William Bernhardt - Cruel Justice

“He couldn’t,” Ben said. “I don’t know if he saw your face. But even if he had, he wouldn’t have known how to communicate the information.”

“I felt horrible when he was arrested. I really did. But I always thought … since he was, you know, that he wouldn’t be tried. He would just get sent to some home where he’d probably be better off anyway. I had no idea that—ten years later—this mess would come back to haunt us both.”

“And your wife?”

“Rachel never knew. I swear to you. She may have … wondered, but she never knew.”

“Your honor,” Ben said quietly, “I move that the case against Leeman Hayes be dismissed.”

“Counsel, approach.” Ben and Bullock walked to the bench. “It certainly seems like an appropriate motion to me, Mr. Prosecutor. Any objections?”

“About a million. For all we know, Kincaid may have paid this man—”

Hawkins cut him off. “Paid a member of the Utica Greens Country Club to confess to murder? Turn on your headlights, Bullock.”

“But—” Bullock sputtered pointlessly, but there was really nothing he could say. “No objection,” he growled finally.

Judge Hawkins pounded his gavel. “This case is dismissed. Mr. Rutherford, I think the district attorney would appreciate it if you would not leave town anytime soon. And Mr. Hayes—” Hawkins made eye contact with Leeman. “There is nothing I can say or do to compensate you for the time—the years you have lost. You have my sincerest apologies.” He pounded his gavel again. “And now you’re free to go,”

The courtroom was in an uproar. Ernie Hayes shouted for joy, then raced to the front, the rest of the family close behind him. Ben started to join them when he felt something yank him back.

It was Jack Bullock. “So you did it again, eh, Ben? You must be very proud of yourself.”

“Jack … Leeman was innocent.”

“That doesn’t justify all your courtroom chicanery. If you could prove the man was innocent, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Jack, I’ve been telling you he was innocent since day one. You haven’t been listening. I didn’t understand the whole story myself until today.”

“Sure. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Jack—” Ben reached out to him. “Now that this trial is over … I was hoping maybe we could … I don’t know … patch things up. We used to be so … close. I mean, you know, we worked together so closely. We could be like that again.”

“Impossible. We’re on different sides now.”

“No,” Ben said firmly. “That’s where you’re wrong. We’re both on the same side. We both have the same goal. We just work from different sides of the courtroom.”

“I’m sorry, Ben,” Jack said briskly. “I hate to say it, but quite frankly, I don’t want anything to do with you.” He turned on his heel abruptly and returned to his table.

Ben watched him go. You were like a father to me, he thought.

And now I’ve lost you, too.

Ben tried to get to Leeman, but Ernie Hayes was blocking the way, hugging his son with all his might. Leeman’s brothers and sisters stood around them, trying to edge their way in. Ernie was pretty choked up; he kept thwopping his son proudly on the back.

They were oblivious to Ben, and Ben wasn’t surprised. He’d seen this, before. While the trial was on, the lawyer was the star of the show, front and center, the main man. But once it was over, he was superfluous. Family was what it was all about now.

Come to think of it, Ben mused, family was what it had been about all along.

71

BEN WAS STARTLED TO see Mike barreling down the center of the courtroom. He burst through the crowd congregating around the defendant’s table and fought his way upstream through the reporters and spectators.

“Is it over?” Mike shouted.

“Yeah. We got the charges dism—”

“I found the apartment.”

Ben instantly knew what he was talking about. “That’s great. Have you told Chief Blackwell?”

“No. I came to see you first.”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because I found this.” Mike dangled the Utica Greens key chain in Ben’s face. “I found a lot of other crap, too. Really sickening stuff. There’s no question about it now. The chickenhawk is not dead. He’s alive and well and he’s planning to kill Abie.” Mike shoved the key chain back into a paper evidence bag. “One of these keys is labeled C-D-Y-S-K. Didn’t you tell me the country-club board members were the only ones who had keys to the caddyshack?”

“No,” Ben said. “I told you that’s how it was ten years ago. After the murder, they restricted access. Now the only one who has a key is”—a sudden pallor washed across his face—“the grounds manager.”

“Who?”

“Mitch. Mitch Dryer.”

Mike grabbed Ben’s shoulders. “Then he’s our man. Do you know where he is?”

Ben tried to answer, but found that his voice had left him.

“Did you hear what I asked? This is important!” Ben finally managed to choke out the words. “I just gave him my address. So he could drop by my apartment.”

“ Where Abie is? ”

“Where Abie is,” Ben echoed. “And Christina. And Joey.”

Wonderful. As if she didn’t have enough to do. Christina wedged the bottle under her chin and gripped the baby tightly. Abie was in the next room working a puzzle; he would surely be all right for a few more minutes. She pushed off the sofa and opened the door. “Yes?”

“You don’t know me,” the nice-looking young man on the other side of the door said, “but your friend Ben Kincaid does. My name is Mitch Dryer. And I have something for you. For all of you.”

72

“COME ON IN,” CHRISTINA said.

Mitch lifted a large cardboard box filled with paper and entered the room.

“I could use the company of another adult,” Christina added. “Do you by any chance know what seven, eight is?”

“I … beg your pardon?”

“You know. Five, six, pick up sticks. But I can’t remember what seven, eight is.”

“Well,” Mitch hedged, “it’s been a while for me. …”

“Yeah. Me, too. Say, don’t you work at the country club?”

“That’s right,” he said. “How did you know?”

“Oh, I remember seeing your name in Ben’s notes. What brings you here?”

“Ben asked me to sort through a few million pieces of paper and look for connections between board members and foreign countries, especially Peru. But when I reported back, he said he was too busy and told me to bring the stuff to you.”

“That’s my Ben all right.” She nodded toward the north wall. “Put the box down there. I’ll get to it as soon as the baby sleeps. If he sleeps.”

“Being difficult, is he? Here, why don’t you let me try?”

“Sure.”

Christina passed the baby to Mitch. A strange tingling sensation trickled up and down her spine. Now, that’s odd, she thought. She watched Mitch gently rock the baby in his arms. He was good with Joey. So why did she feel so uneasy?

She shrugged it off. Probably some weird offshoot of unrequited maternal instincts. She was becoming attached to the baby, so she didn’t want anyone else to hold him. “You said you brought something?”

“Oh, right.” Still cradling the baby in one arm, he reached into his back pocket. “A new pacifier.” The pacifier was shaped like a bushy black mustache, so that when he popped it into the baby’s mouth …

“Was this Ben’s idea, too?” Christina asked.

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?”

“It’s so Ben. Practical jokes at the expense of an infant.”

He laughed. “Oh. I have something for Abie, too. Uh, where is he, anyway?”