The Heavens May Fall (35 page)

“As best I can figure out, Malena Gwin must have delivered her car to Chicago and then what . . . took a train back?”

“You’re not recording this, are you?”

“It’s attorney-client privilege, remember? It wouldn’t matter.”

Ben stood up and leaned over the desk to make sure that no recording devices had been hidden just out of sight. Then he sat back down. “Just making sure. A guy can’t be too careful these days.”

Boady continued to lay out the plan he’d constructed so far. “You get Malena’s car keys, fly down to the conference, say hi to a few chums, and then drive back, getting here in time to see Kagen leave.”

Ben didn’t respond.

“You knew about Jennavieve’s affair. Malena would have been watching the house for you. The odds would have been pretty good that he’d have left some DNA on the sheets.”

“Do you really think it’s healthy to delve into those details, ol’ buddy? You know how sensitive you can be. Besides, like you said, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Boady said.

Ben studied Boady carefully before speaking. “We still have attorney-client privilege. What you know can never leave this room. If you tell anyone, you’ll lose your license and the evidence will be inadmissible. Trust me, Boady, I’ve thought this through.”

Boady picked up his desk phone and turned it to Ben. “I have the number here for Judge Ransom’s chambers. He’s probably not there, but you can leave a message.”

“And just why in the hell would I call Judge Ransom?”

“You committed a fraud upon the Court.”

Ben let out a booming laugh. “Have you completely lost your mind?”

“You told the Court that you didn’t kill your wife. That was a lie.” Boady watched Ben carefully, looking for any sign that he might see where Boady was going.

“Oh, good Lord, you’re serious.” Ben’s laugh faded, but his grin remained.

“Under Rule 3.3, ‘Candor Toward the Tribunal,’” Boady paraphrased the rule for Ben, “if an attorney has reason to know that his client has engaged in fraudulent conduct related to the proceeding, he must take remedial measures including disclosure to the tribunal.”

“That’s a rule for civil court, Boady. This isn’t civil court, it’s criminal. Our clients lie all the time. Hell, judges and juries expect it.”

“It’s a rule of ethics, Ben. There’s no exception for criminal cases.”

Ben’s face turned dark and serious. He pursed his lips and sighed. “I was afraid you might start thinking crazy. So, you see why I felt it necessary to drop by.”

“The rule requires that I first give you the opportunity to correct your fraud.” Boady pointed to the phone.

“And if I refuse?”

“Then the rule requires that I call Judge Ransom.”

“No court in the world will back up what you’re thinking. You go through with this, and you’ll accomplish nothing, other than to lose your license.”

Now it was Boady who chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“
Fiat justitia ruat caelum
.”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t used that phrase in a decade, and now it comes up twice in one case. You know what it means?”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Let justice be done, though the heavens may fall.” Boady leaned forward and looked hard at Ben, the last shade of their long friendship having disappeared into the dark anger behind Boady’s eyes. “Let me be clear—ol’ buddy. I don’t give a flying fuck if I lose my license. I’m willing to take my chances. I’m making that call. Ransom may change his decision. He may not. That’s on him. But I’m calling him.”

“Wait, Boady. You don’t know what you’re doing.” Ben’s tone now turned to pleading. “You didn’t know the real Jennavieve. She could put up a front better than anyone.”

“Better than you?” Boady asked.

“She cut my balls off, Boady. She used her money like a whip. She controlled everything in that house, and I could see her start to do that to Emma. I couldn’t let that happen.”

“You could have divorced her. People do it all the time.”

“You don’t know about money, Boady—not real money. They have the lawyers and the connections. Hell, you saw how quickly they swooped in after I got arrested. That family is vicious. I would have lost Emma forever.”

“Can’t you see what you’ve done to Emma? Doesn’t that register in that self-absorbed brain of yours?”

“I’m protecting Emma, dammit! That’s why I had to do what I did.”

“No, Ben.
I’m
protecting Emma.”

Boady turned the telephone back around and picked up the receiver. As he started dialing the number for Judge Ransom, Ben leaned forward and reached behind his back. When his hand came out, it held a gun.

Chapter 62

Max pulled up to Boady’s house and parked on the street. Lila leapt from the driver’s side of her car.

“Ben Pruitt just went in there. He had a gun in his belt.”

“Slow down, Lila. What’s going on?”

“We found something, about the case, but I don’t think I can tell you.”

“I don’t understand, Lila.”

“I think Ben came here to do something bad to Professor Sanden.”

“You have to tell me, Lila.”

“I can’t. It’s against the rules.” Lila ran a hand up her forehead as she thought. “Max, do you trust me?”

The question took Max by surprise. “Of course I do.”

“Then here’s what we’re going to do. You are coming in there with me. We go in quietly. If there’s nothing to see, you can leave. But just go with me, please.”

Max led the way to the porch. Lila opened the door slowly to avoid making noise. Then she and Max entered. Max had been to Boady’s house many times for poker games and knew the layout. He could see light in the study and hear the muffled sound of voices. He motioned for Lila to remain at the front door as he tiptoed in.

When he was within a few feet of the office, he could see Boady through the glass of the French doors. Max took a couple more steps and saw Ben Pruitt in a chair opposite Boady. He still couldn’t hear the conversation, but he had a clear view of both men. Their demeanor, the way each stared at the other, the short blasts of words that volleyed back and forth across the desk, suggested an argument.

Max felt like a burglar as he stood outside of the office. He was almost close enough to overhear what had to be a privileged conversation, and it made him feel uncomfortable. He was about to turn around and leave when he saw Ben Pruitt lean forward, reach behind his back, and pull a gun out of his belt.

Max pulled his gun and quietly chambered a round. He moved closer to the door so he could hear the conversation. Ben Pruitt sat at an angle with his back to Max, but Max could see the gun. Ben hadn’t pointed it at Boady, but instead held it on his lap, stroking the barrel with his thumb.

“Christ, Ben!” Boady gasped. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to put the phone down and listen to me,” Pruitt said.

Boady slowly put the receiver back in its cradle. Then he held his hands out over the desk, palms down as if to say
don’t do anything rash
.

“I need you to keep your head for a few more hours. That’s all I need.”

“You want me to keep
my
head? You’re the one with the gun. Just put that thing away before this goes too far.”

“Judge Ransom needs to file that acquittal. After that, we can part ways for good.”

“Except for the fact that you’re threatening me with a gun.”

“I’m not threatening you, Boady. I just want you to see it. Handsome, isn’t it? I got it from a client some years back.”

“Ben, I don’t—”

“Shut up, Boady.” Ben spat the words across the desk. “I’m not going back to prison. You have to know that by now. They almost killed me. They’ll finish the job if I go back.”

Max peeked through the glass and caught Boady’s attention, the flick of Boady’s eyes landing on Max and moving back to Ben as if he’d seen nothing.

“What am I supposed to do, Ben?” Boady said. “You killed Jennavieve. Am I supposed to pretend that didn’t happen?”

“You don’t do anything,” Ben said. “You and I will just sit here in this comfy office and do nothing. Hell, I’ll even type up your summation so you have it ready to e-mail to the judge tomorrow. After that, we wait until Judge Ransom files that acquittal. That’s all you have to do. I’m asking you to do nothing. Just sit on your thumbs for one day; that’s not too much to ask.”

“And if I don’t agree?”

“Don’t go there, Boady. Please.”

“I want to know, Ben—old friend—if I don’t agree, what will you do? Will you kill me too? Dump me in some empty lot like you did Jennavieve?”

“Boady,” Ben’s words came out like they’d been dragged through broken glass. “Don’t fuck with me. If you try to send me back to prison, I will stop you—by any means necessary.”

Chapter 63

The blood in Boady’s veins seemed to gel when Ben Pruitt threatened to kill him. At that same moment, the French doors slammed open, glass shards filling the air as Max burst through.

“Put the gun down!” Max shouted at the top of his lungs. “Put it down—now!”

Ben half jumped and half fell out of his chair.

“I said drop the gun! Do it now!”

Ben’s legs pumped until his back hit the wall. Stabilized enough to gain his balance, he started to stand up straight, the gun aimed at the floor. “Don’t shoot!”

“Drop the gun!”

“Wait! Don’t shoot me. I need to talk to you.” Ben slowly raised the gun, being careful to aim it away from both Boady and Max.

“Put that gun down, or I swear to God I’ll blow you away! Do it now!”

Ben continued to ignore Max’s command, and the gun continued its path until Ben turned it into his own head, the muzzle resting against his temple. “If you kill me, Detective, you’ll never know who killed your wife.”

All the yelling and chaos that had filled the room fell mute, leaving an unnatural silence. Max had seemingly lost his ability to speak, so Boady said, “Ben, please put the gun down.”

“What about it, Detective? ‘Your wife’s death wasn’t an accident. She was murdered. Here’s the proof.’ Does that sound familiar?”

“What the hell’s he talking about,” Boady asked.

“You wrote the note,” Max said. “You . . .” Max had his gun trained on Ben’s head, the end of the barrel a mere eight feet from Ben’s nose.

Boady sensed a slight break in the tension, so he stood up behind his desk in the hope of turning the confrontation into a conversation. “Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”

“Allow me,” Ben said. Ben’s voice carried a slight tremor as he spoke, although Boady could tell that Ben was doing his best to appear calm. “I had certain . . . insider information about the death of one Jennifer Rupert. Honestly, I never thought it would have any value to me.”

“Where’d you get that information, Pruitt?” Max barked. “Tell me or—”

“Or what, Detective?” Ben jiggled his gun against his own temple. “Want to see who can shoot me first? Because I’m not going back to prison.”

“What are you talking about, Ben?” Boady asked.

“Honestly, I didn’t think that information would ever do me any good, but I put it away as a plan B, just in case. I half suspected that the city would put its best homicide investigator on my case. I mean, why not? Turns out, it was your case from the start.”

As Ben talked, Boady could see him grow more determined. He stopped using the wall to keep himself upright, and he’d lost the tremor in his voice.

“Then I hear that they subpoenaed the footage from the tollbooths,” Ben continued. “Now I did a pretty good job of hiding my return, but the possibility existed that our boy Max might pick me out of the crowd. So I sent him on a little treasure hunt, to distract him.” Ben gave a forced chuckle. “I almost lost it when I heard that you got reprimanded over it. Icing on the cake, I guess.”

“You know who killed my wife?” Max asked. Boady had never heard Max sound so vulnerable. Even that night they had to carry him out of the cemetery, Max never lost his bark. But now, he sounded almost meek.

“Yes, Max. And if I go to prison, that secret goes with me. I promise, you’ll never know the truth. It’s a simple bargain, Detective. You let me go and I give you your wife’s killer. That sounds like a fair trade to me.”

The gun in Max’s hand began a barely perceptible shake. The equation had changed. It was no longer a matter whether Ben would get convicted. It had become a more rational transaction. One killer caught in exchange for one going free.

“Max,” Boady said softly. “This is your call.”

Sweat now glistened on the lines of Max’s forehead. His eyes narrowed to a squint and his chest stopped rising with breath. Max’s gun slowly sank, sagging under its weight until it pointed at Ben Pruitt’s heart. Boady could only imagine the fight going on inside of Max’s soul.

Then Max said, “No.”

“‘No’?” Ben repeated. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Are you willing to live the rest of your life never knowing who killed your wife?”

“Are you willing to live the rest of your life in prison? I’m betting we can make a deal once you realize just how bad you have it. Maybe a trade in exchange for a nicer set of bars to look through.”

“There will be no deal, Rupert. It’s now or never.”

“We’ll see. I’ll come and visit you every year or so. See how you’re doing. See if you changed your mind. If not—so be it. But you’re not walking on this. You’re going to prison. Now drop . . . the fucking . . . gun.”

Ben’s eyes took on a quiet sadness and he slowly shook his head from side to side. “You won’t be seeing me in a year, Detective, because I’m not going back.”

Ben thrust the gun at Max, the muzzle flashing with exploding gunpowder. And even though he stood only eight feet away, his bullet sailed well wide of its mark. Almost as if he intended to miss his target.

Max put a bullet into Ben’s chest before he had a chance to think.

Ben fell back into the wall and slid to the floor.

“No!” Max yelled, dropping to his knees beside Ben. “Why’d you do that?”

Ben gulped at air, his eyes large and full of fear.

“Who killed my wife?” Max grabbed Ben’s shirt and shook him. “Who killed my wife?”