William Bernhardt - Naked Justice

The sound of the crash was like the hammer of God.

Ben ran down the hill after him. The tree trunk had been driven halfway through the hood of the car. Smoke poured out; flames were beginning to lick at the engine. Debris was scattered all over the area. The car was totaled.

And the man crunched behind the steering wheel was not much better.

About half an hour later, Dead-Man’s Curve was a hubbub of activity. Four patrol cars and ten officers, including Mike, who had been searching for Ben since Christina called him, surrounded the accident site. An ambulance was pulling up, trying to get close. Spectators had gathered on the opposite side of the street. And predictably enough, a few reporters and minicams were pushing forward as well, trying to get a good shot for the late-night broadcast.

Ben watched as the rescue team used the jaws of life to pry the man out of the crumpled driver’s seat. Eventually they removed him, lowered him onto a stretcher, and loaded him into the ambulance.

Ben stepped cautiously toward the ambulance. “Is he dead?” he asked Mike.

“Unfortunately, no.” Mike pushed away from the wreckage, then wiped his hands on his trench coat. “He’s going to be pretty miserable for a while, but he’ll live.”

“He needs help,” Ben said.

“He needs to be put out of his misery,” Mike replied, teeth clenched. “This world is bad enough without homicidal creeps like him running around.”

“If things had only been different…” Ben said. He searched for the right words, words that didn’t seem stupid and futile. “He might have been perfectly normal.”

But then, he thought, so might we all.

“You’re kidding yourself,” Mike grunted back. “With someone this bad off, it’s in the genes. Nothing you can do about it. He’s just nuts. Psychopathic. Insane.”

Ben shook his head. “He wasn’t insane.” He picked up a bit of glass and metal he found lying in the grass—a shattered stopwatch. “He was just sick at heart.”

Four

Putting Away Childish Things

Chapter 69

BEN SAT IN THE back bedroom of their hotel suite, hidden away, while Jones dealt with the outside world. The phone had been ringing off the hook from the second the trial had ended. Clients of all classes, shapes, and sizes were banging down Ben’s door, even though, technically speaking, he didn’t actually have one. Scores of potential clients seemed desperate to have Ben represent them. Jones was setting up the client interviews. If he took only half the cases being offered, he’d have enough work to last for years. The cases ran the gamut—all the high-prestige and esoteric fields Ben had always wanted to try but had never had the clients for. He was getting other potentially lucrative opportunities as well; an outfit hawking some software called Legal Assist wanted him to be their product spokesman, and Channel Two had asked him to be their legal commentator.

In other words, for once, life was sweet. Ben had won an unequivocal and resounding victory, and everybody knew about it. It appeared that finally, after all this time and effort, the rest of the world was discovering the value of Benjamin J. Kincaid, Esq.

Ben was watching the news on the bedroom television. Even after the verdict had been delivered, the world still seemed obsessed with the Barrett trial. There were post-trial wrapups (“Sure, he’s innocent, but what does this tell us about America?”); analyses (“Let’s face it, the jury trial is an antique that doesn’t work in the media age”); juror interviews (“I liked the cute little guy for the defense. He seemed so human, so fallible. Like he didn’t know what he was going to do from one moment to the next”); and disgruntled prosecutors (“It is my position and the position of everyone in the justice department that we made no mistake. The jury’s verdict is unfortunate but beyond our control”).

Ben switched channels. On Channel Eight, he found Mr. Harvey Sanders, witness extraordinaire, being interviewed for at least the third time since the trial had concluded.

“Mr. Sanders,” the female interviewer said, “some people are calling you the most critical witness in the entire trial. How does that make you feel?”

He blushed modestly, then flashed his million-dollar smile. “Oh, I think that’s an overstatement. I just did my duty, that’s all. The same as anyone else would do, I’m sure.”

“All this publicity has had quite an impact on your acting career, hasn’t it?”

“I have to admit it has. My agent says the phone is ringing constantly.”

“People are saying you’re the most famous witness in the history of the judiciary, or at least since Kato Kaelin. And your testimony was actually helpful.”

“Yes, it’s made a dramatic difference. We’ve got several commercials lined up now, a product endorsement, and an invitation to serve as the spokesman for the National Neighborhood Watch Program. And of course, the ubiquitous book offer. We may even get a TV movie.”

“Well, that’s wonderful. Thank you for being with us today.”

“Thank you, Karen. Now I think I’d best go answer the phone.”

Ben switched off the TV. He had a few calls to answer of his own. But first, there was one call he wanted to make.

“So, I guess you heard?”

“Benjamin, how could I not? It’s everywhere.”

“Even at Crescent Market?”

“Especially at Crescent Market.”

Ben smiled. “The phone’s been ringing constantly. It looks like I’m finally going to make a success of this law practice.”

“I always knew you would.” His mother’s voice revealed her pride and happiness. “What a success you’ve turned out to be.” She paused. “What has happened to … that man? The one whose father …” She didn’t complete the sentence.

“He’s mending. They expect him to make a full recovery. Physically, anyway.”

There was a long silence on the line. “That’s so tragic. Who could have known?”

Known what? That the problems his father had created could live on after him? That was no surprise. That evil could fester so long, so tenaciously? No surprise there, either. “I think he’ll get some treatment. Psychiatric, I mean. Who knows? Perhaps he’ll come around someday.”

“Perhaps.” Another pause. “And how are you, Benjamin?”

“I’m fine. Barrett owes me a huge fee, huge by my standards, anyway, and he has promised to pay up immediately. Coupled with all these new business prospects … well, I’d say I’m in good shape.”

“That’s excellent. That pleases me. I’m so proud of you, Benjamin.” There was a small patch of static. “Your father would be proud of you, too.”

They said their goodbyes, and Ben returned to the tasks at hand. There were stacks of files piled all around the room. If he was going to take on this huge new caseload, he needed to clear away the debris of the past. He had to decide what should go in the form files, what should be put in long-term storage, and what could be destroyed.

After a few minutes of digging, he came across a sealed manila envelope. Opening it, he found a thick stack of photocopied medical data. He stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. Oh, of course, he remembered. Barrett’s medical records, the ones he had gone to court to prevent from being produced to the prosecution. Since Ben had won the motion, he had never taken the time to review the records.

He thumbed absently through the file, looking for the records pertaining to Barrett’s psychiatric counseling. He didn’t find any.

Now that was odd, Ben thought. If there was no record of psychiatric treatment, then why …

He continued sorting through the morass of documents. Until finally, somewhere near the bottom, he found something he had not anticipated, something he had not even dreamed possible.