Murder One bk-10 Read online

  “Are you represented by counsel?” Collier was young for a judge, only a few years older than Ben. He had dark hair and preppie eyeglasses; his skin was white to the point of being nearly translucent

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  Christina stepped forward. “Christina McCall for the defense, your honor.”

  Collier peered through his glasses. “I don’t believe I know you, Ms. McCall. Have you appeared before this court before?”

  “No, sir. This is my first time.” As a lawyer, anyway. She left out the part about having just graduated from law school yesterday.

  The judge scrutinized her carefully, creating an atypical pause in the otherwise rushed proceeding. Ben knew what he was thinking. These were serious charges, and he was probably contemplating whether to advise the defendant that he might want to seek a more experienced attorney. Collier used to be a defense attorney himself; this is an issue he would care about.

  But he apparently decided it was none of his business. “Very well. Mr. Kincaid, you’ve been charged with concealing evidence, aiding and abetting the commission of a felony, and obstruction of justice. Do you understand the charges?”

  Ben nodded. “I understand them, yes.”

  “Will you waive the formal reading?”

  It was tempting, given how he was being treated, to force the court to read and the prosecution to endure the painful and lengthy formal information. But his mother didn’t raise him to be spiteful. “I’ll waive.”

  “May I assume you wish to enter a plea of not guilty?”

  “Darn tootin’.”

  “Plea of not guilty will be entered. Preliminary hearing is set for two weeks from now, Thursday at nine thirty A.M. Next case.”

  “Your honor,” Christina cut in, “may I be heard?”

  He shook his head. “Learn the rules, Ms. McCall. We don’t take argument at the arraignment. I’ll entertain motions at the preliminary.”

  “This is a little different, your honor.”

  “They always are. Next case.”

  “Your honor, Mr. Kincaid is an attorney.”

  “Lawyers have to follow procedure just like everybody else.”

  “Your honor, I don’t think you quite understand.” Ben knew Christina was trying the judge’s patience, but he had to admire her for hanging in there. “Mr. Kincaid is an attorney charged with aiding and abetting his client. It’s the defendant they’re after. They botched that prosecution, so now they’re going after the lawyer. It’s all a ploy to reopen the case.”

  “Are you talking about the Dalcanton case?” Collier’s face became stony. By the time he turned to Dexter, his eyes had narrowed significantly. “Is this true?”

  Dexter was in his early thirties, handsome, with strong cheekbones that photographed well when he handled high profile cases. But none of that helped him at the moment. “That is not entirely correct, your honor.”

  Judge Collier drew himself up. “If one word of it is correct, you’ve got some serious explaining to do.”

  Dexter moved closer to the bench, an earnest expression on his face. “Your honor, we believe Mr. Kincaid aided and abetted Keri Dalcanton in the commission and cover-up of the violent murder of a police officer.”

  “So this is about the Dalcanton case?”

  “Yes. We believe Mr. Kincaid suppressed evidence—”

  “This is a crock, your honor,” Christina said, interrupting. “They lost the defendant, so they’re going after the lawyer. It’s a dog-and-pony show for the appeals court. And a revenge play.”

  “That’s not so,” Dexter insisted. “Kincaid’s a bona fide defendant in his own right.”

  “Based on his alleged assistance to his client?” the judge asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Who you were unable to convict.”

  “That’s … right.”

  “Mr. Dexter, this does not look good.” Collier appeared to have forgotten all about the other ten thousand cases on his docket. “How can you charge a defense attorney with concealing evidence against his own client? A defense attorney has no obligation to come forward with evidence against his client. To the contrary, he has an obligation to zealously defend and protect his client.”

  Ben nodded silently. Bad break for the D.A., drawing a former defense attorney for the arraignment judge. Collier knew the score.

  “But your honor, no attorney has the right to conceal physical evidence.”

  “True. But the attorney can receive items in trust, can’t he?”

  “Well, yes, but he can’t knowingly conceal—”

  “Did the prosecution ever request that Mr. Kincaid turn over items presented to him by his client in trust?”

  “Well, no. We didn’t know—”

  “Do you have affirmative evidence demonstrating that he was aware he was in possession of relevant evidence?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “And what’s this about aiding and abetting? How can we charge him with aiding and abetting someone you couldn’t convict in the first place?”

  Dexter’s chiseled cheekbones began looking a trifle puffy. “Your honor, it’s an independent charge. Before a different judge and a different jury, we could have a different result.”

  “So this man could be convicted for aiding and abetting his own client, who wasn’t convicted herself? Mr. Dexter, this stinks to high heaven.”

  “It gets worse, your honor,” Christina said, seizing her opportunity. “Certain police officers have been out to get Mr. Kincaid since he won the Dalcanton case. The search of his office was based on an anonymous tip, and they almost immediately turned up a knife no one had ever seen before. Worse, in the twelve hours Mr. Kincaid has been in custody, he’s been intentionally mistreated and abused.”

  “Now that’s a lie,” Dexter barked.

  “Look at his face!” Christina shot back. “Do you think he got that shiner by accident? Does that happen to every defendant who comes before this court?”

  Collier’s expression was grave. “Mr. Dexter, I do not like what I’m hearing.”

  “Your honor,” Dexter pleaded, “I can assure you this prosecution is on the up-and-up.”

  “Frankly, Mr. Dexter, right now your assurances aren’t worth a hill of beans. I can’t let you go around locking up the defense attorney every time you lose a case.”

  “That isn’t what this is about. I—”

  “If you can’t give me some independent charge against this man—something that doesn’t hinge on your prior failed prosecution—I’m going to bounce him.”

  Dexter bit down on his lower lip. He glanced quickly at the back of the courtroom, then squared his jaw and addressed the judge. “Very well, your honor. I’d like to amend the charges against Mr. Kincaid in the information.”

  “To what?”

  Dexter took a deep breath before answering. “Murder. In the first degree.”

  8

  BEN AND CHRISTINA REACTED simultaneously. “What?”

  The judge was barely a second later. “Mr. Dexter, what are you playing at?”

  Dexter held up his hands. “I’m not playing, your honor. You wanted an independent charge; you got one. Forget about Keri Dalcanton. We’ll go against Kincaid for murder one. The murder of Joe McNaughton.”

  Judge Collier was not placated. “Mr. Dexter, these are serious charges. If you file these without sufficient grounds—”

  “Your honor, we found the murder weapon in his file cabinet. If Keri Dalcanton didn’t do it, the only logical conclusion is that he did.”

  “Your honor,” Christina said, “what possible motive could Mr. Kincaid have to kill that police officer? He didn’t even know the man.”

  “A good question,” the judge said. “Got an answer, Mr. Dexter?”

  “We don’t have to provide motive at the arraignment,” Dexter said, squirming.

  “True enough,” the judge said, shaking his head.

  “Frankly,” Dexter continued, “we d
on’t have to provide anything at this time, except the charge. So consider him charged.”

  “With murder?” Christina leaned across the bench. “Your honor, this is an outrage!”

  “I’ll take that as a plea of not guilty.”

  “And that’s not all. We move to dismiss, your honor.”

  “Can’t say that I’m surprised. But we can’t handle that here. File your papers and bring it up at the preliminary.”

  “Your honor, they’ve brought frivolous murder charges just to perpetuate this petty vendetta against—”

  “At the preliminary, Ms. McCall. There’s nothing I can do here. And given the severity of the charge, I can’t grant bail, either.” The judge rapped his gavel. “Next case. And this time, I mean it!”

  By the time they got outside the courtroom, the press had arrived in force. Ben didn’t know who had tipped them, but as he was marched down the corridor toward the jail, the flashbulbs were flying.

  “Mr. Kincaid! Comment?”

  “Was it you all along?”

  “Is it true you’re Keri Dalcanton’s lover? That she seduced you and made you kill Joe McNaughton?”

  Times like these, the Fifth Amendment was Ben’s favorite part of the whole creaky document. He kept his mouth buttoned for the whole ten-minute walk. He tried to keep his expression amiable and calm; the rest of the world didn’t need to know that he was worried. Seriously worried. Because it now appeared that the D.A.’s office was as much a part of this as the police. And that they were willing to do almost anything to bring down Keri Dalcanton. And him.

  Almost anything.

  Nick Dexter was moving too fast as he hurried down the courtroom corridor. The Kincaid hearing had taken five times as long as they anticipated and had not gone at all as planned. There were people back at the office who would be very anxious to hear what had transpired; he didn’t want to disappoint them by being late on top of everything else. But because he was hurrying, he was totally thrown off-balance when an arm suddenly shot out of one of the jury deliberation rooms and wrapped itself around his throat.

  Dexter went crashing down toward the white marble tile floor. “What in the—”

  He looked up and saw that pal of Kincaid’s—the one with all the red hair—hovering over him.

  “Where’s the fire, Nick?”

  Dexter stumbled back to his feet and brushed himself off. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Getting your attention,” Christina replied. “You seem to be in a big hurry. Got to report in to your masters?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I’ll bet you don’t. Look, Nick, we need to talk.”

  His lip almost curled. “Make an appointment.”

  “Now. Before you report in to whoever is orchestrating this frame.”

  “You’re in deep denial, Ms. McCall. Can’t face up to the fact that your boss is scum.”

  Her face tightened. “I’ve known Ben Kincaid for years and I know damn well he wouldn’t hide evidence, much less the murder weapon. Which leads me to the inescapable conclusion that the knife was planted. So get inside this room and talk.”

  “I don’t take orders from some legal assistant.”

  Christina told herself she should count to ten, but she never made it past two. She grabbed him by the collar, slung him into the deliberation room, and slammed the door behind them.

  “Listen to me, you twerp, and listen up good. I’ve got a diploma that looks just like yours, and I don’t plan to take any grief because I was out busting my butt making a living while you were going to frat parties and panty raids. You’re screwing around with two lives here—my client’s and my friend’s. So you damn well better be able to explain yourself.”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything. I’m leaving.”

  It was possible, Christina mused, that she had not gotten this conference off to a terrific start. She was sometimes frustrated by Ben’s mild, almost passive approach to these types of disputes—but she also knew that he usually got results. She, on the other hand, wasn’t getting anywhere.

  “Look,” she said, blocking his exit. “Could we calm down and talk? Just for five minutes?”

  Dexter somewhat reluctantly fell into a chair. “Okay, talk.”

  “Why are you bringing murder charges against Ben? You know damn well he didn’t murder anyone.”

  “I don’t know anything of the kind.”

  “Give me a break. He had no motive. He didn’t even know McNaughton. Why do you want him?”

  Dexter steepled his fingers, as if deep in thought. Christina could almost see the wheels churning, trying to decide how much he could safely say. “We don’t. Not really.”

  “It’s Keri Dalcanton you want. You’re trying to reopen the case by claiming fraudulent concealment.”

  Dexter tilted his head to one side. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the prosecution strategy. Which will not be determined by me, at any rate.”

  “But that’s the plan, right?”

  “The thought has occurred to us.”

  “This is sleazy, Nick. Going after the defense attorney to get to the defendant. It stinks.”

  “Don’t get all high-and-mighty with me. Don’t you normally go after the prosecutors and the police when you’re trying to get someone off?”

  “That’s different.”

  “Not to me it isn’t.”

  “You know you can’t make this murder charge stick.”

  “That’s really not relevant. So long as people know the charges have been made.”

  “So you’re just trying to attract media attention. Stir up public outrage. Get the press swarming. I suppose if you can create a big enough stink about this murder weapon in the file cabinet, the appeals court will almost have to grant your appeal and send the Dalcanton case back to the trial court.”

  Dexter smiled and spread wide his hands.

  “Dismiss the charges against Ben, Nick.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  “If you go forward, after we get the charges dismissed, we’ll slap the city with the biggest civil suit you’ve ever seen.”

  “The answer is no.”

  “Why not? You’ve already done what you set out to do.”

  “I don’t know that. And I have no objection to keeping your boss dangling for a good long while. Who knows—maybe we’ll get two murder convictions.”

  “That’s not acceptable, Nick. Ben shouldn’t have to sit around in lockup while you play games with the appeals court. Cut him loose.”

  Dexter rose. “How can I get through to you? No!”

  “Nick—”

  “Your five minutes are up. I’m out of here.”

  Christina did not move away from the door. “Nick, you will dismiss the charges against Ben. If you don’t, I’m calling a press conference. This afternoon.”

  “What a coincidence. I’ve already called a press conference. This afternoon.”

  “Yeah. But you won’t like what I say at mine. I’ll talk turkey; I’ll expose your whole dirty game.”

  “You’ll sound like a sleazy lawyer defending another sleazy lawyer who tried to put a vicious murderer back on the street.”

  “You’ll sound like a manipulative prosecutor so desperate to compensate for the case you screwed up that you’re willing to put innocent people behind bars.”

  Dexter’s face tightened. “If you say anything like that, I’ll file charges with the bar committee. I’ll get your pretty little butt sanctioned.”

  On the job twenty-four hours, Christina thought, and people were already threatening to sanction her. Cool! “Nick, let me tell you something. I’m basically a very calm, collected woman. But you’re starting to make me mad. And you know what? You won’t like me when I’m mad.” She leaned into his face. “Last warning, Nick. Dismiss the charges against Ben.”

  Dexter pushed past her and opened the door. “I’ll pass along your recommendation to my supe
riors. Don’t hold your breath.”

  A moment later he was gone.

  9

  BEN PACED FROM ONE end to the other of the small visitor room. In truth, the worst aspect of being locked up was not the humiliation, or the squalor, or the confinement, or the company, or even the grotesque living conditions. The worst part of it was the stultifying boredom. There was absolutely nothing to do. So far, he’d been unsuccessful at getting any books, or any of his briefs, or anything else that could possibly divert him for a minute or two. Basically, all he could do was sit and wait. Small wonder people came out of prison embittered for life—and brain-dead. He’d rather be tortured and released than sit staring at these gray walls any longer.

  Which explained why cons were so keen to get visitors. He only hoped Christina had some good news for him. Because he couldn’t take this much longer.

  He heard the click of the locked door outside which told him the guards were bringing in his visitor. “About time, Christina. I’ve been—”

  He stopped short. It wasn’t Christina. The woman who followed the guard into the cell was small and very well proportioned, with a glistening complexion and platinum blond hair that reached well below the shoulder blades.

  “Keri! What are you doing here?”

  Keri Dalcanton walked directly to him and clasped both his hands. “I had to come, Ben. I’m so sorry.”

  The guard looked particularly surly, and Ben could guess why. He knew who the visitor was. “I’ll be just outside,” he growled, closing the door behind him.

  “Did they give you any trouble?” Ben asked.

  Keri’s eyes gave him the answer, but at the same time, they showed a steely toughness he had to admire. “What do you think?”

  “Keri, you shouldn’t have come.”

  “I had to, Ben. This is all my fault.” She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” After a moment, he placed his hand gently on the back of her neck. “You’re not the one who planted that knife in my file cabinet.”

  “But it’s still my fault. This only happened because of me. It’s me they want. And now, since they can’t get me, they’re going after you.”