Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) (14 page)

Ben turned to face his companions. Tom and Dewey were deep in what appeared to be a very serious conversation, although they had to take turns shouting into one another’s ears to be heard over the din. Ben marveled. How can you talk about insurance benefits and profit-sharing plans while you’re staring at a schoolmarm’s G-string?

Alvin was on his feet again. “Baby,
baby
,” he shouted, stretching his arms out to Jezebel. “Teach me a lesson. Give me some homework.” He grinned a goofy, toothy grin and let loose a high-pitched drunken squeal.

The dancing woman studiously ignored Alvin. She had progressed to working with her clinging, diaphanous shawl. Evidently what she was preparing to unveil was not enormous, so she was making a great show of the unveiling itself.

“Sit down, Alvin.” Ben yanked again at his arm, but Alvin would not obey.

“I said
homework
, woman! C’mon … do your pedagogical duty.” His tone was becoming abusive. Again, Ben told him to sit down and again, Alvin ignored him.

And then Alvin stepped up onto the guardrail, balancing himself by placing one arm against the wall. He wobbled uncertainly. Instantly, the schoolmarm stopped her undulations and cowered back into the corner of the dance floor. Two muscle-bound toughs emerged from nowhere and barreled toward the dance floor, along with the bouncer from the front door.

“All I wanted to do was say hello,” Alvin mumbled, with a hiccup.

Two thick, hamlike hands slapped down on Alvin’s shoulders. He lost his balance and began falling backward. He waved his arms in large circles, hopelessly trying to regain his balance. He tumbled back onto the table the Ravenites were sitting around. Glasses, pitchers, and beer went flying in every direction. Everyone tried to move out of the way, and no one was quick enough. The table rocked several times before falling over and dumping Alvin onto the floor.

The three bouncers began to close in on him, but before they could, Delilah ran in and knelt beside him.

“Stay back!” she said, motioning them away. “He needs air.”

She brushed his hair out of his eyes and wiped the sudsy, splattered beer from his face. She dabbed her spill cloth against the gash on his forehead.

Alvin blinked several times and groaned. Apparently he was still alive.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I guess so,” Alvin said uncertainly. “I can’t feel a thing.”

“Can you stand up? I have some Band-Aids in my locker in the dressing room. Can you make it?”

“Sure,” Alvin said. He pushed himself upward by the palms of his hands and groaned. “Oh, my God!”

“You can do it,” she said. She put her arm around him and wrapped his arm around her bare midsection. “That’s it. Easy does it.”

Eventually Alvin was on his feet, more or less. “Come on back to the dressing room, and I’ll get you all fixed up.” She walked him toward the back of the bar. “I’m so sorry this happened. You know, I’m just trying to get enough money to go to college and …” Slowly they disappeared into the background of the bar.

“Oh, well,” Tom said. “Looks like he’s in good hands. Party animals,
resume
!” He winked at Dewey, and they resumed their serious conversation.

Ben watched as Alvin and the waitress disappeared behind a bead curtain. He hoped Alvin wasn’t hurt badly. He hoped Alvin wasn’t too drunk to know what he was doing.

He hoped Alvin remembered his oath.

B
EN ARRIVED AT THE
office early, carrying the script for Derek’s opening argument before Old Stone Face. Maggie told him Derek hadn’t come in and hadn’t called, so Ben went to his own office.

He found Mike Morelli sitting in one of the corduroy chairs, puffing his pipe.

“Morning, shamus,” Ben said. “What’s the good word?”

“Shamus?” Mike winced. “You’ve got to stop watching so much television.”

Ben hung his suit coat on the hook behind the door and sat down at his desk. “Give me a break. It’s too early in the morning to take any grief from you. At least I didn’t call you a dick.”

“I’ve got some preliminary reports,” Mike said, ignoring him. “I thought you might be interested.”

“You were right. Shoot.”

“Dr. Koregai thinks he’s determined the cause of death. Adams died from cardiac shock and blood loss induced by rapid-succession knife wounds—”

“No kidding,” Ben interrupted. “How much do you pay this guy?”

“—received by the victim after imbibing a considerable quantity of alcohol.”

“Really?” Ben said. At the Red Parrot? he wondered.

“You’re missing the main point here, Kincaid,” Mike said, fumbling in his coat pocket for a pipe-bowl stamper. “Death was induced by the first two or three knife wounds. This confirms the hypothesis Dr. Koregai made at the autopsy based on the low incidence of bruising. The body was mutilated
after
death.”

Ben let the words sink in. He suddenly felt weighted, immobile. What were they tracking?

“I haven’t even told you the best part. This is where Dr. Koregai really earns his salary. He found a fingerprint.”

“The
coroner
found a fingerprint?”

“Yep. Noticed Adams’s wristwatch was smudged. Called Pulaski, my best duster. Sure enough, a beautiful, unsmeared right thumbprint on the watch crystal.” He pulled a police print sheet from his coat pocket. “Based on the unusual position and freshness of the print, our guys think it’s almost certainly the killer. Probably happened during the struggle.”

“That’s great. Have you run the print through the AFIS computer?”

“Of course,” Mike growled. He placed his pipe between his lips and stared at the print sheet for a moment. “We don’t have the killer’s thumb on file. Which tells us that he’s never committed a felony, served in the military, or worked for the government. The
other
quarter of a million people in Tulsa are still suspects.”

“Rotten luck,” Ben murmured.

“Not really. At least now when we do catch the killer, we’ll have a positive means of ID.”

Ben pulled a legal pad from his desk drawer and made a few notes. “What about hair and fiber analysis?” he asked. “Your guys ever find anything?”

“Not much,” Mike said, relighting his pipe.

“How can you inhale that disgusting crap at seven-thirty in the morning?”

“Breakfast,” Mike mumbled. He puffed several times, then released the smoke. “The hair and fiber guys analyzed everything they could find on Adams. Most of it matches Adams or his clothes or his house or the kid or his wife, but not everything. Two straight black hairs didn’t match up. Definitely human. Definitely male.”

“Might be the assailant.”

“Might not.”

“Right,” Ben said, nodding. He made another note. “Very helpful. What about fibers?”

“A few, all very common. Everything we can positively identify can be traced to Adams’s house or his car or his office.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. We got served a subpoena on the phone company for the MUDs for Adams’s home and office phones. They tell us it will take them a few days to put it all together. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

Mike took another hearty drag on the pipe. “Oh. I almost forgot. We think we’ve got a blood sample. Found some blood on Adams’s left hand that didn’t come from him. Maybe Adams managed to cut his assailant before he got shish-kebabed. It would be nice to think so.” He removed a crumpled lab report from his coat pocket and handed it to Ben.

Ben took the sheet of paper and scanned it, trying to remember what little he had learned at the D.A.’s office about blood analysis.

Ben made a few notes on his legal pad. “Is the unknown a secretor?”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed. Maybe you did learn a thing or two in OKC. Yeah, he’s a secretor, not that that gets us far in this kind of case. We’re not likely to stumble across any sperm samples.”

“Still,” Ben said, “a blood match gives you a second means of positively IDing the killer.”

Mike nodded. “Once we find him. But enough about me. What have you been up to, Ben?”

“Nothing very productive. Why?”

“Funny thing. A burglary occurred two nights ago at the Sanguine offices. Someone got in—we don’t know how. There’s no sign of forced entry. Burglar escaped through a second-story window. Damn near got caught.”

Ben stared intently at his legal pad. “Did they take anything?”

“Why do you say
they
? I just mentioned a burglar.” Mike smiled. “Nothing taken that we know of. That makes it even stranger. You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

Ben spoke nonchalantly. “Of course not. How could I?”

“I had to ask. Matter of procedure.” He removed the pipe from his lips and stared at it. “Frankly, if it had been you, I wouldn’t want to know, because then I’d have to ask if you found anything, and if you did I’d have to ask what. I’d be exposed to illegally obtained evidence, and some jerk lawyer would make a fruit-of-the-poisonous-tree argument and I’d
never
get a conviction in this case. True, the police didn’t break into the office building, but some shyster might suggest that I urged my brother-in-law to do this dastardly deed.”

Message received and understood, Ben thought. “Ex-brother-in-law,” he said.

“Right.”

“Anything else?” Ben asked.

“Nope. Just keep me posted, and I’ll do likewise. I’m going to send some more men with Adams’s picture around the neighborhood where we found the body. See if anyone recognizes him.”

“You mean anyone in that neighborhood who will talk to the boys in blue. Lotsa luck.”

“Yeah, exactly. Well, I’ll see you around.” He started out the door. Ben followed him.

“You have a message,” Maggie said as Ben stepped out of his office. “Mr. Derek called in twenty minutes ago. He says he’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

“
Twenty minutes ago?
Why didn’t you tell me?”

Maggie fluttered her eyelids. “You were in conference.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Great. See you around, Mike.” He dashed back into his office, grabbed his suit coat and script, and ran for the elevator.

B
EN DASHED INTO JUDGE
Schmidt’s courtroom, briefcase in hand, coat slung over his arm. Christina was waiting for him at the plaintiff’s table …

“Where’s Derek?” she asked.

“You mean he’s not here yet?” Ben threw his briefcase and coat in a chair by the table.

“Don’t worry. He works well on his feet. Just get the script out.”

A tiny blonde in a plain red dress walked up to the table. Her hair was disarranged, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept in several nights. Mascara had been applied to her eyes with an unsteady hand.

“Where is he?” the woman asked.

Ben looked up. “Mrs. Derek!” He corrected himself. “
Louise.
”

“Where is he?” she repeated.

“You mean Mr. Derek?” Ben exchanged a glance with Christina. “He’s not here yet. He’s still … not here yet.”

Louise released a short, bitter laugh. “He’s not at home. He hasn’t been home all night.”

“I see,” Ben said, nodding his head. He drummed his fingers on the table. What to say, what to say? “Can I … give Mr. Derek a message when he arrives?”

Louise was staring at Christina. “You’re the one, aren’t you?”

Christina pressed her hand against her chest. “Me? No, I’m not … I mean, I don’t know what you mean, but whatever you mean, it isn’t me.”

Louise repeated the bitter laugh. “I don’t suppose you’d admit it if you were. I couldn’t even expect him to commit adultery in an honorable fashion.”

She returned her gaze to Ben. “Yes, you can take a message. On one of those little pink sheets of paper. Check the box labeled
no return call required
. This is my message: don’t come home—we don’t want you.” She took a deep breath. “
Ever
.”

With that, she pivoted on her heels and marched out of the courtroom.

Ben pursed his lips and blew. “Whew. You get the feeling Derek has crossed the line once too often?”

Christina nodded. “Evidently. I don’t care much, though, for being linked with Derek. Particularly not as the homewrecking floozy. Next thing I know, I’ll be hauled into divorce court.”

Behind Ben, someone cleared his throat. “I have the exhibits Mr. Derek asked for.”

Ben looked up and saw Darryl Tidwell, Sanguine’s personal secretary. He was wearing a blue sports jacket and, beneath it, a pink cardigan sweater and darker pink tie.

“These are the photographs we took of the interior and exterior of this Eggs ’N’ Such place.” Ben looked at each of the photographs as Tidwell handed them to him. “As you can see, their street sign is extremely similar to our Eggs ‘N’ Stuff logo—same colors, same font. Similar on the inside, too. Same decor, practically identical menu—the whole ball of wax.” He handed the entire packet to Ben. “I’d have gotten these to you sooner, but I was delayed.”

“I’ll see that Derek gets these.”

“Where is he, anyway?” Tidwell asked.

“He’s—” Ben began.

“—out for the moment,” Christina interceded. “He’ll be here any minute.”

“Oh,” Tidwell said. He ran his fingers through the thinning hair on either side of his bald head. “Say, Ben, do you know why they’re replacing laboratory rats with lawyers?”

Ben sighed. Remember: courtesy to the client. “No. Why?”

“Lawyers are more plentiful, and you don’t get so attached to them.” He laughed heartily. “Also there are
some
things a rat just won’t do.” He laughed even louder.

Ben tried to smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll find a seat. Sanguine wants me to give him a full report on the hearing.”

“Good plan.”

Tidwell turned and shuffled back to the courtroom gallery.

Christina glanced toward the door leading to the judge’s chambers. “There’s the bailiff. If Derek doesn’t show up in about two minutes, Ben, I’d say you’re about to give your first oral argument.”