Remote Control. “Yes?”
Mike ran up to her, Swift and Baxter close behind. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all over town!”
“I went to Springfield to visit a girlfriend. I told Mario I wouldn’t-”
“You didn’t tell him where you were going.”
“Why would I?”
“Don’t give us that innocent routine,” Swift said. “You know you’re a material witness. You were told not to leave town.”
“I didn’t, really. It was just Springfield.” Her face scrunched up. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
“This is about you,” Mike said, gazing down at her right arm, still tucked into the blue sling. “And something that’s bothered me since the first time I talked with you. You told me, not to mention an investigator named Loving, that you tried to commit suicide after Tony was killed. But something about that never seemed right to me. You may well have been close to Tony, but you don’t seem the suicidal type, and your face gave off all the wrong signals when you said it. You’re much too pragmatic. Too controlled.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a compliment, lady. But it left me with a major problem. If you didn’t really try to off yourself, what happened to your arm?”
Shelly instinctively pulled the sling close to her. “I don’t see why it matters to you.”
“Oh, I think it matters a lot,” Mike said. The three of them closed around her. “You told me you tried to kill yourself the night after Tony was killed, but Mario Roma says that the next time you came to work-the very next morning after the incident-your arm was already in a sling.”
“He’s misremembering.”
“I don’t think so. I’ve been reading Tony Barovick’s journal. The last thing he records-the last thing he wrote before going off to his death-was that he had a phone call from you. Coincidence?” Mike shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not anymore.”
“You’re way out of line.”
“Are we?” Baxter asked. “Why did you call Tony?”
“I-I-hardly remember.”
“Give me a break. Last time you talked to him before he’s killed, and you don’t remember what you called about?”
Shelly’s eyes darted back and forth, searching for an avenue of escape. “It was just… just… some work thing.”
“Cut the crap,” Mike growled, pushing his nose into her face. “Someone else might go soft on you because you’re cute and perky, but I don’t give a damn about any of that. All I see is a liar. And now I want the truth!”
“Oh… God!” she gasped. She began to tremble, sobbing at a nearly hysterical pitch. “I didn’t want to do it! They made me!”
“I’m sure they did,” Swift said, wrapping an arm around her. “Now let’s go inside and talk about it.”
Twenty minutes and two cups of coffee later, Shelly had herself sufficiently under control that she could tell them her story without breaking down. And no one would dream of interrupting her. Because what she had to say was incredible.
“They came to my apartment, after my shift.” She sat on a sofa in the break room behind the kitchen of the club. “I was getting ready for a date-all alone, totally vulnerable. Two men. They threw me down on the sofa.” Her face turned ash white, just from the memory. “I thought they were going to kill me.”
“What did they do?”
“They said things, called me ugly names, and they… touched me. Pawed me. One of them jerked up my shirt, and-and-he had a knife and-oh, God, I was so scared! I was afraid-”
“I can imagine,” Baxter said, trying to calm her. “It sounds horrible.”
“What did they want?” Mike asked.
“They wanted Tony. Poor Tony.” Tears seeped from her eyes. “They wanted me to call him up, get him to come over to my place.”
“Did they say why?”
“Not exactly. But they kept calling Tony their partner. Said they’d been working on something together.”
“Did they say what?”
“No. But there was a lot of money involved. And a kid. Several times they referred to a kid.”
Mike, Swift, and Baxter all exchanged looks.
“Why not just wait till Tony left the club after work?”
“Because then he would be with Roger, his boyfriend. They wanted him to leave alone.”
“Was Manny Nowosky one of the men?” Mike asked.
She nodded. “With someone else. That chicken I’d seen in the bar.”
“So what happened? Did you do it?”
“I didn’t want to!” Her face was stricken, contorted by grief. “I refused, several times. Told them I wouldn’t help them.”
“And then?”
“One of them-Manny-knocked me across the face. Called me a dirty little bitch and told me I would do what he said or he’d hurt me. Hurt me bad.”
“So you called.”
“Not at first! I held out as long as I could. I told them I couldn’t, wouldn’t know what to say. Manny got really mad.”
“Did he… hurt you?”
“Not just then. He and the other guy argued for a long time. Manny said he wanted to take me apart, limb by limb. Wanted to hurt me and hurt me till I would beg for the chance to do what they wanted. Then, suddenly, the argument ended. Manny grabbed my arm and jerked me into the kitchen. He pulled a butcher knife out of the drawer and-and-” She threw herself down, her face pressed against a sofa cushion. “He cut me! Don’t you understand? He cut me!”
Mike motioned to Swift, encouraging her to try to comfort the woman. He was useless when it came to this kind of trauma.
Shelly continued. “He slashed my wrist. Not so bad I would die, but the pain was incredible. He wanted me to tell Tony I’d tried to kill myself, that I was losing blood fast. He knew that would get him out of the club and over here in a hurry.” Another wave of tears followed. “And I did it. God help me, but I did it.”
“You had no choice,” Swift said softly, stroking her hair. “None at all.”
“Manny listened in with the knife at my throat the whole time. I told Tony I’d been depressed and I’d slashed my wrist and I didn’t know what to do. Of course, he said he’d come right over. He was always so good. He loved me, he really did. And I loved him.” She buried her face again. “So he left the club in a hurry. Alone. Don’t you see? I killed him! Just as much as anyone. It was my fault!”
“That’s absurd,” Swift said, cradling the distraught woman in her arms. “It was not your fault.”
“This is all well and good,” Baxter said, “but why didn’t you say anything about it before now?”
“I think I can answer that question,” Mike answered. “You didn’t want to see those two men again.”
“I was so scared,” Shelly said. She was rocking back and forth, hugging her knees. “So terrified they would return. Even after I knew Manny and Charlie were dead. He killed Tony. And Manny, right?”
“Probably,” Mike acknowledged. “And Charlie.”
“And he would’ve killed me, if I’d told you what happened. I didn’t like lying. But I had no choice. After I bandaged my wrist, I put my arm in a sling to try to conceal what had happened. I started telling people that I’d hurt myself, hysterical about what had happened to Tony. Any story. Just so no one would know what had really happened.”
“Can’t blame you for that,” Mike said quietly. “A lot tougher types than you would’ve caved if something like that had happened to them.”
“I’m still not getting this,” Baxter said. “We know those two fraternity creeps beat up Tony after he left the club. Did Manny and his pals know they were after him? Were they all working together?”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Mike answered. “More likely the frat boys got to Tony before Manny had a chance.”
“Lucky day for Tony Barovick,” Swift said ruefully. “People waiting in line to hurt him.”
“That’s his reward for partnering with murderous thugs,” Mike replied. He pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket and started dialing. “That Christensen kid has been saying all along he and his friend didn’t kill Tony, but no one believed him. Including me.” He punched in a phone number. “Damn it. I hate it when Ben and Christina are right.”
“Hello?” said Ben’s voice on the other end of the phone.
“Good afternoon, counselor,” Mike answered. “Court adjourned for the day?”
“Just a break.”
“How’s it looking?”
“Like our client is going down hard, barring a miracle.”
“Well,” Mike said, casting a look around the room, “I know I’m never going to convince you that I’m an angel. But I may have just the miracle you’ve been looking for.”
“Do you think this is going to work?” Christina whispered to Ben as she saw the bailiff emerging from the judge’s chambers.
“I don’t know,” he said, lips tight. Christina knew the expression-it was a sign his brain was working, probably several steps ahead of hers. “Coming this late in the game, I’m afraid the jury won’t believe it. It would be better if we could produce the fourth man, the remaining kidnapper.”
“Well, yes, I’m sure the police would like that, too. But how do you plan to accomplish it?”
“I’ve got an idea, but it’s risky.”
“Ben, there will be no second chance. If we don’t do something immediately, the case will end, it will go to the jury, Johnny will be on death row, and all the evidence on heaven and earth won’t be enough to get him out.”
“True.” He hesitated. “I should probably run this by Mike first.” He shook his head. “But he’d never permit it.”
Judge Lacayo called the court back into session. “Ms. McCall, I understand you have an additional witness to call who is not on your list?”
“Yes, your honor.” Christina rose to her feet. “We call Shelly Chimka to the stand.”
Drabble was predictably outraged. He moaned about sleazy defense tricks and fair notice and the pointlessness of submitting witness lists if the parties weren’t going to be bound by them. But in chambers, Christina produced Major Mike Morelli, who assured the judge that this witness had just been found, and furthermore that her testimony was not only critical to the case but that a gross miscarriage of justice might result if the witness was not heard. Under those circumstances, the judge had little choice.
All things considered, Shelly did an admirable job on the stand. Ben and Christina’d had little time to prepare her, and this was only the second time she’d told her story to anyone. But it was spellbinding, just the same. The jury hung on her every word. Christina couldn’t be sure whether they believed her. But they were definitely listening.
“Did the two men who attacked you ever say what it was they were planning to do to Tony?”
Shelly took a deep breath, tried to steady herself. “Not in so many words. But it was clear they weren’t planning to give him a big kiss and a hug. They kept saying that Tony had betrayed them. One time Manny said, ‘I’ll teach that little creep what happens when he holds out on his partners.’ ”
“What happened after you made the phone call?”
“That was all they wanted from me. Manny took the hilt of the butcher knife and hit me on the head-hard. I fell to the floor. I guess I passed out for a while-I’m not sure how long. I was already woozy from loss of blood. When I woke up, I bandaged myself. It was nasty, but not fatal. As soon as I could, I called Remote Control. But by that time it was one in the morning. Tony was already dead.”
Christina nodded solemnly. “And you have no idea who the other man was?”
“I don’t. I wish I did. But they were very careful never to call one another by name. I have no way of knowing.”
“I understand,” Christina said gently. “Thank you for testifying. I know how hard it must have been for you.”
“It was the least I could do,” she replied. “For Tony. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what I did to him. Even if he was involved with these kidnappers, the Tony I knew was kind, and gentle and… and he took care of me. Always. But when it came time for me to do something for him-I failed. Miserably.” Tears filled her eyes. “And now he’s gone. And he’s never coming back.”
Needless to say, the reporters were riveted by this sudden, unforeseen development in the case. It had been juicy enough to attract major media attention when it was an antigay hate crime. Now that it had morphed and linked itself to a notorious kidnapping, the interest rate doubled. The media scrambled, trying to figure out how to spin the new developments. They’d been treating Tony Barovick as if he were a martyred angel; now it appeared he was considerably less angelic. Did that make his death less a tragedy?
In a rare acquiescence, Ben agreed to hold a press conference in the ground floor lobby of the courthouse. While the court clerk set up the conference platform, Ben conferred with Judge Lacayo’s bailiff, Boxer Johnson.
“So you’re available?”
“If you say so,” the sturdy man replied. Ben only hoped he looked as good as Johnson when he was in his fifties. “Think I should bring my weapon?”
“Oh yeah. Bring several.”
A few moments later, Ben stepped up to the platform. First, he read a prepared statement, then he took questions. The first few were softballs that he handled with no difficulty. But that didn’t last long.
“This new development has taken us all by surprise-and left some observers extremely dubious, if not downright cynical,” a CNN reporter said.
“Can’t say that I’m surprised,” Ben answered. “We live in a cynical world.”
“When did you get the first indication that this murder was linked to the Metzger kidnapping?”
“We’ve had prior indications from an officer with the Tulsa PD that there might be a connection between this murder and two subsequent ones. We first believed there was a connection to an Ecstacy drug ring, but we had no evidence. It was only today that we learned about the connection to the Metzger kidnapping.”
“Mr. Kincaid,” the reporter from ABC chimed in, “the parents of Tony Barovick have released a statement saying that ‘this is a typical trick of a desperate lawyer. We all know who killed Tony. Why are we putting up with this?’ ”
“With due respect to the Barovicks, who have suffered a horrible loss, they do not know who killed Tony. All they know is what the police have told them. And the police were wrong. I understand the need for the bereaved to seek closure, or at least retribution. But we can’t convict the wrong man just to please his parents.”
“I notice the prosecutor has not dropped the case,” noted a reporter holding a Fox News mike. “What do you think it will take to convince him you’re right?”
Ben took a moment before answering. “I think we’re going to have to produce the fourth man. The other kidnapper. The one who’s still at large.”
“But you don’t know who he is.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ben said. “The kidnapper may think he’s safe. He may think he’s pulled off the perfect crime. But he hasn’t. I know who he is. And tomorrow morning in court-I’ll prove it.”
He snapped off the television. Well, that didn’t leave him much choice, did it? The time to act-finally and decisively-had arrived.
He wasn’t sure whether Kincaid was telling the truth. It could be some kind of trick or trap. But he couldn’t take the risk, could he? And he had been wanting to take the damn lawyers out, anyway. Toying with them obviously hadn’t been enough. He had to deliver a more final solution. So why not now? He just had to make sure he avoided whatever little defenses Kincaid might’ve arranged. And the best way to do that was to strike fast-before he expected it.
They should never have left Oklahoma, he thought, chuckling as he loaded his gun. Come to the big city and rub shoulders with the big boys-and two hicks from the scrubs are bound to get hurt. Permanently.
Zero hour had arrived. They would be so sorry they came to Chicago-in those final nanoseconds before he blew their brains out.
One night, Claudia Brenner came into Remote Control. I was stunned. I recognized her immediately, of course. She’s the woman who was hiking in Pennsylvania on the Appalachian Trail in 1988 with her girlfriend when a couple of backwoods freaks saw them making out and registered their displeasure-with a rifle. Her partner was killed; Claudia was seriously wounded. She wrote a book about it, Eight Bullets, probably the most moving testament I’ve read in my entire life. It was that book that inspired me to start keeping this journal. Not that anything that dramatic ever happened to me, or is even likely to. Sure, I know there are still people who don’t like gays. But I can’t imagine anything like that happening here. Not here.
Anyway, so I got a chance to talk to this woman, and she was incredible. I kept blathering on about how she was my hero and what an incredible role model she was. I probably made a gigantic jackass of myself, but she was nice about it. And when she left, I felt inspired.
I’d never been involved in gay politics. At first, because I didn’t want anyone to know I was gay, and later, because I was busy with other things. And I suppose if I were honest about it, I’d have to admit that I’m not that political. It doesn’t interest me much. But the thing is-gay rights doesn’t seem political to me. Treating people the same, not discriminating based upon sexual preference-is that political? Does that split down political lines? That’s not about Democrats and Republicans; that’s about human rights, about taking the freedoms we claim are the philosophical basis of this nation and making them real.
Ever since that night, I’ve been involved. I’m still not what you’d call a big activist, but I try to do my part. I joined the local Gay & Lesbian Alliance. I’ve marched in their parades. I’ve even allowed them to hold some of their meetings in the bar, in the back caverns.
The religious types still come to Remote Control, which they perceive as a den of premarital lust and fornication, and they rattle on a lot about Judgment Day. I don’t know what Judgment Day is or will be, but I think it’s got to be more than just the celestial accountant tallying up how many times you went to church. Surely, at some point, what’s more important is what you felt. What you thought. What you held in your heart. Whether you tried to make people happier, tried to make their lives easier.
I firmly believe that most people are good at heart, that they want to be good. It’s hard sometimes, what with ignorance and peer pressure and all our basest instincts constantly being hung out to dry. But I also know that the world is changing. For the better. So many of the evils that have plagued humanity since the dawn of time have been eradicated. Slavery, racial discrimination, gender discrimination, exploitation of children. With all the good that is happening, how long can prejudice and bigotry against gay and lesbian people survive? How long can it be before we too shall be released? If being part of the Alliance has made me realize anything, it is that when all is said and done, people who hate gays aren’t prejudiced because of some obscure passage in the Book of Leviticus. This prejudice, like every other prejudice, is based on the fact that we are different from them. They don’t care that mankind was made in God’s image; they want the world to be made in their image. Bottom line, they get uptight because I’m not just like them. And that scares them. And scared bunnies do crazy things.
“Is Ben here?” Loving said breathlessly as he ran through the front doors of their temporary offices.
“No,” Jones said, looking down a long nose. “Could I possibly serve as a substitute?”
“I need Ben. When do you expect him back?”
“How should I know? He never tells me anything.”
Loving’s eyes widened. “Didn’tcha see the press conference? It was on television.”
“As if I have time for television,” Jones grunted. “Someone has to keep this office afloat.” He paused, a puzzled expression on his face. “Ben gave a press conference? I thought he considered that the hallmark of sleaze.”
“So you don’t know nothin’ ’bout what happened in the courtroom today?”
“As I said-”
“You’re not gonna believe it. This case has had more twists and turns than the Million Dollar Highway.” Loving continued recounting the day’s events. It was only a matter of moments before Jones became so entranced he turned away from his computer monitor. After a minute, he dropped his pencil, hanging on every word. He was so wrapped up in Loving’s account that he didn’t even look up when the front door chime sounded.
The visitor crossed the front lobby and approached Jones’s desk.
“… and once Ben proves who the fourth partner is, my bookie’s laying three-to-one odds that the judge-” He stopped abruptly as the visitor entered his field of vision. “Psst. Jones.”
The visitor was a large man. His posture spoke of strength and power and a blustery sort of confidence. He was wearing a nondescript blue suit with a bland black tie. About the only noteworthy thing about him was his face-or lack thereof. He was wearing a mask, one of those cheap plastic Halloween masks that come from discount toy stores. Jones couldn’t be certain, but he thought he was looking into the simulated face of Captain Kirk.
“May I help you?”
“Yes,” said the deep voice behind the mask. “I’d like you both to come with me.”
A deep furrow crossed Jones’s brow. “Come where?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
Jones and Loving exchanged a look. “Then… why would we want to come?”
The man’s hand emerged from his suit coat pocket holding a small revolver. “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to kill you.”
Ben and Christina trudged from the parking lot back to the building where Kevin Mahoney had his offices. Ben was carrying a large and heavy banker’s box. Christina was hauling a catalog case in each hand.
“Have I mentioned that this is the worst part of any trial?” Ben said.
“Only every day,” Christina grunted back.
“I don’t know why they won’t let us keep our stuff in the courtroom.”
“Because it isn’t safe. If something happened to it, they don’t want you trying to blame the court because your case goes south. Besides, you never know what you’ll need to prep for the next day.”
Christina dropped one of the cases and opened the glass lobby door. “At least this time around we have Vicki-an extra set of hands and an extra car. That saves at least two or three trips a day.” She gathered up the case with a grunt. “She’s a bit on the timid side, of course, but she sure gets the job done. And her French is excellent.”
Ben grinned. “And that’s important when you’re trying a brutal homicide case.”
“Civility is always important,” Christina replied airily.
They entered the elevator and rode up to the floor where they were borrowing space from Mahoney. When they entered the office, they found it deserted.
“I expected all of Kevin’s people to be gone this late in the day. But where’s Jones?” Christina asked.
“Or Loving? Dunno.” Ben scratched his head. “Jones is usually right at the door waiting for us, so he can give me his complaints of the day.”
Christina smiled. “He gives me doughnuts.”
“I guess we know where his heart lies.” Ben left his materials by the door-so they could be more easily carted back to court again tomorrow morning-then headed back to his office. He’d been there maybe ten minutes when he heard the front door chime.
Who would be coming in at this time of night? he wondered. It was way too late for business visitors. Probably just Jones returning from whatever errand he was on. Maybe a reporter. Or Ellen. Or… there was one other possibility. He clapped his side coat pocket. He was ready, in any case.
He pushed out of his chair and approached the door. He was almost through it when a man entered-wearing a Hallo-ween mask.
Ben drew back. “Excuse me. What are you-”
The man did not wait for him to finish. He shoved Ben back, hard. Ben fell against his desk, the edge slamming into him.
Ben didn’t waste a second. He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small handheld radio. “Boxer? Now! Call the police and come!”
The man in the mask knocked the radio out of his hand. “Would you by chance be calling Boxer Johnson?”
Ben felt his mouth go dry.
The man reached into his coat and removed another radio, just like the one Ben had, then a black leather wallet. “Boxer Johnson, age fifty-five, blue eyes, one hundred and seventy-five pounds, eyesight restriction.” He threw the wallet into Ben’s face. “Bad news, Kincaid. He won’t be coming.”
Ben pressed back against the desk, trying to get as far as possible from the man. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“Oh, but you already know that, don’t you? This is your party, after all.”
“I don’t know what-”
“Don’t treat me like a jerk.” He drew his hand back and slapped Ben hard across the face. “You set this up, with your little press conference. You knew I’d have no choice but to come after you. I wasn’t going to let you screw everything up. Not after all the work, all the… killing. Maybe you thought I’d wait till you left the office, but I figured I better move quick, before it’s too late. Before you were ready. First, I took out your two little friends. But I kept telling myself, this kid Kincaid can’t be this stupid. He’s practically inviting me to come after him. He must have backup. So after you went into the office, I sat back and waited. And sure enough, as predictable as clockwork, your rear guard showed up, chatting into his little radio, making his rounds.”
“If you’ve hurt him-”
“Oh, I’ve hurt him all right. I hurt him good, like he won’t forget for a long time. If he can remember anything.”
“Ben, have you got the ex-” Christina stepped through the doorway, then froze. A millisecond later, she turned to run. The man in the mask whirled around, grabbed her arm. As she tried to pull away, he jerked her backwards. Ben knew that it hurt; he could see it in her eyes. She flew backward and careered into the desk beside him.
“And here’s the pretty one,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “I might have a little fun with you, before it’s over. Or after.”
“I don’t know who you are or what-”
He slapped her, silencing her. “You may be an innocent victim of your boss’s little prank. But you’re going to suffer just as bad.” He grabbed Ben by the collar, shaking him. “Did you think you could fuck with me? With me? You little punk.” He threw Ben back with disgust. “This is going to be a pleasure.” He pulled a revolver out of his coat pocket and pressed it against the side of Ben’s skull. “Gonna take away all your troubles, lawyer-boy. You should thank me.”
“No!” Christina screamed. “Please don’t hurt him!”
“Don’t waste your breath crying for this asswipe,” the man said, pulling Ben up by the collar and pressing his head down with the gun. “Save it for yourself. You’re next.”
Mike found Sergeant Baxter in the kitchen of the Chicago FBI office. She had a coffee cup in one hand and a half-eaten yogurt in the other.
“Care to join me for a little slash-and-burn operation?” he asked.
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re my partner.”
She pressed a hand against her chest. “He remembers!”
“Don’t be so-”
“I thought you had totally forgotten. Or that Special Agent Swift had worked some kind of Deep South mojo on your brain.”
“Hey, I didn’t ask to have a Feeb baby-sitting me on this case.”
“No, but you haven’t exactly resisted, either. So what’s a slash-and-burn, anyway?”
“Means I don’t really have a clue. I’m going to thrust myself into the lion’s den and see if I can stir something up. Hassle, threaten, intimidate. Take no prisoners.”
“Sounds very sophisticated. Count me in. What is it we’re trying to learn?”
“What else? The identity of the fourth kidnapper.”
Baxter stared at him strangely. “But-I thought you already knew.”
Mike returned an equally mystified expression. “Why in God’s name would you think that?”
“Because I watched your pal Kincaid on television telling everyone he knew who the fourth man was.”
“What?”
“And I figured he could only have gotten the scoop from you. Wrong?”
“Very.” Mike thrust his hands into his pockets. “What the hell is he playing at?”
“Hard to tell with those defense shysters. Must be some kind of trick.”
“Yeah. Must be. Maybe he-” All at once, Mike’s face went white. “Oh, my God. That stupid idiot.”
“What? What is it?”
“Change of plan.” Mike began racing down the corridor. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and started dialing. “We’ve got to find him.” He put the phone to his ear, got no answer, swore. “That incredible moron!” He punched the elevator button, then didn’t have the patience to wait. He lurched toward the stairs. “Ben has pulled some stupid stunts in his time, take my word for it. But this one’s going to get him killed.”
Christina looked on in horror as the brutal man in the Halloween mask pressed a gun to Ben’s temple. How had this plan gone so wrong so fast? Images flashed unbidden in her brain-Manny Nowosky with the drill bit through his skull; Charlie the Chicken with the gun in his mouth. And now Ben was poised to be the next victim.
“You brought this on yourself,” the man growled. “You could’ve just let that son-of-a-bitch kid take the rap. But no, you had to go messin’ around in my business. And now you’re going to pay the price.”
Christina’s mind was racing. That voice, even hoarse and broken, sounded familiar, but with the mask concealing his face she couldn’t be sure. She watched helplessly as his thumb pulled back the hammer of the pistol. He was really going to do it! She couldn’t wait another second. Without warning, she lurched forward, head-butting the gun away from Ben.
The gun fired, but the bullet went off somewhere into the far wall. The man in the mask fell backward. Christina scrambled to her feet, but he was too quick for her. He caught her with the back of his gun hand and whipped her hard across the face. She felt her head explode, her neck bent by the force of the blow. Blood trickled down her cheek.
She began to topple, but the man in the mask grabbed her by the hair and jerked her head up. Ben scrambled to his feet and tried to rush him, but he shoved Ben back with ease.
“One more move like that and the girl dies!” he barked.
Ben froze in his tracks.
Christina tried to pull her head out of the daze and figure out what to do next. The man was still holding the gun in his spare hand, but it was pointing off to the side; during the struggle, it had pivoted around on his trigger finger. This would be a good time to do something. If she could only figure out what.
“You thought you could hurt me?” The man’s former cool had evaporated. “I’ve been fighting all my life! I’ve taken out the biggest and the strongest. Never let anyone get in my way. And that includes you!”
He outweighed Christina by more than two-to-one, but she had been taking those self-defense classes at the Y for a reason, and no matter how tough the guy was, he had the same vulnerable points as everyone else. The eyes, which she couldn’t get to. The temples, the ears, which she also couldn’t get to. And the knees.
Now that was a different story.
She reared back with the heel of her shoe and smashed it into the small of his kneecap. He tumbled. Just like her instructor told her-no matter how big the man, a good swift kick to the knee will bring him down.
But he was still holding the gun. She brought her foot around, this time kicking his gun hand. He released it, then she kicked it to the other side of the room.
“Ben! Get it!”
Ben dove for that corner of the office, but the man grabbed his foot and fell right on top of him. They began to struggle. Christina tried to get around him, but he threw up his arm and tripped her. He pulled himself onto his knees, holding back Ben with one hand and Christina with the other.
The gun lay on the floor in the opposite corner.
Ben rammed his elbow into the man’s nose. Christina came at his neck with her fingernails. He still did not release them. Christina could feel great power surging through his arms. He was stronger than Samson, and determined not to let them go.
With a mighty effort, he tossed the both of them back a few feet, then flung himself toward the gun. He grabbed the revolver, then rolled around on his shoulder. Christina raced forward-just in time to see a poised gun staring her down the throat.
“You goddamn punks!” the man shouted, almost hysterical. The gun was wavering, trembling, but not so much that there was any chance he would miss her if he pulled the trigger. “You goddamn smart-ass punks!”
“I thought so,” Christina said quietly. “I know who you are.”
In the midst of the struggle, the man’s mask had been knocked to the side.
“You’re Mario Roma,” Christina continued. “You own Remote Control.”
“Yeah,” Roma said, his teeth clenched, both hands squeezing the shaking revolver. “And you’re a corpse.”
“He’s not in the courthouse!” Mike shouted back to Baxter, who was waiting in the unmarked Bureau car.
“I’ve been calling their office. No answer.”
“Damn.” He dove into the passenger seat. “You drive.”
Given the urgency, she did as he instructed, but she was incredulous even as she slid across the seat.
“I want to keep working the phone,” Mike explained. “And I need someone giving the road their full attention-and driving just as fast as possible.”
Baxter pulled the car away from the curb, with a peel of rubber. “You must really be tight with this shyster.”
Mike shrugged. “We go way back.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Besides, it’s kind of like being a Good Samaritan. How many friends can a defense lawyer have?”
“Right.”
“Just get to their office, Baxter,” he said, punching the tiny buttons on the phone. “I’m calling Swift. Maybe she can call in backup.”
“But why?” Ben asked, genuinely curious and stalling for time. “Why would you go in for kidnapping? You have a successful restaurant.”
“Are you kidding? No one makes money from restaurants. It’s a money pit. And campus clubs are the worst. The kids are so damn fickle.”
“But kidnapping?”
“Look, I grew up in Chicago. The mob rules, right? Everyone I ever knew was crooked. That was how we made money. It was expected.”
“Mike told me he thought you were protesting too much when you said you had no mob connections.”
“This job had nothing to do with the mob. Those jerks coulda never come up with something this smart.” He wiped his brow with his free hand. “I left all that behind. Tried to start fresh. Clean. But I wasn’t making money and the debts were piling up. If I didn’t come up with some money-major money-I’d lose everything.”
“So you went in for kidnapping. Then murder.”
“I never wanted the murders. But Manny was making threats, saying he’d talk, and then Charlie-” He tightened his grip on Christina’s hair. “Aw, what’s the use? You wouldn’t believe me. And you’re both dead anyway.” His lip curled as he pointed the gun at Christina’s skull.
“You don’t have to do this,” Ben said, trying to keep his voice calm even though he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. Not Christina. Please, God, not Christina. “You can stop the killing now.”
“Too late,” Roma said, sweat dripping from his chin. “Too goddamn late.”
Outside Ben’s office, in the front lobby, they all heard the sound of a door slamming shut.
“Who’s that?” Roma hissed, lips tight.
“Probably Jones, my office manager,” Ben answered. “Or my investigator, Loving.”
“Like hell. I already took care of both of them.”
“Ben? Christina? Where are you? I’ve got the stuff from the courthouse.”
It was their new intern. Vicki.
“Any luck?” Baxter asked.
Mike shook his head. “No one’s answering. Not in the office Ben’s been using, not in any office in the building that I can find a number for.”
“It’s late,” Baxter said, as she wove in and out of traffic, hitting speeds well beyond the limit. “Probably all gone home or not answering.”
“That doesn’t help me. I found a doorman at the Marriott across the street who thinks he saw Ben and Christina go in half an hour ago. Half an hour!” He wiped his brow. “And you know what that means.”
“If they’ve been back that long, and they’re not answering the phone…”
“Yeah.” Mike bit his lower lip, trying to fight back the emotions that were flooding to the surface. “If that killer has been there for half an hour-”
Baxter swerved into the next lane, leaving a semi eating her dust. “I’m driving as fast as I can.”
“It won’t matter. We can’t possibly get there in time. Neither will backup.” He sat silent for a moment, hands gripping the console. “They’re on their own.”
“Goddamn it,” Roma muttered under his breath, still gripping Christina by the hair. “Goddamn it to hell.”
“Don’t drag Vicki into this,” Ben whispered. “She’s just a kid. She knows nothing.”
“Goddamn it to hell!” He released Christina, then waved them both away from the door. “Get back! In the corner.”
Ben did as he was told, but he kept talking. “I haven’t told her anything about the case. All she does is fetch coffee and hold paper clips. There’s no need to hurt her.”
“Shut up!” Roma hissed.
A moment later, Vicki’s petite frame appeared in the doorway. She was carrying a large banker’s box. “Ben?”
A second later, she saw the man, and a second after that, the gun. A small cry escaped from her.
“Get up aganst the wall,” the man barked.
“What’s happening?” she said, in a tiny trembling voice.
“Get up against the wall!” he shouted.
“Do as he says,” Ben told her. “Please.”
She scooted forward, her lips parted, her face ghost white. Her hands began to shake. Ben wondered how much longer she could hold that box.
“Hurry!”
She scooted forward-too fast. She stumbled, and the box tumbled out of her hands, taking Roma by surprise. Reams of paper spewed forth, knocking him backward. The gun spilled out of his hand. He stepped backward, hit the desk, then fell, as the floor was covered in paper.
“Oh!” Vicki screamed. “I’m so sorry. Don’t hurt me! Please! I’ll clean this up.”
“Just get in the corner!” Roma bellowed, but Vicki knelt down and started rummaging through the paper-
– and came up holding a gun.
Ben and Christina gaped. Roma’s hand was barely an inch away from his own weapon. “Don’t do it,” Vicki cautioned.
He didn’t listen. He grabbed it. Vicki fired, but missed. Roma rolled away.
“Don’t be a fool,” Vicki said. “I will shoot.”
Roma came up, gun in hand-
And Vicki fired. The bullet caught him in the neck, slamming him back against the wall. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Call 911,” Vicki ordered. “Fast.” She ran to Roma’s side, looked at the wound, pressed two fingers against the side of his neck. “Damn,” she muttered. “He’s not going to make it.”
While Christina made the call, Ben stared at his intern. And her pistol. “What the hell is going on?”
“I think a ‘thank you’ might be in order here,” Vicki replied. There was a strength in her voice that he didn’t recall being there before.
“What were you doing with a gun in your files?”
“A girl has to know how to protect herself. Especially if she’s working for someone like you.”
“My God,” Ben said, slapping his forehead. “The press will be all over this. We’ll have to get you a lawyer. Someone outside the firm. It was self-defense, of course, but we’re going to have to convince the cops that-”
Vicki pushed herself back up to her feet. “Relax, Ben. You don’t have to worry about the cops.”
“How can you be sure?”
She smiled. “Because I am a cop.”
“It was always about the kidnapping,” Ben explained. “From the very start. First an audacious plan to get money, then a desperate plan to keep it.”
Ben sat in Judge Lacayo’s chambers with Christina, Drabble, the judge’s clerk, and most important, Mike, probably the only man in the room the judge really trusted. Although as far as that went, he was being pretty deferential to Ben today, especially compared to how the man had treated him since the trial began. Funny how a judge’s attitude changed once a law enforcement officer came in and told him that the far-fetched story the lawyer had been telling since the trial began was actually true.
“Mario Roma needed money,” Mike said. “Actually, I don’t know if he needed it so much as wanted it, but he was the one who concocted this plan. He had some contacts in Tulsa and he knew the Metzger family. And he’d seen Tommy. He knew the parents were loaded, attached to their child-but more than a bit negligent. He knew capturing the kid would not be that tricky. The hard part would be getting the money, keeping the money, and not getting caught.”
“But he apparently managed it, right?” Drabble said.
“Right-because he enlisted help. He knew a small-time hood named Manny Nowosky because he hung out in Roma’s club. Probably pushed drugs there, too, but Mario turned a blind eye to that. Call it a reciprocal favor. Manny brought in a street chicken he knew named Charlie. But Mario needed one more person to make it all work, so he recruited Tony.”
“Tony didn’t write a word in his journal that suggests that he was involved in anything criminal,” Christina protested.
“Well, it would be a pretty stupid move if he did, given that someone might read his journal, which, come to think of it, we all have.”
“But he comes across as such a caring, gentle person. Everyone who knew him says the same thing.”
“I know,” Mike said, “but there’s no other explanation. Anyway, the kidnapping was a success. They made off with the money. But that wasn’t the end of the story. I don’t know exactly why Mario set out to get Tony. Maybe he was afraid he would talk. Maybe he didn’t want to split the loot. At any rate, Manny and Charlie lured Tony out so they could kill him. They couldn’t have known two frat hoods would make their job all the easier. They probably followed Tony and the two frat boys out of the club and watched while the beating took place. By the time the frat boys left and they got to him, strangling Tony was a cinch. Delivering his corpse to the frat house was an obvious way to divert suspicion.”
“But why was Manny killed?” Christina asked.
“Now there I can make a much more accurate guess. We found fifty thousand bucks hidden in Manny’s rental home after he was killed. We checked the numbers. The cash didn’t come from the ransom money, at least not directly. Roma must’ve laundered it somehow. The way I see it, Manny was making demands, threatening to talk unless he got paid immediately. Unless I miss my guess, Charlie the Chicken joined in the ill-considered extortion attempt.”
“And then?”
“And then, after paying Manny a little something to keep him quiet, Mario decided to tie up the loose ends. With an electric drill. This was not only safer, it would allow him to keep all the money for himself. Once he took out Charlie, he must’ve thought he was safe.” He paused. “Till he tuned in to Ben’s idiotic press conference.” He shook his head. “Roma must’ve left the club the second he heard that. Tied up Jones and Loving and shoved them in that closet where we found them. Took out your lame attempt at security, poor Boxer Johnson, who was lucky to get away with nothing worse than a concussion. And then Roma came after you.”
Mike pursed his lips. “Let me tell you, Ben. Of all the stupid things you’ve done in a lifetime of stupid things, this one is the worst.”
“It wasn’t a bad idea,” Ben said defensively. “I didn’t think he’d move that quickly. I thought maybe he’d come that night, perhaps the next morning…”
“You were dead wrong.”
“And in any case, I had a security guard watching. We were in radio contact and-”
“And it was a bad idea.”
Ben sighed. “Well, it worked out in the end.”
“It only worked out because I got undercover security assigned to your sorry little butt without telling you-since you refused it when I offered it. Not that easy to find a cop with a law background, either, let me tell you. Vicki Hecht is her real name. Graduated Northwestern Law School, 1992. Practiced law for five years, didn’t care for it. Became a cop. And saved your miserable little life.” Mike leaned in close. “But if you ever do anything like that again I will personally wring your neck.”
“Why, Mike, I didn’t know you cared.”
Mike bristled. “About you, I don’t. But I’ve gotten used to Christina.” He gave her a wink. “She’s cute.”
“You should have told me what you were doing.”
“Nah. If you’d known, you’d have blown it. Or kept Vicki out of the loop. Or sent her away.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, Ben. I know how stupid you can be. It’s staggering.”
Christina gave Mike a stern look. “You told Vicki to put that stuff in her résumé about speaking French, didn’t you? You knew that would reel me in.”
Mike spread his hands. “What can I say?”
Christina feigned a hurt expression. “I feel so used.”
“If I may, ladies and gentlemen,” Judge Lacayo said, easing forward in his black leather chair. “I hate to interrupt a delightful conversation just because this is my chambers, but could we talk about the case at hand?”
Ben tucked in his chin. “Sorry, your honor.”
“Major Morelli, are you absolutely certain about this?”
“With some regret,” Mike answered. “Because I hate it when Ben and Christina are right and I’m wrong. But yes, I’m certain.”
“Then Johnny Christensen-”
“Did not kill Tony Barovick. Hurt him badly, yes, and should be tried for aggravated assault. But not murder.”
The judge glanced at the prosecutor. “Mr. Drabble?”
Drabble did not look happy, but Ben couldn’t fault him for that. “Your honor, my people are saying the same thing. We want to drop the murder charge and refile for aggravated assault, if double jeopardy permits.”
Lacayo nodded thoughtfully. “Very well. The clerk will so enter it into the court record. Ms. McCall, for the time being your client is free to go.”
Christina closed her eyes, a smile spreading across her face. “Thank you, your honor.”
“By the way-”
“Yes?”
“Am I right,” the judge asked, “in thinking that this was your first trial as lead counsel?”
Christina nodded.
“You picked a hell of a case to start out with. Talk about trial by fire.” Judge Lacayo fell back into his cushioned chair. “Well, ma’am, I hope Mr. Kincaid gives you a raise for this, because you handled it like a pro.” He smiled. “You’ll be welcome in my courtroom anytime.”
Mike was not surprised to find Special Agent Swift and Sergeant Baxter waiting for him outside the judge’s chambers.
“Congratulations, tiger,” Swift said. “You hit the jackpot.”
He bowed his head with mock modesty. “Aw, shucks.”
“You came through like a champ. You solved the case.”
“Yes,” Baxter said, inching forward. “We did.”
“And I want to thank you for doing it,” Swift added. “This kidnapping has been a burr in my side for far too long. You can’t imagine how pleased I am to finally have it removed.”
“Glad I could be of service.”
“You know,” Swift said, a smile dancing playfully on her lips, “I don’t normally do this-well, never, actually-but I think I could get you in at the Bureau without any trouble. Especially now, after this case.”
“That’s nice, but-”
“Now think about it, sugah. You might get tired of chasing down trailer trash liquor store shooters someday. You might want to move up to the big time.” She sidled closer to him, an eyebrow arched, a finger tugging at his belt. “And if you joined the Bureau, we’d see a whole lot more of each other.”
“I appreciate the offer,” Mike said. “Really. But I like it in Tulsa. With my friends.” He paused a moment. “And my partner.”
Baxter’s face turned a bright crimson.
“Well, ain’t that sweet?” Swift took a tiny step back. “But I’m not entirely surprised. You two be good, hear?”
“We’ll do our best,” Baxter said, the frost melting fast.
“You do that. And Mike?”
“Yes?”
She smiled. “Parting is such sweet sorrow / That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”