William Bernhardt - Murder One

She gave him a stern look. “Yes, Ben, our trial notebooks are ready.”

Whoops. This was going to take some getting used to. “Exhibits?”

“Oh yeah. I just wish some of them were our exhibits rather than the State’s exhibits.”

Ben nodded. “Then I’d say we’ve done about all we can do tonight.”

Christina glared at him. “Are you kidding me? Ben—we don’t have a defense! We don’t have an alternate explanation for what happened to McNaughton. We don’t even have a decent alibi.”

“No, and we’re not going to get one tonight, either. It’ll take LaBelle at least a week to put on his case, and we’ll continue to investigate. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“And if we don’t?”

Ben drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “Excuse me, but aren’t I suppose to be the worried one and you the supportive one?”

“That was before I got my law degree. Now I can wring my hands with the best of them.”

“Pity. I’d rather have someone hold my hand than wring it.”

“Well, that’s why you’ve got your cute little client.”

Ben’s expression was indescribable.

“Look, we’re not doing any good here.” Ben checked his watch. “It’s late, we’re tired, we’re cranky, and we’re getting on one another’s nerves. Some of us are getting snappish”—he cast a harsh look in Christina’s direction—“and I’m sure it’s making everyone else uncomfortable.”

“Actually,” Jones said, “I’m rather enjoying it.”

“We’re not going to get anything more done tonight. So let’s go home and get a good night’s sleep for once. It’s the best thing, really.”

“I’m not ready to call it quits,” Christina said, almost immediately. “I want to review the witness outlines.”

“You’ve already reviewed those things so many times you can probably recite them from memory.”

“I’d just feel better if I looked everything over again. Made sure we haven’t missed anything.”

“That’s not necessary.”

She looked down. “You … just don’t understand.”

“I do. I remember my first trial. How nervous I was. How sure I was I’d do something wrong. Which I did. But I got through it, and you will, too. Are you feeling sick yet?”

“Seriously. Haven’t been able to keep anything down.”

“Knees knocking?”

“Like pistons.” She looked up. “Does it get any better, after you’ve got a few trials under your belt?”

“Not really. But you do learn when it’s time to go home and get some sleep.”

She grinned. “All right. I’ll bow to the voice of experience.”

“Good. Lights out in five minutes. Anyone caught on the premises is docked to half pay.”

Jones pushed himself out of his chair. “Half nothing is still nothing.”

She stepped out of the elevator and moved down the darkened corridor, a thick bundle of papers under her arms. The front doors to the office were locked, but she had her own key. Quietly, she turned the tumblers and stepped inside, not locking them behind her. She was only going to be here a minute.

She knew Ben would be angry if he knew she was here, but she had something she had to check and it couldn’t wait until morning. Besides, as well she knew, her chances of getting any sleep tonight were about nil. If she had some little detail nagging at her that she couldn’t resolve, she’d toss and turn till sunup.

She pushed the power button on Jones’s computer. The sudden blue illumination reminded her that she hadn’t turned on the lights. Probably just as well, since she wasn’t supposed to be here. Still, she would need something. She flicked the switch on the lamp hanging over Jones’s desk blotter. The sixty-watt bulb helped a little, but not nearly enough.

“That’s just not going to cut it,” she murmured. She started away from the desk—then stopped dead in her tracks.

“Is someone in here?” She couldn’t explain why, but for some reason she suddenly had the distinct, almost certain feeling that she was not alone.

Had she heard something? That wasn’t it, not exactly. It was more like she … felt something. Like she sensed a presence. A warm body emanating from… somewhere. But if someone was here, why on earth didn’t they answer?

“I said, is somebody here? Answer me!”

There was no response. But she was certain she was not alone.

Springing away from the desk, she ran toward the light switch on the opposite wall. Before she arrived, however, she collided. With something. Something that shouldn’t be there.

Not something. Someone.

“Who are you?”

She felt two powerful arms grip her, pinning her against the wall. She peered at the person before her, but in the near-total darkness, she was unable to make out her assailant’s features.

She pounded her fists against her attacker’s chest, not that it did any good. “Who is it? Who are you?”

When at last the intruder spoke, the voice was eerily soft, almost as if it were drifting in from a distant location. “Call me the strong right arm of justice.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” She continued to struggle, but to no avail.

“Justice has not been served.” The soft flat voice made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. There was something inhuman about it, something rough but cutting, like a dull knife.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but—”

“It’s time justice took a firmer hand.”

An instant later, she felt the intruder’s right hand leave her arm. She thought this might be her chance to break away, but before she could, the hand came back and slammed hard into her abdomen.

She doubled over, the pain so sharp and abrupt she couldn’t immediately tell what had happened to her. She pressed her hands over the place on her stomach where he had hit her.

There was blood on her hands. Lots of it.

The shock was enormous, more than she could bear, more than her brain could catalog. The intruder released her and she crumpled to the floor.

“Who … are …” She pulled her hands away from her abdomen. They felt warm and sticky. Even in this darkness, she knew she was losing blood, lots of it, fast. She heard footsteps on the carpet and realized with some relief that the intruder must be leaving.

“Who … why …?” The blood was forming a large puddle all around her crumpled body. She tried to cry for help, but found she had no strength for it. All she could do was lie there, helpless, gushing blood.

And then, all at once, the pain kicked in. She felt the full force of what had happened to her, her gut ripped open, her insides torn apart.

She clenched her teeth together, trying to block out the pain. She had never felt anything like this, never in her entire life. It was as if she had been broken, eviscerated, as if she had been violated in some permanent, elemental way.

Her head throbbed. She imagined she could feel her blood flowing through her heart, pumping past her temples and oozing out onto the floor. She felt her strength flowing with it. Sleep was coming on, or something like it. She told herself to fight it. Don’t give in, she said to herself. If you sleep now, you’ll never wake.

Another flash of pain coursed through her body. What did that person do to her? She couldn’t conceive of anything that would hurt like this. Her eyes watered from the anguish but there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Was this what it was like to die? she wondered. Was this how it felt?

“Please … help …” she said, but she knew there was no chance that anyone would hear. Her eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Her eyes closed and she was glad. She didn’t know whether she would ever wake again, but at this point, any kind of sleep seemed like a blissful retreat.