William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“I gave his mother my word, Jones.”

“Nonetheless-”

“I’ve filed papers with the court. It’s a done deal.” She scanned the messages. “I don’t suppose any of these are supportive?”

“Actually, there was one. Even offered to help finance the defense.”

“Super! ACLU?”

“Nah. Some ultraright fundamentalist group. God’s Chosen, or something like that. Wants to support Christensen the holy crusader in his battle against the sodomites.”

Her eyelids fluttered. “Holy crusader. More like ignorant putz who joined the wrong fraternity.” She tossed the messages into her briefcase. “Has Loving’s plane come in yet?”

“Yeah. And Paula came up with him. They’re in the kitchen scarfing doughnuts.”

“Good. Team meeting in ten minutes. Main conference room.”

“Sure. Will Ben-?”

“Has he left Tulsa?”

“Not to my knowledge. What’s up with that, anyway?”

“Don’t know. But I’ve got some suspicions. I’ve got a call in to his mother.”

“In Oklahoma City?”

Christina shrugged. “Something my client said made me think there might be some history on this.”

“But-isn’t she kind of… frosty?”

“Says Ben. I adore the woman. Who knows, if I can squeeze in a visit, we might have time to go shopping.”

She knew she was wasting her time, even as she dialed the phone. But she couldn’t help herself.

“Ben, would you please reconsider-”

“No.”

“You don’t have to go to court. Just stay in the background. Give me the benefit of your wisdom.”

“No.”

“Ben, who’s gonna know?”

“Will she be there?”

Christina hesitated. “You mean Mrs. Christensen? Well, of course she-”

“My answer is no.” There was a staticky pause on the line. “Now I have to get back to my work.”

“Ben, I’ve known you since the day you started practicing, and you’ve never behaved this way.”

“What way? Smart?”

“As if you don’t care. About”-don’t say it, she told herself-“anything.”

“I don’t know what you’re babbling about.”

“Ben, don’t shut me out. Tell me what’s going on.”

“What’s going on is that I have a lot of work to do. And so do you, apparently.”

She hesitated. “Ben-I missed you last night.”

After a painfully protracted silence, she hung up the phone.

A girl hears the strangest things when she walks into a conference room unannounced.

“Cutter-Sanborn? No one uses Cutter-Sanborn.”

“Well, they should.”

“You can’t turn your back on two hundred years of library tradition.”

“Times change. The U.K. is way ahead of us on this.”

“It’s a losing battle, Paula. Dewey Decimal is here to stay.”

“I’m not trying to junk it. I’m just saying Cutter-Sanborn is a viable alternative.”

Christina cut in between Jones and Paula, his wife, who worked as a reference librarian at the downtown Tulsa City-County library. “Is this another one of those fascinating library science debates?”

“Can you believe it?” Jones said. “She’s advocating a whole new system of cataloguing.”

“A much better one,” Paula insisted.

“Has poor Linda Saferite in a tizzy. What an idea! I mean, I’ll admit there are advantages. But any change would be unforgivably burdensome to the rank-and-file librarian.”

Christina shook her head. And they called lawyers nerds. “Look, team, we’ve got a major case on our hands and less than a week to get ready for it. I need everyone’s cooperation.”

“Ain’t the work mostly done already?” This came from Loving, their investigator. He was a large, physically imposing man. When she’d first met him, Christina assumed he’d be able to extract information from people just by hovering over them and snarling. And although he never ruled that out, as it happened, he was usually far more subtle. And successful. There was a brain rattling around somewhere in that massive down-home frame. “Mahoney’d already started the trial when that wacko broke into the courtroom with the gun.”

“I’ve read through Kevin’s files,” Christina said. “And here’s the bad news. He didn’t have squat. He was going down in flames and he knew it.”

“Why didn’t he plea-bargain?”

“None offered,” Christina said. “Too much publicity. The DA was sure of his case. I’ve been reading Tony Barovick’s journal. He was a fascinating young man. I keep hoping I’ll find a clue in there somewhere-but so far nothing.”

Jones threw up his hands. “Then what are we going to do?”

“That’s what we’re here to discuss.”

“Christina, think for a minute,” Jones said. “I’m used to this never-say-die attitude from Ben. But you’ve always been the sensible one. So do the sensible thing. Ditch this case.”

“I told you already. I can’t.”

“Give the court some excuse. Temporary insanity or something.”

“Sorry.”

“Why should we risk letter bombs? I’m not even sure it will be good publicity. Getting creamed in a case that’s getting national attention is not going to attract clients.”

“We have to be tough. To boldly go where no lawyer has gone before.”

“Split infinitive, Christina,” Paula said. “You know I think we girls should stick together. But I have real concerns. This kid killed a man in cold blood.”

“He says he didn’t.”

“Well, of course he-” She drew in her breath. “Listen, Christina. I know everyone is entitled to a fair and able defense. But this is a hate crime.”

“I remember a very similar discussion a few years ago. When Ben insisted on representing that racist in Arkansas. I told him I wouldn’t be any part of it. But Ben insisted he was the only chance the kid had at anything like a fair trial. And he was right.”

“So where’s Ben now?”

Christina closed her eyes. “Look, people, I can’t waste time. Are you with me or not? I need to know.”

The three other people sitting at the table looked at one another. It wasn’t long before Loving spoke. “We’re with ya.”

“Absolutely,” Paula said. “No matter what.”

“Right,” Jones said. “Even if we go bankrupt. Even if we all get blown to smithereens.”

“Thanks, Jones.”

There was a knock on the door. Ellen Christensen stepped in. Christina showed her to a chair and introduced her to everyone. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for taking the case.” Christina was impressed by how gracious she was. Quite a contrast from her son. “I-saw what they did. Out in the lobby. I’m sorry.”

“No big deal. Happens to us all the time.” Jones opened his mouth. Christina cut him off. “Mrs. Christensen, you know your son better than anyone. Can you give us any insight into what happened?”

“I really can’t. Johnny is my late husband’s son-my stepson-but I’ve been with him so long I feel as if he is my son, and I think he feels the same way. His biological mother died when he was quite young. We used to be very close, till he went off to college.”

“You lived in Toronto?”

“Until a few years ago. My husband was an executive in a major energy firm. Was eventually transferred to Chicago. Johnny’s grades were never great, but my husband’s friends managed to get him into U of C.”

“How much do you know about this fraternity he’s in?”

“Not much. I wasn’t crazy about the idea, but Johnny’s father had been Greek, so Johnny was determined to do it, too. Do you think it’s been a problem for him?”

“Maybe. When I was in school, frats were mostly hotbeds of sexism. But Johnny’s clan seems to have favored homophobia. Some of them, anyway.”