Murder One (30 page)

Or, in other words, exactly the sort of person who would commit murder.

“B
EN, I’M WORRIED.”

Ben glanced up from his desk. Christina was standing in the doorway, her shoulders drooping, her head hung low. She was her usual cute strawberry blond self, one of the few women he had ever known who actually looked good in a business suit. But the inevitable toil of trial was beginning to wear on her. She looked stressed, tired.

What time was it, anyway? A quick glance at the digital readout on his phone gave him the bad news. It was well past his bedtime—and hers, too.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said reassuringly. “Go home and get some rest.”

“I’m concerned about the coroner,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard him. “He’s going to be an important witness for the prosecution. Maybe the most important one.”

Ben shook his head. As long as Andrea McNaughton remained on the witness list, there was no way the coroner could be the “most important.” Still, he would be critical to the prosecution’s effort to tie the murder to Keri. “So what’s your worry?”

“I don’t think I should do this witness. He’s too important. You take him.”

Ben pushed away from his desk. “Christina, you’ll be fine. I have every confidence in you.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a nice guy. I’ve never done this before and we both know it.”

“You’ve watched me do it a hundred times. And you’ve watched some good attorneys, too. You’ll be fine.”

“What if I freeze up? What if I clutch? What if the coroner makes me look like a fool?”

“Bob? He won’t.”

“You don’t know that. This case is too important to be taking risks.”

“Putting you in charge of a witness isn’t a risk. It’s a sure bet.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” He reached out and lightly touched her shoulder. “There’s no one I’d rather be trying this case with. Seriously.”

She smiled a little, but did not appear much comforted.

All right. Then he’d try the bad-cop routine. “Look, Christina, are you going to be my partner or not? Because if you are, you’re going to have to earn your keep.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I’ve got no use for a partner who chokes every time a trial gets hairy. Because as you well know, every trial gets hairy, at one point or another. That’s why people hire lawyers.”

“But—”

“No buts. You’ll be great. Assuming you don’t develop an ulcer between now and tomorrow morning. So go home and get some rest, okay?”

She shook her head. “I think I’ll review my cross-ex outline again.”

“Read my lips, Christina. Go home.”

“I just want to make sure I haven’t missed anything.”

He twirled her around and gave her a gentle push toward the door. “Leave. Depart. Vamoose. That’s an order.”

She smiled slightly, then nodded. “All right.” She looked up at him, then tentatively reached out, her fingers brushing the side of his face. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

She hesitated another moment, her eyes locked on his. Finally, she turned and headed for the outer door.

Then stopped. “Hey, who said you could give me orders, anyway? We’re partners, remember?”

“My apologies. It’s just an expression.”

“Well … okay. But don’t let it happen again.”

“Ben, I’m worried.”

Once again, Ben looked up from his desk. Was he experiencing déjà vu? Or was he caught in some pretrial time loop?

Neither, as it turned out. The words were the same, but the woman standing in his doorway this time was platinum blond rather than strawberry blond and she was his client, not his partner.

Keri looked as if she had been exercising. She was wearing a halter top with an exposed midriff, short shorts, and sneakers. He could see beads of perspiration in various places all over her body.

Sweat. Sexy sweat.

“I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you,” she said. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

“The neighborhood of the seventh floor?”

“Seriously. I was out jogging, and Warren Place is a good location for it. Well lit.”

“Why on earth would you be jogging at this time of night?”

She shrugged, and Ben tried not to notice the effect that had on her sport bra. “I had to burn off some steam. Couldn’t sleep. And …”

“Yes?”

Keri twisted her fingers around themselves. “And to be honest … I wanted to see you.”

Ben crossed his office to her, although he was careful to keep a few feet between them. “What’s wrong, Keri?”

“I don’t know exactly. I guess it’s—all those things LaBelle said in court today. The way he tried to make me look like—well, you know. Some kind of tramp. Like I spend my whole life dreaming up new kinds of kinky sex.”

Kinky sex
was not a phrase Ben ever needed to hear coming out of her mouth. Especially when they were in the office alone. “Don’t let it get to you. It’s a standard prosecution technique.”

“Yes, but it’s working. I saw the way the jurors looked at me when they filed out of the courtroom today. Not that they’ve ever looked at me with eyes of love. But today was … different. Worse. Before, it was like, ‘I wonder if you’re capable of murder.’ But today it was more like, ‘I wonder if there’s anything you’re
not
capable of.’ ”

“It always looks bleak during the prosecution phase. After all, I can cross, but that only goes so far. Things will improve once the defense starts.”

“I hope so. But still, I—I—” All at once, she surged forward. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. “Ben, I’m so scared.”

Ben gently laid his hand atop her silver hair, trying to pretend he didn’t feel a reaction the instant they made contact. “I’m sure this is difficult for you. But you have to be strong.”

“It’s more than just hard. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. I wake up every morning with a horrible burning sensation in my stomach. I—I—really don’t know if I can stand it much longer.” She squeezed closer, her tear-stained cheek burning against his shirt.

Ben felt his pulse racing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “This must be awful for you.” He could feel her warm breasts heaving against him, her warm lips pressed against his neck. “Please know that we’re doing everything we can to give you the best possible defense.”

“I know that,” she said, her voice cracked and broken. “But I’m still scared,”

“Keri, when we put on our case—”

“Which is what exactly? Do we even have a case?” Her words came out in broken gasps. “I’ve told you this before, Ben—I can’t testify. I just can’t do it.”

“You don’t necessarily have to …”

“You say that, but who else can deny all those awful things they said in court today? Who else can tell them what really happened?”

“We don’t have to answer this question yet,” Ben said, knowing that would not be much comfort. “When the prosecution rests, we’ll see where we are then.”

“Oh, Ben. I’m so scared. So so scared. I need—I
need
—”

A moment later, their lips were locked in a passionate, intense kiss. Ben pulled her close to him, swallowing her up, embracing her in every way possible. Keri’s lips broke away from his, then began kissing him everywhere, on his neck, his forehead, his ear. Ben’s hands slipped under her halter top. She began fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

They fell back against his desk, knocking off reams of paper. “I need you,” she said breathlessly. “I need you so much.”

“We can’t do this,” Ben said, but his voice wasn’t convincing, not even to himself.

“Please,” she whispered, pulling him closer.

“No.” Ben broke away, bracing himself against a chair. “We can’t do this.”

“But
why
?”

“You know why. It isn’t right. Not now. Not till the trial is over.”

“But, Ben,” she cried, “if you knew how I feel—”

“I feel the same way, Keri. But we can’t.” He walked away from her, to the opposite side of the room, an effort which required more strength than anything he’d ever done in his life. “Keri—I’ll see you in court tomorrow morning.”

“Is this your way of dismissing me?”

“I think it’s best. You know how important this trial is. To you, more than anyone. I have to keep a clear head.”

She pushed off the desk, rearranging her scant clothing. “You’re right. I don’t know what came over me. I just lost control.” She laughed bitterly. “Maybe what LaBelle says about me is true.”

“Don’t say that. Not even in jest. You’re a beautiful person, Keri. I can’t imagine how you’ve survived all that you’ve been through. And when this trial is over—well, things will be different. But for now, we have to focus on the trial. The trial, and nothing but the trial.”

“I know. I’ll go.” She finished pulling herself together and started toward the door. Before she left, though, she quietly crossed the room and planted her lips softly on Ben’s cheek.

“I love you,” she whispered.

K
IRK WAS CROUCHED IN
an alleyway beside a Dumpster, his forehead pressed against his knees. He was not having a pleasant evening. Too many inescapable truths hounded his brain. There was no hope for him, he realized now. The priest had been right. God knew what Kirk had done. He would always know. Somehow, Kirk had fooled himself into thinking he could erase his crimes, eliminate all the traces, but now he realized that had been a child’s fantasy. No amount of pain or self-inflicted misery could ever alter the truth.

He was damned, pure and simple.

He saw something glistening at the other end of the alley. Winking at him. Something translucent and … sharp.

A broken bottle, if he wasn’t mistaken. A green-tinted jagged edge, just waiting for someone to come close enough for it to do some permanent damage.

The idea formed in Kirk’s brain with such immediate clarity that he wondered why it hadn’t occurred to him before. Enough with these halfway gestures—picking fights and mutilating his body. One swift stroke across the jugular with that bottle and he would be out of his misery permanently.

Unless the priest was right. Unless there really was a God, and he really did punish those who committed sins. Like suicide. The unforgivable sin, that was what his Sunday school teacher used to call it. Unforgivable—because you were dead before you had a chance to ask.

But to be free of this torment, released …

Kirk was distracted by the sound of footsteps at the other end of the alley. Clicking footsteps, light and even.

Stiletto heels, as it turned out.

“Jeez Lou-
ise
. You really are a mess.”

Kirk peered upward through hooded lids. She was a black woman decked out in a tight white dress cut practically down to the nipple, blowsy hair, and the legs of a sixteen-year-old. Not that she was much older than that.

A prostitute. Had to be.

“So anyway,” the woman continued, “my girlfriend, she says, ‘Girlfriend, don’t you be goin’ over to see that boy. He a mess.’ And I says, ‘Well, I don’t see much goin’ on out here.’ And she says, ‘Girlfriend, I don’t care how slow things are on The Stroll. That boy be trouble.’ ”

“What do you want?” Kirk’s voice was harsh and raspy.

She smiled, a broad smile that might have been called toothy but for the fact that so many of her teeth were missing. “Why, honey, ain’t you figured that out yet? I got the cure for what ails you.”

He lowered his head. “Go away.”

“Forgive me for bein’ crass, but I am a little concerned about the money thing. See, my girlfriend, she says, ‘Girlfriend, he don’t look like he got two pennies to rub together.’ But I say to her, I say, ‘Girlfriend, don’t you be jumpin’ to no conclusions there. The boy’s down in the dumps, sure. He’s had some bad knocks. But that don’t mean he’s poor.’ ” She took a baby step closer. “Does it?”

Kirk reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a big wad of money, including several hundreds. “Now will you leave me alone?”

Far from causing her to leave him alone, the display of wealth had precisely the opposite effect “Why lookee there. Boy, you got all kinds of money on you!” She gave him a sideways leering grin. “I think we can do business, handsome.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

“Now don’t you go all unsociable on me. I got the cure, remember? I’m eager and willin’ to please. And I’m very flexible. If you know what I mean.”

“You can’t help me.”

“Now you don’t know that till you’ve given me a try.”

“Look—”

“Maybe I should properly introduce myself. My name’s Chantelle. I’m a professional, know what I mean? Very experienced.” She ran a long black nail slowly down the curve of her hip. “And I think I could do you a world of good.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Look, baby, I ain’t no priest—”

“Lucky for you.”

“—but I can see you got troubles. Somebody done you wrong, right? I don’t know exactly who it was. Maybe yo’ mama done you wrong. Maybe it was your wife, your girlfriend. Your mistress. Your fiancée, even. I don’t know. But I know this. Whoever it was, I can make it better.”

“No one can make it better. Not even God.”

“Well, I got to be honest with you. I don’t know much about God. But it’s just possible I’ve got a few tricks in my bag He don’t have.”

Kirk turned his head up, teeth clenched. “Leave me alone!”

When she saw his face, Chantelle’s eyes went wide. “Honey! What happened to you?” She bent down and cradled his head in her hands. “You look like someone done you but good.”

Kirk almost laughed. “Wait’ll you see my chest.”

“Honey, you need someone to be good to you. Someone to make the hurt stop hurtin’.” She pulled him closer and pressed his head against her breasts. “I’ll take good care of you, sweet thing. Promise I will.”

The heat of her body warmed him. He felt the chain reaction it sent cascading through his body. And he panicked.

“Get away from me, you filthy whore!” He rocked her backward, sending her rolling across the alley. “I’m not like that. I’m not!”

Chantelle held up her hands defensively. “All right, boy, stay calm. Just stay calm.”

“I’m not like that!” he bellowed again. “Just because I—it doesn’t mean—” He broke down. He jammed his face against his fists, bending over, thrashing from side to side.