William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone here to see you.”

“Vicki, we’re in the middle of-”

“It’s Ellen Christensen.”

Ben’s neck twitched. “I’m working.”

“She says it’s important. It’s about the case.”

Ben stared down at the table, his eyes hooded.

Christina looked at him. “Please, Ben? We need all the help we can get.”

After a long moment, Ben slowly pushed himself out of his chair. “This won’t take long.”

Ben started speaking before he entered the room.

“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to have any-”

“I wanted to thank you,” she said. She was a thin, fragile woman, and she seemed particularly so now. “For helping with my son’s case. I appreciate it.”

“I did it for Christina,” he said, his voice low and flat. “Because she asked me. That’s the only reason.”

“Whatever the reason, I appreciate it.” Her face was red and a trifle puffy. She had obviously been crying, which Ben supposed should come as no surprise, given the circumstances. “Johnny is losing, isn’t he?”

Ben had never been one to comfort people with false hope, and he was less inclined than ever now. “Yes.”

“You think he will be convicted?”

“I think juries are utterly unpredictable. But at this moment-it doesn’t look good. That last witness destroyed our defense. If Johnny left the bar at 11:10, and no one knows where he went, then-”

“I know where he went.”

“You do?”

She nodded slightly. “I… I had hoped it wouldn’t come up. But I can testify.”

“We can’t put the defendant’s mother on the stand. The jury would think you were just trying to get your son off the hook. Who else knows?”

“No one. I’m the only one.”

Ben grimaced. “If we put you up there, Drabble will tear you apart.”

“I know that. But I still-”

“No. I’m totally against it. It’s a bad idea.”

“Is that because you don’t care about him?” she said, her voice rising for the first time. “Or because you don’t care about me?”

Ben turned, his hand pressed against his forehead. “Ellen-”

Tears sprang from her eyes. “I know how you must hate me. And I don’t blame you.”

“Ellen… I…”

“But I can’t believe you don’t care. Not even a little bit.”

Ben remained quiet.

“And I can’t believe you’d let my son suffer just to punish me. But that’s how it looks. As if you’re not even trying. As if you want Johnny to be convicted.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” A short explosion, then once again her voice crumbled. She wiped away a stream of tears, which were immediately replaced by new ones. “I know I made a terrible mistake, Ben. Don’t you think I would change things? If I could? If I could do it all over again?”

Ben couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“But I can’t. I can’t turn back the hands of time. All I can do is… move forward.” She looked up at him, eyes pleading. “Can’t you move forward, too?”

Ben stared at the desktop, trying to reason with himself, trying to force himself to take the next step. Without success. It was as if there was some sort of wall, some psychological barrier that prevented him from making even the tiniest movement in her direction, even when his brain-or perhaps his heart-told him that he should.

“I’ll notify Christina that you want to testify,” he said, moving rapidly toward the door. “It’s her call. You should be ready to go tomorrow morning. In any case.”

“You been here all night?”

Mike looked up from his temporary desk. “As a matter of fact. How’d you guess?”

“Easy,” Baxter said. “You look like a piece of meat that’s been left out too long in the sun. Been working? Or have you perhaps finally taken Special Agent Swift up on her many offers?”

“Swift just likes to kid around.”

“Who’s kidding who? She’s been after your bones since she showed up in Tulsa. They sure make ’em horny down South.”

“Don’t be so crude.”

“How else do you explain it? I mean, you’re okay-looking, but honestly.”

Mike tapped his pencil eraser on his desk. “I seem to recall a night when you didn’t think I was all that unpleasant to be with.”

“I must’ve been feverish. Or seriously bored. You working on the murders?”

“What else would I be working on?”

“How should I know?” She paced around his desk. “Your obsessions seem to come and go. I mean, a few days ago you were all wrapped up in that kidnapping case. Now another mystery comes along, and you’re staying up all night working on that. It’s as if you have no personal life. As if the normal cycles of life never-”

Mike sat upright. “Wait a minute. You’re right.”

“About what?”

He ran for his coat. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“I’d be prouder if I knew what I’d done.”

“What every muse does. ‘Open thine eyes / That the blind might see.’ ” He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. “You’re brilliant.”

Her response was a little slow in coming. “I thought we agreed-”

“Sorry. I was momentarily overcome. I’ll be back soon.”

“Morelli! I want to know what-”

But it was too late. He was gone.

The next morning the courtroom atmosphere was even more agitated than it had been before. The throng outside had doubled, and three incidents of violence were reported before Ben and Christina even arrived. The corridors of the courtroom were jam-packed, and spectators jostled and thrust for a chance to get one of the treasured gallery seats. It seemed everyone was anxious to hear what the defense had to say.

Ben was amazed that the case still seemed to hold the media’s interest; he couldn’t think of a network that didn’t have someone on the premises. Most of the familiar faces he’d noticed in the gallery were back again: Roger Hartnell, still hobbling along with his cane, Gary Scholes, the frat boy turncoat. Mario Roma was there, too; Ben made sure he never had a chance to get anywhere near Christina.

And Ellen was present, of course.

“You know I’m a reasonable man,” Drabble said, running his fingers through his hair. “You know it. Tell me I’m a reasonable man.”

“You’ve been a reasonable man,” Ben answered. “Most of the time.”

“I don’t go in for dirty tricks.”

“Right,” Christina said. “That little prank you pulled on me my first day was a clean trick.”

Drabble ignored her. “I’ve turned over the evidence I’m supposed to turn over. I’ve given you access to the witnesses.”

“You coached Gary Scholes to hold back the kicker.”

“I did nothing of the sort. I play by the rules.”

Ben was becoming impatient. “Fine, fine. You’re a paragon among prosecutors. Of course, that’s rather like being the Earl of Earwigs.”

Drabble drew himself up. “But I absolutely draw the line at surprise witnesses plopped into my lap seconds before they testify.”

“It’s not as if Ellen Christensen dropped out of the heavens. You’ve known about her. You’ve talked to her on several occasions. She’s on our list.”

“Only in a pro forma way. You never suggested she was a material alibi witness.”

“Look, if you want to talk fairness, I didn’t know Scholes was going to say Johnny left the bar at exactly the coroner’s estimated time of death, did I? I’m calling her to rebut your surprise assault on our defense. I need her.”

“Well… that’s just too diddly-doggone bad.”

“Don’t be vulgar. It detracts from your rugged good looks.”