William Bernhardt - Dark Justice

Grayson hesitated.

“Weren’t they? If you’re having memory problems, I’ve got a transcript right here.”

“That’s not necessary.” His lips drew together like he’d been sucking a lemon. “That’s what I said.”

“And you were wrong.”

“The jury disagreed with me.”

“Everyone disagreed with you! Except maybe the desperate prosecutor who hired you!”

“I say again,” Grayson repeated through clenched teeth. “I believe time and science will prove me right.”

Ben folded his notebook. He should probably quit; he’d done about as much damage as he could. But he couldn’t resist trying one more … possibility. “Dr. Grayson, did you ever give any consideration to insect bites?”

Grayson blinked. “Insect bites?”

“We know the corpse was found in the forest. We know there are animals and insects in the forest. I believe the coroner testified that the corpse was infested by insects before he arrived. Could this so-called bite mark have been made by insects?”

“I have found clear traces of molars, incisors-”

“But only under the blue light.”

“There was a clear pattern-”

“What pattern?” Ben walked up to the last chart and removed the transparencies. “Look at this!” he said to Grayson, but really to the jury. “There’s no pattern here. Just some random nibbling. It could be anything.”

Grayson pointed toward the easel. “But look at the transparency!”

“The image on the transparency was drawn by you after you received my client’s dental records. Correct?”

“It’s true that I drew the chart. I had to. Photography doesn’t work.”

“So this isn’t evidence of any sort, much less proof. You can’t even prove this bite mark came from a human being.”

“If you’ll recall, even the coroner knew the victim had been bitten-”

“I’ve read the coroner’s report, Doctor, and I listened to his testimony earlier. He said there was a bite mark. He never said it was a human bite mark. Because he couldn’t prove it. And when all is said and done, you can’t either.” He turned away before Grayson had a chance to stammer out a response. “I have nothing more for this witness.”

That evening, back at his office, Ben thumbed through his address book for the phone number for Tulsa Police Headquarters-Central Division. It seemed late for anyone to be at the office, but then again, he was. Ben punched in the number and waited. No one picked up the phone until the seventh ring.

“Homicide. Morelli here.”

“Mike, is that you?”

“It’s me, kemo sabe,” said the voice on the other end of the phone.

“What are you doing at the office?”

“Working, natch. I don’t have a life, remember? So how’s everything in the Great Northwest?”

“Not so great.” Ben leaned back in the rickety wooden chair behind the tiny desk in his office. “I’m in the middle of trying a murder case.”

“So I hear. Let me guess. All the evidence points to your client, the odds are hopelessly stacked against you, but you think he’s innocent and you’re determined to prove it.”

“How did you figure that out?”

There was a knowing chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Just a lucky guess.”

“Look, Mike, I called for a reason.”

“You need my help.”

Ben stared at the receiver. “What are you, the psychic hot line?”

More chuckles. “I just know you’re not one to call to ask about my health.”

“Well, you’re right. I’m having problems. I think there’s a major drug dealer in this town, a big brick wall called Alberto Vincenzo. I think he’s a very likely suspect for the murder my client has been charged with. And I think the prosecutor knows it, so she’s suppressing all the evidence she has about him. Apparently the DEA has the goods on this character, too, but I’ve been calling the regional office in Seattle and I can’t get them to send me anything or give me an appointment. I can’t even get them to return my phone calls.”

“So why are you calling me?”

Ben made a coughing noise. “Well, you are in the law enforcement community. I thought perhaps …”

“Ben, I’m just a cop. A lowly homicide detective in Tulsa, in the faraway state of Oklahoma. And you’re thinking I might have connections in the federal DEA office in Seattle? You’re delusional!”

“Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe you might know someone who knew someone who knew someone else.”

“This is really a stretch, Ben.”

“That’s what I said when you married my sister. But you did it anyway.”

“Don’t remind me.” Ben listened patiently through several seconds of thoughtful silence. “Look. No promises. I’ll do the best I can, okay?”

“That’s all I can ask.”

“And hey-take care of yourself out there. I get worried when you get into these messes and I’m not around to bail you out.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“Yeah, well, just try not to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any serial killers, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

After he finished talking with Mike, Ben pored over his notes for the next day of trial, not to mention an extremely interesting report he’d received from Loving, just back from Oregon. Around nine, Christina poked her head through the door. “Is this the cramped but classy office of Ben Kincaid, a.k.a. Ben the Giant-Slayer?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Hello, Christina. Where ya been?”

“Procuring a little well-deserved liquid refreshment.” As she stepped across the threshold, Ben saw she was cradling a large bottle of champagne and two flutes. She set down the glasses and began twisting off the wire cap.

“I think this is way premature,” Ben said. “We don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”

“Baloney. You’ve been superb in the courtroom. Granny hasn’t put a single witness of any importance on the stand that you haven’t hurt on cross. And what you did to that sanctimonious dental quack- wowzah !”

“It’s still too soon …”

“I bet Granny’s not sleeping well tonight.” Christina popped the cork and poured the champagne. “I had the pleasure of watching her today while you were crossing Grayson. She was definitely getting sweaty-palmed. You haven’t given her an inch. If the jury voted today, it would be hands down for acquittal.”

“But the jury isn’t voting today. We still have several more witnesses-”

“But she hasn’t done anything that truly tied Zak to the murder.”

“The truth is, she hasn’t tried. She’s intentionally started with the least important witnesses. She’s building slowly, letting the jury anticipate where she’s going. And, I suspect, taking my measure.”

“Well, right now, your measure is pretty damn good.”

“Let’s see what happens tomorrow.” He gazed absently at the bottle of bubbly. It was a French sparkling wine-as if Christina would bring anything else. “So you’ve been out to dinner?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“ ’Course not. It’s none of my business.”

Christina’s eyes crinkled a bit. “I meant I didn’t think you’d mind if I did my trial prep after dinner.”

Ben fidgeted with his pencil. “Oh. Right. That’s what I thought you meant.” His eyes averted. “So how many dinners with Sheriff Allen does this make?”

“Who said I was eating with Doug?”

“Doug?”

“That’s his name.”

“I figured as much.”

“I never said I was eating with Doug.”

Ben tugged at his collar. “I just assumed …”

“Well, you assumed correctly.”

“And how many times have you gone out with him now?”