William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

"He's a murderer! In cold blood!" The man was still screaming, even as the police hauled him away. "An eye for an eye! An eye for an eye!"

As he watched the crowd disperse, Ben felt Guillerman ease in beside him. "So, Ben, tell me again that part about how insanity isn't contagious."

Ben had no reply.

The instant Ben passed through the front doors at Kincaid amp; McCall, he could see Jones was in one of his moods. He tried to ease past as quietly as possible, but Jones still spotted him.

"This phone has been ringing all day!" Jones shouted, his voice dripping with exasperation and perhaps, Ben thought, more than a dollop of self-pity.

"Isn't that usually a good sign? Business on the upswing and all? I would think you'd like that."

"These aren't calls from prospective clients, Boss. It's all about the Dennis Thomas case. Reporters. Radio hosts. Cranks with an axe to grind. It's making me crazy. My arm is tired just from picking up the phone."

"Maybe you should get one of those little phone receivers that clip behind your ear. Then you wouldn't have to pick up the phone."

"What, and sit around looking like Lieutenant Uhura? No chance."

"Right. Might disturb your macho image."

"You even got a call from Nancy Grace!"

Ben took his pink message slips off the spindle. "Should I know who she is?"

Jones slapped his forehead. "No, of course not. Not if you've been living in a cave for the past ten years."

"I like the name. She sounds spiritual."

"Not exactly. She has a show on CNN. Former prosecutor. Comments on pending cases, usually criminal. She's aggressive and opinionated, and she has a voice that makes you want to slash your wrists. But somehow that works for her."

"And the relevance of all this is…?"

"She wants you to do her show."

Ben stared at the message slip and mulled. "Do you think I should?"

"How can I say this?" He leaned across his desk. "She'll eat you for lunch, Ben."

"Well, then. No Nancy Grace." He saw his burly investigator heading down the opposite corridor. "Loving!"

The barrel-chested man paused and waited for Ben to catch up.

"Have you got anything for me?"

"Not yet, Skipper. None of my friends on the force know anythin' about it. Other'n what everyone knows. And they're not real keen to talk with me, either. They don't take too kindly to us representin' someone who killed a cop." He paused. "Allegedly."

"That's understandable."

"Not real keen on it myself."

"I know you're not. But I need your help. There has to be someone who knows something. Do you have any idea who the guy in the police station was? The one Dennis thinks vetoed any search for Joslyn Thomas?"

"Not yet. But I'm workin' on it. If I get lucky, I might pick somethin' up."

"Then get lucky."

"Do my best. I got a report on that loser who tried to shoot your guy at the press conference."

"Yeah? Who was he? Cop? Cop relative?"

"Not even close." He handed Ben a report. "Name's Lars Engle. Student in the English department. Had some classes with Dennis Thomas. Apparently knew his wife, too, at least a little. In fact, he said he wanted to work with Thomas on his master's thesis. He was like, a fan."

"Those are always the dangerous ones."

"You'd think a fan would be supportive. Not dangerous."

"And if that were true," Ben said, thumbing through his messages, "John Lennon would still be alive." He slapped Loving on the back as he headed on down the hallway to his office. "Get someone to talk, Loving. Pour on some of that homeboy natural charm."

"Well, if you put it that way…"

"I do. Get me something I can use."

Ben was pleased to see Christina and Dennis waiting for him in the main conference room. Dennis looked better every day. Much of the debilitating residue of his stay in jail had washed away. He was a healthy young man and Ben knew he had been exercising regularly, getting fit, getting tan, getting ready to make a good impression in the courtroom.

Dennis spoke first. "Have they found out anything more about that nut at the press conference?"

"Not much." He quickly scanned Loving's report. "I'm surprised you don't remember more about him. He was certainly into you in a big way. Spends most of his spare time reading or on the Internet. Likes to go to the Tulsa World website and post anonymous opinions on their bulletin boards. With zero accountability, he was free to say anything. Apparently he posted messages about you more than twenty times with increasing bitterness. Course, no one noticed. Until he pulled out a gun."

"I don't even know why those pages exist," Christina said, throwing down her pencil. "They're just catnip for people who feel powerless and voiceless. 'No one else will listen to me, so I'll post uninformed opinions on this unmonitored bulletin board.'"

"I think the key word is anonymous," Ben replied. He remembered a few threatening emails he'd received that had not amused him at all. "Anonymous messages are the last refuge of the cowardly."

"And apparently," Dennis added, "the psychotic." He flipped a page on his legal pad and changed the subject. "Thanks for giving Christina and me a chance to get to know each other better, Ben. I think we've managed to bond."

Ben glanced at Christina, but he wasn't seeing a bonded expression on her face.

"I want Christina to appear at trial with us," Dennis continued. "In fact, I'd like her to sit beside me. Close beside me. I want the jury to see that she likes me. That she isn't scared of me. If she isn't scared of me, why should they be?"

"We can arrange that," Ben said.

"But I'm charging double for the liking part," Christina added.

"From what I read," Dennis continued, "more than half the jurors will likely be women, so having a woman at our table is prudent. Can we get someone black?"

Ben's lips parted, but no words came out.

"To sit at the table with us. A big chunk of the jury will also likely be black. And Hispanic. The Tulsa jury pool tends to draw disproportionately from the north side."

Ben took a deep breath and scribbled on his pad. "I'll see what I can do."

"I mean, it's important that the jury feel commonality with me, right? Makes it easier for them to sympathize?"

"You are very well informed, Dennis. As usual."

"And coldly logical about it, to boot," Christina noted quietly.

"I understand you're going to appear on Nancy Grace," Dennis said, changing the subject.

Christina's eyes widened. "This is the first I've heard of it. I think that's a very bad idea."

Ben averted his eyes. "I, um, haven't made a decision yet."

"Ben, she'll tear you apart."

"I don't think that matters," Dennis said. "Everyone expects Nancy Grace to be Nancy Grace. You can still make your case. Few potential jurors are likely to be watching CNN at that particular moment."

"Then what's the point?"

"The point is that the Tulsa World will almost certainly run an article about the fact that you will be or were on Nancy Grace, right?"

Ben considered. "Probably so."

"And they'll call you for your comment. And they'll run it just as you give it to them. And six-tenths of the people in the potential jury pool will read it." He folded his hands. "That's the point."

Ben wasn't sure whether he should be very impressed or very afraid. Or whether, if Dennis avoided prison, Ben should hire him as a jury consultant.

Dennis continued. "I've been giving a lot of thought to our affirmative defense. Temporary insanity."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"The more I think about it, the more I'm convinced we should argue that I entered a dissociative state."

"Why don't we wait and see what the psychiatrist has to say?"

"Why don't we plan out our defense and tell him what to say?"