Dark Justice Read online

  Dark Justice

  A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense (Book Eight)

  William Bernhardt

  A MysteriousPress.com

  Open Road Integrated Media

  Ebook

  For Harry and Alice,

  my favorite campers

  Contents

  Prologue

  One Hundred Hears Before

  Six Years Before

  Present Day

  One: Paul Bunyan’s Stepchildren

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Two: Counter Friction

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Three: The Real World, Muchachos

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Four: Thus Far and No Further

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Five: What You See

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  The question is not what you look at, but what you see.

  —Henry David Thoreau, Journals, November 16, 1830

  Prologue

  One Hundred Years Before

  IN 1906, A JOURNALIST named James MacGillivray struggled to think of something different to fill the pages of the Oscoda Press, a small-town northern Michigan newspaper. In those days, papers were more flexible and often used fiction pieces to liven up their pages. Because the town had recently seen an influx of lumberjacks and businessmen in the fledgling logging industry, MacGillivray concocted a tale, based in part on stories he had heard around town, about the Goliath of loggers, a superhuman lumberjack called Paul Bunyan. In “The Round River Drive,” the mighty Bunyan fells “about a mile a day” of forestland. “You see,” MacGillivray wrote, “back in those days the government didn’t care nothin’ about the timber and all you had to do was hunt up a good tract on some runnin’ stream—cut her and float her down.”

  The Bunyan story was very popular, and in the years that followed, more appeared by a variety of writers. In 1914, an advertising copywriter working for the Red River Lumber Company produced a booklet collecting and embellishing the Bunyan saga—adding, for instance, Babe the blue ox. The company’s advertising circulars gave the “legend” national prominence, popularizing both the logging industry and the stouthearted, manly lifestyle of the lumberjack.

  The logging industry boomed. Settlers came from far and wide to be a part of the “taming” of the national wilderness. Ancient forests, silent for centuries, were suddenly noisy as factories, as men and equipment swarmed through cutting down everything in sight. Lumbering, dominated by larger and larger corporations, was an attack operation in which profits depended on the speedy, efficient felling of trees—as many as possible, as quickly as possible. In 1850, more than forty percent of the United States was densely forested; by 1920, less than ten percent was. Entire forests disappeared, and to their surprise, the loggers learned that, even when new trees were planted, the forests did not grow back …

  Six Years Before

  BEN KINCAID GRIPPED THE podium, a grim expression set on his face.

  He was staring across the courtroom at the man in the witness box. Evan Taulbert was his name, and he was the critical witness for the prosecution. He was a lab researcher in a clinical research facility in a small town near Tulsa called Chesterson, and one of only two staffers on the premises the night of what the Tulsa World was calling the “Great Chesterson Chimp Raid.” As the jury had already learned, the research facility was conducting experiments for a major cosmetics company, using chimps as test subjects. A local animal rights group, the Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Our Other-Than-Human Neighbors, had been protesting outside the facility for months. On the night of the raid, they stopped protesting and took decisive action.

  And by the time the raid was over, a man was dead.

  Ben was representing the leader of the raid, one George Zakin, a young activist. He claimed that the death of Dr. David Dodd was an accident in which he played no part. Zakin admitted trespassing on the property, but claimed he did so to free the chimps, not to harm anyone. The prosecution, unfortunately, took a different view. They were pushing for Murder One, arguing that Zakin had entered the premises with the express premeditated motive of killing Dr. Dodd. The case was built entirely on circumstantial evidence, but there was plenty of it. Ben had spent the better part of the last three days cross-examining prosecution witnesses, bolstering his client’s alibi, proving those witnesses didn’t see what they thought they saw.

  Except for Evan Taulbert. He resolutely maintained that he saw the defendant race past his office window at 3:05 A.M., just before the time of death—which destroyed Zakin’s claim that he had left the premises about an hour before.

  Ben felt certain Taulbert was mistaken or lying, but how to prove it? He could only do what he always did in these circumstances—try to get the man talking, on the theory that if Taulbert talked long enough, eventually he would trip up.

  “So you were in your office when you claim you saw my client race past your window?” Ben asked.

  “I was,” Taulbert replied, supremely confident. “When I did see him race by.”

  “Awfully late to be at the office.”

  “I often stay late. I’m very dedicated to my work.”

  “Were you planning to sleep there?”

  “Indeed. I have a sofa in my office that folds out into a bed.”

  How cozy. Ben flipped a page in the outline Christina had prepared for him. “I see from the police report that you also had a lab assistant in your office.”

  “Nothing unusual about that,” Taulbert replied, but Ben thought something about the way the man stroked his beard suggested otherwise.

  “You know,” Ben said, “I don’t seem to have the assistant’s name. What is it?”

  Taulbert coughed into his hand. “That would be Kelly Prescott.”

  A suitably ambiguous name, Ben thought. “And would Kelly be a man or a woman?”<
br />
  “A woman.”

  Out the corner of his eye, Ben saw some of the jurors leaning slightly forward. This cross was already more interesting than they had expected. “You were alone with a female assistant?”

  “Male or female—it makes no difference to me,” Taulbert replied, still stroking away at that beard. “I don’t discriminate in my hiring.”

  “And was Ms. Prescott also awake when you saw George Zakin run by the window?”

  “She was. But she didn’t see him. She was facing the other direction.”

  “She was facing the other direction.” Ben’s imagination reeled. “Were the two of you … engaged in an experiment at the time?”

  The first red blotches began to appear on the man’s neck. “No. We had closed down shop for the day.”

  “So the two of you were just …?”

  “Unwinding. Relieving the stress of a difficult workday.”

  Ben nodded gamely. “And did the two of you employ any special … stress-reduction techniques?”

  A titter emerged from the jury box. The prosecutor, Jack Bullock, rose to his feet. “Your honor, I object. Relevance.”

  “I’m exploring the circumstances surrounding the man’s identification of my client,” Ben explained. “Testing its credibility.”

  Judge Peters brushed a shock of hair out of his eyes, looking supremely bored. “I’ll allow it.”

  Ben thanked the judge. “Now where were we? Oh yes—stress-reduction techniques.”

  Taulbert straightened. “I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate.”

  “Well, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to insinuate …”

  “If you’re trying to find out if Kelly and I are fond of each other, we are. But it doesn’t alter the fact that I saw your man running down the corridor just before my colleague was killed.”

  Ben frowned, then flipped another page in his outline. It was, of course, always pleasing to take a pompous ass and rake him over the coals a bit. But ultimately Taulbert was right. The fact that he was messing around with his lab assistant didn’t prove he was lying about seeing Zakin.

  “Mr. Taulbert, do you know what I find most unusual about your testimony?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know,” he answered, folding his arms across his chest.

  “What I find most unusual is your behavior.”

  “My behavior? I was exactly where I was supposed to be. Your man was the one who trespassed and killed—”

  Ben cut him off at the pass. “Imagine this situation with me. It’s late at night. You and your female assistant are … relieving one another’s stress. Suddenly a man you don’t know races by your office window—and you don’t do anything.”

  “I reported the incident to the police—”

  “By phone, yes, about five minutes later, when it was far too late to do Dr. Dodd any good.”

  “I moved as quickly as I could.”

  “Five minutes later? Why didn’t you chase after the intruder immediately?”

  Taulbert’s left eye twitched. “What?”

  “The man you saw in the window was an intruder, right?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “He wasn’t supposed to be there.”

  “Right.”

  “You had tons of valuable equipment on the premises.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You had ongoing experiments that could easily be ruined.”

  “And they were. Your client—”

  “So why didn’t you run after him?”

  “I—I don’t see—”

  “Well, if I saw an intruder in my lab late at night, and I knew he could destroy months of work without even trying hard, I’d run after him. I think most people would.” Ben was relieved to see several heads in the jury box nodding in agreement. “So why didn’t you?”

  “I—I guess I didn’t think of it.”

  “Didn’t think of it?” Ben couldn’t have shown much more disbelief if the man had claimed he’d been beamed up to Saturn. “Are you the absentminded professor or the nutty professor?”

  Prosecutor Bullock jumped to his feet. “Your honor—”

  “I’m sorry,” Ben said quickly. “I’ll withdraw that. Mr. Taulbert, why didn’t you run after this alleged intruder?”

  “It—it could have been dangerous.”

  “So you’re saying you were too scared to step out into the hallway?”

  Taulbert pressed a hand against his forehead. “All right, to tell you the truth—I couldn’t move.”

  Ben tucked in his chin. “You were paralyzed with fear?”

  “No.” Taulbert’s eyes drifted downward. “I was handcuffed.”

  Ben closed his eyes with sweet, sweet joy. Some days you get the bear …

  “Excuse me, sir. Did you say handcuffed?”

  “Oh, you know perfectly well I did.” Taulbert’s head twitched, rather like a dead frog receiving electroshock therapy. “There’s nothing wrong with it. We’re both consenting adults.”

  Ben spoke slowly, making sure everyone absorbed all the details. “We being—you and your assistant. Ms. Prescott.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “The handcuffs were part of your … stress-reduction technique?”

  “That’s one way of putting it.”

  “Could you perhaps describe …”

  “She cuffed my hands behind my back. I couldn’t budge.”

  “And she was facing the opposite direction.”

  “We were making love, you pious twit, and she was on top. It’s not against the law, you know.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “But I couldn’t move. As soon as I saw your client race down the corridor, I told Kelly to uncuff me, but it took her a while to, um, stop what she was doing and find the key. By the time I was free, your client was gone.”

  “I see. Thank you for clearing that up.” Ben eagerly turned another page in his trial notebook. It was all downhill from here.

  Bullock rose to his feet. “Your honor, are we going to continue prying into this man’s personal life? This is of no interest whatsoever.”

  The judge smiled. “If it was of no interest, you wouldn’t be trying to shut it down.”

  “It’s all right, your honor,” Ben said. “I’m moving on.” He returned his attention to the witness. “You know, Mr. Taulbert, there’s one detail I haven’t been able to clarify. The local Chesterson police received two 911 phone calls that night, one around two A.M., the other just after three. Unfortunately, they did not yet have Caller ID trace capability, so the operator did not get an automatic record of the calls’ places of origin. The first call was so garbled and incoherent they couldn’t understand it. The second was the one that brought them to your lab.”

  “My call would have been the second.”

  “I can see where you would want us to think that. The 911 operator reported that the first call was an ‘incoherent blast from a man either frightened out of his wits or totally insane who wasn’t even able to tell us where he was.’ ”

  “Clearly that wasn’t me.”

  “Ah, but here’s the rub, Mr. Taulbert. I think it was. I think you saw my client around two, when he was still there and Dr. Dodd was still very much alive. I think later, when you read the police report, you changed your testimony so your call would be thought to be the one that brought the police to the scene, not the one from the man ‘either frightened out of his wits or totally insane.’ ”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do.”

  “I have never been incoherent in my entire life, much less totally insane.”

  “Well, sometimes in a difficult situation—”

  “I am perfectly capable of handling a difficult situation!”

  “Mr. Taulbert, the way I see it, you saw the intruder or intruders and panicked.”

  “I most certainly did not. You should be careful what you say, young man. There are laws against libel.”r />
  “Uh-huh. Against perjury, too.”

  “I have given you my testimony, and I’m sticking by it.”

  “But I still think you made the two o’clock call.”

  “Don’t you think I know what time it was when I called?”

  “How could you?”

  “How could I? I made a note the moment I saw the man in the corridor.”

  “Made a note of what?”

  “Of the time, of course.”

  “But how? I’ve seen pictures of your office. There are no clocks.”

  “I didn’t need a clock, you fool. I had a wristwatch.”

  “You did?”

  “Of course I did. Every lab clinician does.”

  “Where was it?”

  “On my wrist, you nincompoop. Hence the name.”

  “You’re sure about this?”

  “Absolutely positive.”

  “And that’s how you know when you saw my client.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Because you had a watch.”

  “It was the only timepiece in the room.”

  “And you checked it?”

  “The second I saw the man race down the corridor.”

  Ben paused, drew a breath. “Mr. Taulbert, would you please explain how you could check your wristwatch when your hands were cuffed behind your back?”

  All at once the agitated bobbing of his head ceased. His lips froze as if in mid-thought.

  “As I recall, you said you couldn’t budge an inch. So how could you possibly look at your watch?”

  “Well—uh—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I—uh—”

  Ben turned toward the jury box and smiled. “Is the word you’re searching for by any chance oops?”

  Ben had almost made it out of the courtroom and into the elevator when Bullock stopped him.

  “Well, Kincaid, I guess you’re—”

  “Stop right there. I know the drill. You complain because I had the audacity to defend the accused and actually win. I say that every man has a right to a zealous defense. You say that doesn’t mean I have to put crooks back on the street. I point out that my client was working for a good cause and should never have been charged, since the only real evidence against him was unreliable, as you probably knew from the start. Eventually we start shouting and calling each other names till the bailiffs drag one or both of us out of the courthouse. Neither of us convinces the other of anything. So why don’t we just skip it this time, okay?”