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  Ben was pretty sure Detective Sentz had nothing to do with 9/11, but he let it slide. "I notice, your honor, that the distinguished district attorney has said absolutely nothing relevant to whether my client should be granted bail. The standard is whether he presents a flight risk or any potential harm to society. There is no flight risk. Dennis Thomas has lived in Tulsa all his life except for a few years in college and has no criminal record whatsoever. He has a teaching job at the University of Tulsa and he owns a home in Skiatook. And frankly, his face has been so showcased by the television media that I doubt there's anywhere he could go without being recognized. He has no desire to run. Only to clear his name and see justice done."

  "The man is a murderer," Guillerman said. "Case closed."

  "Furthermore," Ben continued, "there is no reason to believe he poses any risk to society. Even if you accept the blather the DA has been peddling, my client acted out of grief in retaliation against the man he believed responsible for his wife's death. She's gone now, dead, so there's no chance of those circumstances arising again."

  "If a man is dangerous enough to strike once, he can strike again," Guillerman said.

  "You could use that argument to preclude anyone ever getting bail," Ben replied.

  "Which would be just fine with me. How do we know this man's vendetta is over? Maybe he wants to take out the whole police department."

  "That's ridiculous."

  "Says who?" Guillerman turned to face Ben. "You yourself said the man was crazy."

  "I said we plead the affirmative defense of temporary insanity. Emphasis on the 'temporary.' It's over."

  "How convenient." Guillerman turned to face the judge. "You honor, how long are we going to allow this gamesmanship to continue? We all know what happened here. The facts are not in dispute, not to any appreciable degree. This nonsense about temporary insanity is nothing but a cynical attempt to let a man get away with murder."

  "Excuse me," Ben said, taking a step toward the bench, "but I thought we were arguing bail, not making closing arguments. There is nothing cynical about this plea. My client poses no flight risk or danger to society. That is a fact. And not even the distinguished DA can bury the facts, no matter how hard he may try."

  Ben paused. The reporters were furiously scribbling down his every word.

  Well, Guillerman was playing to the media. He would have to play the same game.

  Ben turned to face the gallery, though still technically addressing the judge. "Here's a fact they can't deny-this man's wife died because the police did nothing. We can argue about whether they woulda coulda shoulda, but that's the bottom line. They could have saved her and they didn't. How long did it take them to find her once they finally sprang into action? About three hours. But instead of being rescued in three hours, she suffered for seven days. Suffered in the most excruciating way possible, her bones broken, her leg pierced, her very life force slowly ebbing away. In constant pain."

  Ben paused, and he was gratified to notice that no one interrupted to fill the gap. He had their attention. "Now imagine being that woman's husband. The man who loves her more than anything else in the world. The man who worships her. The man she doesn't come home to. You search everywhere, with no luck. You ask the police for help, but they can't be budged. You try everything you know-and none of it works. Finally, after seven days, you find her. And it's too late. She dies, right before your eyes. After enduring the most hideous torture imaginable."

  Ben paused again, letting the words sink in. "Do you think that might possibly have an effect on a man's mental stability? His rationality? His ability to distinguish right from wrong?" He turned around to face the bench. "This is not a frivolous plea, your honor, and we will prove that at trial. But the point I make now is that, regardless of the outcome of the trial, this man deserves our sympathy. Perhaps even our pity. He does not deserve to be locked away for weeks until this case comes to trial. In the name of humanity, your honor, I beg you to set bail for this defendant!"

  Ben sat down. The courtroom remained silent for a long time. Guillerman did not attempt a rebuttal.

  "Very well," Judge McPartland said, clearing his throat. "I can see that this is going to be a very interesting case. You are correct, Mr. Guillerman, in your statement that the court does not normally award bail in capital cases. But I think we can all agree that this is far from a typical case. I see no likelihood whatsoever that the defendant will flee, nor do I think it likely that he will cause harm to other persons. And I must say that I think it altogether appropriate that the court give some consideration to the ordeal this man has already suffered. I have been married to the same woman for thirty-seven years now, and… well, there but for the grace of God go I. No one should have to endure such an experience, and I will not make it worse."

  Guillerman rose but spoke quietly. "The State opposes the setting of any bail in this case."

  "Understood," the judge continued. "Objection noted. And I will set bail quite high-a million dollars. But I will make it available. Not intending to set any new precedent, but simply acknowledging that these are most unusual circumstances."

  Ben liked the result the judge was rambling toward, but was concerned by McPartland's lack of focus. He seemed to be shuffling about, not really making his point. Ben began to wonder if he was up to a trial of this magnitude.

  The judge slammed his gavel. "Bail is set in the amount of one million dollars. When you have your bond together, make the proper arrangements with the officer on the second floor. Now about the trial-"

  "As soon as possible," Ben said, rising. "We're ready. There are few facts in question." And not much evidence that could help them, since they were planning a defense based upon Dennis's mental state, not on the evidence. A long wait till trial would only give the prosecution more time to turn up evidence that might be used against them.

  Guillerman looked at Ben, obviously surprised. He shrugged. "If the defense is ready, so are we."

  "Very well. I'll plug this into the first available slot. Thank you, gentlemen. This hearing is dismissed."

  The tumult rose with such suddenness it was as if a door had suddenly been opened onto an elementary school playground. It was almost deafening. Many people-not all of them reporters-hurled questions at Ben, which he pointedly ignored.

  Guillerman pulled Ben to one side. "I'm only saying this because I really am a fan. You'll never win on temporary insanity."

  "I guess we'll see."

  "I don't blame you for trying. But I know more about the facts of this case than you do, and I'm telling you-you cannot make that stick."

  "I appreciate your concern." Sort of. "But I'm not thinking on my feet. I would never advance a theory I didn't believe was viable."

  "And if you're contemplating jury nullification, put that out of your head right now. Judge McPartland won't let it happen. No matter how you dress it up. He'll shoot it down."

  "Well, you never know. I'm full of surprises."

  "I know that. But I think this time you've gone one surprise too far."

  "Time will tell, right?"

  Guillerman shook his head, then smiled. "Fine. Play it your way. Can't say I didn't warn you."

  Ben returned to his own table.

  "Nice job," Christina said, but Ben could see she was not altogether pleased.

  "Excellent," Dennis said, grabbing his hand and shaking it. "You had me a little worried back in the jail cell. But that was fantastic. You can really pour on the fire when you get worked up, huh?"

  "I was doing my job."

  "And doing it darn well. The most important thing is that you seemed like you really believed it. That's what sells a jury."

  "That, plus evidence. And truth."

  "It's important for the jury to believe that the lawyer likes his client. Gives credibility to the claims of innocence."

  "We don't have to prove innocence," Ben said. "Only not proven guilty." And he added to himself: Thank goodness.

  "Wel
l, anyway, I'm pleased, Ben. I guess everything I heard about you was true. But I don't have a million dollars. I do have a trust fund I could use toward bail, but it's not enough."

  Ben nodded. "We'll get a bond. It still won't be cheap, but we'll find a way. You may have to take out a loan. It'll be worth it. You don't need to spend more time in jail."

  "You need to spend it in our office," Christina said, packing her materials away. "Now that Ben has so brilliantly put this case on the fast track, we're going to have to work night and day to get ready."

  "That's fine," Dennis said. "I'm willing. Whatever you want." He rubbed his hands together. "This is very encouraging."

  Ben saw Christina's eyes narrow.

  "I've read that people who don't get bail are found guilty nine times out of ten. And the judge's reaction suggests that we've done a decent job of spinning public opinion. I think we need another press conference, Ben. Soon, on the courthouse steps. If the psychiatrist is available, maybe he should come, too. Those potential jurors will be watching."

  He moved toward the door, where a dozen reporters eagerly waited to get their hands on him.

  Christina gave her husband a fierce look. "Ben…"

  "I know, Christina. I know."

  8

  Ben stood shoulder to shoulder with his newly sprung and spruced-up client, staring at the vast array of microphones and minicams assembled on the plaza outside the Tulsa County courthouse. It was important that Dennis be present and that they all see him as he was, a good, intelligent, clean-cut professional who had recently lost his wife. Not a monster, not a violent man.

  Just the same, Ben planned to do all the talking.

  "We applaud Judge McPartland's actions. It would have been much easier to take the usual path and avoid controversy. But instead of jumping on the media bandwagon, he saw the facts and circumstances clearly and realized that Dennis Thomas is no threat to anyone. He does not deserve to be incarcerated, not now or at any time in the future.

  "It is all too easy in this reactionary age to heighten the drama and act as if each and every crime is of equal horror, but that is simply not the case. Not every youth should be tried as an adult. Not every defendant should receive the maximum sentence. We can rise above the visceral need for retribution. We are better than that. Those old attitudes have produced the current mess in the criminal justice system-over 2.2 million people in prison, the highest incarceration rate of any nation, more than four times the world average."

  Ben scanned his audience. So far they all seemed attentive. He suspected he was not swaying the reporter from Fox News, and several others as well, but at least no one was heckling. "The reality, which Judge McPartland recognized, is that Dennis was subjected to circumstances that would tax the mental stability of even the most solid citizen. Who could live knowing that the police department could have saved his wife-and chose not to do so? Who would not be tormented by that knowledge? Temporary insanity is not a gimmick dreamed up by lawyers; it is a very real and debilitating mental state, one that all of us could experience given the right circumstances. It is time that we as a nation recognize that fact and stop acting as if harsh punishment will solve all our problems. Dennis Thomas presents no threat to society. He should not be incarcerated."

  Ben never directly said he should be found not guilty, but of course, that was the implicit message. Prospective jurors didn't have to wrestle with whether they genuinely believed in the concept of temporary insanity. That was the tool they would use. The goal was to convince the jury that this man should not go to prison, regardless of whether you think he committed the crime. So, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, make whatever finding you must to make sure he doesn't end up behind bars.

  Ben briefly considered avoiding questions altogether, but the crowd had been so respectful during his prepared remarks that he decided, possibly contrary to the lessons of past experience, to give it a go. He pointed toward a woman standing in the front row. She had a ponytail and a fresh, friendly face. The quantum of makeup suggested that she was a television anchorperson, but she looked too nice to be mean.

  "What would you say to Detective Sentz's two young daughters, now that you're advocating that their father's murderer should go free without any punishment?"

  Ah, well. You can't judge a book…

  "Forgive me for saying so, ma'am, but you're exploiting those children to drum up controversy and get yourself a lead story. And to avoid the main issue. Dennis Thomas has also been bereaved, if I may remind you. His wife suffered the most extraordinary pain imaginable for seven days running. I would hope that we could extend our sympathies to all the victims of this case. But the question here is whether Dennis Thomas should spend the rest of his life in prison, and I fail to see how that would help those two girls or anyone else."

  In the rear of the crowd, he saw Christina tip her curls to him. Slowly but surely, he was getting better at this stuff.

  "According to the police report, your client was found at the scene of the crime, lying over the murder weapon-and this is a quote-'apparently unconscious.' Can you explain what happened?"

  Ben nodded. "I'm no psychiatrist, but the experts tell me that Dennis's grief reached such magnitude as to temporarily affect his behavior, causing him to potentially engage in activities he would not normally do and will never do again. Apparently at some point the brain, deluged with such potent emotion, reaches overload and shuts down, causing the blackout state." He paused. "I only wish it had kicked in earlier."

  That went reasonably well. He tried another reporter.

  "Is it true that your client threatened to kill Detective Sentz shortly before he did it?"

  Ben hesitated a moment. He hadn't heard this before. He hoped it wasn't true. Unless perhaps the reporter had somehow learned that Dennis had been in Ben's office talking about murder. He hoped that also wasn't true.

  "No. Dennis went to the police repeatedly, begging them, literally begging them to take action, to help him find his wife. And they refused. For seven days. While Joslyn Thomas, a physician who dedicated her life to helping others, suffered the most intense torture imaginable. I don't doubt that Dennis used strong words, trying to move the police into action. I know I would have, had I been in his hideous situation. But there was no death threat."

  He pointed toward a reporter he recognized from the Tulsa World. "Isn't there a danger that the course you recommend could basically create a crime free-for-all? If your client escapes punishment, what's to prevent anyone with an axe to grind against the police-and I think there are many-to shoot first and claim insanity later?"

  "With respect, Jim, I think that question is a typical argument ad absurdum and we both know it. This is not the first insanity plea. They go way back to General Dan Sickles in the first half of the nineteenth century. The previous cases did not trigger a wave of insanity slayings and this one will not either. Insanity is not contagious. Successful insanity defenses are rare. But this case presents unusual circumstances. We have a model citizen, a man without a blot on his record, driven by the most horrifying events to actions that would normally be far beyond his ken. That doesn't happen every day and it never will, thank heaven. But it is exactly why the temporary insanity plea exists. And we should not be hesitant to use it."

  "May I have a few words?"

  Ben turned and saw DA Guillerman standing behind him. Where had he come from? This was really in poor taste-crashing another man's press conference.

  "Mr. Kincaid speaks very eloquently, but I think he misses the main point. I don't plan to argue my case here, in the media, in the full view of prospective jurors," he added, eyeing Ben sharply, "but I will make one point clear. My job as district attorney, the job to which the good people of Tulsa have elected me, is to ensure justice. And I will do that. No hocus-pocus. No-" He took a deep breath. "-fancy experts and psychobabble. Just justice." He leaned closer to the microphone. "No one will get away with killing a police officer on my watch. That's a promis
e."

  Ben saw countless hands spring in the air, but Guillerman had the sense to ignore them. He'd made his point. He was done.

  "Thanks for getting all these folks together," Guillerman said, slapping Ben on the back. "Appreciate the use of the microphone."

  "Don't mention it," Ben mumbled back.

  All at once, shouting burst out from somewhere in the midst of the assembled crowd. Ben turned and saw a path being carved through the reporters, but he couldn't tell what was happening. The reporters themselves seemed caught unawares. The minicams swung one way, then the other, trying to capture the action.

  "Killer! Killllller!"

  In the blink of an eye, Ben saw a wiry, dark-haired man spring out of the melee. He was waving a gun wildly back and forth.

  "Murderer!"

  Ben tackled Dennis, knocking him to the marble plaza. An instant later, the first shot rang out, followed by two more in rapid succession. Screams broke loose, then chaos. He heard the click of heels, police officers running forward.

  Dennis was huddled in a pile beneath him. "Are you okay?" Ben asked.

  "I seem to have escaped the bullets, although I think you may have fractured my arm."

  "Just as long as you're breathing." Ben scrambled to his feet. Three police officers had the man face-first on the ground. One had captured his gun.

  "Christina!" From the back, despite her height, or lack thereof, he could see her swinging her arms in the air. She was okay, thank God.

  "He's a murderer! In cold blood!" The man was still screaming, even as the police hauled him away. "An eye for an eye! An eye for an eye!"

  As he watched the crowd disperse, Ben felt Guillerman ease in beside him. "So, Ben, tell me again that part about how insanity isn't contagious."

  Ben had no reply.

  9

  The instant Ben passed through the front doors at Kincaid amp; McCall, he could see Jones was in one of his moods. He tried to ease past as quietly as possible, but Jones still spotted him.