Capitol Offense (29 page)

There was no moon tonight, and that was cutting two ways. It decreased the chances that anyone would spot him. But it also decreased the chances of him being able to spy on them. He wondered if they hadn’t chosen this particular spot because there were no lamps or any other prominent illumination. Fortunately, he had retrieved his night-vision goggles from the kit in the rear of his van. He put them on. He didn’t much care for the way they made everything look neon green. But it was better than stumbling around in the dark. Especially when you were stumbling around people who seriously did not want to be detected—and might have resorted to extreme means in the past to avoid it.

There were two men standing close to the hospital, in front of the truck. Shaw joined them. Loving crept a little closer, still not getting anywhere near close enough to be spotted. There was a retaining wall on the edge of the driveway that gave him some cover. He wanted to be close enough to hear what they were saying.

He slid a small plug into his left ear. It was a direction amplifier. Sort of like those eavesdropping dish guns you saw in toy stores, except more powerful and much smaller. He hated the James Bond gimmickry. But they lived in a Google-driven world. The technophobes were not going to rule the earth, much less catch very smart doctors engaged in nefarious activities.

Careful not to make any telltale sound, Loving crept to the rear of the truck and slid a GPS transponder under the bumper. Now he had a backup plan. Time to figure out what was going on.

He hid behind the retaining wall. A few more steps and he was able to pick up some of the conversation, even though they were talking in whispers.

“Everything ready?” Loving did not know who was speaking.

“It will be.” That was Sentz. “I didn’t want to break in until I knew you were ready to take it away.”

“I didn’t think you had to break in. Don’t you have access?”

“Do you want it to be obvious?” Sentz spoke to him as if he were a child, which Loving was beginning to believe was his usual way of speaking to everyone. “There are only a handful of people who have access.”

“And did you make sure everyone else was out of the way this time?” The speaker gave the last two words a particular emphasis.

“Absolutely. Only one other oncologist on duty, and he is very busy.”

“Good. We can’t afford screw-ups.”

“Agreed. Eventually someone is going to notice what’s missing—probably soon.”

“I got a question.” This time it was Shaw speaking. “Shouldn’t I be wearing some kinda suit?”

“You’re good as long as you don’t open the pig. And you wouldn’t do that, would you?” The doctor’s question seemed particularly pointed.

“Of course not. I just want to be sure. I saw that guy.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Make sure it doesn’t. I’m doing this so I can have a life. It would spoil the whole plan if I ended up dead.”

“Granted.” Sentz glanced at his watch. “I’ll go to the vault now. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Good. Hurry.”

The pig? What are they smuggling, farm animals?

The doctor disappeared. Shaw lit a cigarette. The other man rubbed his hands together, glancing occasionally at the sky.

Loving wondered how long this would take. Every moment he was out here, he was potentially in danger. He didn’t have any doubts about what these guys would do if he were spotted. Shaw was surely carrying his service revolver. Loving didn’t care to test his aim.

He wasn’t sure whether it would be best to rush them as soon as Sentz emerged with the contraband or to wait and try to follow the truck to its destination. The surest way to find out what was being smuggled would be to rush them as soon as Sentz presented the goods. But there were three of them, and it was dark, and at least one of them was armed, probably all of them. It would be safer to wait, though riskier, because even with the tracer, they might escape. On the other hand, the police would be able to charge them with more if the goods were actually transported, and they would need big charges to threaten these people enough to get them to talk, maybe offer some immunity deals to find out what was going on and how it related to the Dennis Thomas case. Decisions, decisions …

There were too many questions, and it was too hard to know—

A hand gripped Loving around the mouth.

His eyes went wide. Loving tried to shake the hand free, but he couldn’t. Whoever was behind him had locked his other arm around his chest. He was strong. Loving’s cover was probably already blown, but he still wasn’t anxious to attract the attention of the men on the loading dock. Maybe he could still get out of this alive …

Loving kicked back against the retaining wall, knocking his assailant on his butt. His grip on Loving remained strong, even on his back. Loving tried to break away, unsuccessfully. This guy had some serious muscle. Loving pushed again and they went rolling down the grassy hill, locked together like lovers, Jack and Jill, tumbling out of control.

They hit the bottom with a thud. Finally the attacker’s grip loosened just enough for Loving to wrest himself free. He swung around, then pushed himself up on his knees and took a swing.

The other man ducked, then lunged under Loving’s arms and wrapped his arms around him, tackling him. They both crashed once more to the ground. It knocked the breath out of Loving. He shook himself, trying to get his bearings. The darkness made it almost impossible. He felt a fist clock him on the right side of his jaw.

Enough. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s punching bag. He jumped up and lunged.

The other man pulled a gun. Loving froze in his tracks.

“Police,” the man said breathlessly.

Blast. Probably one of Shaw’s buddies. Now Loving would never find out what he needed to know.

He heard the hammer of the gun cock. “You’ve got ten seconds to tell me what you’re doing here.”

“I’m not sayin’ anythin’.”

After a brief pause, the man said, “Loving?”

The dirty cop recognized him. He was a goner now.

“Is Ben here?”

Loving wasn’t sure how to answer. He decided to go with the truth. “No.”

“Thank heaven for that. For once, he actually showed some sense. Now get down before those jerks on the dock see you.”

“You mean,” Loving whispered, “you’re not with them?”

“With them? I told you, I’m with the police.”

“So is Shaw.”

“Good point.” He took a small pocket flashlight out of his coat and shone it on his face. “Now are we both on the same page?”

It was a face Loving had seen in the office a dozen or more times. Ben’s best friend. Homicide detective Mike Morelli.

“Ladies and gentleman of the jury, this is not a complex case. The defense has tried to complicate what even they admit is a simple matter, but I think you’re smart enough to see through that. You may remember what I asked of you all those days ago when we began this trial. Nothing has changed. All I ask is that you honor the oath you swore when you took on the most important civic duty, that of being a juror. All I ask is that you weigh the evidence fairly and intelligently and that you apply the law.”

Guillerman was starting low-key, Ben observed, but he suspected the man would work himself up to a fiery frenzy before he sat down. He would begin with appeals to logic and common sense, but before he was done there would be dramaturgy worthy of a Baptist preacher, filled with tears and invocations of “the thin blue line.”

“The crime with which Dennis Thomas has been charged is murder in the first degree. What are the facts that led to this charge? I will tell you. And please remember: these facts are not in dispute.”

He raised his hand and began ticking them off, one after another. “He has admitted that he blamed Detective Sentz for the death of his wife. He has admitted that he attacked the man, causing serious injury, and stopped only because other officers were present. He has admitted that he met with a high-profile defense attorney on the day of the murder. He has admitted that he took deliberate steps to discover Detective Sentz’s location. He has admitted that he purposefully and intentionally went to the hotel room where he learned Sentz was.” Guillerman lowered his chin, looking at them levelly. “And he has admitted that he went there with a gun.”

Guillerman moved into the center of the courtroom, taking their attention with him. “This is the honest truth—I’ve gotten murder convictions on a lot less than that. There’s not much doubt about what happened in that hotel room, and I notice that the defense hasn’t tried very hard to convince anyone differently. Did we believe for one second that Detective Sentz would harm himself? No. Is there any indication of a third party? No. So why isn’t this trial over already?

“There is only one reason. Because they have asserted the defense of temporary insanity. This is called an affirmative defense, meaning that the burden of proof is shifted. They must prove the truth of their defense. As the judge will later instruct you, if they do not, the defense must fail, and you must find the defendant just as responsible for his own actions as you would anyone else.”

He took a few more steps backward, bringing himself up beside the defendant’s table. “So what actual evidence of temporary insanity do we have?” He gestured toward Dennis. “What proof did you receive that this man was insane? We know he was angry, yes. Obsessed, certainly. We know he had a serious temper and was given to bouts of violence, not only with his wife but with others. He was given medication that might help suppress his violent impulses. But insanity? Where was the proof of that? The entire process of getting the gun, tracking down his intended victim, stalking him at the hotel—none of that sounds like the irrational act of a crazy man. It sounds like the cold, calculating, deliberate act of a man determined to take a life.”

Guillerman glanced at Dennis, forcing the jury to do the same, then he moved on. “Excluding the psychiatric evidence, which I will talk about in a moment, the only real proof you have of anything remotely resembling mental illness is his blackout. He says he blacked out and now, conveniently, he doesn’t remember what happened. Please remember that he never once, in the entire time he was on the witness stand, denied that he killed Detective Sentz. He just says he doesn’t remember. What does that tell you?

“Did he really black out? Or was he faking? What you should be asking yourself is this: Is this one act, this one fainting spell, quite possibly feigned, enough to demonstrate that he was mentally ill? Or was it perhaps induced by the revulsion and horror a rational mind experienced after he completed the murderous act? Was the blackout the result of a brain desperately trying to erase the memory of what it had done?”

Guillerman returned to the jury box. “That leaves us with only one final element that bears on the defendant’s excuse. The paid psychiatric witness. The man who himself called temporary insanity a merciful device invented to absolve the guilty. The man who only saw Dennis Thomas once between his wife’s death and the murder but still wants to be considered an expert. The man who didn’t see sufficient danger signs to take any action, but now wants to tell us that the defendant was temporarily insane. How seriously can you take this man?

“He says Dennis Thomas was under a lot of stress. Well, who isn’t? All I can say to that is, with something like six million Americans taking Prozac every day, I seriously hope you do not turn stress into a license to kill. He says that the defendant was disturbed by the loss of his wife and I do not doubt it. Even though it is apparent that the marriage had problems, problems that the defendant has tried to withhold from the jury, I do not doubt that it was hard to lose a spouse, particularly in that way. But there is no good way. Death is a part of life, and each and every day many loving people lose their partners. I hope that you will not allow this to stand as a justification for anyone to vent their rage by taking the life of another human being.”

Guillerman moved closer, leaning against the rail. “Here is what we know for certain about this witness. He has received a fortune for his role in this case, somewhere in the range of ten thousand dollars. How many psychiatrists would sell their souls for ten thousand dollars? Sadly, I suspect there are more than a few. He told us that Dennis Thomas had a violent temper, that he had actually struck his wife on at least one occasion. That they were having marital troubles and Dennis was upset about it. That he blamed Detective Sentz and was obsessed with him. That after his wife’s death his temper grew to such proportion that the doctor prescribed a temper-reducing medication.”

He held up a finger. “But here is the most important thing we learned from Dr. Estevez. We learned that he doesn’t believe temporary insanity actually exists. In his own words, taken straight from his book, which he did not disavow on the stand, he said that temporary insanity was ‘defined into existence.’ That means it doesn’t really exist. That means no one had even used the term until lawyers invented it to get their clients off the hook. To prevent them from taking responsibility for their actions. Or to put it charitably, to give juries an excuse to ignore the law.”

Guillerman leaned even closer, burning into their eyes, not allowing them to escape his gaze. “These are the two questions you must ask yourself.” His voice began to rise. “Do you believe that the defendant was temporarily insane? Seriously? And even if you do, is this a case where it is appropriate to set aside the law and give mercy to a murderer?

“The defendant’s lawyer is basically asking you to ignore your head and listen to your heart. But is your heart really saying to let the murderer off? Mine isn’t. I have a heart a big as anyone’s, but my heart goes out to Christopher Sentz, who gave the best years of his life to this community and got thanked with a bullet to the forehead. Our police officers are the thin blue line!”

Ben drew in his breath. Here we go …

“They are all that stands between us and chaos. Crime rampant in the streets. Is this how we want to reward our protectors? By allowing them to be murdered without consequence?” His voice continued to climb. He was in full dramatic dudgeon now, and the jury seemed rapt with attention. “God help us, I hope not. My heart does not go out to the slayers of men who put their lives on the line for us every day. My heart goes out to his wife, now a widow, and his two lovely daughters, now fatherless. My heart does not go out to a man who, for whatever reason, deliberately decided to take another man’s life. And it never will!”