William Bernhardt - Murder One

Kirk jumped out of his seat. “What are you doing?”

“Bloodletting. Good for you.”

“You’re kidding.”

“This from the kid who goes around trying to get himself tortured. Look, pal, people have been bloodletting for centuries. It’s healthy. Makes the body work a little. Freshens up the supply. You’ll feel good afterward. I know I do.”

Yes, Kirk thought, but you’re soaking in your own urine.

“Look,” the man said, “I’ve seen guys like you before. Want to mutilate themselves, cause themselves pain. This may not be in my best interests, but I’ll give you a tip. You’re making a mistake.”

“Izzat so?”

“Yeah, it is. You think that if you punish yourself long enough, you’ll be able to get past your guilt. Right?”

Kirk looked at him sideways but didn’t answer.

“Thought so. Thing is—it won’t work It won’t work because the only way to root out that guilt is to go after its source.”

“Source?”

“Sure. I don’t know what it is that’s making you miserable. Your boss, your landlord, your car, your girl—”

“Why do you keep talking about a girl? I don’t have a girl!”

“Uh-huh. Whatever. The point is—if you want to eliminate that guilt, you have to root out whatever is causing it. Nothing else will do. You can turn yourself into mincemeat, but it won’t help.”

“Who are you, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

The blond man laughed. “No, I’m just a guy dripping blood from his ringer who sees freaks like you every day. And I know what I’m talking about. You won’t be cured until you confront the problem head on.”

Kirk fell quiet. “I … can’t do that.”

“You mean you don’t want to do that.”

“I—I guess—” He hesitated. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I can’t say whether it would be right, not knowing what the hell we’re talking about. But it’s the only thing that will make you whole again.”

Could he be right? Kirk wondered. He stared out the one small window on the north wall, seeing little but his own reflection. Is that what he should do? Was it even possible?

He turned back around, but the blond man’s body seemed to be shimmering, fading. He was having a hard time focusing. He mumbled a few words, stumbled to his feet, and ran toward the door.

The night air was bracing, stark cold, but it didn’t clear his head. He was so confused, so lost and angry and … messed up.

One thing the freak had said rang true, though. Maybe it was time to confront the source. Someone had to pay. Someone had to be punished before he would ever feel whole again.

And maybe, just maybe, that someone wasn’t supposed to be him.

25

“ARE WE ANY CLOSER TO figuring out what the hell is going on?”

Christina was standing on the conference table, orchestrating the pretrial chaos all around her. She paced agitatedly from one end of the table to the other; a strand of hair was looped tightly around her finger. Normally, Ben thought, when you talk about someone pulling out their hair, it was just an expression. In the present case, Ben was afraid that if this kept up much longer, he wouldn’t be the only lawyer in the firm with a bald spot.

“Do you people understand that we’re going to trial? As in, tomorrow morning? On a capital charge?”

Jones and Loving did not appear impressed. “Yeah,” Jones said. “And we’ve been here before. And we’re never ready the night before trial. And we never will be. No one ever is. I think it’s inherent in the nature of trials.”

“Still,” Loving grunted, “this is worse than usual. What’s the deal?”

Jones took the bait. “It’s because we used to have an aggressive, hyperefficient legal assistant, and now we’ve got a second lawyer. So we’re getting about half as much work done.” He turned toward Ben. “Boss, now that she’s a lawyer, can we hire a new Christina?”

Ben arched an eyebrow. “I’ll check the budget.”

Jones cringed. “Don’t bother.”

Christina looked distinctly annoyed. “Listen up, you muggles. This is serious business. I can promise you LaBelle will have his ducks in a row, not to mention a staff of thirty or so people supporting him. He’s going to make us look like amateurs. And that’s not acceptable. A woman’s life is on the line.”

Jones fluttered his eyelashes. “Not to mention your brand-new professional reputation.”

She gave him a look that would chill fire. “Listen to me, you—”

Ben rose from his chair. “Perhaps this would be a good time for me to get the updates I didn’t get earlier—”

“Because you were off trying to get yourself killed strong-arming major mafiosi.”

Ben ignored her. “Did you ever find out what Andrea wanted to tell you, Christina?”

“No. After the big catfight in our lobby, she’s not talking to any of us. Not even me. Wouldn’t even come to the door.”

“Great. Don’t stop trying.”

“Of course not. Goodness knows I have nothing else to do but to harass widows.”

“What’s your take on her, anyway? You know, Keri thinks she’s Suspect Number One.”

Christina thought before answering. “It’s hard to say. She’s very sympathetic when she tells her story. She’s going to be devastating on the stand, unless maybe we can get her to lose her temper and slug somebody.” She hesitated. “There’s something else, though. I had a real sense that something is … bothering her. Something she’s not telling us. Or anyone, probably. But I have no idea what that would be.”

Interesting, Ben thought. But not helpful, unfortunately. “Does anyone know where Keri is? I called and asked her to be here.”

Christina nodded. “I called and asked her not to be here.”

Ben did a double take. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“And why may I ask did you take it upon yourself to do this?”

“Because we have a lot of work to get done,” Christina fired back, “and we can’t get it done if you two are off making—”

“Excuse me! I think your law degree has gone to your head.”

“Baloney. I just know we won’t get anywhere if you’re busy groping—”

“Hey!” He glanced at Jones’s and Loving’s attentive and somewhat astonished faces. “Not in front of the children.”

Christina shook her head, exasperated. “Loving, have you heard any more from your cop informant? Barry whatsit?”

Loving shook his head. “We’ve talked, but he ain’t said much.”

“Is he worried about retaliation?”

“Yeah. But I think he’s pretty much told me everything he knows.”

“So … have we seen the last of the Blue Squeeze routine?”

“I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t think it’ll end until Matthews has a heart attack or Keri Dalcanton gets convicted.”

“Which isn’t going to happen,” Ben said firmly. “Not if I can help it.”

“Unfortunately,” Jones said quietly, “that’s a big if. ”

“Where’s your one true love, Jones? “

“Search me. Paula’s probably at the library. Trying to get more dope on McNaughton. The mystery of his sudden fall and rise in the police department.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll be interested to hear what she learns. Everything Catrona told me suggested there was something dirty going on in the police department. Something involving McNaughton. Or maybe Matthews and his Blue Squeeze brigade. Or both.”

“I got a question about that, Skipper,” Loving said.

“Which is?”

“If some of the boys were on the take, or tied in with Catrona somehow, why would Catrona be so eager to tell you about it?”

“A good question,” Ben said, stroking the side of his face. “But alas one to which I don’t know the answer.” He glanced at Christina, who had climbed down from the table and started plowing through the document bags. “Is my trial notebook ready?”