William Bernhardt - Murder One

It was well past time someone reinvented the graduation ceremony model, Ben mused, as he sat on one of the front rows of the First Baptist Church sanctuary, bored to tears. There were too many people crammed into too little space, none of them smiling. Even the graduates looked as if they might drop off at any moment. After “a few opening remarks” from the dean, it was time for the musical entertainment, which was neither.

And then, of course, the dreaded commencement address, delivered by a distinguished state senator. Why were these things so often delivered by politicians? Ben supposed it was because they were always ready to give a speech and didn’t require an honorarium. This address went on for more than half an hour, and it seemed to Ben to have a lot more to do with getting the speaker reelected than offering words of wisdom to the graduates. As a part-time adjunct professor, Ben had tried to suggest a few innovative alterations to the dean—like skipping the whole ceremony. But for some strange reason, his proposal hadn’t garnered much support.

At long last, it was time to award the diplomas.

“Here it is!” Loving said excitedly, jabbing Ben in the ribs. “It’s almost time.”

“Almost time? They’re still in the A’s. Christina is an M.”

“She’ll be up before ya know it,” Loving said, and he was almost right, because Ben managed to take a little eyes-open nap, a trick he had taught himself during Western Oklahoma motion dockets. By the time he knew what was going on again, they were finishing up the L’s.

“Steven Edward Lytton, PLA Vice President,” the announcer said, and somewhere behind him, Ben heard a booming chorus of shouts and cheers.

“What boobs,” Ben muttered, under his breath.

“They’re not boobs,” Loving said. “They’re family. They’re proud of him. It’s what families do.”

“Loving … you aren’t planning …”

But there was no time. “Christina Ingrid McCall, National Moot Court, Law Review, Order of the Coif.”

In the blink of an eye, Jones, Paula, and Loving were on their feet, whooping and hollering at the top of their lungs.

Ben wondered if the dean was watching. “Why are you doing this?” he growled under his breath.

“Don’t you get it?” Loving hissed between hoots. “We’re her family.”

He was right, of course. Ben pushed to his feet and pounded his hands together. He even whooped a little.

After the ceremony, the group gathered at the office at Two Warren Place for a postceremony celebration. Jones had ordered champagne, chilled and ready when they arrived. Paula had made brownies and Loving picked up some exquisite bacon cheeseburgers from Goldie’s.

“A toast,” Jones said, hoisting his glass in the air.

“Another one?” Ben asked. By his count, they’d already had about three bottles of toasts, and they were all starting to wobble a bit.

Jones ignored him. “To our own Christina,” he said. “She’s been the world’s best legal assistant for years. Now she’ll be the world’s best lawyer!” He hiccuped. “Excluding the Boss, of course.”

“Of course,” Ben said. Boy, she’d been a lawyer for what, an hour and a half? And already he was an afterthought.

“I think she should give a speech,” Loving said. With his bow tie unstrung and dangling from his neck, he looked like a cross between a lounge singer and his bouncer. “Speech! Speech!”

Christina flushed, either with champagne or embarrassment. “I am not giving a speech.”

“Hey, if you’re gonna be a lawyer, you’re gonna have to give some speeches.”

“All the more reason not to give one now.”

“Well then I will,” Ben said. He raised his glass. “A short one, anyway. I’ve been delighted to work with you for some time now, Christina, but I’ve never been prouder of you than I am today.”

Christina’s eyes sparkled.

“Congratulations, kiddo—you’re a lawyer now.”

She shook her head. “No, not yet. I have to be tested by fire. In the courtroom.”

“You’ll get your chance.”

“Hey, is this a private party, or can anyone guzzle your champagne?” Major Mike Morelli, Tulsa P.D.’s chief homicide detective, strolled into the office wearing his trademark trenchcoat. “Way to go, slugger.” He gave Christina a hug.

“Thanks, Mike.”

“You bet. Just don’t get too many major criminals off the hook right away, okay? My job’s hard enough as it is.” He leaned over next to Ben. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Ben sat up. “Sure. You mean—?” He jerked a thumb.

Mike nodded. “Don’t want to disturb the revelry.”

Together, they made their way to Ben’s interior office. He’d been at this location for more than a year now, but it was still as barren as the day he moved in—the result of a combination of tight finances and lack of interest. He had a desk and two chairs, a file cabinet, a framed diploma, and that was about it.

They each took one of the available seats. “So what’s up?”

“Just wanted to warn you, Ben—I’m going to be gone for a little while.”

“Gone? Why?”

“Got an undercover assignment. And I don’t know how long it will take. So you’ll have to find someone else to watch Xena with you and pretend that we admire it for its sophisticated scripts.”

“Nothing dangerous, I hope.”

Mike shrugged. “Who knows? Did you read about the murder last night?”

Ben nodded. A corpse found in a swing at LaFortune Park. Hard to overlook.

“We think we’ve got a line on the killer. Which took some doing, since we can’t even ID the victim. It’s a faint trail, but worth chasing. And will probably take a while. So I wanted to give you the heads-up.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Ben said, but he sensed there was more to this than he’d gotten so far.

“You might also mention it to Julia. If you happen to see her. I mean, I don’t know, she probably doesn’t care. But still. I wouldn’t want her to worry.”

“Of course,” Ben said, even though he knew there was no chance that his younger sister, Mike’s ex-wife, would be inquiring after him.

“Who knows, she may finally realize she needs help with that kid of hers. Heard anything about Joey?”

Ben shook his head, and for about the millionth time wondered—Did Mike know? Was this just a game, or was he really oblivious to the fact that Joey was his son? Granted, Julia had never acknowledged the paternity to Mike or anyone else, but it was obvious to Ben every time he looked at the kid. Was it possible that Mike missed it?

“Something else, Ben.” Mike squirmed, shifting his weight from one side of the chair to the other. Ben could tell he was more uncomfortable now than he had been talking about Julia. “About the Dalcanton case.”

Ben waved his hand. “It’s over, Mike. The court’s ruled.”

“It may be over for you, Ben, but for a lot of other people I know, it isn’t. And never will be. Until someone pays the price for killing Joe McNaughton.”

“I can’t lose sleep over what some rednecks are stewing about.”

“I’m not talking about rednecks here, Ben. Or country bumpkins or militia freaks. I’m talking about cops. Good cops.”

“Mike, every time I win a case, I make some cop angry. That’s just part of the job. I’m used to it.”

“This is different, Ben. Way different. Joe McNaughton was a police officer. Moreover—he was well loved, very popular with the rank and file. And the way he died”—Mike shuddered—“in public, and gruesome in the extreme—that really knocked some of the boys for a loop. Probably didn’t help that he was killed by some cheap South Side stripper, either.”