Capitol Offense (17 page)

“I don’t know.”

“True or false, Officer. If Detective Sentz wanted to open a missing persons investigation, did he have the power to do it?”

Conway shrugged. “If you put it that way … yes.”

“But he chose not to.”

“Yes.”

“Did he take his cues from anyone else?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“Did anyone else participate in Sentz’s decision not to help?”

“Chris could make his own decisions.”

“You’re sure? He didn’t look to anyone else for permission?”

“Chris Sentz was a full detective. The only person he answered to was the chief, and Chief Blackwell doesn’t get involved in issues like this.”

Ben let it go, though he still had a feeling he hadn’t gotten all there was to get. “So finally, on the seventh day, Sentz saw the light and decided to authorize an investigation.”

Conway’s head tilted to one side. “Well … no.”

“What do you mean?”

“As I understand it, Sentz was out and Officer Torres took the complaint to another detective. That’s why there was an investigation.”

Torres. Again. Who was this mysterious man who’d finally showed the heart that the others had not?

“But Detective Sentz was at the scene. When Joslyn Thomas was found.”

“Eventually, yes. He heard that he had been effectively overruled in his absence, and he—” Conway stopped short.

“Yes? Finish your sentence.”

“No, that was all I had to say.”

“It was not. What were you about to say regarding Detective Sentz?” Ben leaned closer. “That he was not pleased that someone else ordered an investigation?”

“You know how it is. No one likes it when people go around them. Or over their heads.”

“So Sentz was angry when he arrived at the scene?”

“I wouldn’t say angry. A bit perturbed, perhaps. He just wanted to know what was going on.”

Ben continued to press. “He was angry, and Dennis was angry, and they began to fight. Isn’t that what happened?”

“Not at all.”

“You told the jury that they fought.”

“I told the jury that the defendant attacked Detective Sentz.”

“With no provocation at all?”

“Right. Just seeing Sentz was enough to set him off.”

“Does that strike you as a rational reaction?”

“Objection,” Guillerman said. “Officer Conway is not a psychiatric witness. Although,” he added in a lowered voice, “I’m sure there will be one.”

“Sustained.”

Ben didn’t miss a beat. “How would you describe Dennis Thomas’s demeanor at this time?”

“As I said, he was very angry.”

“The man had just seen his wife die in his arms.”

“Yes.”

“He had just been told by the medics that she had been in extreme pain for days.”

“I know, it’s horrible.”

Ben’s voice rose. “And then he saw the man he believed was responsible for that pain, for his wife’s death. Don’t you think you might go a little crazy?”

“Objection!” Guillerman shouted, rising to his feet. “Not a psychiatric witness.”

“I’m sorry,” Ben said, not bringing his tone down at all, “but this man testified that Dennis made statements that we all know the prosecutor will try to turn into a threat. I want to show where those statements came from. They were not the statements of someone cold-bloodedly planning a murder. They were the words of a man driven to the brink of insanity by the relentless refusal to investigate by the Tulsa police department!”

Judge McPartland pounded his gavel. He looked angry. “Approach the bench, counsel.” They did.

He leaned close to Ben’s face. “I will not have this grandstanding in my courtroom, Mr. Kincaid. Do you understand me?”

“Your honor—”

“I don’t care who you are. If I see another outburst like that, your co-counsel will be finishing this trial.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“I will allow this witness to answer questions about what he saw and heard. And that is it. Do you both get that?”

They answered in the affirmative.

“Then get out there and finish. I’m ready for the weekend.”

Ben returned to his place before the witness box. “Officer Conway, you had the rare opportunity to witness Mr. Thomas over a long period. A week. Did he seem to change during that time?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Was he more agitated the second time he came to the station than he had been the first?”

“Yes, definitely. He became more and more upset as the week passed. And tired, haggard. Wrung out.”

“I would imagine so. When you saw him at the scene of his wife’s accident and death—”

“He was a totally different person.” Ben saw his eyes dart to the prosecution table. “I mean, I’m not saying he’d, you know, lost it or anything. But he was definitely more upset.”

“Upset enough to do things he would not normally do?”

“Yeah.”

“Or to say things he would not normally say?”

“Probably so, but that doesn’t mean he was crazy.”

“Are you a psychiatrist now?”

“No, but I looked into the man’s eyes. Right there, at the scene, and that’s something not even your expert can claim to have done. I looked into his eyes and I didn’t see a crazy man. I saw a murderer.”

“Objection!” Ben shouted.

But the witness continued. “I looked into those eyes and I saw someone who wanted Detective Sentz dead. At any cost.”

“Objection!” Ben repeated. “The witness—”

“He’s a murderer!” Conway continued. “He tried to kill Sentz right there in the ravine. And he finished the job a few days later! It was all planned.” He thrust his finger toward Ben. “And that lawyer was part of it! They planned the whole thing!”

“Objection!”

“It’s true! He saw his lawyer just before he went to the hotel! It was all planned! All of it!”

By now the judge was pounding his gavel thunderously, ordering the witness to be silent, but Ben knew the damage had been done.

The gallery was in turmoil. Ben saw reporters rushing toward the back door. There was just enough time to get this latest bit on the five o’clock news broadcasts, reporting everything Officer Conway had said as if it were fact.

The worst part was, Ben knew he had let it happen. He had opened the door and Conway had jumped right in.

Ben glanced at Dennis. He looked worried, and no amount of coldness or cleverness was sufficient to mask it.

Then he glanced at Guillerman. The DA was smiling. Not gloating, nothing that overt. But pleased.

And he should be. He had created the fine distinction the prosecution needed to win this case.

Dennis had been angry when he went up to that hotel room, yes, but not crazy. Just determined. Murderous and determined. A critical difference.

The difference between a man who gets off on a charge of temporary insanity and a man who gets the death penalty.

Ben hunched over the living room table. His back hurt and his eyes were red and watery. He’d spent the entire weekend working from sunup to sundown—and not sleeping much or well in between. But he couldn’t altogether blame the condition of his eyes on that. In truth, he was mildly allergic to cats, including the one that was currently sitting in his lap. He and Giselle had spent many years together, ever since Christina first gave her to him. And she had been a great comfort to him. But not to his eyes. They still reddened every time she came near. And if he petted her and then made the mistake of rubbing his eyes … Visine alert!

He leaned back and stretched, careful not to dislodge Giselle from his lap. He had not covered nearly as much material as he had hoped to get through before the trial resumed tomorrow. This case was moving too fast, much faster than he had anticipated. The speed of light, compared to the glacial pace of the usual pretrial and trial process. The prosecution had already rested its case, and now the burden was on him to come up with something to salvage the mess.

Whether he cared to admit it or not, the last day of the trial had been a disaster. The prosecution had set him up and he’d fallen for it. They’d dealt with the defendant and his alleged defense perfectly. Ben would have a very difficult time trying to undo all the damage that had been done. And Dennis’s life hung in the balance. Whatever might or might not have happened, he shouldn’t be executed. Unfortunately, the burden of making sure that didn’t happen rested squarely on Ben’s shoulders.

And Christina wondered why he didn’t sleep well …

No one had actually seen Dennis pull the trigger, but he knew he couldn’t rely on that, not when the prosecution could put him in Sentz’s room and his prints and DNA were all over the weapon. All their hopes were riding on the plea of temporary insanity. And what did they have to support that? Some medical testimony. Dennis had passed out, but Ben knew that could be spun in a number of different directions, including some that were not helpful. Their psychiatric witness was strong, but juries were wary of paid experts who purported to tell them what had really happened. In the final analysis, it was going to depend upon whether they liked Dennis, whether they felt sorry for him. If they did, they had a mechanism for allowing him to escape punishment. And if not …

Ben checked his watch. Christina had suggested a movie earlier, but he had insisted on working. He knew the film would be wasted; he would never stop thinking about the case long enough to enjoy himself. For that matter, he would’ve liked to call Mike, see if he wanted to go get a bite, catch up on the latest with his nonromance with Lieutenant Baxter. But it wouldn’t be fair to Mike. He would end up talking about the case, which would put Mike in an uncomfortable position since he was a member of the police force. No, better to stay home. If he was going to be obsessed, he might as well be obsessed in a semiproductive way.

He heard Christina shout from the kitchen. “Haven’t you worked enough? Take a break.”

“I’ve still got tons to do.”

“You work too much!”

“We’re in the middle of a trial, remember? This is how we support ourselves. We work long hours in the courtroom so we can goof off … well …”

“Yes? The woman who still hasn’t had a honeymoon is waiting for you to complete the sentence.”

“You know what I mean.”

The swinging doors separating the living room from the kitchen swung open. “All right, F. Lee Bailey. It’s dinnertime.”

He pushed away from the table. “Perfect timing.” He glanced at the plate she slid under his nose. “And the perfect meal, too.” An egg sandwich, just the way he liked it. None of that fancy-schmancy egg salad stuff. Just scrambled eggs on mayonnaise between two slices of toasted bread. Heaven!

Ben took a huge bite out of the corner. “Mmm. So good.”

“I thought you were probably ready for some quality nourishment,” Christina replied, with only a hint of sarcasm. “I initially thought grilled cheese, that other great favorite of yours and others with a ten-year-old’s taste buds. But that would sit too heavy.”

“I owe you one,” he managed as he chugged down another bite. In normal practice, Ben and Christina shared the cooking duties. But when a trial was on, that changed, even when Christina was second-chairing. He knew her contributions to the trial were absolutely as important as his, maybe more so. But her obsession level was considerably less, and that was a positive thing. They made a good team. He could obsess, and she could scramble the eggs.

“Maybe some coffee to go with it?” he mumbled, his mouth full.

“You know what coffee does to you.”

“I need the caffeine. I have to stay up late. There’s much more I want to do.”

“Yes, and then you won’t be able to sleep because you’ve had so much coffee, and then you’ll be whining because you can’t sleep, and then your stomach will hurt because you’re allergic to coffee, et cetera, et cetera.”

He wiped his face with a napkin, grinning. “You think you know me pretty well, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Much better than you know yourself. How about a Sprite?”

“I guess that will have to do. And if it’s not too much trouble …”

She rolled her eyes. “Chocolate milk?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“I suppose I can’t deny a man his comfort food in the middle of a murder trial.” She pulled a face. “Eggs and chocolate milk. Pardon me while I vomit!” She started toward the kitchen, then stopped at the television. “The evening news is about to start. Mind if I turn it on?”

“Is there any point? It’s just going to be more of the same.”

“More of the same I can deal with. I’m concerned about that last cheap shot Conway took on the witness stand.”

“Oh, police officers hate defense attorneys. They’ll take any shot they can get.”

“True. But Guillerman doesn’t do anything without a reason. I think he had that witness prepared to deliver his fatal harpoon. I don’t believe anything there happened spontaneously. And how did he know you saw Dennis before he went to see Sentz?” She clicked on the console television.

“… the News on Seven. This is Annie Rhodes.” The young woman holding the microphone was attractive, but she downplayed it with a stern expression. “Startling new developments in the murder of one of Tulsa County’s most trusted and honored police officers …”

Ben frowned. “How do they know it was murder?”

“Shhh!”

“… took an unexpected turn Friday when one of the prosecution’s chief witnesses testified that Dennis Thomas planned the murder of Detective Christopher Sentz in advance and, furthermore, that he did so in conspiracy with his defense attorney and current U.S. senator, Benjamin Kincaid.”

Ben frowned. “Didn’t she forget to say
allegedly?”

Christina waved him down. “Shhh!”

“… but Channel Seven has learned that Dennis Thomas actually spoke to Senator Kincaid in his office on the day of the shooting, before the murder was committed. Evidence of conspiracy? Some Tulsans believe so.”

Ben watched as the image cut to a video of someone Ben didn’t recognize. Her name appeared at the bottom of the screen.

“I just happened to be at Two Warren Place that day when I was approached by a twenty-four-year-old man who said that he worked in Kincaid’s office …”