Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) (19 page)

Ben was frozen in silence.

The judge, took a deep breath. “You have some nerve even protesting this decision, which we all knew damn well was inevitable. Your client has broken every regulation in the book. Feel fortunate I have decided not to issue sanctions, due to her advanced age. I think it’s pretty clear what took place here. I don’t like it a bit, and there’s no law firm in the world big enough to make me think otherwise.”

Bertha, still sitting in the witness’ box, had dissolved into uncontrolled sobs.

“The DHS motion is granted. Bertha Adams’s motion is denied. The child Emily X is to be placed in the custody of the DHS immediately.”

Immediately.
Ben was stunned. Emily was practically being ripped from Bertha’s arms.

“Your honor.” A voice came from the back of the courtroom. “My name is Richard Derek. I also represent Mrs. Adams.”

The judge nodded. He was obviously acquainted with Derek.

“Your honor, I understand that your decision is made, and I don’t contest it. But this child has lived in Mrs. Adams’s home nearly a year. All her belongings are there. All her acquaintances are there. Surely it would be more humane to give her a week to make her goodbyes.”

The judge considered this for a moment. He obviously liked the part that implied he would
surely
act humanely. Derek had a talent for judicial manipulation Ben obviously lacked.

“Very well. The DHS will pick the child up at Mrs. Adams’s place of residence one week from today, nine o’clock in the morning. But I hold you responsible, Mr. Derek, to see that she is there and ready.”

“Understood. Thank you, your honor.”

All parties rose, and the judge left the courtroom. Shakily, Bertha tried to stand and walk away from the witness chair. Ben knew he should help her, but he couldn’t. He could barely help himself. Before Derek came to counsel table to speak to him, he raced out of the courtroom and into the nearest bathroom, where he was sick as he had never been sick before.

N
O ONE SAID A
word as they walked back from the courthouse to the Raven offices. Ben went directly to his office and closed the door. He sat in the chair behind his desk, lights off, not moving a muscle.

After several minutes passed, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for a response, Derek came in, frowned for a moment, and turned on the lights.

“Don’t worry about reporting to the client,” Derek said. “I’ve already taken care of that.”

“You talked to Emily?”

“I talked to our client, Joseph Sanguine,” Derek answered evenly. “He was sorry we were unsuccessful, but he has realized from the outset that the case was a losing proposition. All in all, I don’t think he was dissatisfied with our services.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Ben muttered under his breath.

Derek plopped a heavy brown file onto Ben’s desk. “Here’s your next assignment. Another Sanguine matter. I’ll be supervising your work, but it’s your baby. Take it and run with it. And feel privileged—this case is a gem. Lots of money at stake. It was originally going to Bryce Chambers.”

Reassigned from Chambers? Ben glanced at the file. Chambers was a senior associate. He’d been with the firm for five or six years. “Why would I get a good case originally designated for Bryce Chambers?”

Derek shrugged. “It was Sanguine’s idea. Maybe he wants to make up for the dog you just tried.”

“What about our appeal?” Ben asked.

“No appeal. What would we appeal anyway? The judge acted within his discretion.”

“Due process violation,” Ben said quickly. “Procedural errors. He denied us the right to redirect—”

“Forget it. You have a right to tell your story and a right to confront those who speak against you. The Constitution doesn’t say anything about the right to
redirect
.”

“But it’s not fair.” Ben’s voice quavered. “The judge can’t change the rules in the middle of the game. We anticipated the right to redirect.”

“Ben. Let me give you some advice. Don’t dwell on this case. It’s in your best interest. In fact, it’s in everyone’s best interest to simply forget about it. Move on to something else. Better luck next time and all that.” He paused. “And that includes all your cloak-and-dagger stuff. Don’t think I don’t know what’s been going on. It would be different if our client wanted to press the issue. But he doesn’t. He’s ready to move on to something else, and we should be, too.”

Ben didn’t say anything.

“Ben, I know how you feel. Everyone eventually experiences their first loss in court and everyone hates it. But you have to face up to the facts, Ben—
you lost
.” He waited a moment and let the words sink in. “And now you have to move on.”

Derek walked toward the door. “You’ve got a second chance here, Kincaid—a new case to prove yourself with. So don’t blow it. And don’t forget what I told you yesterday. I’ll be watching you carefully.”

Just before he left, he stopped and added, “You know, you really weren’t bad in court today. It just didn’t work out.”

After Derek left, Ben turned his chair and looked out the window, down thirty-eight stories to the city below. Somehow, Derek’s condolences only made things worse.

He knew he had let Bertha down. And Emily. That beautiful little girl was going to be dragged away from a home where she was as content as she was capable of being, shuffled through a dozen foster homes, one after another, no one able to cope for long with this strange, brain-damaged girl. Each move would be more and more disorienting, especially for a girl whose only orientation is to the present instant.

Ben covered his face with his hand. He should have won. He should have stayed home last night and prepared more. He should have made the judge understand. He had only himself to blame.

Another knock on the door. A head poked through a slim opening. “May I come in?”

Ben looked up. It was Alvin. Of all people. “What is it?” Ben asked.

Alvin closed the door and perched himself in the closer of the two chairs.

“If you’ve come to give me a pep talk,” Ben said, “or to tell me tomorrow is another day or something, forget it, okay? I don’t want to hear it.”

Alvin’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“You didn’t come to discuss the hearing this morning?”

Alvin’s brow wrinkled again. “Did you have a hearing this morning? I didn’t know. No, I have a problem of my own.”

Ben pressed his fingers against his temples. He had to smile. The rest of the world had problems, too. He had almost forgotten. “What is it, Alvin?”

Alvin cleared his throat. “Remember the other night when we went out for drinks with the new recruit? The Yale guy?”

“At the Bare Fax? Yes, I definitely remember. How’s your head?”

“Fine, thank you. While we were there, you may not recall, but—”

“I recall everything about that night, Alvin. Believe me.

“Do you remember the woman who … helped me out?”

“You mean the redhead with the uh …” Ben searched for the right word, then decided to reconstruct the entire sentence.

“She’s a very nice lady,” Alvin said, again clearing his throat. His face was turning crimson. “She was forced into … well, her career choice, I guess you’d say, by circumstances beyond her control. That isn’t what she’s like at all.”

“Let me guess. What she really wants to do is go to college and dedicate her life to Christ.”

Alvin’s eyebrows raised. “That’s exactly right. How did you know?”

Ben cast his eyes toward the heavens. “I could see it in her eyes.”

“Anyway, we talked awhile that night and later she came by my apartment for a visit. We had an excellent time.”

“Alvin, I don’t want to seem impatient or insensitive, but I’m having what some people might call a very,
very
bad day. What is the point?”

Alvin spoke in a hushed tone. “I’m going to marry her, Ben.”

Ben’s chin nearly hit the desk.

“I’ve asked her, and she’s accepted. We’ve set a tentative date early next month.”

“Next
month
?”

“Well, we want to wait until her daughter is out of school.”

“
Daughter
?”

“Yes. Illegitimate, I’m afraid. But I’m going to change all that.”

Ben fell back into his chair. He didn’t know where to begin. “But”—he waved his hands meaninglessly in the air—“your career! You were so concerned about your career, Alvin.” He looked at Alvin sternly. “Did you sleep with her?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“And you told me you were celibate. Probably a virgin.” He exhaled slowly. “You know, Alvin, you don’t have to marry the first girl you sleep with just because you slept with her.”

“I think you’re way out of line, Kincaid.”

“Have you told Greg about this yet?”

Alvin looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t told anyone else yet. I came to you first, though now, I can’t imagine why. I didn’t think Greg would understand.”

“You mean you thought Greg would make fun of you—and you were damn well right.”

Alvin grunted and walked toward the door.

“Look, Alvin, do yourself a favor. Don’t tell anyone else about this for a while. Wait until the newness wears off a bit. Just to be sure.”

“I don’t see why—”

“Do it for me, Alvin. Buddy to buddy. Okay?”

Alvin bristled and threw his shoulders back. “Fine. Mum’s the word.” He opened the door, then paused. “I must say, though, I thought you would be different. Somehow, you seemed … I don’t know, more
sensitive
than the rest of the guys. I hoped you’d understand about true love, about wanting to help a woman and a little girl.” He pulled the door shut.

Ben stared down at his desk. He thought his head was going to explode. A little girl. A little girl. I hoped you’d understand about wanting to help a woman and a little girl.

Almost in a daze, Ben began dialing the telephone. Seven rapid clicks, some static, and two rings. Someone lifted the receiver on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Look, you sonovabitch, I know damn well you and Adams spoke the day he was killed. I want to know what you discussed. You don’t want to open up to the police—I can understand that. But not talking to me is a whole goddamn different ball game. I’m sure you’re scared for your own skin and you don’t want to end up like him. I’ll tell you something—I don’t give a damn. People are depending on me, so I’m depending on
you
to level with me. So
talk
!” His words reverberated in the phone receiver.

There was no reply. Silence. Static.

“I said, I want you to fucking talk to me!
Now
!”

A long pause. Then, at last: “I don’t know what it is you want to know.”

“What did Adams discover in the financial records? Or what did
you
discover in the records and tell him about?”

Another pause. “I can’t talk here,” he said at last. “Can we meet somewhere?”

Ben fell back into his chair and closed his eyes. He felt such a sense of release that he nearly teetered onto the floor. “Yes,” he said. “We can meet
now
.”

T
HE RIVER PARKS ARE
probably the most scenic parts of central Tulsa. Attractive greenery, nature walks, exercise parcourse, bike trails, playground equipment, picnic tables, and hot dog stands—it all can be found between the Arkansas River and Riverside Drive. The park performed a variety of important civic functions. It was where harried parents brought their children to get them out of the house, where housewives came to aerobicize their way to personal fulfillment, where homosexuals congregated in search of companionship.

It was also an ideal place to have a private conversation in public, Ben decided. Harry Brancusci, Sanguine’s accountant, had agreed to meet Ben there during his lunch break. They talked as they walked slowly upriver along the jogging trail, their voices dropping to a hush whenever someone passed nearby.

“So Jonathan Adams suspected that money was being diverted out of the Sanguine corporate gross profits. Why did he need you?”

“For proof,” Brancusci said quietly. He was a thin, dark-haired man, probably in his mid-thirties. He had the disconcerting habit of shutting his eyes whenever he looked at Ben and opening them again whenever he looked away.

“Somehow, Adams learned a slush fund existed. Don’t ask me how. But he needed proof. So he came to me. Only Sanguine accountants and top executives have access to Sanguine financial documents. In the case of accountants, we have them only briefly. And no one accountant has access to all financial documents. Sanguine Enterprises is divided into three divisions, financially speaking. The first division is composed of franchises that pay a percentage of their monthly gross profits; the second division is composed of franchises that pay a straight fee and keep their profits. The third financial category involves nonfranchising activities, administrative costs, office expenses, leases, executive perks—that sort of thing.”

His eyelids closed as he turned to face Ben. “Sanguine has three accounting staffs, each corresponding to one of the three divisions. I’m in the franchise straight-fee department. So I never saw more than one-third of the Sanguine financial data.”

Ben wiped his brow. It was a hot day, and unlike those trotting past him on the jogging trail, he didn’t enjoy sweating. “Why the elaborate cloak-and-dagger approach to something as simple as doing the corporate books? That must have made people suspicious.”

“Not really. It’s pretty standard corporate operating procedure. It’s a nasty world out there. A lot of people would be interested in knowing how Sanguine is doing from quarter to quarter.”

“At some point, though, someone must have access to all three sets of data. Someone must compile all the financial information so that Sanguine executives can see the big picture and judge how the corporation is doing, plan for the future, pay the taxes—whatever it is executives do.”

Brancusci nodded his head. “Sure, someone. Some officer of the corporation or vice president or secret conclave of accountants. But not me. And not Adams.” His thin face turned away. “Adams wanted me to follow the paper trail and find out who had access to, as you say, the big picture.”