Primary Justice (Ben Kincaid series Book 1) (30 page)

“Under observation,” Ben said slowly. “So the shrinks can decide whether you’re capable of comprehending the charges brought against you.”

Tidwell continued to smile. “I must be crazy,” he said. “How else could I do all the horrible things I’ve done? I couldn’t distinguish between right and wrong.”

“Save it for the jury,” Ben muttered.

“I was controlled by an irresistible impulse. I didn’t comprehend the nature and quality of the acts I was committing.”

“Christ!” Ben said, pounding his forehead. “Your lawyers have even briefed you on the M’Naughten test for insanity.”

Tidwell smiled but said nothing.

“And you’re just smart enough to pull it off,” Ben muttered, shaking his head.

Tidwell stared back at Ben. His beady green eyes seemed yellow through the distorting ripple of the acrylic panel.

“Can you tell me one thing?”

Ben waited for a response and got none.

“I’ve almost deciphered this puzzle, but there’s one piece I don’t have. After I was stupid enough to tell you I’d found Catherine, and you ran back to the apartment, what did you do to her?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tidwell said, smiling contentedly.

“What did you
say
, then,” Ben said. “Let me guess. I think you told Catherine that Emily was dead, that you’d killed Emily to punish Catherine for being bad. That would do the trick. That would push her over the edge.”

Tidwell’s grin widened appreciatively.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Ben said. He felt he needed to stand. He began to pace back and forth before the acrylic screen. “You killed Catherine just as surely as if you had crammed the pills down her throat.”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Tidwell asked.

“I—” Ben started, then stopped. There was no way he was getting into that. “I got to know Catherine, a little bit,” he said simply.

He walked to the door and opened it.

“I hope they fry you, you sick bastard,” Ben said. “I hope they draw and quarter you and drag your entrails through the streets of the city.”

Tidwell’s smile spread from ear to ear. “I do, too,” he said. “Isn’t that crazy?” And he laughed and laughed and laughed.

“I
F YOU DON’T HAVE
any more questions, I’ll leave the two of you alone to read the documents,” Ben said.

Ben was standing beside the long conference room table; Bertha Adams and Emily were seated on the other side. Emily seemed calm and detached. All the tragedy of the past month has centered around her, Ben thought, and what little of it she ever knew she’s entirely forgotten. That’s life in the fixed moment.

“After you read through them, sign each place I indicated and leave the papers with my secretary,” Ben said.

Bertha looked up and nodded. She seemed more at ease than she had at any time since Ben first met her. “Thank you, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Sure.” Ben left the conference room and walked back to his office.

Christina was waiting for him. She was wearing her brown miniskirt and the familiar yellow leotards.

“So you decided to come back to work?” he said, smiling. “How are you?”

“I’m going to be fine.
C’est la guerre
.” She brushed her golden hair away from her eyes. The thin black scab on her right cheek was still noticeable. “
You’re
the one we should be worrying about.”

“Well, this is cozy. Got room for a third?”

Mike was standing in the doorway.

“Come on in,” Ben said. “What have you and your squad of law-and-order zealots turned up?”

“Not a lot,” Mike admitted. “We’ve searched Tidwell’s house and come up with a birth certificate. Catherine was his daughter, all right. And we’ve found a marriage license. Tidwell was married some twenty-eight years ago, when he lived in Flagstaff. Catherine was born soon after. Real soon, if you know what I mean. Catherine’s mother died when Catherine was about six and apparently, sometime not too long after”—he hesitated for a moment—“Tidwell let Catherine take her mother’s place in his affections. Some time after then and before he moved to Tulsa, Emily was born.”

“Sweet Jesus,” Ben muttered quietly. “And I thought
I
had father problems.”

“We’re talking to former neighbors and tracking down relatives who might have known Tidwell when he lived in Flagstaff,” Mike continued. “He only moved to Tulsa two years ago. Seems he had to leave Flagstaff in a hurry. I think he kept Emily’s existence a secret after he moved to Tulsa. He couldn’t explain her parentage, and he didn’t want to stir up trouble. We’ve interviewed his current neighbors, and they don’t know anything about Emily
or
Catherine. Tidwell had evidently discovered it was safer to keep Catherine and Emily at a separate residence under lock and key. I expect that was easy enough to do. Emily was a little girl, and Catherine’s mind was disintegrating. I suppose he told poor Catherine she’d be killed if she left the apartment. Or that he would hurt Emily.”

Christina was confused. “What I still don’t understand is, how did Emily end up with Bertha and Jonathan Adams?”

Mike stood and faced the outer window. “Some of this is just conjecture, but I think Catherine was losing her mind as far back as the time of the Tulsa move. Years of confusion, guilt, isolation, depravation, and sexual abuse were taking their toll. I think she became progressively unstable. That made her not only unpleasant to be with, but dangerous as well. Tidwell was an important businessman now in a fairly high profile position. What if she got loose? Who knows what she might say or do? At the same time, there was this new little girl, unknown to the world, that, for whatever reason, he was very interested in. He needed a way to bring Emily into his home without creating suspicion.”

Christina was beginning to follow. “So Tidwell
arranged
for Jonathan Adams to find Emily.”

“That’s right,” Mike continued. “Tidwell instructed Adams to investigate the franchise location in Jenks, after arranging for Emily to be abandoned there. He set up the whole coincidental discovery. His idea was that Adams would of course be too old to adopt, but that
he
, the younger, respected, philanthropic businessman and father, would step in and adopt the foundling.”

“That’s crazy!” Christina exclaimed. “A million different things could go wrong.”

“Evidently Tidwell didn’t see it that way,” Mike said. “But you’re right. The master plan didn’t work out. Something happened he didn’t count on. Adams never turned Emily in to the authorities as he was supposed to do, and he never mentioned her at work. They just kept her.

“Time passed. Tidwell was stymied. He didn’t want to raise suspicion, but he couldn’t let the old couple keep Emily forever. I’d bet anything it wasn’t a neighbor that sent the police officer over to investigate Emily—it was Tidwell. And then, when Adams confided in Tidwell about the problem—because Adams hated Sanguine, but
everyone
loved Tidwell—Tidwell had Sanguine’s legal counsel arrange what was bound to be a futile attempt at adoption, while he waited in the wings to snatch Emily up as soon as Adams failed.”

Mike leaned back in his chair and thrust his fists in his coat pockets. “I’ve talked to Derek. He tells me that Tidwell specified that he wanted a young lawyer on the adoption case. Allegedly to reduce the legal fees.”

“But really because he didn’t want any lawyer assigned who had a prayer of winning,” Ben said. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I’m not sure how Tidwell found out about Brancusci,” Mike continued. “Maybe he overheard something at the office, maybe he noticed documents were missing, or maybe he saw Brancusci talking to Ben at Derek’s party. However it happened, he knew Brancusci knew about the diversion of funds, possibly knew about Emily and Catherine, and could blow this thing wide open. So he killed him.” He glanced at Ben. “Personally, Ben, I’m glad you weren’t home the night he came visiting your apartment.”

Christina cast a suspicious eye in Ben’s direction.

Mike chuckled grimly. “What Tidwell must’ve thought when the two of us came barging into the office—and accused his
boss
of being the killer.”

“And I was stupid enough to tell him that I thought I could get Catherine to talk,” Ben said quietly. “Tidwell had probably written her off as hopelessly confused and insane. He didn’t realize just how strong she was—or was trying to be. He didn’t know that her desire to see her daughter again was maintaining her last vestige of sanity. But I told him.” Ben withdrew a red handkerchief from his pocket, pressed it against his lips, then put it away.

“In retrospect, it’s a miracle he hadn’t killed Catherine long ago,” Mike said. “Maybe he wasn’t a killer yet. Maybe, deep down, he really did love her. Way deep down.”

“She might’ve been better off if he had killed her,” Ben said quietly.

Christina reached behind Ben and gently laid her hand on his shoulder. “I understand Tidwell and his lawyers are planning an insanity defense,” she said.

“Too true,” Mike murmured.

“Think it’ll play?”

Mike shrugged. “Hard to imagine anyone crazier.”

“Tidwell knew what he was doing,” Ben said. “He’s not crazy. Sick, yes. Insane, no.”

Mike nodded. “And yet, when I arrived at that apartment and he was looking down at Catherine’s body, he seemed genuinely affected. Like a father. Only minutes after he killed her.”

“So what did all the business about financial records and crooked accountants have to do with the murders?” Christina asked.

“Nothing really,” Mike answered. “Just another nasty pie Tidwell had his finger in. And, of course, he was using some of the diverted funds to finance the apartment at Malador. That little act of greed proved to be his undoing.

Mike turned toward Ben. “And you’re gonna love this. Guess what Sanguine was doing with his cut of the slush fund? He was donating almost all of it to the reservation he grew up in. They’re creating an educational trust fund in his name, to help underprivileged Native Americans go to college. Well, they were, anyway.”

“Great,” Ben said. “Now the entire Sioux tribe will probably be gunning for me.”

“I suppose those bureaucrats at the Department of Human Resources will snatch Emily away from Mrs. Adams now,” Christina said.

Ben and Mike glanced at one another.

“No,” Ben said simply.

“No? Why not?”

Ben lifted his head and stared out the window. “Funny thing about Catherine. Just before she died, she drew up a holographic will. Mike and I found it in the apartment. Among other things, she named Bertha Adams as the woman she wanted to raise her little girl.”

Christina stared at him in disbelief. “That’s not poss—” She reconsidered. “Will it stand up?”

“Who’s to fight it? Tidwell’s busy at the moment, and no one else has any interest. Even Sokolosky and the DHS crowd won’t contest a will executed by Emily’s mother.”

“But Catherine was insane. Of
unsound
mind.”

“Says who?” Ben argued. “Nurse Harriet has disappeared without a trace. I personally spent several hours with Catherine, and I will testify that she was perfectly cogent and lucid. Who’s going to testify against me?”

Christina smiled. She leaned across the desk and kissed Ben on the cheek. “You’re a pretty good guy, Kincaid.”

“Second the motion,” Mike said. “But no kiss.”

There was a loud knock on the door. Mike opened it. It was Maggie. “The Executive Committee is ready to meet with you now.”

Mike pointed his finger at Ben. “What about …”

Ben nodded. “I haven’t forgotten.” He looked at Maggie. “I’ll be along in a minute. I have a couple of stops to make first.”

“They’re ready for you
now
,” Maggie insisted.

“They’ll have to wait,” Ben said calmly. “It’s not going to matter much anyway.”

He glanced back at his friends. “Wish me luck.”

Ben poked his head through the half-closed door to Alvin’s office.

“Mind if I come in?”

Alvin looked up from between two tall stacks of casebooks and briefs. “Please do. I’ve been wanting to talk with you, but I wasn’t sure if you were … available.”

Ben sat down in one of the leather chairs facing Alvin’s desk. “This will only take a second. I just wanted to say that I know I acted kind of negatively when you first told me about you and …”

“Candy.”

“Candy. Right.” He took a deep breath. “Alvin, I was wrong. If she really makes you happy, and you’re sure it’s what you want, then you should do it, and to hell with what other people say.” Ben fell back in his chair, glad he had gotten that off his chest.

Alvin frowned. “Funny you should bring this up, Ben. It sort of relates to what I wanted to tell you, Candy and I have decided to call it quits.”

“What?”

“Yeah. It just wasn’t working out. It’s not as if we really had a lot in common. I mean, you saw her at that party at Derek’s. She didn’t exactly fit in.”

Ben stared at him blank-faced.

“To be honest, she may have been using me.”

“No!” Ben exclaimed with exaggerated horror.

“Yes. I think she saw me as her ticket out of the strip joints and into undergraduate school.”

“That’s awful! I guess you put that idea to rest.”

“Well, no. I agreed to go ahead and pay her first year’s tuition at TU.”

“At TU! That must cost a fortune!”

“Well, it seemed like the right thing to do. There was the little girl to think of.”

“A noble gesture, Alvin.”

“Also, she had these photographs—”

“I don’t want to hear about it, Alvin.”

Alvin nodded. “Just as well. To tell you the truth, I don’t know what happened to me. I totally lost control. People were laughing at me.”

“Say it ain’t so.”

“Yup. I was lucky to get out when I did. I could’ve blown my whole career in a single stupid move.” He shook his head. “I guess I forgot what’s important.”

Ben sighed. No comment.

“Good luck with the EC,” Alvin said.

“You heard about that?”

“Didn’t everybody?” He glanced at his watch. “Derek came in a couple of hours ago asking what I knew about this business with Sanguine and what you’ve been doing. I played dumb.” He looked down at his papers.