William Bernhardt - Murder One

Out of habit, Ben began to rise. Christina grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down. “We are, your honor.”

“Very well.” He turned his attention to the prosecution table. “Will the prosecution be calling any witnesses?”

D.A. LaBelle rose, in a slow, dignified, fluid motion. “We will, your honor.”

“Very well.” Again, Judge Cable made no reaction. But as he and everyone else in the courtroom knew, the fact that LaBelle was handling this matter himself signified that it was an extraordinary case. “Proceed.”

LaBelle called Sergeant Matthews to the stand. Matthews was relatively contained and quiet—for Matthews, anyway. Christina wasn’t surprised. LaBelle was known for his attention to detail, his perfectionism. She imagined he’d had Matthews in the woodshed for a good long time, rehearsing his testimony and beating the obnoxious sarcasm out of him.

Matthews said what everyone expected. He refused to reveal the identity of his anonymous source, but claimed he had revealed the source to Judge Hart when obtaining the warrant to search Ben’s office. He had no idea what he might find or where he might find it, but given that they were dealing with the murder of a police officer, he took no chances. He ordered backup, an SOT team, snipers, and the police helicopter. He and several other officers searched the office and soon found—in Ben Kincaid’s file cabinet—the knife that was believed to be the weapon used to kill Joe McNaughton.

After LaBelle finished direct examination, Christina decided to try a little cross. Traditionally, defense attorneys don’t cross much at preliminary hearings. They have little to gain, since defendants are almost always bound over for trial, so they prefer not to give the prosecution any advance warning of what they might do at trial. In this case, however, Christina thought the charges against Ben were so meritless that there was some chance, however remote, that she might get the charges dismissed before they went to trial. A long shot, to be sure, but one she was determined to try.

“What did you think you might find when you searched Mr. Kincaid’s office?”

LaBelle didn’t hesitate. “Objection. Calls for speculation.” LaBelle was an imposing figure in the courtroom. Not only was he one of the best attorneys in the state, he looked good. He was tall and handsome, with just enough gray at the temples to appear distinguished without looking remotely old. There was something about the expression in his eyes, Christina noted, that made you want to believe what he said—even when you were on the other side of the case.

Judge Cable nodded. “Sustained.”

Christina pursed her lips. Her first ever cross-ex question, and she’d already lost an objection. Great.

She tried again. “Were you surprised,” she asked, “when your uniformed officer pulled that knife out of Mr. Kincaid’s file cabinet?”

Matthews stayed calm and restrained his tendency to sneer. “Not especially.”

“Why were you so sure you’d find something?”

“I wasn’t sure. But obviously, I hoped we would. Otherwise, I wouldn’t’ve been there.”

“Did you obtain any evidence indicating how the knife got in the desk?”

“Well …” He smiled slightly. “It was in Kincaid’s office. And he was her lawyer.”

“So you think she gave him the knife and he hid it for her.”

Matthews was too smart to be drawn into positively asserting something he couldn’t prove. “That would be my assumption, yes.”

“But why?”

“To keep it from the police, obviously.”

“Why would Mr. Kincaid want to hide the knife from the police?”

“If you’re asking me about motive, Ms. McCall, I could only speculate. We have had some indication that Mr. Kincaid’s relationship with Ms. Dalcanton is … more than professional. It has also been suggested that he may have felt that a big win in such a high-profile case would be good for his somewhat … struggling career.”

“So he puts the knife in his file cabinet? Does that make any sense? Not exactly a brilliant hiding place.”

“I doubt if he expected his office to be searched.”

“Are you aware that Mr. Kincaid has a safe in his office?”

Matthews paused a moment. “I do seem to recall seeing that, yes.”

“Wouldn’t the safe be a better place for something as incriminating as the knife?”

“I couldn’t say. He probably didn’t want anyone else in the office to know he had it.”

“No, he wouldn’t, would he? He probably wouldn’t tell anyone about it.”

“I would think not.”

“No one else would know.”

“That seems likely.”

“No one except the person who put it there.”

“Right.”

Christina pivoted on one foot and moved as close to the witness stand as the judge was likely to allow. “Sergeant Matthews, what exactly did your anonymous informant tell you on the phone?”

“The informant said that if we searched Kincaid’s office, we might find the weapon that killed Joe McNaughton.”

“So the informant knew the weapon was there.”

“Evidently.”

“But Sergeant Matthews—didn’t you just say that the only person likely to know the knife was in the file cabinet was the person who put it there?”

There was a considerable pause. “Well …”

“Surely you don’t think your informant was Mr. Kincaid.”

“Well …”

“Do you think Ben turned himself in?”

“No …”

“Then someone else must ‘ve known.”

“I … hmm.” She saw his eyes dart over to LaBelle. “I guess that’s possible.”

“But why else would someone know? Would Mr. Kincaid be likely to tell anyone he was stashing the murder weapon?”

“Well, it’s poss—”

“Because just a few moments ago, of course, you agreed that he would not.”

Matthews slowly released his breath. “No, I don’t suppose he would.”

“So the only way your informant could have known about the knife—was if he put it there himself!”

Matthews’s lips tightened. “Perhaps the informant observed … something …”

“Sergeant Matthews,” Christina said abruptly. “Who was your informant?”

“I’ve said before, his identity is confidential.”

“Are you refusing to answer my question?”

“If you want to put it that way, fine. I’m not going to tell you who it was.”

“Then I would suggest, Sergeant Matthews, that the only one who is guilty of concealing evidence or obstructing justice—is you!”

D.A. LaBelle rose to his feet. “Your honor, this has gone on long enough. Sergeant Matthews is not the defendant.”

“No,” Christina said, “but maybe he should be.”

“I object!” LaBelle boomed.

Judge Cable cupped his fingers. “Approach.”

At the bench, Christina didn’t wait to be asked to speak. “Your honor, I move for the immediate dismissal of these charges. This is all trumped-up baloney and everyone here knows it.”

“I must protest that inaccurate statement,” LaBelle said. His deep resonant voice carried well even when they were whispering. “I’ve never filed or prosecuted charges I didn’t believe in and I’m not about to start now.”

The judge held up his hands. “People, please. Could we just talk about the witness at hand?”

“Your honor,” Christina said, “the witness has admitted that another person—whom he refuses to name—must’ve been either involved in the planting of the evidence in Mr. Kincaid’s office or acted as a coconspirator in the crime itself. And he refuses to name the person.”

“I can’t force him to identify a confidential informant, Ms. McCall.”

“I know that, sir. But how can we prosecute one man for an alleged crime that might just as well have been performed by someone else, in whole or part?”