William Bernhardt - Blind Justice

“What do you mean?”

“This is the kind of case a guy like Alexander Moltke can really make pay off for him.”

Alexander Moltke, the U.S. Attorney. Sailing through life with one eye on his press clippings and the other eye on a soon-to-be-available Senate seat. “You think he’ll use this case for a publicity play?”

“That’s what prosecutors do, isn’t it? Stay away from controversy, wait for the right case, and run for election in the courtroom.”

“Damn. And the FBI is involved?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe. The white shirts have been trying to get the goods on Lombardi and his druglord bosses for over a year. And they’re still trying.”

“So Christina ends up as shark bait. Let some blood and try to attract the big fish. This stinks, Mike. How long till the grand jury sits?”

“Not long. The feds have filed a complaint so they can detain her in the meantime. And as you well know, the grand jury is just a formality. The government can get any indictment it wants.”

Ben took a deep breath. “Mike, I need—”

“Let me stop you right there. What I’ve told you so far is already a matter of public record. Beyond that, I can’t help you.”

Ben stared at him, stunned. “What do you mean, you can’t help?”

“Just that.”

“You know damn well Christina wouldn’t kill anybody.”

“On the contrary, Ben, if I’ve learned anything during my time as a police officer, it’s that anyone is capable of doing anything, under the right circumstances.”

Ben could see Mike was falling into his tough-guy routine again. That was Mike: the shell of Hammett, the heart of Rimbaud.

“How do I know what happened this morning?” Mike continued. “Maybe Lombardi was two-timing her. Maybe she decided to join the war on drugs. Maybe he tried to molest her. Anything could have happened. Anyway, I can’t help you.”

“Not even for old times’ sake?”

“ Before we were both working together to accomplish the same goal. This is different. This time we’re on opposite sides.”

Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I didn’t realize we were on sides. I thought we were both trying to discover the truth. What really happened.”

“Well, you’ve been needing to grow up for a long time now.” Mike took his pipe and tamper out of his desk drawer. “Frankly, Ben, most of the guys in this office couldn’t be less interested in convicting Christina; we consider this a community service homicide. But the feds are going forward gung-ho, and we’ve been told to assist whenever possible and otherwise stay out of the way. And I intend to do just that.”

There was a long silence, as if they had forgotten their lines. Both men avoided eye contact.

“Can you at least tell me what happened?” Ben asked.

“I can tell you what I know. You could get that through pretrial discovery anyway.” He pressed the tamper deep into the bowl of his pipe. “The FBI, in association with our office, has been stalking Tony Lombardi for some time. They believe he’s a smuggler for Albert DeCarlo.”

Ben whistled. Yet more bad news. DeCarlo had been the subject of more investigations than the Loch Ness monster, but no one had ever made anything stick. If Tulsa had a crime boss, he was it.

“The feds think DeCarlo is big with the Cali cartel, running drugs up from Colombia. Since the Medellin cartel bit the bullet with Noriega and got out of the business, the Cali goons are the feds’ number-one target. They say DeCarlo’s involved in every aspect of the drug pipeline—handling, warehousing, airstrips, planes, boats, bribery—the whole works. And having successfully put the alleged number-four man in the Medellin cartel away a few years ago—”

“José Abello.” Ben remembered the trial well. It was probably the biggest criminal trial Tulsa had ever had.

“Right. Having done that, the feds now hope to snag someone even bigger. You know, to exemplify the escalating war on drugs. And they hope to shut down the Tulsa connection in the process.”

“The Tulsa connection? Sounds like a TV movie.”

Mike thumped his pipe against his desk and searched for a match. “It’s serious stuff, believe me. Sickening as it may be, our little town has become a distribution center for South American drugs. Getting them into Mexico is easy, and from there, it’s just a short hop over the border to us. Texas has been cracking down, making life miserable for drug runners, so they’ve been skipping the Lone Star State and coming straight to Oklahoma. And from Tulsa, it’s just a drive down the interstate to anywhere else in the country.”

What the hell had Christina gotten herself into? “That explains why the feds are involved,” Ben said, “but what’s all this drug business got to do with the murder?”

“A major shipment of cocaine was delivered last night, or so the feds believe. Anyway, four federal agents with a warrant burst into Lombardi’s apartment, around two o’clock this morning, hoping to find the drugs. Instead, they found Tony Lombardi lying on the floor with four bullet holes in his head.” He paused. “And Christina hovering over the body.”

“That hardly proves she killed him.”

“Her prints are all over the place.”

“So? We know she was at the apartment. There could be a million explanations for that.”

“We’re only interested in one.”

“Can you get me in to see the scene of the crime?”

Mike shrugged. “You have that right under the law. I don’t see any reason to make you file a lot of paperwork.”

“I assume you’ll have access to the forensic tests.”

“True.”

“Will you copy me on all the test results?”

“You mean, will I allow you to inspect any clearly exculpatory evidence we obtain?”

“No. I want to see everything, Mike.”

“The toxicology and microscopy reports won’t be completed for days,” Mike hedged.

“The autopsy is probably already finished.”

“Ben, you know goddamn well we’re not required to produce every shred of evidence we turn up!”

Ben waited until Mike’s eyes met his. “I’m not asking you as a police officer, Mike.”

Mike looked away. He swiveled his chair around and stared at the back wall of his cubicle. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said quietly.

“Thanks, pal.”

“But don’t be hanging around here a lot, okay? Bad for my reputation.” His voice took on a somber tone. “You need to be careful this time, Ben. Very careful.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re playing with the big boys. Organized crime. South American drug cartels. And worst of all, the FBI. If you get in their way, they will not be kind.”

“They may call in my unpaid parking tickets?”

“They may blow your fucking head off, Ben.”

“Oh.” The air around them seemed to go flat. “I’m not dropping this, Mike.”

“Then watch your backside, chum. At all times.”

Ben rose. If this talk was intended to scare him, it was working. “Well, I have about a million things to do.…”

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Are you interested in this case because Christina is your friend, or…?”

“She’s asked me to represent her.”

“I was afraid of that. You may want to reconsider.”

“Look, Morelli, I may not be the best attorney in the world, but I hardly think—”

“Do you know who this case has been assigned to?”

“The district court judge won’t be assigned until after the indictment.”

“Technically, that’s true. But consider—Judge Collins is practically retired, and Judge Schmidt is up to his eyeballs in that huge Sand Springs RICO class action. Who do you think is going to get this case?”