William Bernhardt - Deadly Justice

Deadly Justice

A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense (Book Three)

William Bernhardt

A MysteriousPress.com

Open Road Integrated Media

Ebook

for Joe and Barbara

When men are pure, laws are useless; when men are corrupt, laws are broken.

Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)

Lawyers, I suppose, were children once.

Charles Lamb (1775-1834)

Prologue

THE BLACK VAN PULLED over on the south side of Eleventh Street. The driver rolled down a smoked glass window and smiled. He was a handsome man, especially when he smiled.

“Are you the one?” he asked.

The girl on the street corner stopped chomping her gum. “That depends on what you’re looking for, pal.”

“I’m looking for you.”

“Then I guess I’m the one.” She returned his smile, adding a raised eyebrow to complete the message. She was wearing a turquoise tube top, black spandex pants, and a black leather jacket with fringe dangling from the sleeves. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

“Peace. Contentment. An end to suffering.”

“That’s a tall order. Probably will cost you extra.”

He shrugged. “Cheap at any price.”

“Who’s cheap? Are you calling me cheap?”

“Of course not.” He flashed his winning smile again. “Step into the light, fair maiden. So I can see you.”

She hesitated a moment, then approached the van. The neon signs of the massage parlors and sex shops flashed about her, bringing her features into sharp focus.

The man examined her carefully, from her swirling bleached-blond hair down her long, coltish legs to the tips of her pink-painted toes. Clothes and makeup could not conceal what her thin flat figure betrayed: she was in her mid-teens, sixteen at the most.

The man checked the Polaroid photo he held out of her line of vision. Yes—she was the one.

“Let’s go for a ride,” the man said.

“Not necessary.” She felt less skittish, now that she could see his honest, handsome face. “I have a room upstairs.”

“What, some closet rathole in a house full of rat-holes, with a different couple pumping like pistons on every square foot? I think we deserve something better than that.” He popped open the door. “Get in the van.”

“I can’t.” A worry line creased her brow. “We’re not supposed to leave with anyone. Two girls have disappeared from The Stroll in the past week. I knew the first one. Her name was Angel.”

The man appeared surprised. “What happened to her?”

“No one knows. But some of the rumors I’ve heard…” Goose bumps suddenly appeared on her neck and shoulders. “I just hope they’re not true.”

“When did you see her last?”

“The day she disappeared. It was her birthday. Trixie gave her a necklace, a gold heart broken into two pieces. It was real nice—cost Trixie a whole night’s pay. She’s always doing sweet stuff like that.”

“Perhaps Angel moved on,” the man said in a comforting voice. “Perhaps she found her own slice of paradise.”

“Yeah, maybe. Still…” She leaned forward and touched his arm. “Why don’tcha come upstairs? You’ll be glad you did. Everyone says I’m real good. I’ll do almost anything. Some of it costs extra, though.”

“Sorry. I don’t like crowds.”

The girl pushed away from the van. “Then you’d better move on. I’m not supposed to talk to anyone who’s not a customer.”

The man took out his wallet, removed five hundred-dollar bills and laid them end-to-end on the dash. “I’ve got a room at the Doubletree, just ten minutes from here. If you’ll come with me, all this will be yours.”

The girl stared at the money, her mouth gaping. “How…long?”

“You’ll be back by midnight,” he lied.

“I don’t know….”

“Come on now. Do I look like someone who would hurt a poor working girl?”

The corners of her lips turned up, almost involuntarily. He didn’t seem dangerous; on the contrary, he was friendly and wholesome and all-American. The kind of man she could’ve brought home, back when she had one, without sending her father through the roof.

Maybe she was being foolish—letting a few rumors get the best of her. He was offering more money than she could make in a week, and the night would only be half over. Judging by the wad he was carrying, he must be rich. Who knew? It was just possible, if he really liked her…

“All right,” she said. “You sweet talker, you.” She slid into the passenger seat, sweeping the bills off the dash and tucking them inside her spandex pants.

“I’m glad.” He fastened his seat belt, adjusted the rearview mirror, and turned the ignition. “This is going to be the greatest adventure of your life.”

“Swell.” She stroked the side of his face. “I’m excited already.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. She wasn’t sure if it was the man or the money or both, but she was definitely feeling charged up.

The black van pulled away from the corner and zoomed down the street. In the darkness, she did not see his smile flatten and fade and become something else altogether, just as she did not see the black garbage bag in the back of the van, or the white silken cord, or the golden half-heart necklace.

PART ONE

Tennessee Gold

1

BEN GNAWED ON THE end of his pencil. Things were worse already.

The lawyer representing the defendant, Topeka Natural Gas Limited, had just completed the direct examination of his expert witness, and the expert was magnificent. Authoritative yet relaxed, confident yet not overbearing—everything an expert witness should be. Ben hadn’t a chance of convincing the jury that the proposed gas processing plant would cause permanent damage to endangered animal habitats unless he came up with some way to take this expert apart on cross. And so far he hadn’t come up with any.

Ben had prepared cross-examination questions in advance, but the expert had anticipated his every feint and effectively cut Ben off at the pass. To compound matters, Christina still hadn’t shown up. It was hardly unusual for her to be late, but this morning he needed her more than ever, not just for her services as a legal assistant but for her intuitive leaps of insight and perception. To make matters even worse, his investigator, Loving, hadn’t put in an appearance yet either. Times like these made Ben wish he could afford to hire an associate, but as a solo practitioner barely scraping by, such luxuries were out of his reach. Once again, Ben was on his own.

He grabbed his briefcase and popped it open. A black plastic object flew out and dropped onto the floor.

Judge Hart peered down from the bench. “Mr. Kincaid, what is that on the floor?”

“That…appears to be a plastic spider, your honor.” He was going to have to stop letting his cat Giselle play in his briefcase.

“And I assume that is going to play some pivotal role in your cross-examination of this witness?”

“Well…you never know, your honor. On cross, one has to be prepared for anything.”

“I see.” Ben was glad he was in Hart’s court this morning; at least she had a sense of humor. “Getting to the point of the matter, Mr. Kincaid, have you any cross-examination for this witness?”

“Uh…yes. Definitely. Pages and pages.”

The judge seemed surprised. Apparently she found the expert’s testimony as flawless as Ben did. “Do you anticipate that your cross-examination will be time-consuming?”