William Bernhardt - Murder One

“May I assume you wish to enter a plea of not guilty?”

“Darn tootin’.”

“Plea of not guilty will be entered. Preliminary hearing is set for two weeks from now, Thursday at nine thirty A.M. Next case.”

“Your honor,” Christina cut in, “may I be heard?”

He shook his head. “Learn the rules, Ms. McCall. We don’t take argument at the arraignment. I’ll entertain motions at the preliminary.”

“This is a little different, your honor.”

“They always are. Next case.”

“Your honor, Mr. Kincaid is an attorney.”

“Lawyers have to follow procedure just like everybody else.”

“Your honor, I don’t think you quite understand.” Ben knew Christina was trying the judge’s patience, but he had to admire her for hanging in there. “Mr. Kincaid is an attorney charged with aiding and abetting his client. It’s the defendant they’re after. They botched that prosecution, so now they’re going after the lawyer. It’s all a ploy to reopen the case.”

“Are you talking about the Dalcanton case?” Collier’s face became stony. By the time he turned to Dexter, his eyes had narrowed significantly. “Is this true?”

Dexter was in his early thirties, handsome, with strong cheekbones that photographed well when he handled high profile cases. But none of that helped him at the moment. “That is not entirely correct, your honor.”

Judge Collier drew himself up. “If one word of it is correct, you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

Dexter moved closer to the bench, an earnest expression on his face. “Your honor, we believe Mr. Kincaid aided and abetted Keri Dalcanton in the commission and cover-up of the violent murder of a police officer.”

“So this is about the Dalcanton case?”

“Yes. We believe Mr. Kincaid suppressed evidence—”

“This is a crock, your honor,” Christina said, interrupting. “They lost the defendant, so they’re going after the lawyer. It’s a dog-and-pony show for the appeals court. And a revenge play.”

“That’s not so,” Dexter insisted. “Kincaid’s a bona fide defendant in his own right.”

“Based on his alleged assistance to his client?” the judge asked.

“That’s right.”

“Who you were unable to convict.”

“That’s … right.”

“Mr. Dexter, this does not look good.” Collier appeared to have forgotten all about the other ten thousand cases on his docket. “How can you charge a defense attorney with concealing evidence against his own client? A defense attorney has no obligation to come forward with evidence against his client. To the contrary, he has an obligation to zealously defend and protect his client.”

Ben nodded silently. Bad break for the D.A., drawing a former defense attorney for the arraignment judge. Collier knew the score.

“But your honor, no attorney has the right to conceal physical evidence.”

“True. But the attorney can receive items in trust, can’t he?”

“Well, yes, but he can’t knowingly conceal—”

“Did the prosecution ever request that Mr. Kincaid turn over items presented to him by his client in trust?”

“Well, no. We didn’t know—”

“Do you have affirmative evidence demonstrating that he was aware he was in possession of relevant evidence?”

“Well, no, but—”

“And what’s this about aiding and abetting? How can we charge him with aiding and abetting someone you couldn’t convict in the first place?”

Dexter’s chiseled cheekbones began looking a trifle puffy. “Your honor, it’s an independent charge. Before a different judge and a different jury, we could have a different result.”

“So this man could be convicted for aiding and abetting his own client, who wasn’t convicted herself? Mr. Dexter, this stinks to high heaven.”

“It gets worse, your honor,” Christina said, seizing her opportunity. “Certain police officers have been out to get Mr. Kincaid since he won the Dalcanton case. The search of his office was based on an anonymous tip, and they almost immediately turned up a knife no one had ever seen before. Worse, in the twelve hours Mr. Kincaid has been in custody, he’s been intentionally mistreated and abused.”

“Now that’s a lie,” Dexter barked.

“Look at his face!” Christina shot back. “Do you think he got that shiner by accident? Does that happen to every defendant who comes before this court?”

Collier’s expression was grave. “Mr. Dexter, I do not like what I’m hearing.”

“Your honor,” Dexter pleaded, “I can assure you this prosecution is on the up-and-up.”

“Frankly, Mr. Dexter, right now your assurances aren’t worth a hill of beans. I can’t let you go around locking up the defense attorney every time you lose a case.”

“That isn’t what this is about. I—”

“If you can’t give me some independent charge against this man—something that doesn’t hinge on your prior failed prosecution—I’m going to bounce him.”

Dexter bit down on his lower lip. He glanced quickly at the back of the courtroom, then squared his jaw and addressed the judge. “Very well, your honor. I’d like to amend the charges against Mr. Kincaid in the information.”

“To what?”

Dexter took a deep breath before answering. “Murder. In the first degree.”

8

BEN AND CHRISTINA REACTED simultaneously. “ What? ”

The judge was barely a second later. “Mr. Dexter, what are you playing at?”

Dexter held up his hands. “I’m not playing, your honor. You wanted an independent charge; you got one. Forget about Keri Dalcanton. We’ll go against Kincaid for murder one. The murder of Joe McNaughton.”

Judge Collier was not placated. “Mr. Dexter, these are serious charges. If you file these without sufficient grounds—”

“Your honor, we found the murder weapon in his file cabinet. If Keri Dalcanton didn’t do it, the only logical conclusion is that he did.”

“Your honor,” Christina said, “what possible motive could Mr. Kincaid have to kill that police officer? He didn’t even know the man.”

“A good question,” the judge said. “Got an answer, Mr. Dexter?”

“We don’t have to provide motive at the arraignment,” Dexter said, squirming.

“True enough,” the judge said, shaking his head.

“Frankly,” Dexter continued, “we don’t have to provide anything at this time, except the charge. So consider him charged.”

“With murder?” Christina leaned across the bench. “Your honor, this is an outrage!”

“I’ll take that as a plea of not guilty.”

“And that’s not all. We move to dismiss, your honor.”

“Can’t say that I’m surprised. But we can’t handle that here. File your papers and bring it up at the preliminary.”

“Your honor, they’ve brought frivolous murder charges just to perpetuate this petty vendetta against—”

“At the preliminary, Ms. McCall. There’s nothing I can do here. And given the severity of the charge, I can’t grant bail, either.” The judge rapped his gavel. “Next case. And this time, I mean it!”

By the time they got outside the courtroom, the press had arrived in force. Ben didn’t know who had tipped them, but as he was marched down the corridor toward the jail, the flashbulbs were flying.

“Mr. Kincaid! Comment?”

“Was it you all along?”

“Is it true you’re Keri Dalcanton’s lover? That she seduced you and made you kill Joe McNaughton?”

Times like these, the Fifth Amendment was Ben’s favorite part of the whole creaky document. He kept his mouth buttoned for the whole ten-minute walk. He tried to keep his expression amiable and calm; the rest of the world didn’t need to know that he was worried. Seriously worried. Because it now appeared that the D.A.’s office was as much a part of this as the police. And that they were willing to do almost anything to bring down Keri Dalcanton. And him.