William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

“I did not—oh, what’s the use? Has Koregai finished his autopsy report on Hamel?”

Mike tossed himself into a chair and plopped his muddy boots on Ben’s desk. “He says Hamel was strangled to death. Hamel was wearing a high-collar shirt, you’ll recall—that’s why you didn’t see any marks on him. While the killer was relocating the body, Hamel cut his hand on something—that’s the source of the blood in your car. The cut must’ve occurred fairly soon after the murder—otherwise there wouldn’t have been so much bleeding.”

“Did your men turn up any physical evidence?”

“Nothing that appears useful. We not only searched the Apollo building, we searched the alley behind your boardinghouse and scoured the entire neighborhood. And Jesus, what a neighborhood you live in. I could’ve found more people willing to talk to cops at the penitentiary. We didn’t learn a damn thing.”

“I saw Hamel’s office roped off with yellow crime scene tape. Find anything there?”

“Nothing that held any significance to me. You’re welcome to take a look yourself.”

“Thanks, I will. What about Hamel’s house?”

“The widow’s been giving us some trouble there. Normally I’d be able to get a warrant in a heartbeat, but it turns out Judge Carter is a personal friend of the family and is making a lot of noise about us not intruding on her grief with an unnecessary search. He refused to sign the warrant and put out the word that he’d consider it a personal affront if any other judge did. And he is Chief Judge this term.”

“And to think people blame lawyers for the slow wheels of justice.”

“Yeah. And it’s only true about ninety percent of the time. Don’t worry, we’ll get the warrant eventually.”

“Great. Call me as soon as you do. I’d like to help.”

“I think I can arrange that. Especially since Chief Blackwell has practically deputized you.”

“Yeah, with a threat of life imprisonment. You think he’s serious about hauling me in at the end of the week?”

“I’m afraid so. Deadly serious.”

“Swell. My time is running out. So call me as soon as you get the warrant.”

“Will do, kemo sabe. I’ll be in touch. And Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“I picked up a brochure you might be interested in. Have a nice day.”

Ben glanced at the brochure Mike had placed under a paperweight on his desk: SAM AND JERRY’S FLYING CIRCUS—SKYDIVING ON THE CHEAP.

19

BEN HAD HOPED TO spend the remaining hour until his hearing preparing. Unfortunately, only seconds after Mike left, Crichton sailed in.

“Mr. Crichton!” Ben said, jumping out of his chair. “I didn’t expect to see you in the office today. How are you feeling?”

Crichton waved the attention away. “Don’t make a fuss, Kincaid. I’m fine. The ER docs told me to take it easy for a few days. I was just shaken up, that’s all.”

“If I had fallen fifty feet only to be jerked back a few seconds before impact, I’d be more than just shaken up.”

“Well, I’ve had close shaves before. I’ve known all along I wasn’t going to live forever.” He glanced back at the doorway. “Who was that man in the trenchcoat I saw leaving your office?”

“Oh, that was my brother-in-law, Mike,” Ben hedged. “Er, ex-brother-in-law. He’s a friend.”

“He’s the cop.”

“Well, yes.”

“Came to talk to you about Howard’s murder.”

“Right.”

Crichton sat down in one of Ben’s chairs and pressed” a finger to his lips. “Ben…I think your interest in Howard’s unfortunate demise is admirable. I really do. But I’m concerned that it might distract you from your duties here at the office.”

“I’ve been timely with all my assignments, Mr. Crichton.”

“I need more than just timely compliance from you, Ben. I need your total concentration. An absolute, twenty-four-hour devotion to your client.” His eyebrows knitted. “You know, I have a family, and I love them dearly, but my job comes first and they know it. They understand. I mean no disrespect to Howard’s memory. But the Apollo Consortium is at a critical juncture now—the proposed acquisition of ConSteel, the Ameritech venture, and a dozen other equally important deals. We can’t afford the distraction—or the negative publicity—of a damaging piece of litigation. I’m counting on you to nip the Nelson case in the bud.”

“I’m doing everything I can, Mr. Crichton. As I told you, the Nelsons’ testimony was convincing and consistent. The average Oklahoma jury will be sympathetic to them. If we’re going to beat them, we’re going to have to do it on a legal issue. Before trial.”

“Then find me a legal issue, Kincaid.”

“I’m working on it, sir, but discovery is still ongoing. Tomorrow, Abernathy, the Nelsons’ attorney, is deposing one of our design team vice presidents. After that, if all goes well, I may know enough to put together a convincing summary judgment brief.”

“See that you do.”

“Even if I write the best brief in the world, though, there’s no guarantee Judge Roemer will grant it.”

Crichton gazed over his strategically placed hands.

All Ben could see were his eyes burning across the room. “Ben, is it my imagination, or are you making excuses for your failure before the motion has even been filed?”

“Not at all, sir. But as you know, there are no guarantees in the world of litigation. Sometimes people assume that if their cause is just, that automatically means they will be successful in the courtroom. Of course, that isn’t always the case.”

Ben could feel Crichton’s eyes burrowing into his forehead. “See that it is the case in this lawsuit, Kincaid. Understand?”

Ben shifted uncomfortably. “I understand.”

“Good.” Crichton removed his hands. “So tell me about this hearing this afternoon.”

“Well, as you know, we produced an enormous quantity of documents to Abernathy last week.”

Crichton grinned. “I know. We threw in stuff from twenty years back that didn’t even relate to the XKL-1. I expected that small-time practitioner to be buried for months.”

Without commenting on Crichton’s tactics, Ben continued. “He hired emergency support staff from a temporary agency and completed the job in a few days. He’s figured out our internal numbering system, and by tracking the numbers, he’s deduced that ten pages are missing. He filed a motion to compel production of the missing pages, and asked the court for an emergency hearing before the documents are lost or destroyed.”

“This entire hearing is about a lousy ten pages? Good grief, we must’ve given him a hundred thousand pages!”

“True. And now he wants the other ten.”

“What makes him think those ten are so important?”

Ben ran his fingers across his desk. “Principally, the fact that they are missing, I would imagine. I’ve talked to Imogine, the supervisor in Document Retention, but she says she doesn’t know where the documents are or what information they contained.” He chose his words carefully. “I…don’t suppose you do, by any chance?”

To Ben’s surprise, Crichton leaned across his desk and smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. I remember removing ten pages myself. They didn’t have anything to do with the XKL-1. They contained a design for a new suspension system—frankly, one that would remedy some unrelated problems we’d experienced. It would have no bearing on the alleged leaf spring defect the Nelsons are complaining about. I didn’t mean to create any problems—we just considered the new design top secret. Do we have to produce that?”

Ben thought for a moment. “Well, there is a legal doctrine protecting proprietary information. Companies are not required to disclose trade secrets, especially where, as here, they have no relevance to the lawsuit.”