Naked Justice (3 page)

“The picture was prob’ly taken just after I caught him.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Musta been.”

“No.” Ben pointed to a line in the article. “Paper says you caught him at twelve-forty
P.M.”

“Well then, this was prob’ly right after that.”

Ben pointed to the photograph. “Look in the background. The sun is setting.”

“Well … yesss.”

“This was during the summertime in Oklahoma. Sun sets, what? About eight-thirty? Nine?”

“Yesss …”

“So this photo was taken seven or eight hours after you caught the fish. But he looks like you just dragged him out of the water.”

Hemingway shifted his weight. “Well, you know, them photographers are real talented.”

“You’re suggesting trick photography? Maybe some airbrush work? I don’t think so, Mr. Hemingway. I think you bought him.”

“I did not buy him!”

“You must’ve.”

“I didn’t!”

“You must’ve caught some other fish and then substituted the fish you bought just before this picture was taken.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Your denials are futile, Mr. Hemingway. The photo speaks for itself.”

His fists were balling up. “It’s a lie.”

“Face it, sir. You cheated.”

His voice rose. “I did not!”

“The evidence is right in front of you. Stop denying it.”

“I did
not
cheat!”

“Then how did the fish stay fresh all afternoon?”

He sprang to his feet. “Because I kept it in my—”

Hemingway stopped suddenly and froze. He looked both ways at once, mouth gaping, then slowly dropped to his chair.

Ben eased away from the witness stand, his eyes dancing. “Is the word you’re searching for by any chance …
tank
?”

B
EN DIDN’T MAKE IT
back to his office until later that afternoon. It was a downtown cubbyhole on a street full of pawnshops and loan offices (
GET THE CASH YOU NEED QUICK—NO QUESTIONS ASKED
). The yellow brick of most of the buildings harkened back to an era when these offices formed Tulsa’s line of demarcation between the prosperous white oil barons to the south and the equally prosperous Black Wall Street to the north.

Ben pushed open the door and stepped inside. For once the office seemed relatively peaceful. No bill collectors blocking the entrance, no strapped clients explaining why they couldn’t pay, no disgruntled opponents seeking revenge.

Jones, Ben’s office assistant, sat at a desk in the center of the lobby area, one hand clutching a phone receiver and the other tickling the keyboard of his computer.

Jones covered the mouthpiece when he saw Ben enter. “Congratulations, Boss.”

“You heard?”

Jones nodded. “Fannie told all. She’s in your office waiting for you.” He smiled. “Said you carved up the prosecution’s main witness on cross.”

“She’s exaggerating.”

“No doubt.”

“Who’s on the line?”

Jones pointed at the computer screen. “I found another small New England college on the Net this morning. They have several graduate programs in nursing.”

Ben’s interest was immediate. “Really?”

“Relax, Boss. Just because they have a program doesn’t mean your sister is in it. I’m trying to bully my way into the admissions records.”

Ben crossed his fingers. After a few moments he heard a voice buzzing on the other end of the line. Jones replied, not in Oklahoman, but in a clipped British accent. “Jolly good, old chap. Are you certain about that?” After a few more such exchanges, Jones hung up the phone.

“Ronald Colman?” Ben asked.

Jones grinned. “A tony British accent can occasionally charm some answers out of these New England universities.”

“And?”

Jones shook his head. “Sorry, Boss. She isn’t there.”

Ben tried not to let his disappointment show. “Well, keep trying.” He started toward his office.

“Boss—”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“Not that it’s any of my business, but—”

“But you’re going to butt in anyway.”

“Don’t you think it’s time you gave up this search? Your sister obviously doesn’t want to be found.”

“We don’t know that for certain.”

“She told you she was enrolling in a graduate-level nursing program in Connecticut. But we’ve searched every Connecticut college on the map and she isn’t there.”

“She might’ve gotten her states confused.”

“Get a reality check, Boss. She fled. Vanished. After dumping her baby on you.” Jones clicked the mouse on the computer. “How old is Joey now?”

“Thirteen months.”

“So she’s been gone for almost six months. And she’s never called once to check on her kid. Face it; she’s history.”

Ben knew any refutation would sound desperate and lame. “Still … it doesn’t hurt to keep looking. When you have the time.”

Jones frowned. “You’re the boss, Boss.” He handed Ben some papers. “Here’s your latest draft of the summary judgment brief in the Skaggs case. It’s due today.”

Ben checked his watch. “Today? The courthouse closes in less than an hour!”

Jones turned back to his computer. “Have a nice day.”

“Swell.” Ben shoved the brief under his arm. “By the way …” He made an awkward coughing noise. “… did the payroll … ?”

Jones shook his head.

“Oh. Well.” He shuffled toward his interior office.

Just as Ben tried to step in, another, much larger figure stepped out.

“Whoa!” the man said as he quickly ducked out of the way. “Sorry, Skipper. We nearly had a head-on collision. We coulda flattened each other.”

Except, Ben thought, since Loving outweighed him by about a hundred and twenty pounds, mostly muscle, Loving would’ve done most of the flattening. “Working on some big case?”

“Not at the moment. Things are kinda slow.” Loving was Ben’s private investigator, although he often worked independently when clients had need of his services. “I was chatting with your client. Nice gal.”

Ben suppressed a smile. “I thought you might like her.”

“By the way …” The hesitance in his voice told Ben exactly what was coming. “I know you’ve been busy and all, but can you tell if the payroll …?”

Ben shook his head. “No.”

“Oh. Well, I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Loving. Work really seems to have dried up, and my clients aren’t paying—”

“Don’t worry about it, Skipper. It ain’t your fault.”

“It ain’t?”

“Nah, it’s the whole international banking conspiracy thing.”

“The—what?”

“The banking conspiracy.”

Ben frowned. “Perhaps I should start reading the papers.”

“All the bigwigs in all the major industrial countries, the Trilateral Commission, the Illuminati, the power elite—they’re all sucking up the world’s cash. Trying to make paper currency worthless.”

“And why would they want to do that?”

“ ’Cause they own all the gold, of course. Cash goes down, gold goes up.”

“That’s incredibly paranoid.”

Loving chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what JFK said, too. And look what they did to him.”

“I beg your pardon. I thought the CIA, the FBI, the Mafia, the Cubans, and the military-industrial complex were behind that one.”

Loving smiled knowingly as Ben entered his office and closed the door. “That’s what they want you to think.”

Ben made his way to the tiny desk in the corner and tossed the Skaggs brief on top.

“Ben Kincaid, my hero.”

Ben glanced up. Fannie was standing awkwardly in the center of the room. She was back in her trademark overalls and was fidgeting nervously with her hands.

“Oh. Hello, Fannie.”

“Ben, you were wonderful in the courtroom today.”

Ben slid into his desk chair. “I really didn’t do anything.”

“I think you did. You salvaged my professional standing. My reputation.”

Ben undid the top button of his shirt and loosened his tie. “Fannie, I don’t want to seem rude, but I need to review this brief pronto.”

“Oh.” She knotted her fingers together. “I was hoping we could … talk.”

“Well…”

“It’s real important.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s about your … payment.”

Ben suddenly had a sinking feeling. “Well, I can do more than one thing at a time. You talk, I’ll read.”

“Oh. Sure.” There was a long pause. “Ben, I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me. I mean it. You’ve saved my good name. You’ve redeemed me.”

Actually, Ben thought, the fact that Hemingway planted the tank in her truck didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t been cheating, but he decided to keep that thought to himself.

“I owe you everything. Problem is… I don’t have anything.”

Ben’s eyes squeezed closed.
I knew it
. “What happened to all that prize money?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a bit too fond of that Creek Nation Bingo Parlor.”

I can’t stand it, Ben thought. I just can’t stand it.

“I know I owe you, Ben. I owe you a lot.”

“It was nothing,” Ben mumbled, “nothing at all.”

There was a sharp intake of breath. “Well, never let it be said that Fannie Fenneman doesn’t honor her debts.” There was a pause, followed by a metallic clinking noise. “So I’ve decided to pay my bill in trade.”

Ben’s eyes stopped moving across the brief. Slowly his head raised.

Fannie was standing in the center of the office, stark naked, her overalls in a pile around her feet.

“Uh, Fannie …”

“Now, don’t you worry, Ben. You’ll get your money’s worth.”

“I’m sure … I mean, I never doubted …”

“Well, come on, Ben.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Ben thought perhaps she was embarrassed, but the external evidence indicated she was cold. “I’m ready and waiting.”

Ben eased out of his chair. “Fannie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“It is, Ben. I promise.” Her body vibrated in a singularly impressive manner. “You won’t be sorry.”

“I already am.” He took his suit coat off the hook on the door and held it out to her. “Here, put something on before—”

“Ben, no.” She brushed the coat away and grabbed his arm, pulling him to her. Before he could stop himself, Ben collided into her. She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t fight it, Ben. It’s the only way.”

“Fannie, please!”

Just then, the office door swung open. Christina poked her head inside. “Ben, can I—” She stopped short, her eyes widening like balloons. “Oh, my—I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She vanished.

“Christina! Wait! It isn’t—” Ben pushed himself out of Fannie’s arms. “Excuse me.” He ran toward the door.

“But, Ben!” Fannie cried.

He whirled around. “And put your clothes back on!” He stepped through the door and found Jones and Loving staring at him. “What are you two looking at?”

Both pairs of eyes immediately darted down to their desks.

Ben stomped across the lobby. “Have you seen Christina?”

“She blew out of here like a rocket. Can you blame her?”

“Jones, it isn’t what you think—”

“Jeez, Boss”—his look was one of pure amazement—“you don’t even have carpet in there.”

“Jones—”

“There is that one chair, I suppose. Or the desk. Man, you must really like it rough.”

“
Jones!
” He ran to the front window and looked both ways down the street. Christina was nowhere in sight. “Look, Jones, if you see Christina, tell her …” He searched his mind for the right words. “Never mind, I’ll tell her myself. The Skaggs brief looks fine, by the way. Can you file it?”

“I could,” Jones said, “but don’t you have to be going that way, anyway?”

“Me? Why?”

“To get to Forestview. Joey, remember? I mean”—he glanced back at the office door—“if you’re up to it.”

Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s not five yet. I still have—”

Jones interrupted him. “Parent-teacher conference. Four-thirty sharp.”

Ben slammed his fists together. “Blast! I totally forgot.”

“Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind.”

“Would you stop that!” Ben grabbed his briefcase.

“Look, Boss, I’ve got a ratty old sofa at home. It isn’t much, but if you like, I could put it in your office.”

Ben raised a finger. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I can’t wait. Stay out of trouble, Casanova.”

B
EN SAT IN A MOLDED
plastic chair in the small conference room at Forestview Country Day School. He was trying his best to remain calm.

“I’m afraid I just don’t see the problem.”

Ms. Hammerstein, the head teacher in the infant care room, sported an unchanging placid smile. “Well, first of all, Mr. Kincaid, let me tell you what a wonderful child Joey is. So smart. Such a delight. We all love him very much.”

“Ye-es …”

“He’s a truly special individual.”

Ben refrained from drumming his fingers on the table. “Why do I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Ms. Hammerstein’s visage barely fluttered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“The woman on the phone said there was a problem. That’s why we’re having this meeting, according to her. Because there’s a problem.”

“Well … yes.” Ms. Hammerstein opened the blue notebook on the table before her. “There have been a few … issues that have arisen. I wouldn’t have used the word problem—”

“The woman on the phone did.”

She scanned the page in her notebook with Joey’s name at the top. “Most of these—let’s call them observations—are what I would group under the general heading of compliance issues.”

“Compliance?”

“Yes.”

“Meaning he doesn’t do exactly what you want exactly when you want it.”

“Now, Mr. Kincaid. We try to be very flexible.”

“Doesn’t sound that way.”

“Mr. Kincaid … I assure you …”

“I’m sorry.” Ben realized he was acting like a typical father. How dare you suggest that my child has a flaw? “Let’s cut to the chase. What are these issues?”

“Well …” Ms. Hammerstein turned another page in her notebook. “Joey just … isn’t like the other children.”

“Why should he be?”

“He doesn’t play with the other children.”

“So he prefers his own company. Is that a crime? He’s shy.”