Murder One (19 page)

Ben and Keri jumped away from one another, startled and embarrassed. Ben wiped his mouth dry. Keri readjusted the strap on her blouse.

Christina’s jaw dropped low enough to tickle the carpet. “What in the name of—”

“Did you need something, Christina?” The look in Ben’s eyes told her in unmistakable terms to keep her trap shut.

Christina spoke through clenched teeth. “We’ve got a hearing. We’re going to be late.”

Ben glanced at his watch, then at Keri. “She’s right. I’ve got to go. I, uh, I’ll call you.”

“I’ll wait here.”

“Oh, you don’t need—”

“I’d rather.”

“Well …”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“No, it’s not—”

Christina’s eyeballs practically propelled themselves from their sockets. “Ben, we’ve got to go!”

“Right, right.” He took a step toward Keri, hesitated, lowered his head toward hers, stopped, then finally patted her on the shoulder. “Be back soon.”

The sound of four heels racing down the marble-tiled hallway of the county courthouse made a lot of noise, but it was nothing compared to the thunderous sound of Christina’s voice.

“
What the hell do you think you’re doing?
”

“Christina, please. It’s … personal.”

“It’s not personal. She’s your client.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?”

Ben kept his eyes focused on the courtroom at the far end of the hallway. It was a lot easier than looking at her. “I really don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

“You don’t, huh? Well, let me remind you of something, Lothario. We’re partners now. I’m in the firm. That means she’s my client, too.”

“Technically, that’s correct.”

“Technically? It’s a fact, period. And you’re screwing around with my client!”

“Christina, keep your voice down!” His own voice dropped to a whisper. “We are not, as you so delicately put it, screwing around. We’re just … very close.”

“Very close? You were practically doing a tonsillectomy on her with your tongue!”

“Christina …”

“Not that she was exactly anesthetized. I guess that dance training really comes in handy.”

“Christina, honestly. It was nothing.”

Christina stopped dead in her tracks. “Nothing? Have you forgotten about the Rules of Professional Conduct which, last I checked, preclude lawyers from performing tonsillectomies on their clients?”

“The Rules don’t absolutely forbid all relationships—”

“Don’t get technical on me, buddy. What you’re doing is wrong and you damn well know it.” She started marching down the corridor again, leaving him in her wake.

Ben double-stepped to catch up to her. “Look, Christina, I didn’t plan this. It just … happened.”

She halted again, outside the courtroom door. “You’ve got to promise me this is not going to occur again.”

His face took on a sickly expression. “Christina …”

“Promise me. Or I’m not walking into that courtroom.”

“What are you, my mother?”

“No, Ben. I’m your lawyer. And I will not represent someone who’s screwing around behind my back, endangering his case as well as someone else’s. I wouldn’t take that from a stranger and I certainly won’t take it from you!”

“Christina, this is blackmail.”

“You’re damn straight it is. Now am I going in there or not?”

Ben inhaled deeply. “All right, I promise. I’ll break it off with Keri. At least until our cases are over.”

Christina grabbed the courtroom door and swung it open, her anger not subsided in the least. “That’s damn white of you, Casanova.”

Christina felt certain that Judge Cable already knew every single detail of the case currently before him, but he made a good show of acting as if it was no different than any other matter on his docket.

“
State versus Kincaid,
Case No. CJ-01-578C,”he said, in a disinterested tone. Judge Cable was one of the older members of the Tulsa County judiciary. He sported gray hair and bifocals, and was known to be a staunch conservative—the last thing they needed on this case. “The defendant is charged with the concealment of evidence pertaining to a criminal investigation and obstruction of justice. This is the preliminary hearing, to determine whether the defendant should be bound over for trial. Is the defendant ready?”

Out of habit, Ben began to rise. Christina grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “We are, your honor.”

“Very well.” He turned his attention to the prosecution table. “Will the prosecution be calling any witnesses?”

D.A. LaBelle rose, in a slow, dignified, fluid motion. “We will, your honor.”

“Very well.” Again, Judge Cable made no reaction. But as he and everyone else in the courtroom knew, the fact that LaBelle was handling this matter himself signified that it was an extraordinary case. “Proceed.”

LaBelle called Sergeant Matthews to the stand. Matthews was relatively contained and quiet—for Matthews, anyway. Christina wasn’t surprised. LaBelle was known for his attention to detail, his perfectionism. She imagined he’d had Matthews in the woodshed for a good long time, rehearsing his testimony and beating the obnoxious sarcasm out of him.

Matthews said what everyone expected. He refused to reveal the identity of his anonymous source, but claimed he had revealed the source to Judge Hart when obtaining the warrant to search Ben’s office. He had no idea what he might find or where he might find it, but given that they were dealing with the murder of a police officer, he took no chances. He ordered backup, an SOT team, snipers, and the police helicopter. He and several other officers searched the office and soon found—in Ben Kincaid’s file cabinet—the knife that was believed to be the weapon used to kill Joe McNaughton.

After LaBelle finished direct examination, Christina decided to try a little cross. Traditionally, defense attorneys don’t cross much at preliminary hearings. They have little to gain, since defendants are almost always bound over for trial, so they prefer not to give the prosecution any advance warning of what they might do at trial. In this case, however, Christina thought the charges against Ben were so meritless that there was some chance, however remote, that she might get the charges dismissed before they went to trial. A long shot, to be sure, but one she was determined to try.

“What did you think you might find when you searched Mr. Kincaid’s office?”

LaBelle didn’t hesitate. “Objection. Calls for speculation.” LaBelle was an imposing figure in the courtroom. Not only was he one of the best attorneys in the state, he looked good. He was tall and handsome, with just enough gray at the temples to appear distinguished without looking remotely old. There was something about the expression in his eyes, Christina noted, that made you want to believe what he said—even when you were on the other side of the case.

Judge Cable nodded. “Sustained.”

Christina pursed her lips. Her first ever cross-ex question, and she’d already lost an objection. Great.

She tried again. “Were you surprised,” she asked, “when your uniformed officer pulled that knife out of Mr. Kincaid’s file cabinet?”

Matthews stayed calm and restrained his tendency to sneer. “Not especially.”

“Why were you so sure you’d find something?”

“I wasn’t sure. But obviously, I hoped we would. Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve been there.”

“Did you obtain any evidence indicating how the knife got in the desk?”

“Well …” He smiled slightly. “It was in Kincaid’s office. And he was her lawyer.”

“So you think she gave him the knife and he hid it for her.”

Matthews was too smart to be drawn into positively asserting something he couldn’t prove. “That would be my assumption, yes.”

“But why?”

“To keep it from the police, obviously.”

“Why would Mr. Kincaid want to hide the knife from the police?”

“If you’re asking me about motive, Ms. McCall, I could only speculate. We have had some indication that Mr. Kincaid’s relationship with Ms. Dalcanton is … more than professional. It has also been suggested that he may have felt that a big win in such a high-profile case would be good for his somewhat … struggling career.”

“So he puts the knife in his file cabinet? Does that make any sense? Not exactly a brilliant hiding place.”

“I doubt if he expected his office to be searched.”

“Are you aware that Mr. Kincaid has a safe in his office?”

Matthews paused a moment. “I do seem to recall seeing that, yes.”

“Wouldn’t the safe be a better place for something as incriminating as the knife?”

“I couldn’t say. He probably didn’t want anyone else in the office to know he had it.”

“No, he wouldn’t, would he? He probably wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

“I would think not.”

“No one else would know.”

“That seems likely.”

“No one except the person who put it there.”

“Right.”

Christina pivoted on one foot and moved as close to the witness stand as the judge was likely to allow. “Sergeant Matthews, what exactly did your anonymous informant tell you on the phone?”

“The informant said that if we searched Kincaid’s office, we might find the weapon that killed Joe McNaughton.”

“So the informant knew the weapon was there.”

“Evidently.”

“But Sergeant Matthews—didn’t you just say that the only person likely to know the knife was in the file cabinet was the person who put it there?”

There was a considerable pause. “Well …”

“Surely you don’t think your informant was Mr. Kincaid.”

“Well …”

“Do you think Ben turned himself in?”

“No …”

“Then someone else must ‘ve known.”

“I … hmm.” She saw his eyes dart over to LaBelle. “I guess that’s possible.”

“But why else would someone know? Would Mr. Kincaid be likely to tell anyone he was stashing the murder weapon?”

“Well, it’s poss—”

“Because just a few moments ago, of course, you agreed that he would not.”

Matthews slowly released his breath. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”

“So the only way your informant could have known about the knife—was if he put it there himself!”

Matthews’s lips tightened. “Perhaps the informant observed … something …”

“Sergeant Matthews,” Christina said abruptly. “Who was your informant?”

“I’ve said before, his identity is confidential.”

“Are you refusing to answer my question?”

“If you want to put it that way, fine. I’m not going to tell you who it was.”

“Then I would suggest, Sergeant Matthews, that the only one who is guilty of concealing evidence or obstructing justice—is you!”

D.A. LaBelle rose to his feet. “Your honor, this has gone on long enough. Sergeant Matthews is not the defendant.”

“No,” Christina said, “but maybe he should be.”

“I object!” LaBelle boomed.

Judge Cable cupped his fingers. “Approach.”

At the bench, Christina didn’t wait to be asked to speak. “Your honor, I move for the immediate dismissal of these charges. This is all trumped-up baloney and everyone here knows it.”

“I must protest that inaccurate statement,” LaBelle said. His deep resonant voice carried well even when they were whispering. “I’ve never filed or prosecuted charges I didn’t believe in and I’m not about to start now.”

The judge held up his hands. “People, please. Could we just talk about the witness at hand?”

“Your honor,” Christina said, “the witness has admitted that another person—whom he refuses to name—must’ve been either involved in the planting of the evidence in Mr. Kincaid’s office or acted as a coconspirator in the crime itself. And he refuses to name the person.”

“I can’t force him to identify a confidential informant, Ms. McCall.”

“I know that, sir. But how can we prosecute one man for an alleged crime that might just as well have been performed by someone else, in whole or part?”

“Ms. McCall, this is just a preliminary hearing.”

“I know that, your honor. But if we allow these charges to go forward, it will do incalculable damage to the career and reputation of a man who is guilty of nothing more than zealously defending a woman whom the law-enforcement community is desperate to crucify.”

LaBelle leaned forward. “Your honor, if I may. I admire Ms. McCall’s youthful enthusiasm, but she’s tossing out about sixteen issues at once. The question at hand is whether there is sufficient evidence to bind the defendant over for trial.”

“And whether this whole charge was cooked up by the police and their informants to punish Ben Kincaid for beating them in court,” Christina added.

LaBelle steepled his fingers. “I remember when I was just out of law school. I, too, was full of excitement and zeal—”

“Don’t patronize me!” Christina said, jabbing him with a long fingernail.

“—and I admire her support for the man who has, after all, been her employer for the past many years. But we cannot overlook the fact that the murder weapon was found in his file cabinet, and it didn’t get there by itself.”

“No,” Christina shot back. “But you haven’t got the least bit of evidence that it was put there by Ben Kincaid.”

“She does have a point,” the judge said, rubbing the rim of his glasses. Judge Cable was in his midfifties, craggy-faced, with patches of gray. He had a square chin and a no-nonsense gaze. “Your case is pretty thin.”

“Your honor,” LaBelle said calmly, “we both know the burden of proof at a preliminary hearing is light. All we need to show is the merest rational basis—”

“Not in this case,” the judge said hastily. “Not in something that looks very much, whether it is or not, like a vengeance prosecution.”

“But he had the knife,” LaBelle insisted.

Christina cut in. “His file cabinet did, you mean. Remember, the Rules of Professional Conduct allow a lawyer to take and hold property from a client.”

“You can’t conceal evidence,” LaBelle shot back.

“Well, the Rules are a bit murky on that point, aren’t they? And you haven’t established that he got the knife from Keri Dalcanton, or that he knew it was the murder weapon, or for that matter, that he ever saw it until the moment your man pulled it out of the files.”