William Bernhardt - Primary Justice

Mike looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right. Forget I spoke. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that you act and dress like a character out of film noir .”

Mike frowned.

“Don’t worry, Mike. I won’t tell them you were once an English major.”

“I don’t have time to put up with you.” Mike patted down the ashes in the bowl of his pipe.

Ben decided to leave well enough alone. “What’s this about a Crazy Jane?” he asked.

“Street person. She found the body while she was rummaging around in the Dumpster. Looking for supper, probably.”

Another young uniformed officer walked toward them, leading by the arm a desiccated woman who had to be Crazy Jane. She was short and hunched, as if from spending her entire life huddling for warmth. Her hair was thin and gray and sticking out in every direction. Ben could see she had a prominent bald spot on the back of her head, the first he had ever seen on a woman. Her skin had a cold, blue, steely texture; she had a large red scab over her left eye. A black plastic garbage bag was wrapped around her upper body. A poor woman’s overcoat.

“Did you sober her up, McAfferty?” Mike asked curtly.

The young officer seemed hesitant. “I poured a lot of coffee down her throat, sir, but as for sobriety, well …”

Mike understood. He squared himself in front of her. “How long have you been in this alley, Jane?” he asked.

Her mouth was a straight, horizontal line. “All my life, handsome.”

This was going to be more difficult than he had imagined. “Have you seen anyone in this alley tonight? I mean, other than the deceased?”

She looked at him oddly. “The snowbird done it.”

Mike’s eyebrows raised.

“The snowbird, the white bird of peace. It cum down and took ’em away to the clouds.” She gazed up toward the sky.

Mike and Ben glanced at one another. “I see …”

“It’s heaven!” Suddenly she was shouting. “Great God Almighty open them doors at last!” The woman shook free of McAfferty’s hands “The time has cum. It’s the cummin’ of the Lord! Praise God halley-luah!”

Mike let out a deep sigh. “Well, that’s all we need from you now, Jane. Thanks, though.”

Crazy Jane brought her gaze and her voice back down to earth. “Cert’ly, handsome.” Officer McAfferty led her away.

After they were gone, Ben made a long whistling noise. “Wow,” he said. “What a case. Total crackpotdom. Must be the Oral Roberts influence. Infects the whole city.”

“Yeah, well, you try living on the streets for a while and we’ll see how sane you come out. Those people have a hell of a hard life. Cuddling sewer vents for warmth and scraping garbage bins for food.” He frowned. “If you don’t have any additional insights on this matter, Ben, you may leave.”

“Dam. And just when I was learning to love the north side. So how long till you catch the guy that killed my client?”

“Forever, probably.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“It’s a little early in the investigation to abandon all hope, isn’t it?”

“I’m just trying to be realistic,” Mike said, “and the fact is we don’t have anything to go on. Maybe the lab or the coroner will turn up something, but it’s not promising. The killer was probably some transient loony who took the cash and is now sitting in a motel room in St. Louis.” He glanced at Ben. “What with the business card, you’re my number-one suspect. But I can’t see hauling you downtown. Since you’re family and all.”

“I can’t believe you’re giving up on this before you’ve even begun.”

“Who’s giving up? Tomorrow we’ll go to this breakfast food factory where you say he works, and we’ll quiz everybody who’s spoken to him in the last ten years. We’ll get a subpoena for the Message Unit Detail sheets from the phone company, and we’ll trace every call he’s made from his home or office for the last six months. The physical evidence boys will continue to scour the city. For as long as they can. Until Chief Blackwell decides it’s hopeless, or until the next gruesome homicide comes along.”

Mike was becoming agitated. “Tulsa isn’t New York City, but we haven’t got so little to do that we can piddle away our time on hopeless cases. This murder was a one-man show, possibly a one-lunatic show, and that one lunatic hasn’t left many traces and isn’t likely to confess. Unlike those TV cop shows you grew up on, some real-life cases just can’t be solved.” He paused significantly. “At least not by traditional police methods.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon, Ben. You’re the shyster; you don’t need me to tell you the law. There’s plenty you can do that I can’t.”

“Like what?”

“Like what happens if I break into a house without a search warrant and take some crucial evidence?”

“It probably can’t be used at trial.”

“And what happens if you do the same thing?”

Ben shrugged. “Nothing. No state action.”

“Well, not exactly. I’d have to arrest you for breaking and entering, but the evidence you found could still be used at trial. Geez, what kind of grades did you make? Maybe I ought to be a lawyer.”

Ben didn’t honor the remark with a reply. “What are you getting at, Mike?”

“Well, my quick-witted friend, I’m saying if you really want to find the guy who deep-sixed your client, hire a private investigator. Do some investigating yourself. And check back with me from time to time. Unofficially, of course.”

A black-and-white police car slowly cruised to a stop on the other side of the street. Ben could see Bertha Adams sitting in the backseat on the passenger side.

“Does she know yet?” Ben asked.

Mike nodded. “Told her on the phone. But it’s not the same. It never really sinks in till they see the body.”

Ben began zipping his jacket. “I don’t want to be around for this, Mike.”

“Don’t blame you. Consider what I said, though, okay? And stay in touch. Oh. Last thing …” Mike reached into the pocket of his overcoat and withdrew a crumpled bit of white paper. “You can take this with you.”

Ben took the paper from Mike. It was his business card. “Don’t you need this for evidence?”

“Oh, I think I can remember the name.” Mike winked, then thrust his fists into his overcoat. “You know, Ben, I really loved your sister.”

Ben shoved the card into his pocket. “Yeah.” He turned and walked back to his car.

7

“ABSOLUTELY NOT. UNDER NO circumstances. Good God, Kincaid, this was supposed to be a starter case. Simple and cheap. A favor.”

Derek slammed the flat of his hand against his desk. “I can’t believe this happened. I mean, Jesus, I’ve lost clients before, but not like this!”

Ben sat on his hands as Derek paraded around the office.

“How could I justify the expense? This is an adoption case, for God’s sake! Why do we need a private investigator?”

“Lieutenant Morelli told me—”

“Sure!” Derek threw his arms into the air. “Morelli would love for us to do his work for him. But we’ve got work of our own, Kincaid. Lesson one about relatives, kid. If they don’t want money, they want you to perform some legal hocus-pocus for them gratis.”

“Excuse me, sir, but it seems to me this is part of our job—”

“No. Our job was to go through the motions and generate some paperwork so a sweet old couple could try to adopt a brain-damaged wretch they found in a vacant lot. We were not asked to find a murderer, and we were not asked to cast a private dragnet for the girl’s parents, whoever they may be.” He fished around in his shirt pocket for a cigarette but didn’t find any. “Hell, for all we know, the woman may not want to adopt the kid now that … that …” He sputtered for a moment, then waved it all away with a dramatic skyward gesture.