Capitol Offense (7 page)

Ben looked at him through narrowed eyes. “You’re really weirding me out, you know it?”

“Is it a crime to be smart? Well-read? Do you only take stupid defendants?”

“Well, no, but—”

“I want you to take my case.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“There’s more to this than you know!”

Ben stopped, one hand already on the cell door. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know exactly. That what I wanted to talk to Sentz about. To find out what was going on. I think …” He waved his hands in the air, as though trying to straighten out his muddled thoughts. “I think there’s … some kind of conspiracy going on.”

Ben sighed. As if he didn’t get enough conspiracy theories from Loving. “If this is supposed to convince me that you’re paranoid and delusional, forget it.”

“I mean it! There’s something strange about the whole situation.”

Ben turned back around. “Okay, I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’ll give you five more minutes. What are you babbling about?”

“Sentz. His refusal to open a file. Why? I mean, I know they have their rules and regulations, but so what? He could see I was desperate, and he could equally see that my wife wasn’t the type to run off without saying anything. There was a moment where I was almost certain Sentz was going to give in and at least issue an APB. And then he looked at someone else in the station house—and that was it. He refused to do anything.”

“You’re saying someone else forced him to enforce the rules. I don’t think we can castigate them much for that.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Dennis stood up, his jaw set. “I’m saying that someone, for some reason, did not want my wife to be found alive.”

“What reason could anyone possibly—”

“I don’t know! That’s what I need you for!”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“I’d investigate if I could. But I’m trapped behind bars.”

“And unlikely to get bail, on a cop-killing charge.”

“Exactly. I need you.”

“So you keep saying.” He paused, peering at Dennis intently. “Did you think if you got a senator on your side that might get you the publicity you want? Stir up some sympathy and public unrest? Put pressure on the judge, the jury? That’s why you keep trying to get me to represent you, isn’t it?”

“I’m doing it because I thought you would understand!” Dennis shouted.

His words reverberated through the metal cell long after his mouth had closed, a jarring clamor in Ben’s ears.

“I’ve read about you, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Google is a wonderful thing.”

“And about your wife.”

Ben’s chin rose.

“I know she was wrongly accused of murder once. Framed. And probably would’ve been executed, except that one very determined individual fought for her, fought the system, the courts, the cops, and everyone else who stood in his way.” Dennis smiled slightly. “And then he married her.”

Ben shuffled his feet. “Well … a lot happened in between …”

“I want that man to fight for me, Mr. Kincaid. I want him to believe in me enough to stick his neck out and go the extra mile. Or even if he doesn’t, I want him to do it for my Joslyn, because she was a good person, an extraordinary person, who did not deserve the gruesome, hideous death she received.” He took a small step in Ben’s direction. “I—I just want to know that someone still cares about justice. Not winning or losing. Not money. Not reputations. Justice.”

He stretched out his hand, his eyes pleading. “Will you be that person, Mr. Kincaid? Will you do it for me? And Joslyn?”

“You cannot do this, Ben. Do you hear me? You cannot!”

Ben looked down at the floor and fidgeted with his fingers. “I’m sorry to hear that, Christina. Because I’ve already done it.”

“Without even consulting me? I’m your partner.”

“I never consult you before I accept a client. And neither do you.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

“There’s an unspoken commandment. Thou shalt consult thy partner and helpmeet before representing cop killers.”

Ben pressed his fingers against the top of his desk. He could see this was going to be more difficult than he had anticipated. “We have never shied away from taking controversial clients.”

“This is way beyond controversial. The whole city is ready to have him drawn and quartered.”

“And I’ve also never shied away from clients everyone believed guilty. Starting with you.”

Christina did not back down. “Don’t go throwing that in my face. I was framed. That’s totally different from some guy who stalked his victim, carried a gun to his hotel room, and blew him away.”

“He says he didn’t do it.”

“I thought he said he blacked out.”

Ben hesitated. “Well … yes.”

“If he blacked out and can’t remember anything, how can he know whether he did it or not?”

“I think a murder would probably stick in his mind.”

“No, Ben, that’s exactly the sort of thing that wouldn’t stick in his mind. The human psyche has great built-in defense mechanisms. When a memory becomes too unpleasant, the brain shuts it out. That could be the whole cause for this alleged blackout and memory loss. Selective amnesia.”

This was a possibility that had not yet occurred to him. A very disturbing possibility. “You need to meet him, Christina. He’s very sincere.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s probably a wonderful guy, when he’s not shooting people.”

“Christina …”

“But the traumatic death of his wife has caused some sort of personality break. And unfortunately, that’s not insanity, temporary or otherwise. That’s just a sad case of the right buttons being pushed to turn someone into a murderer.”

“In any case, he needs representation.”

“Right. And since you couldn’t come up with a pardon—”

“Christina …”

She flung her arms over her head. “Ben, can you not see how this man is manipulating you? First he wants a pardon. Then he wants to trump up some temporary insanity defense, so he can get away with murder and not even have to do time in the asylum. Then, what do you know, he kills someone and provides a blackout and other circumstances to support a claim of temporary insanity. You’re not his lawyer. You’re his get-out-of-jail-free card!”

Ben reached forward and took her hand. “Christina, I know you’re trying to protect me.”

“You’re darn tootin’! Someone’s got to do it! Do you know I’ve just come from a two-hour planning session with Harvey? We’re supposedly working out your reelection campaign. But if you take this case, you can forget about it. Your candidacy is toast.”

“I don’t believe that. People understand that everyone is entitled to a defense.”

“Excuse me?” She grabbed him by the lapels. “Have you forgotten where you live? This is the land of capital punishment and everyone-should-be-tried-as-an-adult.”

“You’re being unduly cynical.”

“Wait till Channel Six gets wind of this. You’ll be the lead story for a week. ‘Senator Aids Alleged Cop Slayer!’ Do you know what that will do to your approval ratings?”

“I didn’t get into this profession for approval ratings.”

Christina threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “I know that, Ben.” Ben could feel her pulse, feel her heart throbbing. He knew she was worried about him. “And frankly, I couldn’t care less if you run for reelection. I’d probably rather you didn’t. But if you’re going to take a hit of this magnitude, I want it to be for a good reason. Not because some bitter, scheming murderer is using you.”

“Christina.” He gave her a little squeeze. “I know you don’t think much of my ability to size up people. But I genuinely believe Dennis is sincere. He’s not an evil person. I think the loss of his wife has devastated him—as it would me. He’s just trying to cope.”

“That’s not the impression I’m getting.”

“I talked to Mike and got some of the paperwork on the case. Dennis did go to the police department every day for a week. Sometimes twice a day. Trying to get them to open a missing persons file. To investigate his wife’s disappearance. And this Detective Sentz refused. Even after she had been gone a week! Doesn’t that seem strange to you?”

“I think it’s appalling. But I don’t think it justifies murder. Neither will the jury.”

“Sentz claimed there was no crime, no evidence of foul play, and Mike tells me that technically he’s right. They have strong criteria that have to be met before they investigate missing persons because it happens so frequently. Plus, she had disappeared once before, many years before, of her own volition. But still … how could any detective resist such a desperate husband? The disappearance of a prominent physician. Someone who worked with cancer patients. Don’t you think most people would break a few rules? I know I would.”

“You break rules for every sad sack who walks through your doorway, Ben. You can’t use yourself as a benchmark. Maybe Detective Sentz was rigid. Maybe even a little heartless. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t justify murder.”

“I’m not saying it does. I’m just saying I think it’s odd. Worth investigating. I want you to ask Loving to look into this. He has a lot of cop buddies. See what he can find out about Sentz. And this whole situation.”

“I think you’re wasting your time. And Loving’s. And mine.”

“But you haven’t talked to Dennis. Will you at least meet him first? And then if you still don’t believe him …”

She looked at him expectantly, arms folded. “Yes?” He smiled. “I will seriously consider listening to you.” Christina grabbed her coat and headed toward the door. “I am not amused, Mr. Kincaid. Or comforted. Not a bit.”

Ben was astonished by his first glimpse of Dennis Thomas. As soon as he and Christina rounded the corner and peered into the cell, he realized how much Dennis had changed, or had been changed, by a few days in jail. His skin was white and pasty. Of course, he’d had no sunlight since he was arrested, plus the meals served tended toward starch and white bread. Opportunities for exercise were limited. He appeared to have shaved, but not well. And his brain was probably atrophying; he was used to reading and teaching and other forms of mental stimulation.

But if he looked this poorly after a few days, what would he look like by the time the case came to trial? Ben made a mental note. It was imperative to get this case set as quickly as possible. Before he got any worse.

The guard opened the cell door and Ben and Christina stepped inside.

“Thanks, Sam.” The guard closed the door behind him. “Dennis, I want you to meet my partner—and wife, Christina McCall.”

Dennis rose from his cot and they shook hands. Ben thought Christina’s shake seemed particularly frosty.

“So,” Dennis said, almost smiling, “you’re here to see if I’m really Jack the Ripper?”

Christina made no apologies. “Something like that. Does that bother you?”

“No. As long as you represent me properly, your private thoughts don’t matter, do they?”

“How are you doing?” Ben said, cutting in.

“Oh, as well as can be expected. The guards all hate me, but so far, no one has assaulted me, much as they want to. They’ve been putting stuff in my food. So I haven’t eaten much. And I’m certain that guy in the next cell is a plant. A designated snitch.”

Probably so, Ben mused. Smart man. “But how are you feeling?”

“As good as can be expected. I still miss my wife. I talk to her. Sometimes I think I hear her talking back …”

Ben and Christina eyed each other. Sounded crazy. Was that the point?

“Do you feel any remorse?” Christina asked.

“Would that be useful?” He didn’t blink. “I didn’t kill that man, but I could certainly tear up over my wife.”

Christina pursed her lips wordlessly.

“Don’t stare at me like that just because I’m smart enough to know how to avoid conviction for a crime I didn’t commit. Do you think we’ll get bail?”

“Unlikely.”

“Well, think of an angle. I’m sure two bright people like you can work something out. I have to get bail.”

“Why is that?” Christina asked, one arm akimbo.

“Because I don’t want the jury to see me looking like I’ve been in jail for a long period of time. I can see how my appearance has deteriorated. By the time this gets to trial, it will be worse. I also don’t want the jury to see me in orange coveralls and a bad haircut.”

“I can take care of that, in any case,” Ben explained. “We’ll have an opportunity to bring you a suit. Get your hair styled.”

“That’s not enough. I want out. Do you think you could call a press conference?”

Ben felt jolted by the sudden switch of topic. “How would that help anything?”

“They’ve got television in here, you know. I can see the media frenzy over this case. But no one is presenting my side of the story.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Christina said quietly.

Ben cleared his throat. “We’ll have a chance to tell our story at the trial.”

“That’s not good enough.” Dennis looked at him directly. “In the first case, you probably won’t call me at trial unless you have to. Even if you do, I’ll be cross-examined and the DA will do his best to make me look bad. But at a press conference, I can say anything I want, or you can say it for me, and no one is cross-examined.”

“The reporters will want to ask questions.”

“You can take questions. From the ones you trust.”

“But what good will it do? The press are not the ones who decide the case.”

“The jurors do. And there’s a very good chance those yet-to-be selected jurors will be watching the coverage of this case. Everyone else seems to be.”

Ben had to admit—the man had thought this out carefully. And intelligently. That’s what was so scary about him.

“Have you got a psychiatrist lined up yet?”

“Well,” Ben said, “I have some possibilities.”

“We need a good expert. Someone convincing. My therapist is one of the top in the country. And a very experienced witness.”

What a coincidence.

“But you make the call. I’ve prepared a list of people I’ve seen in the past, and others I know by reputation.”