William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

In the rear of the crowd, he saw Christina tip her curls to him. Slowly but surely, he was getting better at this stuff.

“According to the police report, your client was found at the scene of the crime, lying over the murder weapon-and this is a quote-‘apparently unconscious.’ Can you explain what happened?”

Ben nodded. “I’m no psychiatrist, but the experts tell me that Dennis’s grief reached such magnitude as to temporarily affect his behavior, causing him to potentially engage in activities he would not normally do and will never do again. Apparently at some point the brain, deluged with such potent emotion, reaches overload and shuts down, causing the blackout state.” He paused. “I only wish it had kicked in earlier.”

That went reasonably well. He tried another reporter.

“Is it true that your client threatened to kill Detective Sentz shortly before he did it?”

Ben hesitated a moment. He hadn’t heard this before. He hoped it wasn’t true. Unless perhaps the reporter had somehow learned that Dennis had been in Ben’s office talking about murder. He hoped that also wasn’t true.

“No. Dennis went to the police repeatedly, begging them, literally begging them to take action, to help him find his wife. And they refused. For seven days. While Joslyn Thomas, a physician who dedicated her life to helping others, suffered the most intense torture imaginable. I don’t doubt that Dennis used strong words, trying to move the police into action. I know I would have, had I been in his hideous situation. But there was no death threat.”

He pointed toward a reporter he recognized from the Tulsa World . “Isn’t there a danger that the course you recommend could basically create a crime free-for-all? If your client escapes punishment, what’s to prevent anyone with an axe to grind against the police-and I think there are many-to shoot first and claim insanity later?”

“With respect, Jim, I think that question is a typical argument ad absurdum and we both know it. This is not the first insanity plea. They go way back to General Dan Sickles in the first half of the nineteenth century. The previous cases did not trigger a wave of insanity slayings and this one will not either. Insanity is not contagious. Successful insanity defenses are rare. But this case presents unusual circumstances. We have a model citizen, a man without a blot on his record, driven by the most horrifying events to actions that would normally be far beyond his ken. That doesn’t happen every day and it never will, thank heaven. But it is exactly why the temporary insanity plea exists. And we should not be hesitant to use it.”

“May I have a few words?”

Ben turned and saw DA Guillerman standing behind him. Where had he come from? This was really in poor taste-crashing another man’s press conference.

“Mr. Kincaid speaks very eloquently, but I think he misses the main point. I don’t plan to argue my case here, in the media, in the full view of prospective jurors,” he added, eyeing Ben sharply, “but I will make one point clear. My job as district attorney, the job to which the good people of Tulsa have elected me, is to ensure justice. And I will do that. No hocus-pocus. No-” He took a deep breath. “-fancy experts and psychobabble. Just justice.” He leaned closer to the microphone. “No one will get away with killing a police officer on my watch. That’s a promise.”

Ben saw countless hands spring in the air, but Guillerman had the sense to ignore them. He’d made his point. He was done.

“Thanks for getting all these folks together,” Guillerman said, slapping Ben on the back. “Appreciate the use of the microphone.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ben mumbled back.

All at once, shouting burst out from somewhere in the midst of the assembled crowd. Ben turned and saw a path being carved through the reporters, but he couldn’t tell what was happening. The reporters themselves seemed caught unawares. The minicams swung one way, then the other, trying to capture the action.

“Killer! Killllller!”

In the blink of an eye, Ben saw a wiry, dark-haired man spring out of the melee. He was waving a gun wildly back and forth.

“Murderer!”

Ben tackled Dennis, knocking him to the marble plaza. An instant later, the first shot rang out, followed by two more in rapid succession. Screams broke loose, then chaos. He heard the click of heels, police officers running forward.

Dennis was huddled in a pile beneath him. “Are you okay?” Ben asked.

“I seem to have escaped the bullets, although I think you may have fractured my arm.”

“Just as long as you’re breathing.” Ben scrambled to his feet. Three police officers had the man face-first on the ground. One had captured his gun.

“Christina!” From the back, despite her height, or lack thereof, he could see her swinging her arms in the air. She was okay, thank God.

“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 & 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?”