William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

He felt Christina’s eyes burning down on him. She didn’t understand; how could she? She hadn’t been there last night. All she knew was the conventional wisdom—a criminal defendant wins by breaking down the prosecution’s case. If the defense attorneys haven’t made their mark by the time they call their own witnesses, turning the jury around is almost impossible. And she knew what they had lined up in the way of defense testimony to turn that jury around. Not much.

“We need to discuss…our case strategy,” Christina said haltingly.

Ben nodded. They started toward the door, plunging into the throng of reporters. “Who are you going to call?” “Do you think you have a chance?” “Was this a revenge killing by a jilted lover?” Ignoring the questions, avoiding the blinding lights and the sense of impending doom tightening its grip around them, Ben and Christina pushed their way out of the courtroom.

38

BEN STOMPED INTO HIS office, sending chickens flying in all directions.

“How goes the war?” Jones asked.

“Not well at all. We start putting on our case tomorrow morning, assuming we have a case tomorrow morning.” He noticed a brown lumpish thing on Jones’s table. “What in the world is that?”

“Mrs. Marmelstein sent you a fruitcake. She’s been watching the TV coverage; she thought you needed it.”

Ben scrutinized the alleged edible. “I hate fruitcake.”

“Doesn’t everyone? Still, it’s the thought that counts.”

“You’re right, of course. Get rid of it, okay?”

“Will do, Boss.” He thought for a moment. “I wonder if chickens like fruitcake?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Hey, Skipper!”

Ben whirled around and saw Loving sitting in the lobby.

“Hi ya, Skipper. How’s the big trial going?”

“Let me see,” Ben said. “The judge hates my guts, the jury is convinced Christina is guilty, and we haven’t got a shred of defense evidence.”

“Things could be worse.”

“How can you possibly say that?”

“Because he hit the jackpot,” Jones explained.

Ben planted himself beside Loving, who appeared to be wearing the same stained T-shirt he’d worn every time Ben had seen him. Was that the only shirt he owned, Ben wondered, or did he have several of them, just alike? “You got the DeCarlo documents?”

“Guess so,” Loving said nonchalantly. “I dinnt really know what was important, so I grabbed everything. Yer secretary pulled out what he wanted.”

“That’s wonderful! How did you do it?”

“Oh hell, it weren’t nuttin’. Some of the boys put me on to DeCarlo’s head bean counter. A CPA. Very soft. I waited for him in his car last night. He was kinda startled to see me.”

I’ll just bet. “You didn’t do anything improper, did you?”

“I just suggested in a nice way that it would be bad for his health if I didn’t see DeCarlo’s business records.”

“It wouldn’t be ideal for his health if DeCarlo found out he showed them to you.”

“His point exactly. So I described the various ways I could rearrange his face without even working up a sweat. Real friendlylike, you know. He said he thought maybe he could lay his hands on the documents. I promised I’d get them back to him in twenty-four hours. DeCarlo’s all wrapped up in this trial business, so he’s not likely to miss them.”

“Jones,” Ben said, “get everything you need copied, pronto.”

“Already done, Boss. I’ve begun comparing DeCarlo’s records with Lombardi’s. There are several discrepancies, and numerous unexplained financial contributions from DeCarlo to Lombardi. I think you’ll find that DeCarlo had a definite motive for offing Lombardi. If Lombardi went down, so would DeCarlo.”

“That might work,” Ben said, thinking aloud. “Even if we can’t absolutely prove that DeCarlo killed him or hired out the job, the mere suggestion of motive and involvement by such a notoriously shady figure might create reasonable doubt about Christina’s guilt.”

“Can we subpoena DeCarlo?” Jones asked.

“Probably not at this late date,” Ben said. “Especially since he doubtless has a battalion of lawyers who would try to quash it. But he was in the courtroom today. Maybe he’ll be foolish enough to show up again tomorrow. Draft a subpoena dated tomorrow, Jones. Just in case.”

“Will do, Boss.”

“Loving, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. This is the first piece of solid evidence we’ve turned up. You may have helped save a woman’s life. Consider us even. Square.”

Loving batted his eyes. “Gosh,” he said softly. “I never really done anything, you know, good before.” Ben could see his throat constricting. “I’m never gonna forget this. You’re the best, Skipper. The abso-goddamn-lutely best.”

Ben moved away before Loving tried to hug him. “Jones, I’m going to be in my office, planning strategy for tomorrow. I don’t want to be bothered.”

Jones nodded. “Give ’em hell, Boss. Pull a Perry Mason.”

“Oh yeah !” Loving said enthusiastically. “I love that show. I watch the reruns all the time. I love the way he makes the killer break down right there on the witness stand. I bet you watch it too, huh, Skipper?”

“No,” Ben said. “I can’t stand it. It’s not remotely realistic. That never happens in real trials.”

Loving looked crushed.

“Too bad,” Jones said. “We could use a little Raymond Burr pizazz right now.”

“Mind if I use the phone, Skipper?”

“Of course not. Help yourself.” Ben started once again for his office.

Jones piped up. “Boss?”

“Yessss?”

“Since the trial isn’t really going so hot, and we’re, well, we’re basically desperate, how about I do a little investigating of my own at the scene of the crime?”

“Absolutely not. I need you right here comparing those records.”

“What if I finish early?”

“You’ll be lucky if you finish before dawn. And the trial resumes at nine A.M.”

“You sure are tough sometimes.”

“These are tough times.” Ben started again for his office.

“Uhh, Skipper?”

“I have work to do, people!”

Loving stared at the floor. “Gee, sorry.”

“Total stress-out,” Jones muttered under his breath.

“What is it, Loving?” Ben asked.

“It’s your phone.” He put down the receiver. “There’s something wrong.”

“Tell Jones. He’s in charge of office maintenance.”

“You don’t understand. I was calling that CPA guy to let him know I’d be back with the records soon.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, listen.” He picked up the receiver. Ben heard a quiet but distinct click, followed by the dial tone.

“Okay,” Ben said. “So what?”

Loving looked at him earnestly. “Maybe you don’t know what that means, Skipper, but I sure do.” He picked up the receiver again and let them both listen to the quiet click. “Someone’s tapped your phone.”

Ben sat at his desk trying to rethink the case from every possible angle. What had he missed? What brilliant question had he failed to ask? He tried to read his trial notes, but it was virtually impossible; you can’t take notes and try a case at the same time. Normally, a legal assistant would take notes, but he didn’t have one, unless he counted Christina, and he couldn’t have the defendant scribbling away during the trial. His mind kept drifting off, thinking about all the victims this case had created. Christina. Margot. And Wolf.

He forced himself to focus on his trial plans for the next day. As far as he could tell, he’d punched every hole he could find in the prosecution’s story, and it still hung together. The testimony was all circumstantial, but overwhelmingly so. None of the evidence was absolutely conclusive, but the cumulative effect would weigh heavily on the jurors’ minds. No one wanted to be responsible for letting a murderer go free; and Moltke would make the jury feel that, unless they returned a guilty verdict, they were co-murderers themselves. Conviction by guilt complex, a tried-and-true prosecution technique.