Cruel Justice (5 page)

J
ESSIE THANKED BEN PROFUSELY
. “I just don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t agreed to help me. Dixie was absolutely right. ‘You can trust our Ben,’ she told me.” Jessie leaned forward and kissed Ben on the cheek. “She was right.”

“Well, thanks …” Ben mumbled awkwardly.

“Now, don’t think I’ve forgotten your fee.” She reached for a wad of cash tucked strategically inside her blouse. By Ben’s reckoning, it was a hundred dollars, tops. “I know it’s not much, but I want you—”

“Jessie,” Ben said, “is that all the money you have in the world?”

“Well, yes …”

He frowned. “Keep it.”

“But—”

“And buy a bus ticket home.”

“Home! You think—”

“Yeah. I do. At the least, put it toward getting a new place to live. And a new occupation.”

“Well … if you’re sure …”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again, square on the lips. “Dixie was right. You’re the best!”

Or the cheapest, anyway, Ben thought as he watched her leave.

Jack Bullock intercepted Ben on his way back to counsel table.

Ben stretched out his hand and smiled. “It’s great to see you again, Jack. Even if it had to be—”

Bullock cut him off. “So this is what’s become of you, Ben?”

Ben’s brow knitted. “What’s become …? I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about your wasting your talents putting prostitutes back on the street.”

Ben shrugged his shoulders. “Jack … Jessie is just a teenager. She ran away from home and didn’t know what to do—”

“Don’t give me your closing argument. This is Jack, remember? Jack Bullock. I know the way of the world.”

“I guess I don’t understand. …”

“I’m the one who doesn’t understand, Ben. I don’t understand how you ended up representing the same sleazebags we used to bust our guts trying to put behind bars.”

Ben felt a catch in his throat. “Jack, everyone is entitled to a defense. …”

“Don’t try to squirm away with some civics class lecture. I know perfectly well that every hairball is entitled to a defense. I also know there’ll always be some ambulance chaser ready to give it to them. I just can’t believe it’s you.”

“Jack … this is just one case. …”

“One case of many. Since I moved to the Tulsa office, I’ve been asking around about you. You seem to have made a career out of setting free creeps the police have sweated blood to catch.”

“A lot of those people were wrongly accused, Jack. Some of them were as innocent as—”

“Don’t be such a sucker. Most of the people the police arrest
are
guilty—if not of the crime charged, then of something else. And you know it.”

“Still, the Bill of Rights ensures—”

“And don’t behave like a stupid schoolboy. We all have to grow up sometime, Ben. We all have to face reality.”

“Everyone is entitled to a fair trial. That’s the law.”

“Don’t ‘fair trial’ me. What you did here today had nothing to do with law. You performed a bit of sleight of hand to subvert the law.”

“But—”

“The law should be the law. For everyone. Period. No exceptions.”

“But you can’t treat everyone like interchangeable ciphers, Jack. Some people are not well educated and they can’t afford—”

Bullock shook his head in disgust. “Listen to you, rattling off trite liberal homilies. You’re defensive, because you know I’m right.” He lowered his eyes. “I’m so disappointed, Ben. How could you let this happen to you?”

Ben felt a sharp stinging in his eyes. “Jack, I don’t know what to say. …”

“When you and I were colleagues, our work meant something. What we did was significant. We went shoulder to shoulder against the enemy, striking important blows for the good and the right.”

“You don’t have to remind me, Jack. The time we spent together was perhaps the most meaningful—”

“Stow the flattery, okay? I invested a lot of time in you, Ben. I taught you everything I knew. I can’t believe you’re now using that knowledge to thwart justice. I can’t believe you sold out to the other side.”

“Sold out? I can’t even pay my bills.”

“I expected you to have a positive impact in this world. I thought you were going to make a difference. Instead, I find you resorting to pathetic courtroom high jinks to set the guilty free. Are you going to spend the rest of your life representing every petty felon and hard-luck story that slithers into your office?”

“I had an obligation to represent my client zealously.”

Bullock’s upper lip curled. “I’m trying to clean up the streets, to make this state a decent place to live, to raise a family. And frankly, I’m tired of seeing my work short-circuited by two-bit shysters willing to sell their souls for a quick buck!”

“Jack …” Ben’s voice suddenly became quiet. “You were like a father to me. More so … than my own father.”

“And you were like a son. That’s why I can’t stand to see what’s happened to you.” He turned his back to Ben and returned to his table. “Someone needs to remind you what it’s all about,” he muttered. “Someone needs to teach you a lesson.”

Ben’s face contorted. “What is that, some kind of threat?”

Bullock began packing his briefcase. “I’ve got a lot of friends here at the courthouse. In fact, I’ve got a lot of friends everywhere.”

“What’s your point, Jack?”

“How long can you go on representing the scum of the earth?” His eyes met Ben’s. “Someone needs to straighten you out, Ben. Before it’s too late.” And with that, Bullock marched out of the courtroom.

Christina inched forward and filled the space vacated by Bullock. “So,” she said, “what was that about?”

Ben’s head turned slowly. “That was about the most depressing conversation I’ve had in my entire life.”

“I heard what he said vis-à-vis straightening you out. Jeez, you’d think he’d never lost a case.”

“It isn’t that,” Ben said. “He just … believes strongly in what he does.”

“Just the same, you’d better steer clear of criminal work for a while, Ben. Sounds to me like Bullock may be gunning for you.”

“Bullock doesn’t control the whole judicial system.”

“Maybe not, but he could do some major damage.”

Ben had learned long ago to trust Christina’s instincts. He’d been working with her in one capacity or another since he moved to Tulsa, and he’d never known those instincts to be wrong yet. They were her greatest asset—even greater than her legal-assistant skills, which were considerable.

“Christina, you’ve been with me for some time now. Am I doing a disservice?”

“A disservice? What do you mean?”

“Oh … you know. Contributing to the crime rate. Putting pond scum back on the street.”

“Like who? Me?” Ben had represented Christina a few years before when she found herself accused of murder.

“That was an exceptional case. Most of the time—”

“Enough of this grimness,” Christina said, cutting him off. “You should be celebrating, not castigating yourself. Congrats on the slick cross-ex.
Formidable.
”

“It wasn’t that big a deal.”

“Says you. You’ve come a long way, kiddo. When I first met you, you couldn’t say
conjugal relations
without turning beet red.”

“We all have to grow up sometime,” Ben said. The words rang in his ears. “Thanks for burning the midnight oil and catching the discrepancy in Applebee’s testimony.”

“I’m just glad you made it to the courtroom. For a while there, I was afraid I was going to have to do the cross-ex myself.”

“And you’d have been great, too. Seriously, Christina.” She acknowledged his compliment with a beatific smile. “Meanwhile, back at the office, I had a morning like you wouldn’t believe.”

“What happened?”

“Well …” In the corner of his eye, Ben saw his new client—the middle-aged black man with the pronounced limp—hobbling into the courtroom. “It’s too complicated to explain. But tell me. Do you know how to change a diaper?”

“
What?
”

Ben moved toward the door. “I need to talk to my new client. Why don’t you sit in?”

Ben greeted the man and introduced him to Christina. “Mr. Hayes, you didn’t need to come to the courthouse. I would’ve returned to the office.”

“It’s no problem. ’Sides—I thought I might jus’ get a chance to see you in action.”

“I’m afraid you missed it. The case has already been dismissed.”

“Hoo-ee! You
are
good, ain’tcha?”

Ben looked embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. Christina did—”

“I been readin’ about you, Mr. Kincaid. In that magazine they give out in restaurants and stuff.” A few months before, an article about Ben’s efforts against an Arkansas white supremacy group had appeared in
Tulsa People,
a classy biweekly distributed in Tulsa retail outlets. “You really fight for the reg’lar folks, don’tcha? That’s what the magazine said. Said you had to get right down in the mud and wrestle with those Klan boys. But you did it. That’s when I knew who I wanted. See, I been talkin’ to lawyers all over town, and no one wants to help me. They say it’s hopeless. But after I read that article and saw your picture, I knew. I knew you were the one who was finally going to help my boy.”

“Your … boy?”

“My little Leeman. ’Course he’s twenty-eight now, not really a boy, but still. You wouldn’t believe what they’re accusin’ him of. Lord, but he’s had a hard life. And it’s about to get a sight worse.” He reached out and shook Ben’s hand vigorously. “It’s so good of you to take on his case like you did. ’Specially since I barely got two pennies to rub together.”

Christina stared at Ben as if, once again, he’d lost his mind.

“Wait a minute,” Ben said. “I thought you wanted me to represent you regarding an automobile accident.”

He cocked his head. “Cain’t say as I do. What made you think that?”

“Well—my assistant—the front of your car—”

“ ’Fraid one of my boys drove it into a lamppost on Riverside Drive. I think he’d had one too many at Orpha’s Lounge. Prob’ly more than one too many. Can we sue somebody over that?”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” Ben inhaled sharply. “You’ll forgive me for pointing this out … but you do appear to be having some trouble walking.”

“Well, son, I am sixty-three years old.”

“Sixty-three?” He didn’t look a day over forty-five.

“That’s right. I been gettin’ the arthritis in this leg for five years now. It’s especially bad when it’s hot outside. And Lordie, is it ever hot outside.”

“Then … there’s no personal-injury case?”

“Nope. My only problem is gettin’ my boy out of trouble. That’s why I was so happy when you agreed to take him on.”

“About that,” Ben said. “You know, I’ve been very busy lately—”

“I know. That’s why I went ahead and filled out all these forms like your secretary told me. He said I was all taken care of. Done deal.”

Ben glanced pleadingly at Christina, whose sole response was an unhelpful shrug. He took the forms and scanned them. Fully executed employment agreements, signed by both parties. Great.

“So what is it your son is accused of?”

Ernie Hayes hung his head down low, his face cradled in knobby, veined hands. “Murder, Mr. Kincaid. Murder in the first degree.”

“M
URDER?” BEN’S BRAIN REELED
. Not only a criminal case, but of the most serious variety. “Who is he accused of killing?”

“This foreign woman. I cain’t rightly pronounce her name. Killed at the country club where my boy usta caddy. And the police think he did it. Fact is, everyone does.”

A cold-blooded murder, Ben thought. What timing.
How long can you go on representing the scum of the earth?
“What does your son say happened?”

“Well, now, he ain’t all that easy to talk to.”

“He won’t tell you what happened?”

“It ain’t that he won’t tell. It’s that he cain’t. Not really. He ain’t quite right in the head.”

“I’m sorry. You mean—”

“Ment’lly retarded. Been that way since he was born, poor boy. I know there’s different words for it now that we’re supposed to use to make everyone feel better, but that’s what it is. He’s retarded.”

“So, actually, you don’t know if your son killed the woman or not.”

Ernie Hayes raised his chin. “That’s where you’re wrong. I know my boy. And I know he wouldn’t kill no one. No, sir. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Don’t be such a sucker.
Bullock’s voice was ringing in Ben’s head.
Most of the people the police arrest are guilty. And you know it.
“I haven’t heard anything about this murder. When did it occur?”

“ ’Bout ten years ago.”

“Ten years ago!”Ben stared at the man wide-eyed. “And it’s just now coming to trial? How can that be?”

“Don’t be askin’ me to explain that legal mumbo jumbo. All I know is he was arrested, then he hadta go away to some kinda hospital, and now they’ve sent him back for trial.”

That didn’t make sense at all. If what Hayes said was correct, this would be the all-time violation of the defendant’s right to a speedy trial. Ben made a mental note to check some more reliable sources to unravel the background of the case. “When is he scheduled to go to trial?”

“Next week.”

“Next week!” The nightmare just got worse and worse. “On a capital offense? What about the arraignment? What about the probable-cause hearing?”

“Thass all been handled by some other fella.”

“Some other fella?” Ben could measure the depth of his consternation by the fact that his responses had been reduced to parrotlike repetitions. “You mean another attorney?”

“Yeah. Some old dude the judge assigned. I don’t like him. I want you to try the case, Mr. Kincaid. You’re the only one who can help him now.”

Ben didn’t share Hayes’s sentiment, flattering though it might be. In his experience, most public defenders did first-class work despite a backbreaking caseload. Nonetheless, there was the troubling matter of the signed employment agreement. “I don’t want to handle your son’s case unless I’m sure I can do the best job possible. And I don’t see how I can get up to speed by next week.”

“You can. I know you can. You’ve done it before.”