William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was seeing all these men restrained, locked up, trapped behind bars. The older she got, the more she thought she might be claustrophobic. Or maybe it wasn’t a phobia. Maybe it was memory. She’d been locked up once, and it just about killed her. She never wanted to go through that again.

And she thought Ben understood that, even though they had never directly discussed it, which was why he always handled these lockup interviews and brought her along only if it was absolutely necessary. Except now, since he inexplicably refused to have anything to do with this case. What was up with that, anyway? It was so unlike Ben. She’d worked with him all these years; she’d never once seen him back away from someone who needed help, much less someone particularly asking for his help.

Jones thought maybe Ben wanted no part of it because the accused was obviously homophobic, violent, and thoroughly twisted. The press had crucified him; they would likely do the same to his lawyer. But that didn’t ring true. Ben had agreed to represent an avowed member of a white racist militia group, for God’s sake, not to mention a host of other undesirables. After all that, he’s going to turn his back on some college kid? It just didn’t make sense. There had to be something more.

The door on the other side of the acrylic barrier opened, and a moment later, her new client, Johnny Christensen, was escorted into the room. He was wearing the standard orange coveralls and leg restraints.

She picked up the phone. “Hello. I’m Christina McCall.”

He looked strong, like he’d been working out while he was in lockup, which she supposed was possible, since he had little else to do. He had sandy hair and stubble, a strong, chiseled chin. All in all, a very appealing package. If it weren’t for the murder thing.

“Yo,” he replied, a small smile on his face. He was a flirt; Christina saw that immediately. A kid who was accustomed to using charm and good looks to win people over and get whatever he wanted.

“Your mother has hired me to take your case.”

The smile increased. “Great.”

“You’re the client, though. You make the final decision. If you want someone else, just say so.”

“No, this is great. I’m looking forward to working with you.” The smile, the teeth, the cocked eyebrow-what a package. He must’ve had every sorority girl in the city at his fingertips.

“Your previous attorney, Kevin Mahoney, will be working with me as a consultant. But since he hasn’t been released from the hospital, you need someone else to take the lead.”

“I get that. Cool.”

“You understand that the court has denied your motion for a further continuance?”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the trial starts up again Monday morning at nine o’clock sharp. We’ve chosen not to ask for a mistrial, and the judge hasn’t done it sui sponte -he’s probably concerned about double jeopardy. So it’s same place, same judge, same jury. The only change is that you’ll be a solo defendant and you’ll have me sitting next to you at counsel table.”

“Monday. Man.” He stretched, flexing his biceps, which sent a ripple through the tattoo on his upper arm: BETAS FOREVER. “Are you going to be able to get ready in time?”

“I’ll have to be. Fortunately, my predecessor kept good files and careful notes. I’ve already started devouring them. And Kevin may be feeling puny, but he’s also bored to tears. So he won’t mind helping. Don’t worry, Johnny. I can handle it.”

“You’re going to try the case alone? By yourself?”

Christina drew in her breath. “I have a partner. But he’s been unable to assist so far. Ben Kincaid.”

“Kincaid? I’ve heard that name.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s who Mom wanted.”

Christina leaned forward. “What?”

“Yeah. When I was first arrested. I remember Mom mentioning his name several times.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Ended up hiring that Mahoney guy.”

Christina’s brow furrowed. Curiouser and curiouser.

“Johnny, I’ve read Kevin’s notes, and I read the transcript of your initial police interrogation, but could you please tell me what happened that night? In your own words.”

A lot of the flash went out of his smile as she drew him back to the main subject. “I’d rather not. What do you need to know?”

“Well, I gather you don’t deny that you and your friend beat up Tony Barovick.”

“Hey, he was coming on to us. Right there in the bar!”

“And you thought that made it okay-”

“Oh, sure, it’s easy to criticize after it’s all done, but how would you feel if some guy came out of nowhere and started hitting on you?”

Flattered. “You thought he was making sexual advances?”

“And staring at me like I was a piece of meat. Really creeped me out.”

Christina inhaled. “Johnny, I gotta be straight with you. The fact that a gay man supposedly came on to you in a singles bar is not going to fly as a defense. The prosecutor will crucify you.”

“Well, it’s sick!” He threw himself back against his chair. “I mean, why can’t those people keep to themselves?”

“I’m sure he-”

“I mean, they always say they just want to be free to live their lives, but the truth is they’re always out there promoting their lifestyle.”

“He might’ve thought you were gay.”

“I am not gay!” His words boomed out so loudly Christina didn’t need the phone receiver to hear him. His face was transformed; all the charm drained out of it. She was suddenly glad there was an acrylic barrier between them. “I am 100 percent straight! Always have been.”

“Johnny-”

“I want us to be absolutely clear on this, lady. I am not some goddamn queer.”

“Johnny-”

“And I don’t want anyone suggesting that I am.”

Christina gritted her teeth. “Do you want to die? As in, lethal injection?” He fell silent. “Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you go into that courtroom talking like this. I guarantee it. The press has been demanding that someone pay for this crime. The DA has lost one defendant. He’ll do anything possible to avoid losing you. And if you go up on the stand behaving like this, he won’t even have to try hard.”

Johnny thrust his hand against his forehead, staring at the ceiling. “Man. This whole mess sucks so bad.”

“Yeah.” She thumbed through her papers. “So would it be safe to say you were the one who instigated the attack?”

“No way, man. It was Brett-Brett all the way. He was a firecracker.”

Christina didn’t know if that was supposed to be good or bad. “He was the one who started it?”

“Absolutely. I think he went a little nuts, to tell you the truth. Lost it. I mean, I just thought we’d rough the kid up a little, you know? Teach him a lesson. But that wasn’t enough for Brett. He wanted the kid to hurt. He brought the Taser. He insisted on breaking his legs.”

“And you just stood there and watched?”

“Kinda. I mean, I’m not saying I did nothing, okay? But it was mostly Brett.”

Christina didn’t know whether to believe him or to assume this was the usual game of blame-the-dead-guy. Putting the blame on a codefendant was a standard defense maneuver. But would the jury buy it here, when the codefendant has been executed on national television? It might seem too convenient.

“Brett would’ve never stopped. He wanted to keep at it, even after he did both legs. I was the one who pulled him off, finally got him out of there.”

“Now that’s something I wanted to ask you about,” Christina said. “You say you left Tony in that vacant lot?”