William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

Ben suddenly wished this cell were not so pathetically small. There was nowhere to go-not even a way to make the fighters return to their corners.

“And is that what’s most important to you, Ms. McCall? Knowing that I’m innocent? Because you would never stoop to representing someone who might be guilty?”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly.”

“Or perhaps what you’re really concerned about is your firm’s reputation. Particularly the reputation of your husband, who I understand is currently mounting a reelection campaign. Are you really concerned about my innocence, or that the negative ‘presumed guilty’ attitude of the self-righteous might tarnish your favorite senator’s chances?”

Christina did not answer.

Dennis stepped closer to her, a solemn expression on his face. “Sentz killed my wife, Ms. McCall. He left her to die. Slowly. Painfully. That’s what you should keep uppermost in your mind.”

He gathered a stack of notes together and passed them to Ben. “Now go set up the press conference. Please. Then get me bail. These coveralls are starting to chafe.”

The courthouse elevator doors opened and there they were: the stalwart minions of the fourth estate. Dozens of them, more than could possibly be native to the state of Oklahoma. Which was a bad sign. It meant that this case had already attracted national attention, which was the last thing they needed.

Ben took Dennis-freshly decked out in a new suit, haircut, and shave-and led him down the gauntlet of reporters. He wondered how long the world could go on calling them investigative reporters when so few of them did any investigating. He saw a few old-timers who still worked with pen and paper, but for the most part, they were faces he recognized from television: broadcasters, news readers, people who held microphones in front of cameras and repeated what they had been told, possibly lining up video clips from talking heads to spice up a story that went longer than twenty seconds. They were repeaters, not reporters.

“I think the press conference worked,” Dennis muttered under his breath. “They’re very interested in me.”

“Shhh,” Ben whispered. “Say nothing. And never assume they like you.”

“They’re not all hacks.”

“Of course not, but they are all employed by large corporations that like to make money. They’re using you to get ratings and they’ll turn on you in a heartbeat if that’s where the money lies.”

Dennis buttoned his lips. The reporters did not. As they made their way to the courtroom, Ben heard a dozen questions tossed out at once.

“Is it true your client shot Detective Sentz seven times-one for each day his wife suffered?”

“How about these rumors that your client drove his wife off the side of the road?”

“Was he angry because his wife made more money?”

“Was she having an affair with his psychiatrist?”

“Is this a vendetta against the police department?”

“Is it true you’ve accepted a plea from the prosecutor?”

Ben tried not to smile as he opened the courtroom doors. “Is it true” in this case was a cheesy way of suggesting they’d heard something they obviously hadn’t, to persuade him to tell them what they wanted to know. It was almost as good as “Some people say,” another catchphrase they used to introduce an ugly rumor or innuendo while simultaneously suggesting someone else was to blame.

Ben took his seat at the defendant’s table, placing Dennis just beside him. Christina sat on the other side. Ben slowly scanned the room. The courtroom gallery was already packed, mostly by the press. He was not used to seeing this kind of attendance at a mere bail hearing. This case was hot.

Across the aisle, Ben spotted the prosecutors. David Guillerman, the DA himself, was taking the lead. His presence was probably mandated by the enormous press interest. He was being assisted by Greg Patterson, who Ben knew to be hardworking and capable. He would be doing most of the hard stuff, while Guillerman took the limelight. But Ben did not discount Guillerman. He knew Guillerman had started as a trial attorney who somehow managed to make a solo practice not only successful but successful enough to launch a campaign for the district attorney’s office. He had graduated from TU law school top of his class and a moot court champion as well. He was single, handsome, and often topped the “Sexiest” and “Most Eligible” lists in local publications like Oklahoma Magazine . He would be a formidable opponent and Ben knew it.

Just for the sake of courtesy, Ben crossed the aisle and greeted his opponents. He shook hands with both attorneys. He could tell Patterson was staring at his face.

“Does it show?” Ben asked.

Patterson almost jumped. “Oh-well-I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.”

“It’s all right. A scar is a scar.”

“That was a horrible day for Oklahoma,” Patterson said. “And the nation. But I admired the way you handled yourself afterward.”

“Well… thank you.” Ben turned his attention to the boss. “David. How have you been? Haven’t seen you for ages.”

“’Cause you’ve been hiding out in Washington. Glad you’re back home where you belong. Saw your press conference, by the way.” He was a handsome man, dark-haired with just enough gray at the temples, telegenic-which was essential when the district attorney was an elected official. “Very dynamic.”

“Saw yours, too,” Ben replied. “Guess you’re hoping for an all-redneck jury?”

“And you’re hoping for the liberal bleeding hearts. The result will be somewhere in the middle.” He pulled Ben a little closer. “I may have a plea offer for you later today.”

“I’m glad,” Ben said, “but I doubt my client will accept anything.”

“Ten to twenty on a cop killing. It’s like a Christmas present.”

“Not if you’re innocent.”

“Don’t you mean not if you’re insane?” Guillerman smiled, a broad, toothy smile. It was hard not to like him. “And you would have to be to turn this down. Honestly, I’m just trying to save us both a lot of trouble and heartache. You don’t know this, Ben, but I’ve tracked your career for many years. I’m actually a big fan. And I know how surprisingly effective you can be in the courtroom.”

Ben maintained a straight face. Surprisingly?

“But this is a loser for you. A dead cop. A family man. And so much evidence of planning and deliberation. Clarence Darrow couldn’t win this one.”

And you’re no Clarence Darrow. The message was so clear Guillerman didn’t have to say it. “I’ll take any offers to my client. But I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

Guillerman shook his head. “That’s a shame. We’re both coming up for reelection soon. We really don’t need a messy case like this one. No one wins.”

“Since you feel so certain you’re going to win, why don’t you let my bail request go unopposed?”

“Can’t do that.”

“He’s an English teacher, David. What can he do?”

“Look what he’s already done.” Guillerman smiled. “Can’t do it, Ben. The press would crucify me. And I’ve got a major fund-raiser tonight.”

“So long before the election?”

Guillerman shrugged. “It takes a lot of money to mount a campaign these days.”

Ben would be appalled at his reducing a criminal trial to politics-if everything he said weren’t so true. “I’ll wait for your call on that plea.”

He returned to his own table. He could see Christina was looking at him eagerly, wondering what they’d talked about. He shook his head. No news.

Judge Leland McPartland was one of the senior members of the Tulsa County judiciary, said to be about three years away from retirement. He was generally considered a competent if uninspired jurist. He was known to be old-school in his approach to the law and conservative in his approach to politics. Ben could just imagine what he thought of this purported cop killer. Or what he would think of the idea of temporary insanity.