William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

He ignored them all and strolled back to counsel table. “Well, ma cherie ,” he said to Christina, “it looks as if—”

He never managed to finish, Christina threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, right there in front of everybody. A big wet smoocher.

Square on the lips.

PART FOUR

Six Impossible Things

42

“HAVE I TOLD YOU recently how sick I am of this case?” Mike asked.

“Aw, what a whiner,” Ben replied. He glanced at Mike’s desk. “At least you’re not reading Shakespeare any more. Tell me what you’ve discovered about the suicide note since the trial.”

“No surprises. Our experts are convinced it’s genuine. The handwriting matches, plus the note makes reference to financial matters Margot couldn’t have known about. Probably no one could have, other than Lombardi. And we’ve checked with Quinn Reynolds. It’s all accurate. Bottom line—it must have happened just as Margot said it did.”

“Amazing. How could anyone have guessed?”

“I don’t know,” Mike said. “How did you guess?”

“I didn’t. Not really. Jones was the one who had the revelation. Despite my telling him not to on repeated occasions, he snuck out to the scene of the crime, as he likes to say, and visited with Spud while he was on duty. Jones picked up on it pretty quickly—the drinking, the nearsightedness. Maybe it was the stress of the trial, but for whatever reason, Spud was hitting the bottle heavily and couldn’t see well at all.”

“And that led you to Margot.”

“Very good, shamus. You’ve been back to crime school.” Ben stretched out in his chair. “I realized then we were looking for someone Spud mistook for one of the three suspects—but which one? Reynolds and Langdell both admitted they went to Lombardi’s apartment; only DeCarlo denied it. That suggested that the person in question had passed him—or herself off as DeCarlo. I saw Margot on my way back into the courtroom and I began to remember—the dark sunglasses, the discrepancy over her hair color. That’s when I figured it out.”

“You had a lot of guts, Ben, calling her to the stand on a wild hunch like that. And no hard evidence.”

“Yeah. But, of course, it wasn’t as if I had a lot of other alternatives. I was very lucky.”

“Chance favors the prepared mind.”

“Is that Shakespeare?”

“No. But it should be.”

“Have you got everything you need?” Mike asked.

“I think so.” Ben scanned the papers spread across the table in Mike’s office. “Requisition forms, invoices, declassified FBI reports, the works.”

“Let’s just hope everything goes according to plan.”

“It will,” Ben said. I hope, he thought silently.

At that moment, Abshire bounced into the office, his thumb tucked behind his suspenders. “What the hell is this?” He bent over the table and ran his fingers through Ben’s papers. “These are confidential FBI documents. How did you get this stuff?”

“Through the Freedom of Information Act, mostly,” Ben said, not looking him in the eye.

“Like hell,” Abshire replied. “FIA requests take a month, minimum, even assuming you know what to ask for.” He whirled around. “Cards-on-the-table time, boys. You did this, didn’t you, Morelli?”

“As a matter of fact,” Mike said, “I did.”

Abshire approached him, gritting his teeth. “When are you going to figure out which side you’re on, Morelli? I specifically said I wanted no cooperation—”

“The case is over, Abshire. You lost. Give it up.”

Abshire’s fists balled up. “Goddamn it, this benevolent attitude of yours is probably the reason we lost the case. May I remind you that a second murder remains unsolved?”

Mike glanced at Ben out of the corner of his eye. “It won’t be unsolved for long.”

“Oh, is that right? I guess you and your old college buddy have got that one all worked out too, huh? Goddamn it, when are you going to get it through your thick fucking head that I’m in charge of this investigation!”

“You were in charge of the murder case,” Mike said. “It’s over.”

“It’s over when I say it’s over! Goddamn it, I hate it when you local peons start telling federal officers how the game is played. I make the rules, and I’ll tell you—”

Without saying a word, Mike stepped forward, grabbed Abshire’s tie and tightened the Windsor knot until Abshire started to choke. “Let me tell you what the rules are, Mr. Federal Officer. I toed the line when there was a pending investigation and prosecution, because I took an oath to defend, obey, and serve the federal government, even when it’s represented by pricks like you. But the trial is over now, and the feds are packing their bags and praise God getting the hell out of Tulsa.”

Abshire started to speak, but Mike tightened the knot until the agent’s tongue came sputtering out of his mouth. “Now, my friend, Mr. Kincaid, may be an attorney, but regardless of who his client is, he tries very hard to learn the truth and do the right thing, two motivations which you could never be accused of having. Mr. Kincaid needed a few FBI documents to complete his investigation, so I got them for him. And frankly, if you don’t like it, we’ll see how well trained you federal assholes really are.”

Mike loosened his grip just enough that Abshire could speak, barely. “What are you saying?” Abshire whispered hoarsely.

Mike smiled. “Cards-on-the-table time? I’m saying that if I find out you so much as lodged a complaint against me, I’m gonna flatten your miserable little face. Got it?”

Abshire nodded his head.

“Good.” Mike dragged him to the door, still gripping his tie. “Be seeing you.” He shoved Abshire out the office door and closed it after him.

Ben wagged his head back and forth. “You shouldn’t have done that, Mike.”

“I know,” Mike said. He grinned from ear to ear. “But, dam n, it felt good.”

Mike glanced at his watch. “He’s late.” He pounded his fists together.

“Keep your machismo in check, pal. He’ll be here.”

“Then where is he?”

“Maybe he thought we were meeting at the federal building. You know how easily these guys are confused.”

“Possible. I’ll go next door and take a look around.”

With Mike’s absence, the office seemed quiet, almost dead. It was way after hours. Everyone else had gone home; the night shift worked out of a different building. Ben looked over his notes, preparing what he would say. He had to get this right. If he made stupid mistakes, he wouldn’t accomplish anything.

After two or three minutes passed, Ben heard someone walking down the outside hallway. “So did you find—” He looked up, startled. It wasn’t Mike.

“All right,” Stanford said. “I’m here. What did Morelli want, anyway?”

“Well…actually, I was the one who wanted to talk to you.”

Stanford peered through his half glasses. “What about?”

“I…think we should wait until Mike gets back.”

“Why? Surely you can say whatever you have to say without hiding behind him.”

Ben felt the burn creeping up his neck. “We can start now if you like.”

“Very good,” Stanford said. “Shoot.”

“Number one. Someone tapped my phone.”

“Indeed? Who would want to do such a thing?”

“You,” Ben said simply.

“Is that a fact?” Stanford’s eyebrows rose slightly. “What makes you think so?”

“A friend of mine named Loving. He’s the one who detected the tap in the first place. He later found the blue box on a transmission pole down the block from my office.”