Deadly Justice (9 page)

“Koregai hasn’t even done a preliminary examination yet,” Mike answered.

“I don’t see any bloodstains. Where’d the blood you claim you found in my car come from?”

“Don’t know. We’re going to let the coroner explain that to us, too.”

Blackwell approached another officer and barked out some instructions. Ben tried to stay out of his line of sight. He saw another man with a camcorder packing up his equipment; the scene had no doubt been photographed and videotaped from every conceivable angle. Two more men were crawling back and forth across the alleyway, crouched on their hands and knees, their eyes close to the pavement.

“Hair and fiber boys?” Ben asked.

Mike nodded. “We’ve already searched for prints, both in the alley and in your car. Didn’t find any. Except, of course, yours.”

“You realize you had no right to search my car without a warrant.”

“I disagree. The driver’s side door was wide open when we arrived. Under those circumstances, we don’t believe you had any reasonable expectation of privacy.”

“How convenient.”

Mike stepped toward Ben and lowered his voice. “Look, Ben, I can’t hold off Blackwell much longer. If you have anything you want to tell me privately—”

“I didn’t kill him, Mike.”

“I know, I know,” Mike said, although he appeared relieved to hear the words spoken aloud. “But do you have any idea who did?”

“Not a clue.”

“What about your boss, Crichton? Was Hamel having any problems with him?”

“Could be. I don’t know.”

“What about that guy who was with you last night? We know he was in the office building.”

“I already told you. Rob was with me all day, right up until we found the body. We weren’t apart for ten seconds. So unless this stiff has been dead for over twenty-four hours, Rob is out.”

“I don’t need a coroner’s report to confirm that he hasn’t been dead that long.”

“Ditto.”

Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. “What about some of those other goons at your office? For one, the clown you caught
in flagrante delicto
last night. Maybe he didn’t like being caught with his pants down. Literally. Maybe this is a revenge frame.”

“Maybe. Then again, maybe not. I have no idea. I don’t know enough about these people.” He paused. “Yet.”

“Good attitude. Your involvement could be key, Ben. I’ll have my men search the area thoroughly, and I’ll send some boys around to question your neighbors—but as I told you, we’re up to our eyeballs in this serial killer mess. That’s why Blackwell is here. He’s coming to every homicide site until that case is solved.”

“Taking a personal interest in the murders?”

Mike smiled thinly. “Taking a personal interest in his public image. The press has not been kind to the Tulsa P.D. since this wave of murders started. The heat has been on Blackwell, even to the point of the city council calling for his resignation. I think Blackwell decided it might help if he put on a show of aggressively investigating these murders. Healthy fodder for the six o’clock news.”

“Yeah, but does his involvement mean a speedier solution to the murders?”

Mike bent over and lit his pipe. “Rather the opposite, I’d say.” He took a few swift puffs, then removed the pipe stem from his lips. “Blackwell doesn’t have many resources available to assign to this unrelated murder. It would be much simpler for him if this minor distraction were solved quickly. And the best way to bring an investigation to a hasty close is to bear down on the most obvious suspect. And that suspect, Ben, is you.”

“Can you define
bearing down
?”

“Taking you in for questioning, locking you up on suspicion, maybe even planting leaks of dubious veracity to convict you in the press. And, of course, pounding on you till you crack. That’s the gist of it.”

“Oh.” Ben tried to smile. “Thanks for the colorful details.”

“My pleasure.”

Ben saw Joni and Jami Singleton, the teenage twins who lived with their family in one of the upstairs rooms of his boardinghouse. They were both peeking around the corner of the building.

“Hiya, Joni,” Ben said, wiggling his fingers.

Joni cautiously stepped out of the shadows, with Jami close behind.

“Don’t worry, I’m unarmed. Hi there, Jami.”

“It’s not you I was worried about, Benjamin,” Jami said, eyeing Mike and the other police officers. “What’s happening? You helping the cops solve another case?”

Mike arched an eyebrow.

“Well,” Ben replied, “this time it seems I’m Suspect Number One.”

“Oh?” Jami fluffed her long black hair with the palm of her hand. “What’s the charge?”

“Murder.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“In the first degree,” Mike added. “Maybe.”

“Wow!” Joni said, echoing her sister. This development obviously increased their estimation of Ben many times over. “Was it, like, a crime of passion?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “I didn’t do it.”

She folded her hands across her chest, clearly disappointed. Then she noticed the police officers swarming around. “Oh, I get it. Of course—you’re innocent.” She winked. “That’s your story and you’re sticking to it. You were probably framed.”

“As a matter of fact—”

Chief Blackwell swaggered back to Ben, interrupting their conversation. “Are you ready to be grilled, Kincaid?”

“Well, since you put it like that…”

“Good. Let’s get started.”

“Don’t you want to wait till the Action News team arrives?”

Blackwell straightened and patted down his hair. “You think TV people are com—” He stopped. “Oh, I see. You’re a wiseass.”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Morelli already gave me the line you fed him about what happened at the Apollo offices.”

“The
line
? I told him the truth.”

“Yeah? Then maybe you can explain how someone got that stiff out of that high rise?”

“Sorry. I can’t.”

“I lifted that body, and let me tell you—it wasn’t light. According to you, you were only gone three or four minutes.”

“True.”

“So where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“What was he doing in your office?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did he get in your car?”

“I don’t know.”

“How did he get in the alley behind your apartment?”

“I don’t know.”

Blackwell made a loud growling noise. “Goddamn it. You lawyers are all alike. Always got a slick answer for everything.”

Ben and Mike exchanged a glance.

“Maybe you think you can bullshit your old college roomie, but I’m not buying it, kid.”

“I’m not asking you to buy anything, Chief. Just don’t lock me up because I’m the most convenient suspect. I’m more valuable to you on the outside.”

Blackwell cocked his head to one side. “How so?”

“Since Hamel was killed in the office building, the key suspects are his colleagues in the legal department at Apollo. Where I work.” He leaned, in close to Blackwell. “Leave me free, and I can check out these people, see if I can turn up any leads.”

“You?”

“I’ve investigated crimes before. Ask Mike. I used to work at the D.A.’s office. It’s clear you don’t have enough free men to staff this case. Let me take up the slack. And if I don’t come up with anything, you can still lock me away and throw away the key. You haven’t lost anything.”

Blackwell appeared to be considering. “You’ve got access to the office where Hamel worked?”

“Yes.”

“And access to all his co-workers?”

“Yes again.”

“Hmm. It
is
better having someone on the inside than having some cop march through taking statements. No one ever wants to tell us anything. And this would be a lot simpler than trying to plant someone undercover. All right, I’ll give you a try. You have one week to see what you can find out. I expect you to report in with Morelli every day.
Every day
. Understand?”

“Perfectly.”

He laid a finger on Ben’s chest. “If you don’t have another suspect for us, with solid evidence, by this time next week, my boys’ll be hauling you into the station for questioning. Very lengthy questioning. Could go on for days. And if we don’t hear what we want, we could become very grumpy.”

“Got it,” Ben said.

“Good,” Blackwell said gruffly. “Remember, one week. Period. No extensions.” He spun on his heel and almost slammed into Mrs. Marmelstein.

“Mrs. Marmelstein,” Ben said. “What are you doing out here so early in the morning?”

“I brought you a fruitcake,” she said. She held the comestible chest-high. “I thought that if you men are going to stand out in the chill all morning long, you should at least have something to eat.”

Ben saw a pained expression cross Blackwell’s face, then a similar expression on Mike’s, then on those of the other officers, all of whom appeared to be subtly inching away.

Didn’t anybody like fruitcake?

B
EN TOSSED HIS FILES
into his briefcase and hurried toward the conference room where the depositions were to be taken. Fortunately he had prepared yesterday; he had certainly had no time to prepare this morning. After finding a corpse in his backyard and narrowly escaping a trip to the big house, he was lucky to make it to the office at all.

Ben mentally reviewed his plans and goals. A deposition allows an attorney to ask the opposing party questions while a court reporter takes down everything the witness says. Objections can be made, but since there is no judge present to rule on them, the objections are made
for the record
, to be ruled upon later if necessary. The witness answers the question regardless of any objections made, unless specifically instructed not to answer by his or her attorney.

It was supposed to be a simple, unemotional fact-finding exercise. Ben hoped that proved true.

He certainly didn’t plan to protract matters any longer than necessary. He would ask the essential questions to elicit the plaintiffs’ version of what happened and gather any other information that might help defend Apollo against the design defect claim. Then he would close the deposition as gracefully and painlessly as possible. At least, that was the plan.

“Morning, Ben,” Rob said, as Ben entered the conference room. “You’re late.”

“Don’t start with me, Rob. I’m not having an Up-With-People kind of day.”

“Sure, no problem,” he said, backing away. “Let me introduce you to everyone.” He pointed toward a pleasant-looking woman in a blue skirt. “Trudy here is going to be our court reporter this morning.” Ben shook her hand. Then Rob directed his attention to an extraordinarily obese man perched on the edge of a chair in the corner of the room. Rolls of flesh cascaded from his chin; he had no neck at all. “This is the attorney for the plaintiffs, George Abernathy.”

Ben stepped forward and shook the immense man’s hand. “George Abernathy. Seems like I’ve heard that name before.”

Abernathy beamed. “Perhaps you’ve seen my commercials on TV.”

“Your…commercials?”

Abernathy adopted a deep anchorman voice. “ ‘Have you got a bone to pick with your boss? Have you been fired for no reason? Have you been injured, and no one wants to pay the bill? If so, then you need a fighter in your corner.’ Then you hear the sound of the bell, and we show some footage from one of the Tyson prizefights.” He resumed the anchorman delivery. “ ‘George Abernathy will go the distance for you. And you don’t pay a penny unless he collects. Call—’ And then we give our phone number. It’s been a big hit.”

“Sorry,” Ben said. “I guess I watch the wrong programs.”

“Then maybe you saw my ad in
TV Guide
. The headline reads PERSONAL INJURY PROFESSIONAL in great big letters.”

“I don’t watch that much TV anymore.”

“Oh, well,” Abernathy said jovially, “you big shots don’t have to worry about small-timers like me.” He reached into his wallet. “Here, let me give you my card. Who knows? You might get some personal injury situation too messy for you to deal with and consider tossing it my way.”

Ben took his business card. It was a mélange of phosphorescent colors; it glowed as it caught the light. Embossed in the center was
GEORGE ABERNATHY
—
PERSONAL INJURY PROFESSIONAL.

“Thanks for the card,” Ben said, immediately hiding it in his coat pocket. “Does all that advertising pay off?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s hard as nails for a small practitioner like me to keep going.”

“Tell me about it.”

“But since I started placing those ads, business has been booming. I get your regular, salt-of-the-earth, hard-working blue-collar man—he gets hurt and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He doesn’t know anything about lawyers and lawsuits. He’s lost. That’s where I try to help out. It’s a public service, really.”

“Most public servants don’t work on a contingency fee,” Ben observed.

“True,” Abernathy agreed. “But that’s the only way my clients could ever pay. It’s the poor man’s ticket to the courthouse. Surely you don’t think courts are just for corporations?”

“No, I don’t.”

“In my experience, clients are happy to pay any contingency fee, even up to fifty percent. Tell you what, Ben, after we finish this depo, let’s you and me have a squat and try to polish off this mess. An early settlement would be in everyone’s best interest.”

The conference room door opened. “Have you met the Nelsons yet?” Abernathy asked.

As if on cue, a middle-aged couple entered the room and approached Abernathy, who wrapped his ample arms around them. The man was stocky, square-faced.

His white undershirt bore detectible underarm stains. The woman was a petite shadow in a plain sea-blue dress. “This is Carl and June Nelson,” Abernathy said.

Ben saw the recognition light in their eyes just as it did in his. “We’ve met before,” Ben said. “I thought your names seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place them.”

Now he did. Ben had represented Carl and June Nelson in a dog bite case shortly after he left Raven, Tucker & Tubb and started his own practice. They were kind, unassuming people—but they had a neighbor who kept a Doberman. The Doberman got out one day, and Carl was unfortunate enough to cross its path. His injuries were not life-threatening, but he did incur some steep medical bills and was expected to have both physical and mental trauma for some time. The nerves in his left leg were weakened, and he showed signs of severe stress, even paranoia. Ben managed to arrange a friendly judgment by which the Nelsons took home forty thousand dollars for their injuries and pain and suffering.