William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

But if he looked this poorly after a few days, what would he look like by the time the case came to trial? Ben made a mental note. It was imperative to get this case set as quickly as possible. Before he got any worse.

The guard opened the cell door and Ben and Christina stepped inside.

“Thanks, Sam.” The guard closed the door behind him. “Dennis, I want you to meet my partner-and wife, Christina McCall.”

Dennis rose from his cot and they shook hands. Ben thought Christina’s shake seemed particularly frosty.

“So,” Dennis said, almost smiling, “you’re here to see if I’m really Jack the Ripper?”

Christina made no apologies. “Something like that. Does that bother you?”

“No. As long as you represent me properly, your private thoughts don’t matter, do they?”

“How are you doing?” Ben said, cutting in.

“Oh, as well as can be expected. The guards all hate me, but so far, no one has assaulted me, much as they want to. They’ve been putting stuff in my food. So I haven’t eaten much. And I’m certain that guy in the next cell is a plant. A designated snitch.”

Probably so, Ben mused. Smart man. “But how are you feeling?”

“As good as can be expected. I still miss my wife. I talk to her. Sometimes I think I hear her talking back…”

Ben and Christina eyed each other. Sounded crazy. Was that the point?

“Do you feel any remorse?” Christina asked.

“Would that be useful?” He didn’t blink. “I didn’t kill that man, but I could certainly tear up over my wife.”

Christina pursed her lips wordlessly.

“Don’t stare at me like that just because I’m smart enough to know how to avoid conviction for a crime I didn’t commit. Do you think we’ll get bail?”

“Unlikely.”

“Well, think of an angle. I’m sure two bright people like you can work something out. I have to get bail.”

“Why is that?” Christina asked, one arm akimbo.

“Because I don’t want the jury to see me looking like I’ve been in jail for a long period of time. I can see how my appearance has deteriorated. By the time this gets to trial, it will be worse. I also don’t want the jury to see me in orange coveralls and a bad haircut.”

“I can take care of that, in any case,” Ben explained. “We’ll have an opportunity to bring you a suit. Get your hair styled.”

“That’s not enough. I want out. Do you think you could call a press conference?”

Ben felt jolted by the sudden switch of topic. “How would that help anything?”

“They’ve got television in here, you know. I can see the media frenzy over this case. But no one is presenting my side of the story.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Christina said quietly.

Ben cleared his throat. “We’ll have a chance to tell our story at the trial.”

“That’s not good enough.” Dennis looked at him directly. “In the first case, you probably won’t call me at trial unless you have to. Even if you do, I’ll be cross-examined and the DA will do his best to make me look bad. But at a press conference, I can say anything I want, or you can say it for me, and no one is cross-examined.”

“The reporters will want to ask questions.”

“You can take questions. From the ones you trust.”

“But what good will it do? The press are not the ones who decide the case.”

“The jurors do. And there’s a very good chance those yet-to-be selected jurors will be watching the coverage of this case. Everyone else seems to be.”

Ben had to admit-the man had thought this out carefully. And intelligently. That’s what was so scary about him.

“Have you got a psychiatrist lined up yet?”

“Well,” Ben said, “I have some possibilities.”

“We need a good expert. Someone convincing. My therapist is one of the top in the country. And a very experienced witness.”

What a coincidence.

“But you make the call. I’ve prepared a list of people I’ve seen in the past, and others I know by reputation.”

“Indeed.”

“Insanity defenses are more successful when the psychiatric expert knew the defendant before the incident.”

“That’s true.”

“If possible, I think you should go with the name at the top. I think he’ll be the most persuasive.”

“Do you now.”

“We need someone top-notch. Temporary insanity is a tough sell.”

“So I’ve heard…” Ben could see Christina was having a difficult time containing herself.

“But I’ve read that grief coupled with frustration can often lead to an irresistible impulse, which of course is a form of temporary insanity. And the blackout proves something was going on.”

“You know,” Ben said, “the prosecution will call witnesses of their own.”

“Sure, but the state can’t afford anyone good, right? And how are they going to explain the blackout?”

“They’ll say you were faking.”

“No way. They took me to a hospital. The EMTs tried to revive me-unsuccessfully. Took them two hours to bring me around. No way you can fake that.”

Ben made a note on his legal pad. “You know, normally at these pretrial meetings, I set the agenda.”

Dennis snapped his fingers. “That reminds me. I think we should file a civil suit as soon as possible. So it captures the headlines. A suit against the police department for official misconduct leading to death.”

“That would be very complicated.”

“Can’t we bring a claim under 42 USC Section 1983?”

Ben’s pencil slowed. “Yessss…”

“I think a civil rights suit is the way to go. Otherwise the police have too much immunity. I figure we have excellent claims based upon the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments to the Constitution. We can claim negligent performance of duty and intentional infliction of emotional distress. I’m sure you can dream up some other causes of action.”

Ben tapped the pencil eraser on his pad. “The police have qualified immunity, even against civil rights claims. They’re protected from charges based upon anything other than plain incompetence or knowing violations of law. You have to prove they acted in an objectively unreasonable manner to prevail.”

Dennis looked at him squarely. “The man directly caused the death of my wife by failing to act in a reasonable manner, Mr. Kincaid. If he had initiated an investigation, she would’ve been found in three hours. Instead, she suffered for seven days. And died.”

“Okay. Civil suit.” Ben averted his eyes. “I’ll get right on it.”

“You seem to have this all worked out,” Christina interrupted. “Did you go to law school?”

“No, but I’ve read a lot of John Grisham novels.”

“Oh. Well then, you can’t lose.”

Dennis folded his arms. “Forgive me for saying so, Mrs. Kincaid-”

“Ms. McCall.”

“-but you seem somewhat hostile toward me. Have I done something to offend?”

Ben hoped she’d able to resist giving the obvious answer.

“No,” she said instead. “But you do seem… preternaturally prepared to contribute to your defense.”

“Is it wrong for me to participate in my defense? I thought that was my constitutional right.”

“It is, but-”

“Let me save you some time, Ms. McCall. I did not kill that man. But I know there’s some stiff evidence against me, so I think temporary insanity is my best shot. I don’t plan to go to prison, whether you believe me or not. So if you think the desire to avoid incarceration makes me look guilty, we may have a problem.”

“It’s not that,” Christina replied. “But since we’re being blunt-your cold, level-headed logic is not what I would expect from someone who has just been accused of murder. And is innocent.”