Naked Justice bk-6 Page 3
“Oh.” She knotted her fingers together. “I was hoping we could … talk.”
“Well…”
“It’s real important.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“It’s about your … payment.”
Ben suddenly had a sinking feeling. “Well, I can do more than one thing at a time. You talk, I’ll read.”
“Oh. Sure.” There was a long pause. “Ben, I’m so grateful for all you’ve done for me. I mean it. You’ve saved my good name. You’ve redeemed me.”
Actually, Ben thought, the fact that Hemingway planted the tank in her truck didn’t necessarily mean she hadn’t been cheating, but he decided to keep that thought to himself.
“I owe you everything. Problem is… I don’t have anything.”
Ben’s eyes squeezed closed. I knew it. “What happened to all that prize money?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I’m a bit too fond of that Creek Nation Bingo Parlor.”
I can’t stand it, Ben thought. I just can’t stand it.
“I know I owe you, Ben. I owe you a lot.”
“It was nothing,” Ben mumbled, “nothing at all.”
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Well, never let it be said that Fannie Fenneman doesn’t honor her debts.” There was a pause, followed by a metallic clinking noise. “So I’ve decided to pay my bill in trade.”
Ben’s eyes stopped moving across the brief. Slowly his head raised.
Fannie was standing in the center of the office, stark naked, her overalls in a pile around her feet.
“Uh, Fannie …”
“Now, don’t you worry, Ben. You’ll get your money’s worth.”
“I’m sure … I mean, I never doubted …”
“Well, come on, Ben.” She wrapped her arms around herself. Ben thought perhaps she was embarrassed, but the external evidence indicated she was cold. “I’m ready and waiting.”
Ben eased out of his chair. “Fannie, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“It is, Ben. I promise.” Her body vibrated in a singularly impressive manner. “You won’t be sorry.”
“I already am.” He took his suit coat off the hook on the door and held it out to her. “Here, put something on before—”
“Ben, no.” She brushed the coat away and grabbed his arm, pulling him to her. Before he could stop himself, Ben collided into her. She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t fight it, Ben. It’s the only way.”
“Fannie, please!”
Just then, the office door swung open. Christina poked her head inside. “Ben, can I—” She stopped short, her eyes widening like balloons. “Oh, my—I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She vanished.
“Christina! Wait! It isn’t—” Ben pushed himself out of Fannie’s arms. “Excuse me.” He ran toward the door.
“But, Ben!” Fannie cried.
He whirled around. “And put your clothes back on!” He stepped through the door and found Jones and Loving staring at him. “What are you two looking at?”
Both pairs of eyes immediately darted down to their desks.
Ben stomped across the lobby. “Have you seen Christina?”
“She blew out of here like a rocket. Can you blame her?”
“Jones, it isn’t what you think—”
“Jeez, Boss”—his look was one of pure amazement—“you don’t even have carpet in there.”
“Jones—”
“There is that one chair, I suppose. Or the desk. Man, you must really like it rough.”
“Jones!” He ran to the front window and looked both ways down the street. Christina was nowhere in sight. “Look, Jones, if you see Christina, tell her …” He searched his mind for the right words. “Never mind, I’ll tell her myself. The Skaggs brief looks fine, by the way. Can you file it?”
“I could,” Jones said, “but don’t you have to be going that way, anyway?”
“Me? Why?”
“To get to Forestview. Joey, remember? I mean”—he glanced back at the office door—“if you’re up to it.”
Ben glanced at his watch. “It’s not five yet. I still have—”
Jones interrupted him. “Parent-teacher conference. Four-thirty sharp.”
Ben slammed his fists together. “Blast! I totally forgot.”
“Well, you’ve had a lot on your mind.”
“Would you stop that!” Ben grabbed his briefcase.
“Look, Boss, I’ve got a ratty old sofa at home. It isn’t much, but if you like, I could put it in your office.”
Ben raised a finger. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I can’t wait. Stay out of trouble, Casanova.”
Chapter 3
BEN SAT IN A MOLDED plastic chair in the small conference room at Forestview Country Day School. He was trying his best to remain calm.
“I’m afraid I just don’t see the problem.”
Ms. Hammerstein, the head teacher in the infant care room, sported an unchanging placid smile. “Well, first of all, Mr. Kincaid, let me tell you what a wonderful child Joey is. So smart. Such a delight. We all love him very much.”
“Ye-es …”
“He’s a truly special individual.”
Ben refrained from drumming his fingers on the table. “Why do I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
Ms. Hammerstein’s visage barely fluttered. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“The woman on the phone said there was a problem. That’s why we’re having this meeting, according to her. Because there’s a problem.”
“Well … yes.” Ms. Hammerstein opened the blue notebook on the table before her. “There have been a few … issues that have arisen. I wouldn’t have used the word problem—”
“The woman on the phone did.”
She scanned the page in her notebook with Joey’s name at the top. “Most of these—let’s call them observations—are what I would group under the general heading of compliance issues.”
“Compliance?”
“Yes.”
“Meaning he doesn’t do exactly what you want exactly when you want it.”
“Now, Mr. Kincaid. We try to be very flexible.”
“Doesn’t sound that way.”
“Mr. Kincaid … I assure you …”
“I’m sorry.” Ben realized he was acting like a typical father. How dare you suggest that my child has a flaw? “Let’s cut to the chase. What are these issues?”
“Well …” Ms. Hammerstein turned another page in her notebook. “Joey just … isn’t like the other children.”
“Why should he be?”
“He doesn’t play with the other children.”
“So he prefers his own company. Is that a crime? He’s shy.”
“He wanders off by himself.”
“God forbid. Let’s sic the robot dogs on him.”
She took a deep breath. “He doesn’t talk. Doesn’t even babble. Doesn’t engage in imaginative play like the other children.”
“Has it occurred to you that Joey has perhaps had a slightly more traumatic infancy than the other children?” Like being born to a mother already divorced for the second time. Like being abandoned when he was barely seven months old. Like being dumped on Uncle Ben, who didn’t know squat about how to take care of a baby. Like being placed in this concentration camp cum country day school so Uncle Ben could eke out what he laughingly called a living. “I think we should cut Joey a little slack.”
“I’m perfectly willing to cut him as much slack as he needs, Mr. Kincaid. But I am not willing to jeopardize his personal safety.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve already told you. Joey wanders off. He doesn’t listen. He doesn’t do as he’s told. It’s dangerous. Whenever we go outside, we have to watch him every second. If we blink, Joey wanders off by himself. He could get lost or hurt. There are only two teachers in each classroom, and twelve children. We can’t
afford to have one person permanently assigned to preventing Joey from hurting himself.”
“Why not? God knows your tuition is high enough.”
“Mr. Kincaid, this isn’t about money. It’s about the fact that … that Joey isn’t like the other children.”
“So this isn’t about compliance at all. It’s about conformity.”
Ms. Hammerstein’s head tilted to one side. “Joey … does march to the beat of a different drummer.”
“But you’ll soon have him goosestepping with the other soldiers. Is that it?”
“Mr. Kincaid!”
Ben tried to get a grip on himself. He wasn’t being rational and he knew it. He took a deep breath and swallowed. “So what do you recommend?”
“I would like Joey to be examined by a professional.”
“What?” His shout practically lifted the ceiling.
“Nonintrusive, of course. The doctor would just come to the school and observe Joey.”
“The doctor. What kind of doctor?”
“Well …”
Ben’s jaw clenched together. “A shrink, right? You want to send him to a shrink.”
“I would like him to be observed by a specialist in pre-adolescent personality disorders—”
“He’s only thirteen months old, for God’s sake!” Ben leaped out of his chair. “What kind of people are you?”
“Mr. Kincaid, please stay calm. I assure you this is as hard for me as it is for you.”
“I doubt it!” Ben bounced back into his seat, hands folded across his chest. “I refuse to believe a thirteen-month-old kid can have some deep psychiatric problem.”
“I hope you’re right. If you are, then we can eliminate that possibility and explore some other possible cause. But we can’t reach any diagnosis without help.”
“I can’t believe you want to foist some headshrinker on my boy.”
“But he isn’t your boy, is he, Mr. Kincaid?”
That slowed him down a beat. “What do you mean?”
“Mr. Kincaid, I’m familiar with your situation. And believe me, I admire what you have done under such difficult circumstances. But at the same time, I can’t help wondering whether Joey might not be better off in … well, a more stable home environment.”
Ben felt his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Please don’t think I’m being critical, Mr. Kincaid. I don’t mean it that way. But you are single, right?”
“Yes.”
“You live in a small apartment in a boardinghouse?”
“Yes.”
“You work full-time.”
“Right.”
“Your practice is … what’s the word?”
“Struggling?”
“Good. Struggling. And your work often requires you to be away from home at night.”
“Well, when I have a case in court.”
“And that happens …”
“Not as often as I’d like.”
The placid smile returned to Ms. Hammerstein’s face. “Don’t you see, Mr. Kincaid? Joey has had such a traumatic first year. He needs constancy. He needs to know there are people he can count on day in, day out.”
“He has a nanny—”
“He needs a parent.” She closed her blue notebook. “Maybe even two.”
Ben didn’t respond for several seconds. Dark thoughts raced through his head. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
“Well, before we do anything drastic, let’s get a doctor to see Joey. See what he says. Then we’ll go from there.”
“Fine, but I don’t want Joey to know he’s being tested.”
“He won’t, I assure you.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on Ben’s shoulder. “You’re doing the right thing, Mr. Kincaid.”
Ben wished he could bring himself to return the peacemaking gesture, but he couldn’t. “I hope you’re right.”
Ben picked up Joey in the Rocket Room. He swept the boy into his arms and they hugged. Or to be more accurate, Ben hugged Joey. Joey never hugged. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t hug. He was just there.
Ben held Joey up to his face and smiled. “Hey, pardner! Can you say hi to your uncle Ben?”
Joey didn’t answer. He was gazing off into space, at nothing in particular.
“Joey, say hi. Can you say hi?”
If he could, he didn’t. His head tilted, as if he were contemplating the great mysteries of the universe.
“Joey, can you answer me?”
Joey’s eyes glazed.
“Joey. Please say hi!”
Still no answer.
“Joey!” Ben took Joey by the chin and forced him to look his way. Joey quickly averted his gaze. He never made eye contact. “Will you please say hi to your uncle Ben?”
He continued staring off somewhere over Ben’s shoulder.
Ben sighed, then set Joey down on the ground and took his hand. “Let’s go to the car.”
Ben led him down the corridor. He scanned the hall for the mayor, Wallace Barrett, who usually picked up his kids about the same time. Barrett had been mayor for the last three and a half years. The city’s first black mayor. Some pundits had speculated that the color barrier would never be broken in Tulsa, but Wallace “The Wall” Barrett had done it by being smart, articulate, and hard-working. Of course, being a former University of Oklahoma football star, in a state where more people went to football games than voted, didn’t hurt any.
Barrett didn’t seem to be around today. Come to think of it, Ben had heard something on the car radio about Barrett holding a press conference, announcing his intent to run for reelection. That probably explained his absence.
Barrett had two daughters, both beauties. Ben recalled seeing them the previous Friday, when one of them had been so anxious to get to her father that she crashed into Ben’s leg.
“Hey, slow down,” Ben had said.
The girl ignored him, rushing on down the corridor. “Daddy!” she screamed. When she reached the end of the hallway, she leaped into her father’s arms. Her father scooped her up, hugged her tight, then swung her around in a circle.
“Hey, Kincaid! Sorry about my little crash pilot.” A second girl clutched Barrett’s leg.
Ben and Barrett had met at school functions and had become nodding acquaintances. Barrett was the kind of person who never forgot your name, your wife’s name, your kids’ names, or anything else.
“I’m fine, Mr. Mayor. Don’t worry about it. You’ve got a great pair of daughters.”
“Don’t I know it.” He scooped his other girl into his arms and beamed at the both of them. They were practically identical, but for the difference in their ages. Slim and pretty, with curly black hair.
Barrett squeezed his daughters till they burst out laughing. They threw their arms around, his neck and hugged him. He kissed them both on the cheek. Ben had seen the love in his eyes, the love so freely and enthusiastically returned by his daughters.
Barrett grinned from ear to ear. “I must be the luckiest man on earth.”
Ben nodded. “I think you’re probably right.”
A tug on his arm snapped Ben back to the present. He looked down at Joey, who was still holding his hand and gazing off into space. Ben crouched down eye to eye with him. “Joey,” he said hesitantly, “you’re not … I mean, you don’t—Joey?”
Joey seemed to have taken an intense interest in the aquarium.
Ben took Joey’s chin and gently guided it around to face him. “Joey, I know you didn’t have any choice about staying with me, but you’re not …”
He swallowed, then tried again. “I know you don’t show it much, but deep down you really do … don’t you?”
Joey stuck his finger between his lips and explored the roof of his mouth.
“Right. Well. Anyway.” He stood up again and took Joey’s hand. “Let’s go, pardner.” They pushed through the front doors. “What sounds good for dinner tonight? I was thinking we might make spaghetti.”
LATER THAT EVENING, HARVEY Sanders peered through the curtains of his upstairs window at the house next door and shook his head sadly. They were at it again.
Seemed like it was almost every day now. Rain or shine, come what may, he could count on his famous neighbors having some terrific row before the day was over. Harvey hated to think of those lovely little girls being subjected to this barrage of hatred. Must be hard trying to tell yourself that Mommy and Daddy love each other after you’ve witnessed something like this day after day. Those poor kids.
Harvey closed the curtains, turned off Little House on the Prairie, and walked downstairs to the kitchen. He took a beer out of the fridge and popped the lid into the sink. As he did, he passed an open window that overlooked an equally open window in the Barretts’ house. Man alive, they were really going at it now.
“Shut up, you stupid cow!”
Harvey couldn’t hear them any better if they were in the next room. Wally had one of those deep booming voices; it carried. There was some more shouting, some general clamor. Then he heard some crying. Damn. One of the girls. “Daddy! Daddy!”
The crying swelled till it was almost piercing, then it seemed to fade. The girl was moving away from the window.
The fight continued. “I know you care about them, or pretend to. What about me?”
There was some reply Harvey didn’t catch.
“You’re damn right! Me!”
The next sound startled Harvey so that he dropped his beer bottle on the linoleum. It was a sharp, quick sound, like the popping of a paper bag.
Or a slap across the face. Flesh against flesh.
There were several more exchanges he couldn’t understand. Then: “Don’t drag the children into this!”
“I don’t have any choice!”
There was another noise, loud enough to make Harvey flinch. A great, crashing noise—Harvey couldn’t even think of anything that would make a noise like that. Dishes? Furniture? Or worse?
Harvey strolled into his living room. Well, what would his excuse be this time? Perhaps a shard of Anasazi pottery? Or perhaps a toilet that needed attention? Either would do.
He’d give them a little cool-down time before he went over and interjected himself into the situation. He really wasn’t the nosy neighbor type, not some sitcom cliché, sneaking up to windows and holding a glass against the wall. He didn’t like to butt into other people’s business. But back where he came from (Dill City, Oklahoma, to be exact—population 632), people cared about each other, and tried to be there for each other, and didn’t get nervous about walking in and offering help when folks were needing it.