William Bernhardt - Capitol offence

"It could go to another judge?"

"It could go to another county. Or another state." Ben leaned across the conference table. "We could ask for a change of venue, arguing that the media coverage has irredeemably tainted the local jury pool."

"Does that happen often?"

"No. But it does happen, usually in high-profile cases. This is why Timothy McVeigh was tried in Colorado, not Oklahoma."

"Do we have any idea what kind of judge we might get somewhere else?"

"No. Potluck."

"Would it be an improvement?"

"Depends on how you think McPartland is leaning. And I have no idea. He's kept his cards pretty close to his vest so far."

"So basically, asking for a mistrial is a big crapshoot."

"Basically, yes."

Dennis rubbed his fingers against his forehead. For once, the trial strategist who held all the answers seemed uncertain. "What do you think we should do?"

Ben took a deep breath. "I think I have to ask for a mistrial. I think it would be malpractice not to ask for a mistrial."

"I'm not going to sue you for malpractice."

"Thanks. But what if we have to appeal, you know? If we… we…"

"Lose?"

"Yeah. That. If the appellate court finds my representation incompetent, it would destroy me as a lawyer. And it could interfere with our appeal."

Dennis ran his hands through his precisely coiffed hair. "I don't know, Ben. I really just want to get this over with."

"I know you do. But we have to be smart about this."

"I suppose."

This was where the conversation was going to get sticky. If Ben had his way, he wouldn't go here at all. But he had no choice.

"Dennis… there's one more possibility I have to raise. If I ask for a mistrial, it's possible we could get even more than a delay of the game. We could conceivably win the whole shooting match."

"What? How?"

"A tainted jury pool is one thing. Definitely grounds for a mistrial. But if the judge finds deliberate misconduct on the part of the prosecution…"

"Is that possible?"

Ben shrugged. "Guillerman obviously knew something. He planted the seed with Officer Conway. He didn't have to appear on that news broadcast-but he did."

"Okay, so he's guilty of misconduct. What does that get us?"

"A mistrial, for sure. But in this scenario, there might be a little more. Here, the mistrial is the result of deliberate acts by the state. That being the case, the court could find that double jeopardy has attached."

"And if double jeopardy has attached…?"

"You can't be tried again for the same offense. Not even in a capital murder case. In other words, you go free."

Dennis's lips parted. "No."

"It's a long shot. A remote chance. Judge McPartland obviously will not be eager to dismiss a high-profile case involving the death of a police officer. But it is possible."

"And I would be acquitted."

"In effect."

Dennis's eyes seemed to draw inward. "But without a finding of innocence. Without ever really being tried."

"True."

Dennis sat up, squared his shoulders. "I don't know if I like that idea."

"I understand. But you can't expect to be exonerated by a court. Even if you were found not guilty, some people will never believe it. Especially not if you get off on a charge of temporary insanity."

Dennis remained strangely quiet. "Ben," he said at last, "I don't know if I've even said this to you before, but… I didn't kill Detective Sentz."

"I thought you didn't remember what happened."

"I don't. But I still… I can't believe I would do that. Even under the circumstances."

"I understand," Ben said. Though, he thought silently, your subsequent belief proves nothing about what happened.

"You know… this trial has been very hard."

"I'm sure."

"Are you? Sometimes I think you believe-and I know Christina does-that my willingness to plan and scheme and orchestrate the trial means I'm a cold, rotten person who wants to kill and get away with it."

"Oh, no-"

"You don't have to bother denying it. I know the score."

"Maybe you were a little more… present than most defendants."

"But I needed that. You know?" He looked at Ben with pleading eyes, and it occurred to Ben that this might have been the most vulnerable he had seen this man since the whole drama began. "That gave me an edge. When I lost Joslyn, my world was shattered. Into pieces, tiny little shards of glass where a life had once been. I didn't know what to do. I had to distract myself. First with talk of revenge. Then with plans to escape punishment."

He looked away. Ben could see his eyes were watering. "I'm starting to lose it, Ben. I really am. I can feel the heat, the fire, the… the anger, ebbing away. And if I lose that, I don't know what I'll have left. I can't get through another trial. And I can't live in a world filled with people who think I'm a murderer. I–I-" He shook his head. "I don't know if I can live at all."

"Hey now." Ben placed his hand on the man's shoulder and squeezed. "Let's not talk like that."

"I'm just telling you how I feel."

"Let me make the motion, Dennis. Then we'll take it from there. Okay?"

"I guess. I-" He looked up at Ben with sorrowful eyes. "I trust you."

Ben nodded, took his briefcase, and headed for the judge's chambers.

Why had Dennis said that? Ben would have rather heard "I hate you."

What Dennis had said instead was the worst curse a client could possibly lay on his lawyer's shoulders. Especially in a capital murder case.

Ben had not been inside Judge McPartland's chambers before, so he was surprised at what he found. Judges were free to decorate in any way they wanted, but most kept it on the conservative side. Members of the judiciary must be distinguished, it seemed, even away from prying eyes. Decorating tended toward Western art, macho Remingtons and such, with the occasional cowboy or OU football paraphernalia.

McPartland liked dogs. Ben hadn't known it before, but the evidence was all around him. He had at least four, judging from the photographs, and apparently took them to shows on a regular basis. There was Judge McPartland, motioning to his Pomeranian to sit up on cue. There was the mighty Doberman strutting down the walkway. Even a fluffy white poodle, and if Ben wasn't mistaken, it had painted toenails. They all appeared groomed and brushed, and in one case even clothed. Their pedigrees hung on the walls, as did their graduation certificates from obedience school.

Ben found himself liking the judge a lot more than he had before, even though, technically, Ben was a cat person. Still, it was good to see the judge had outside interests. After a week of criminal trials, a dog show must seem very relaxing.

They only had to wait a few minutes before the judge arrived. McPartland did not appear surprised to see Ben and District Attorney Guillerman waiting in his chambers. Not surprised, but not pleased, either.

"Let me guess," he said, leaning back expansively in his padded recliner. "Senator Kincaid has a motion."

"Darn tootin'," Ben said curtly.

"And the state opposes?"

The DA shrugged. "I don't know what we're talking about yet."

"Mr. Guillerman, I've been a judge a long time. Don't play games with me."

"Honest, Judge, I don't-"

"Well then, let me inform you." The judge leaned forward, his brow sharply creased. Ben got the impression that Guillerman might have made a major tactical blunder. "Do you recall a while back when we were selecting a jury?"

"Certainly."

"And do you recall the conclusion, when I mentioned to you both that I didn't want any more discussion of the case with the press?"

Guillerman pointed at Ben. "He was the one who kept calling the press conferences."

"Yes, and you intruded whenever you could, but it doesn't matter. The point is, I issued a gag order. And you have violated it."