Murder One (9 page)

Dexter held up his hands. “I’m not playing, your honor. You wanted an independent charge; you got one. Forget about Keri Dalcanton. We’ll go against Kincaid for murder one. The murder of Joe McNaughton.”

Judge Collier was not placated. “Mr. Dexter, these are serious charges. If you file these without sufficient grounds—”

“Your honor, we found the murder weapon in his file cabinet. If Keri Dalcanton didn’t do it, the only logical conclusion is that he did.”

“Your honor,” Christina said, “what possible motive could Mr. Kincaid have to kill that police officer? He didn’t even know the man.”

“A good question,” the judge said. “Got an answer, Mr. Dexter?”

“We don’t have to provide motive at the arraignment,” Dexter said, squirming.

“True enough,” the judge said, shaking his head.

“Frankly,” Dexter continued, “we don’t have to provide anything at this time, except the charge. So consider him charged.”

“With murder?” Christina leaned across the bench. “Your honor, this is an outrage!”

“I’ll take that as a plea of not guilty.”

“And that’s not all. We move to dismiss, your honor.”

“Can’t say that I’m surprised. But we can’t handle that here. File your papers and bring it up at the preliminary.”

“Your honor, they’ve brought frivolous murder charges just to perpetuate this petty vendetta against—”

“At the preliminary, Ms. McCall. There’s nothing I can do here. And given the severity of the charge, I can’t grant bail, either.” The judge rapped his gavel. “Next case. And this time, I mean it!”

By the time they got outside the courtroom, the press had arrived in force. Ben didn’t know who had tipped them, but as he was marched down the corridor toward the jail, the flashbulbs were flying.

“Mr. Kincaid! Comment?”

“Was it you all along?”

“Is it true you’re Keri Dalcanton’s lover? That she seduced you and made you kill Joe McNaughton?”

Times like these, the Fifth Amendment was Ben’s favorite part of the whole creaky document. He kept his mouth buttoned for the whole ten-minute walk. He tried to keep his expression amiable and calm; the rest of the world didn’t need to know that he was worried. Seriously worried. Because it now appeared that the D.A.’s office was as much a part of this as the police. And that they were willing to do almost anything to bring down Keri Dalcanton. And him.

Almost anything.

Nick Dexter was moving too fast as he hurried down the courtroom corridor. The Kincaid hearing had taken five times as long as they anticipated and had not gone at all as planned. There were people back at the office who would be very anxious to hear what had transpired; he didn’t want to disappoint them by being late on top of everything else. But because he was hurrying, he was totally thrown off-balance when an arm suddenly shot out of one of the jury deliberation rooms and wrapped itself around his throat.

Dexter went crashing down toward the white marble tile floor. “What in the—”

He looked up and saw that pal of Kincaid’s—the one with all the red hair—hovering over him.

“Where’s the fire, Nick?”

Dexter stumbled back to his feet and brushed himself off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting your attention,” Christina replied. “You seem to be in a big hurry. Got to report in to your masters?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’ll bet you don’t. Look, Nick, we need to talk.”

His lip almost curled. “Make an appointment.”

“Now. Before you report in to whoever is orchestrating this frame.”

“You’re in deep denial, Ms. McCall. Can’t face up to the fact that your boss is scum.”

Her face tightened. “I’ve known Ben Kincaid for years and I know damn well he wouldn’t hide evidence, much less the murder weapon. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that the knife was planted. So get inside this room and talk.”

“I don’t take orders from some legal assistant.”

Christina told herself she should count to ten, but she never made it past two. She grabbed him by the collar, slung him into the deliberation room, and slammed the door behind them.

“Listen to me, you twerp, and listen up good. I’ve got a diploma that looks just like yours, and I don’t plan to take any grief because I was out busting my butt making a living while you were going to frat parties and panty raids. You’re screwing around with two lives here—my client’s and my friend’s. So you damn well better be able to explain yourself.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m leaving.”

It was possible, Christina mused, that she had not gotten this conference off to a terrific start. She
was
sometimes frustrated by Ben’s mild, almost passive approach to these types of disputes—but she also knew that he usually got results. She, on the other hand, wasn’t getting anywhere.

“Look,” she said, blocking his exit. “Could we calm down and talk? Just for five minutes?”

Dexter somewhat reluctantly fell into a chair. “Okay, talk.”

“Why are you bringing murder charges against Ben? You know damn well he didn’t murder anyone.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind.”

“Give me a break. He had no motive. He didn’t even know McNaughton. Why do you want him?”

Dexter steepled his fingers, as if deep in thought. Christina could almost see the wheels churning, trying to decide how much he could safely say. “We don’t. Not really.”

“It’s Keri Dalcanton you want. You’re trying to reopen the case by claiming fraudulent concealment.”

Dexter tilted his head to one side. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the prosecution strategy. Which will not be determined by me, at any rate.”

“But that’s the plan, right?”

“The thought has occurred to us.”

“This is sleazy, Nick. Going after the defense attorney to get to the defendant. It stinks.”

“Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me. Don’t you normally go after the prosecutors and the police when you’re trying to get someone off?”

“That’s different.”

“Not to me it isn’t.”

“You know you can’t make this murder charge stick.”

“That’s really not relevant. So long as people know the charges have been made.”

“So you’re just trying to attract media attention. Stir up public outrage. Get the press swarming. I suppose if you can create a big enough stink about this murder weapon in the file cabinet, the appeals court will almost have to grant your appeal and send the Dalcanton case back to the trial court.”

Dexter smiled and spread wide his hands.

“Dismiss the charges against Ben, Nick.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“If you go forward, after we get the charges dismissed, we’ll slap the city with the biggest civil suit you’ve ever seen.”

“The answer is no.”

“Why not? You’ve already done what you set out to do.”

“I don’t know that. And I have no objection to keeping your boss dangling for a good long while. Who knows—maybe we’ll get two murder convictions.”

“That’s not acceptable, Nick. Ben shouldn’t have to sit around in lockup while you play games with the appeals court. Cut him loose.”

Dexter rose. “How can I get through to you? No!”

“Nick—”

“Your five minutes are up. I’m out of here.”

Christina did not move away from the door. “Nick, you will dismiss the charges against Ben. If you don’t, I’m calling a press conference. This afternoon.”

“What a coincidence. I’ve already called a press conference. This afternoon.”

“Yeah. But you won’t like what I say at mine. I’ll talk turkey; I’ll expose your whole dirty game.”

“You’ll sound like a sleazy lawyer defending another sleazy lawyer who tried to put a vicious murderer back on the street.”

“You’ll sound like a manipulative prosecutor so desperate to compensate for the case you screwed up that you’re willing to put innocent people behind bars.”

Dexter’s face tightened. “If you say anything like that, I’ll file charges with the bar committee. I’ll get your pretty little butt sanctioned.”

On the job twenty-four hours, Christina thought, and people were already threatening to sanction her. Cool! “Nick, let me tell you something. I’m basically a very calm, collected woman. But you’re starting to make me mad. And you know what? You won’t like me when I’m mad.” She leaned into his face. “Last warning, Nick. Dismiss the charges against Ben.”

Dexter pushed past her and opened the door. “I’ll pass along your recommendation to my superiors. Don’t hold your breath.”

A moment later he was gone.

B
EN PACED FROM ONE
end to the other of the small visitor room. In truth, the worst aspect of being locked up was not the humiliation, or the squalor, or the confinement, or the company, or even the grotesque living conditions. The worst part of it was the stultifying boredom. There was absolutely nothing to do. So far, he’d been unsuccessful at getting any books, or any of his briefs, or anything else that could possibly divert him for a minute or two. Basically, all he could do was sit and wait. Small wonder people came out of prison embittered for life—and brain-dead. He’d rather be tortured and released than sit staring at these gray walls any longer.

Which explained why cons were so keen to get visitors. He only hoped Christina had some good news for him. Because he couldn’t take this much longer.

He heard the click of the locked door outside which told him the guards were bringing in his visitor. “About time, Christina. I’ve been—”

He stopped short. It wasn’t Christina. The woman who followed the guard into the cell was small and very well proportioned, with a glistening complexion and platinum blond hair that reached well below the shoulder blades.

“Keri! What are you doing here?”

Keri Dalcanton walked directly to him and clasped both his hands. “I had to come, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

The guard looked particularly surly, and Ben could guess why. He knew who the visitor was. “I’ll be just outside,” he growled, closing the door behind him.

“Did they give you any trouble?” Ben asked.

Keri’s eyes gave him the answer, but at the same time, they showed a steely toughness he had to admire. “What do you think?”

“Keri, you shouldn’t have come.”

“I had to, Ben. This is all my fault.” She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” After a moment, he placed his hand gently on the back of her neck. “You’re not the one who planted that knife in my file cabinet.”

“But it’s still my fault. This only happened because of me. It’s me they want. And now, since they can’t get me, they’re going after you.”

Ben didn’t say anything, although that was pretty much his evaluation of the situation, too.

“Is there anything I can do, Ben?” She pressed all the closer.

“Keri, who might want to frame you—or me—for this murder?”

“I’ve told you already. Andrea McNaughton. You saw how she acted in the courtroom. And Joe’s police buddies. They made up their minds I was guilty ten seconds after the body was found.”

“Why?”

“Because they didn’t approve of me. I worked in a strip joint. I wasn’t one of the gang. I wasn’t the nice housewife at home. I was the home wrecker. Never mind that Joe never told me he was married—until he used it as an excuse to break it off with me. Never mind that I only met Joe because he and his sanctimonious buddies came to the club to get drunk and shout obscenities at naked women. After he was killed, in such a horrible way, getting me became a crusade for them.”

“I’m sure this has been hard for McNaughton’s widow. Finding out about her husband’s”—he stopped before he got to the word “affair”—“unfaithfulness. And having it exposed so publicly.”

“I think she was the one who got the police worked up. At least initially.”

“You think she wanted them to go after you?”

“Of course. What better revenge could there be against the ‘other woman’ than to sic a pack of ravenous cops—and the D.A.—on her trail? She hates me, Ben. She’ll do anything to cause me pain.”

A sobering thought. “Do you have any idea where that knife came from?”

Her shoulders heaved. “How could I? Knives are everywhere.”

“I know. But it did have caked blood on it.”

“Joe’s blood?”

“I don’t know yet. But I expect we both will soon.”

“I just had a horrible thought. If that knife really is the murder weapon—and the police were able to produce it—what does that tell you?”

Ben looked at her wordlessly.

“Ben—is it possible they have another reason for wanting to frame me? At least some of them?”

“You mean—” Ben’s brain raced a thousand miles a minute. He had never even considered that possibility. But it made perfect sense. It explained everything—even this current irrational desire to persecute and prosecute him. “But why would cops want to take out Joe? He was their friend. Their partner.”

“That’s what they say. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s true.”

“Didn’t you tell me Joe was working on a mob investigation just before he was killed?”

“That’s right. He didn’t like to talk about his work much—at least not when he was with me—but he told me a little. Said he was investigating Tony Catrona. Digging around in his past. Seeing what he could come up with.”

Ben frowned. If only half the rumors he’d heard over the years were true, Catrona was a seriously bad news character. He’d swept into Oklahoma with the onset of pari-mutuel betting, but reportedly had expanded his operations well beyond the horse races—into drugs, prostitution, and murder for hire.

“Is it possible this could’ve been a mob hit?”

Keri shivered; Ben could feel her trembling softness against his chest. “I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about it. Poor Joe.”

Poor Joe indeed. It seemed incredible—but it might explain some of the more extreme aspects of the killing. Like the humiliating public manner in which the body was strung up. And the severed penis in the mouth. Wasn’t that something the mob did to squealers? People who talked too much? Or perhaps people they didn’t want to talk at all.

“You’ve done so much for me,” Keri said. “Back when this nightmare began, you were the only one who believed me. You were the only one who could get past the fact that I worked in a strip bar and see that I wasn’t a murderer. And you were the only one who would help me. You were so kind. All my heart and—and—my love—for you—” She hugged him tighter. Ben could feel her heartbeat. “And now to see how they’re making you pay for your kindness. I just can’t stand it. Isn’t there something I can do?”