William Bernhardt - Death Row

Ben felt Christina’s hand squeezing his. Come on, Derek… come on…

“It seems apparent to this court that a grave injustice was done seven years ago-an injustice for which Raymond Goldman has paid the price. An impossibly high price. The court cannot return those years to you, sir. All we can do is earnestly offer our condolences, and our apologies. And of course, grant your writ for relief.”

Ray slowly rose. His knees were shaking. “Y-you mean-you mean I get a new trial?”

Derek shook his head. “I mean you’re free to go.” He rapped his gavel. “Marshals, remove those shackles. The writ for habeas corpus relief is granted. Case dismissed.”

The courtroom exploded. Ben and Christina threw themselves around Ray, around each other. Flashbulbs ignited the room. “I can’t believe it,” Ray kept saying. “After all this time. I can’t believe it.” Everyone in the gallery rushed to the front. Pandemonium ruled.

“There will be order in this court!”

Derek stood at the head of the courtroom, banging his gavel furiously. “We may be out of session, but this is still a court of law and you will behave accordingly!”

He glared at them all for a moment, and then, abruptly, his expression softened. “Take it outside.”

“Yes, your honor,” Ben said, hurriedly gathering his papers.

“Oh, and one other thing,” the judge added.

Ben stiffened. “Yes?”

“Nice job, Mr. Kincaid.”

An hour later, back at the office, a massive celebration ensued. Somehow, in the space of an hour, Christina managed to get the whole lobby area festooned with streamers and ribbons. Champagne flowed. The outer doors were locked; the office was closed for business. Everyone wore silly hats and giggled giddily-Ben and Christina and Jones and his wife, Paula, and even Loving. And at the center of it all was Ray Goldman-looking better than Ben had seen him in seven years. He was wearing street clothes-for the first time in seven years-and even if he hadn’t had a chance yet for perfect grooming, the watery glow in his eyes and the amazed smile on his face more than made up for it.

“I still can’t believe it,” Ray said, a happily befuddled expression on his face.

“Believe it,” Ben said. “You’re a free man.”

“A toast,” Christina said, raising her glass. “To Ray Goldman, who the whole world now knows is innocent-as we knew all along.”

“Amen!” everyone shouted.

“And let’s have a moment for Erin Faulkner, one of the bravest, strongest women I’ve ever had the pleasure to know. Despite all her troubles, she tried to do the right thing. And in the end-she did.”

“Bravo,” Ben said quietly.

“And,” she went on, glass still raised, “a toast to that great and powerful legal warrior, Ben Kincaid!”

“Hear, hear!” the others concurred.

“Champion of truth, justice, and the American way. Defender of the poor and oppressed. Slayer of the great and toupéed beast Derek.”

Ben cleared his throat. “I think you should be sharing in this toast, co-counsel.”

She beamed. “If you insist.”

“I can’t get over how well this case turned out,” Loving announced. His huge frame was bobbling-too much bubbly, Ben suspected. “Ben finally won a case in front of Derek. Ray finally wins his get-out-of-jail-free card. And I learned to appreciate sushi.”

The rest of the room stared at him.

“Well, I did. It’s weird, but I really like that squishy stuff. I’ve been back to that joint three times.”

Jones whispered into Christina’s ear. “Soon we’ll be hearing about the squid conspiracy to take over the world.”

“What happened to Mike?” Ben inquired. “He should be sharing in the accolades.”

“Blackwell called,” Jones explained. “Yanked him back to headquarters.”

“Is he in trouble?”

Jones shrugged his shoulders. “Why else would Blackwell call?”

“First of all,” Chief Blackwell said, “I want to extend my congratulations to the two of you on your outstanding detective work.”

Mike, sitting in a chair opposite the man’s desk, stared at him. You do? Was the old man mellowing, or was he in an extended fantasy fugue state? When Mike caught the Kindergarten Killer, Blackwell barely nodded. When he nailed Detective Sergeant McNaughton’s murderer, Blackwell hardly grunted. But now he’s getting effusive congratulations?

“I know this case hasn’t been easy for either of you. But you stuck with it, and you brought it to a successful conclusion. I’m putting strong commendations into both of your files.”

Baxter, sitting in the chair beside Mike, nodded. “That’s much appreciated, sir,” she said. “But that’s not why you called us here, is it?”

Blackwell seemed disconcerted. “No. It isn’t.”

Mike jumped in. “Chief, if it’s about that report I filed on Sergeant Baxter, I withdraw everything I-”

Blackwell waved him away. “No, no. I just-well, I need to know what you two want to do.”

Baxter’s head tilted. “How do you mean?”

“Look, let’s talk turkey. I forced the two of you to work together. Neither of you wanted it. But I thought it was important. I wanted Baxter to get a fair shake-something she didn’t get in Oklahoma City, I’m sorry to say. And I thought the best way to accomplish that was to pair her with the best and most open-minded man in homicide.”

Mike’s eyes widened. Was that a compliment? This was a red-letter day.

“But I know it’s been a tempestuous relationship from the start.”

Baxter squirmed. “It hasn’t been… that bad…”

“You’re trying to put a good face on it. And I appreciate that. But I know what’s what. I’ve got eyes and ears. All over the place. I know you two have been at war from the start. I hate to think what was going on in the car when that Knight woman was killed.”

Mike and Baxter exchanged a look.

“So the bottom line is this-if you want to be reassigned, I’ll go along with it. I think this case has given Baxter the cred she needed. There’s no need to Super Glue the two of you together forever, if you don’t want it. Mind you, I think you make a pretty good team.”

Mike nodded. “Do you really?”

“And I think you could learn to work together. But I won’t force the issue. If you want to be assigned to new partners, I’ll do it.”

Baxter’s head slowly turned. Mike’s did the same. But they seemed to be avoiding each other’s eyes.

“So tell me what you want. Will you keep on working together? Or shall I reassign you?”

Slowly, gradually, Mike and Baxter found each other’s eyes. But neither spoke.

“Okay,” Blackwell said, drumming his fingers on his desk, “do we have a verdict?”

Mike and Baxter continued staring. Silently.

“Well,” Blackwell said, his impatience obviously growing. “What’s it going to be?”

The party was winding down. The last bottle had been uncorked, but no one was drinking anymore. Jones and Loving had both fallen asleep on the sofa. Christina was at Jones’s workstation, banging away at his computer keyboard.

“What are you up to?” Ben asked, peering over her shoulder.

“Deleting everything on Jones’s hard drive,” she answered nonchalantly.

Ben’s eyes ballooned. “What! Are you nuts? He’ll-”

“Relax. I backed it all up on Zip disks.” She smiled. “But he won’t know that.”

“Christina, have you lost your mind? When Jones sees what you’ve done, he’ll freak! We’re talking office-manager meltdown!”

“Yes,” she agreed, as she pushed Delete for the final time. “That’ll teach him to send me out to interview Spider-Man.”