William Bernhardt - Capitol Offense

“Hey, Cassandra.” A female officer he knew well was posted at the metal detector just beyond the front door of the county courthouse. He began the usual undressing ritual-off with the watch, the belt, the pocket change. “Christina been through here yet?”

“Of course. She’s looking good. You’ve got a fine woman there, Ben.”

“Don’t I know it. How’s your George?”

“Gets by. Arthritis acts up from time to time.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Rumor around the courthouse is you’re running for reelection.”

“Election, technically. I was appointed the first time.”

“Does that mean it’s true?”

Ben stepped through the detector, then began reassembling himself. “Can’t think of anything that sounds more unpleasant than campaigning for office.”

“You don’t seem the type.” She looked at him sharply. “But I notice that wasn’t an actual denial.”

“You’re a smart cookie, Cassandra. Have a good day.”

She grinned. “Good luck at trial. You’re going to need it. The reporters are camped out on the second floor. I’d go in through the judge’s chambers.”

“Will do.”

The Tulsa County Courthouse had been dramatically improved by a series of renovations in recent years. Best of all, there were now several alternatives to what Judge Peterson and others had deemed “the slowest elevators in all creation.” Ben decided to take the escalators.

He was surprised to see Loving at the base, apparently waiting for him. He didn’t stop walking.

Loving held out his hands to stop him. “I know. You don’t have any time because your trial starts today.”

Ben banged his forehead. “Is that today? Holy cow!”

Loving frowned. Ben was never quite sure if sarcasm eluded him or just irritated him. “I found out somethin’ last night. I think there may be some nastiness going on in the police department.”

“Like what?”

“Don’t know yet. I may have to step on some toes. Some big, important toes.”

“That’s never stopped you before.”

“Nope. Just thought you should know.”

“Appreciate it. But I really-”

“There’s one more thing, Ben.”

He stopped, obviously impatient.

“I think the cops-and maybe your client-might’ve been involved in something bad.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. But those cops were at the hotel on a stakeout. Must be some kind of illegal trade. Smuggling.”

“You mean drugs? Narcotics?”

“That would be the obvious. But I don’t know yet. My sources didn’t spill any specifics.”

“Illegal golf clubs smuggled into Southern Hills?”

“I dunno. But it occurred to me… your guy was on the premises. It might not help your case.”

Ben nodded thoughtfully. He wished he had more time to consider the ramifications. But he didn’t. “Find out what you can. I’ll deal with my client.”

“Got it.”

Ben rode the escalator up. By this time, he expected Christina would have all their materials assembled in the courtroom and ready for use. Her background as a legal assistant still proved useful.

He poked his head into the conference room beside the judge’s office and was not surprised to find both Christina and Dennis waiting for him.

“Is it soup yet?”

“The prosecutor thinks so,” Christina said. “He dropped by to repeat the same offer. We turned him down again.”

“Sorry I missed that.” He gave Dennis a quick once-over. “You look good.”

“I did okay?” He was referring to the suit, which was brand-new. Christina had taken him on a shopping expedition to Utica Square and found him a trial wardrobe courtesy of Sak’s. It was more than Dennis would normally spend on clothing, but Ben told him to think of it as another legal fee.

He had chosen a blue suit and red tie for the first day, very similar to what Ben was wearing himself. “You did very well.”

“Yes,” Dennis said, “but do I look sincere?”

Ben’s lips thinned. “I hope so.”

“I’ve been practicing sincere expressions in the mirror. Want to see them?”

“No. No expressions in the courtroom.”

“Should I cry? I can, you know.”

“No expressions whatsoever. Remember the cardinal rule: the jury must never think you’re trying to pull the wool over their eyes. They will discount any scornful reactions or protestations. They will not be impressed by emotional outcries. The best course is to maintain an even keel. Be cool. Unfazed. They already know you dispute the prosecutor’s evidence. Show them you’re not a hotheaded killer. Show them you don’t have a violent bone in your body.”

“Show them you’re not insane.” Christina said, adding quietly, “Anymore.”

“Insanity is in the eyes of the beholder,” Dennis remarked.

“I’ll handle the defense,” Ben said. “You just keep a straight face. Were you able to get your neighbor to come to trial?”

“Yes, she’ll be there. In the front row. Right behind me.”

“Good.” Normally Ben tried to plant an adoring spouse just behind the defendant, but in this case, obviously, that wasn’t possible. Furthermore, Dennis had no living family in the area or, apparently, any close friends. But he did have an attractive neighbor who was the right age to be his mother-even if she wasn’t. Ben wanted her right behind him throughout the trial. She could do the facial expressions of scorn and disapproval that Dennis could not. Most importantly, she could look at Dennis with loving eyes. It was important that the jury see that the people around him, all the people who actually knew him, liked him.

“I just hope that helps,” Dennis said softly. “I-I’ve been reading the press coverage of the case. The press acts as if I’ve already been convicted. Like the trial is just a formality.”

“It isn’t,” Ben said firmly. “The media know that implications of guilt, like close elections and celebrity tittle-tattle, increase their ratings. You should ignore it. Focus on the trial. I think we’ve got a good jury.”

“We’ll see,” Dennis said, pushing himself to his feet.

“Yes,” Christina said, doing likewise. “We will.”

Dennis took Ben’s arm. “I want to thank you for doing this. I know how much work a trial is. And I know you had… reservations about taking my case. I appreciate it. More than you can possibly know.”

Ben nodded. He peered deeply into Dennis’s eyes and saw… what? Hard to know.

He patted Dennis on the back. “Let’s go win this thing.”

This was simply excruciating, Ben thought, waiting for the trial to begin. It was already ten past nine. What could be taking the judge so long?

He sat at the blond library table that would be his home away from home for the next many days, probably weeks. As usual, Christina had everything so well organized a blind man could find his way through it, which was good, because once the trial began, a blind man is exactly what Ben felt like.

To his right, he saw the prosecutor assembling his team and his materials. For all he had heard about the financial disadvantage the state supposedly had when mounting a trial, it looked to Ben as if they had far more geegaws than he did. Each of the three attorneys sitting at the table-Guillerman, Patterson, and another guy Ben didn’t know-all had laptops in front of them, ready to pull up a piece of evidence or testimony with a click. He also knew they had spared no expense assembling witnesses and evidence.

“You think Guillerman will do the opening himself?” he asked Christina quietly.

“I don’t think he has any choice, after so much publicity. Besides, it never hurts to get media attention just before an election.” She paused. “Well, in this case, it will probably hurt you.”