William Bernhardt - Murder One

Ben pondered a moment. “That tells me they still think Keri is guilty. They’re just using me to get to her.”

“Probably.”

“They’ll never be able to make the concealment rap stick.”

“I agree. I think the judge will kick it as soon as he learns you were the defendant’s—and chief suspect’s—attorney. I’ve done a little research.” She popped open her brand-spanking-new briefcase and revealed a stack of photocopied cases so thick it barely fit inside.

Nothing like having a new grad on the team, Ben mused. Bundles of energy. “What’s the aiding and abetting about?”

“Presumably they’ll argue you helped Keri commit the crime. Or helped her cover it up.”

“I suppose you could argue that, in a way, every defense attorney representing a guilty defendant helps them cover it up. But I don’t think they can make that a crime. Not without doing some serious damage to the Constitution.”

“Ben … what you said. About Keri. Are you telling me she was …”

“Guilty? No. She convinced me she was innocent a long time ago. Not that it matters. Even guilty people are entitled to lawyers.”

“But still …”

“Yeah.” He stretched, straining his aching muscles. “Keri always said she’d been framed. That someone was out to get her. Which at the time I thought a trifle paranoid. Now I’m not so sure.” He pondered a moment. “These charges against me are just preliminary. A device. They’ll use this to reopen the case against Keri.”

“What about double jeopardy?”

“There are ways around double jeopardy protection. And one of the best is to allege fraud on the part of the defendant. Or the defendant’s lawyer.”

“Like hiding key evidence in his file cabinet?”

“Exactly.” The more he said it aloud, the more he realized it must be true. “That’s what they’re after. It’s Keri they want.”

“Maybe so,” Christina said. “But I wouldn’t discount anything. I hate to be the one to tell you, Ben, but every cop I talked to, everyone I tried to interview—they were all hostile. They loved Joe McNaughton, and they couldn’t handle the verdict. I think some of these people are willing to do just about anything to get Keri convicted.” She paused, then added, “And to teach you a lesson.”

Ben’s lip turned up at the edge. “I’ve already learned a lesson. But I’m not going to let them railroad my client.”

“Which leads to my next important question.” She pushed herself to her feet and began to pace. Ben marveled at how professional, how— lawyerly she looked. Snappy two-piece suit, briefcase, pinned-up hair, serious expression. She’d been out of school for less than twenty-four hours, but she already had the part down cold. “Whom do you want to represent you?”

Ben looked surprised. “What do you mean? I already have a lawyer. You.”

“I’m serious, Ben.”

“So am I.”

“Ben, I just got my diploma. I haven’t even passed the bar.”

“You’ve already taken the multistate, haven’t you? We’ll get you a Rule 9 temporary permit.”

“Ben, I’m not ready for this.”

“You said you wanted to be tested. Tested by fire, in the courtroom. Right? Well, I think this qualifies.”

“Ben—this is serious. These are major charges.”

“I think they’ll go away at the arraignment.”

“But what if you’re wrong?”

“If I’m wrong, we’ll revisit the question. But as you know, I’m never wrong.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right. Only every other time.”

“The truth is”—he reached out tentatively—“I don’t want another attorney. I trust you. ”

Christina looked away. “This is crazy.”

Ben laid back down on the cot. “I don’t think so.”

“Ben—I have to tell you the truth. I’m worried about you.”

“Well, don’t be. I’m not.” Which was a major lie. The police were trying to frame him, he’d been mistreated and abused, and the one friend who might be able to help was not to be found. He knew all too well what the police could do. He’d seen it happen to his clients; had heard too many horror stories related by Mike. The truth—and the main reason Ben hadn’t been able to sleep—was that he was scared to death.

But there was no point in letting Christina know that. “So go prep for the arraignment, slugger. My body’s aching and I need a nap.”

“Sure I can’t bring you an ice pack? “

He closed his eyes. “I’m sure.”

Christina crouched beside him. “I have something for you.”

“What would that be?”

She leaned across and touched her lips lightly to his swollen eye. “All better?”

“All better,” he whispered.

Her voice softened a bit. “Did I mention that you look very sexy in orange?”

For the first time in their conversation, he actually smiled. “Get out of here.”

7

THE VERY FACT THAT Ben was being taken to court for his arraignment told him that this was not being handled like a run-of-the-mill case. These days, in Tulsa County, most defendants appeared for their arraignments by closed-circuit television from the jailhouse—what the cons called TV Court. It was simpler in many respects; it saved the sheriffs office the trouble and risk involved in hauling defendants out of the jail and across the plaza to the courtroom just so they could make a two-minute appearance that didn’t amount to anything anyway. Arraignments were a vestigial holdover from the Constitution; they prevented arrestees from languishing in jail indefinitely, but didn’t accomplish much else.

The second clue Ben received that this was not your garden-variety arraignment was that it was being handled for the prosecution by Nick Dexter—the same man who had tried Keri Dalcanton. Arraignments were typically handled by D.A. interns—law students, basically—which was another sign of how important everyone thought they were.

Except today. Today everything was different.

“The next case on the docket is State versus Kincaid .” Judge Collier ripped through his docket like a speed reader; his only goal was to conclude before lunch. “Is this the defendant?”

“Yes, sir,” Ben said, approaching the bench. He knew the judge recognized him. Ben had appeared before this judge on many previous occasions, although never as the defendant, and never in vivid orange coveralls.

“Are you represented by counsel?” Collier was young for a judge, only a few years older than Ben. He had dark hair and preppie eyeglasses; his skin was white to the point of being nearly translucent

“Yes, sir, I am.”

Christina stepped forward. “Christina McCall for the defense, your honor.”

Collier peered through his glasses. “I don’t believe I know you, Ms. McCall. Have you appeared before this court before?”

“No, sir. This is my first time.” As a lawyer, anyway. She left out the part about having just graduated from law school yesterday.

The judge scrutinized her carefully, creating an atypical pause in the otherwise rushed proceeding. Ben knew what he was thinking. These were serious charges, and he was probably contemplating whether to advise the defendant that he might want to seek a more experienced attorney. Collier used to be a defense attorney himself; this is an issue he would care about.

But he apparently decided it was none of his business. “Very well. Mr. Kincaid, you’ve been charged with concealing evidence, aiding and abetting the commission of a felony, and obstruction of justice. Do you understand the charges?”

Ben nodded. “I understand them, yes.”

“Will you waive the formal reading?”

It was tempting, given how he was being treated, to force the court to read and the prosecution to endure the painful and lengthy formal information. But his mother didn’t raise him to be spiteful. “I’ll waive.”