Loving decided against the usual surreptitious approach—casual conversation, crazy bar tricks, something to get the tongues wagging. These men weren’t stupid. All too many of them spent a good portion of their days trying to get suspects or witnesses to talk. They weren’t going to be fooled by anything he tried. He might as well find someone promising and dig in. He’d read Dennis’s statement and knew everyone who had been involved or on duty when the week-long drama was playing itself out.
“Jimmy Babbitt! How are ya, you old boozehound?”
Babbitt turned and gave Loving a sharp stare. He was closing in on forty but he didn’t look it. He’d gained some weight since Loving had last seen him, but he still didn’t have the soft paunch that spoiled the line of too many police uniforms. Loving knew he had been the first responder at the scene of the murder of Detective Sentz.
“Loving.” Babbitt looked at him levelly. “Haven’t seen you here in a while.”
“No. I’ve been busy.” He pointed toward the empty chair at his table. “Mind if I take a seat?”
Babbitt did not respond immediately. “Are you here on business or pleasure?”
“Both.” Loving sat down even without the invitation. “No, that’s crap. You know I’m here on business.”
“Figured as much. You’re still working for that lawyer, right?”
“Proud to say I am.”
“Representing the man who killed Chris.”
“He represents the accused, Jimmy. It’s his job.”
“Wasn’t there a time when he was accused—”
“If you remember that, you must also remember it was a put-up job. A frame.”
“That’s what I heard.” Babbitt poured some beer down his throat. “Still, I don’t mind saying a guy as resourceful as you ought to be able to find a better way to make a living.”
“I like working for Ben Kincaid. He’s a good guy doing good work. And he helped me out when I really needed it. More than once.”
“Whatever.” Babbitt glanced over at the big screen. “I can’t talk about the case.”
“I know you can’t.” Loving fell silent and let several seconds pass. “Heck of a thing, though.”
Babbitt’s head pivoted slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“Chris gettin’ killed. With all those cop buddies swarmin’ around the hotel.”
“They were working.”
“Not hard enough, I guess.”
“They were on a stakeout. They didn’t expect some nutcase with an axe to grind against Chris.”
“Still, you’d think they’d notice somethin’. When that Thomas guy waltzed in the front door.”
“For your information, Officer Shaw saw him at the elevator—” He stopped himself, smiled. “Oh, you’re good. You’re trying to Scooby-Doo me, aren’t you?”
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”
“This is how you get me to tell you something you don’t already know.”
Loving returned the smile. “It was worth a try.” He chuckled a little. “Heck of a weird thing, though.”
“You’re still doing it.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Loving shifted in his seat. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them. He folded his arms. “But why didn’t they do somethin’ about Thomas?”
“They didn’t see him coming.”
“Didn’t see him comin’? Officer Shaw says he talked to him!”
“He was busy with something else.”
“Right, right.” Loving frowned. “And you didn’t see anythin’ suspicious when you got there?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“And there was no sign of a fight, right?”
Babbitt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me what you already know, or trying to get me to tell you what I already know?”
“Little of both. No fight, right? No sign of forced entry.”
“True enough.”
“So Sentz let him in. And they didn’t scuffle.”
“You have a problem with that?”
“Well, holy moley, Jimmy. Sentz refused to find the man’s dying wife. They have a big knockdown grudge match at the scene of her death. Sentz has him arrested. When they meet again, I figure it’s not gonna be to play canasta!”
“Yeah, that part is odd, I admit. But I don’t think it means anything. You know how Chris was. He probably tried to talk some sense into the guy. Probably felt sorry for him. And paid for it, big-time.”
“Why were you the first responder when there were already cops on the premises? You came in from the street.”
“Like I told you, they were busy.”
“And like you also told me, Shaw stopped the guy on his way to the elevator!”
“Did I hear my name?”
Loving bit down on his lower lip. He didn’t have to swivel to know who that was. Served him right for being stupid enough to raise his voice.
“If you’ve got questions about me, Loving, why don’t you ask me?”
Loving turned and saw Peter Shaw standing behind him, bald head, goatee, sour expression. Two of his buddies were standing behind him.
It was never a good sign when they came with muscle.
“I’m just tryin’ to find out what happened at that hotel,” Loving said, as cool and nonchalant as the circumstances allowed. “Kind of a strange deal.”
“What’s so strange about it?” Shaw obviously worked out. His arms and pecs were artificially inflated but, Loving reminded himself, size did not necessarily equal strength. He wore a tight T-shirt and, since Loving had seen him last, he had shaved his head. A necessity, Loving wondered, or had he just spent too many nights playing his DVD box set of The Shield? “Doesn’t seem strange to me.”
“What were you stakin’ out at the Marriott? No drugs out there. No gangs.”
“That’s not the only kind of crime in town.”
“Then what was it?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“How ’bout I run through a long list and you tell me what it wasn’t? Gold, silver, rare stamps, old comic books, Krugerrands—”
“Give it up, Loving. I’m not telling you anything.” He was inching closer, defensive and irritated and expressing both through his attempts to be intimidating. Which would work fairly well even without his muscle-bound buddies. “Go home.”
“And then there’s the question of why Sentz was alone in the hotel room. Every stakeout I ever heard about, two men partner up and stay together. It’s too dangerous for one to be alone. As I guess this proves.”
“Sometimes I was in the room, sometimes one of the other boys. We had a lot of ground to cover. We couldn’t afford to stay in one place all the time.”
“Sounds like you weren’t followin’ procedure.”
“We weren’t expecting a murderer.”
“Didn’t he threaten Sentz when his wife died?”
“Nobody thought he meant it.”
“Or maybe you did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Truth to tell, Loving didn’t really know. But there was something odd about Shaw’s reaction. “I know you were on the premises when it happened, Shaw. Why didn’t you stop Thomas before he got upstairs?”
“I was working!”
“In the hotel bar? I can just imagine.”
“I was watching the front door.”
“With a couple of martinis, I’ll bet. Is that why you couldn’t stop Thomas? Vision a little blurry?”
Shaw clenched his teeth. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
Loving pressed ahead. He wasn’t going to make friends with this guy, and he sensed his time was limited, so he might as well play for as much information as possible. “You did stop and talk to him. But then you let him ride on up the elevator. That’s weird.”
“I couldn’t make a big scene! I was undercover!”
“So you let a guy who supposedly threatened your pal a few days before ride up the elevator and plug him.”
> “I didn’t know he was planning to kill Sentz!”
“Your report says you knew he was packin’ a gun. Did you think that was for huntin’ rabbits?”
“You know as well as I do that carrying a concealed weapon is not illegal in Oklahoma.”
“So you let the guy ride up and shoot your friend.”
Shaw’s fists clenched. “You sorry—” He almost swung, but caught himself at the last moment. “I want you out of here, Loving.”
“Gee, you own this place now? Ousted Jake with a hostile takeover?”
“I don’t have to own the place to police it. That’s what I do.”
“I hope you do it better here than you did at the Marriott. Otherwise everyone in the joint is doomed.”
This time Shaw’s arm swung around, but one of his heavyweight buddies caught it just before it impacted on Loving’s face.
Loving did not flinch, did not even blink. Instead, he smiled. “What are you tryin’ to hide, Shaw?”
Shaw launched himself again, but his friends still held him back.
Behind them, toward the big screen, Loving heard someone clearing his throat. It was Jake, the owner.
“You know, Loving,” he said calmly but firmly, “maybe it would be a good idea if you headed out.”
“You sayin’ I’m not welcome here anymore?”
“No, no, of course not. But maybe just until this thing blows over?”
“I think Shaw’s the one who needs to blow over.”
“Just for tonight, Loving. As a personal favor to me.”
“Well. If you put it that way.” Loving stood and brushed himself off. “What’s a little favor for an old friend?” He nodded toward the three huge men eyeing him with venom. “Been a pleasure, boys.”
Loving strolled out of the bar, glad once again that he had parked a distance away, this time because if Shaw had known where he parked, he might be walking home.
That hadn’t been as productive as he’d hoped. But it hadn’t been a total waste of time, either. He’d laid his groundwork. Rustled the bushes. Now he had to wait and see what shook out.
Shaw knew he was being watched. Perhaps he would make a mistake. And everyone in the bar knew Loving wanted information. Eventually someone would produce some. He hoped.
Loving didn’t begin to know what was going on here. But the two conversations convinced him that someone was covering something up. Probably several somethings.
Tomorrow night, he’d be back. And the night after that and the night after that. Until he had what Ben needed.
13
Ben let Christina out on Denver, just as close as it was possible to get a vehicle to the front door of the courthouse. He helped her unload the large quantity of materials they would be using at trial. It was their usual pretrial trade-off. She would have to maneuver the loaded dolly through the metal detector, up the elevator, and into the courtroom. He would have to find a parking space. His job was worse.
This time, Ben didn’t even attempt to park in the minuscule courthouse parking area maintained by the adjacent Central Library. The parking lot was a great fund-raiser for them, and he liked to support libraries, especially the one where Jones’s wife, Paula, worked, but he knew there would be no open spaces. He drove next door to the Civic Center parking lot, and even then he had to hunt a good long while before he found a space. He plugged the meter to the max but he would still have to send someone to plug it two more times during the course of the day.
“Hey, Cassandra.” A female officer he knew well was posted at the metal detector just beyond the front door of the county courthouse. He began the usual undressing ritual—off with the watch, the belt, the pocket change. “Christina been through here yet?”
“Of course. She’s looking good. You’ve got a fine woman there, Ben.”
“Don’t I know it. How’s your George?”
“Gets by. Arthritis acts up from time to time.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Rumor around the courthouse is you’re running for reelection.”
“Election, technically. I was appointed the first time.”
“Does that mean it’s true?”
Ben stepped through the detector, then began reassembling himself. “Can’t think of anything that sounds more unpleasant than campaigning for office.”
“You don’t seem the type.” She looked at him sharply. “But I notice that wasn’t an actual denial.”
“You’re a smart cookie, Cassandra. Have a good day.”
She grinned. “Good luck at trial. You’re going to need it. The reporters are camped out on the second floor. I’d go in through the judge’s chambers.”
“Will do.”
The Tulsa County Courthouse had been dramatically improved by a series of renovations in recent years. Best of all, there were now several alternatives to what Judge Peterson and others had deemed “the slowest elevators in all creation.” Ben decided to take the escalators.
He was surprised to see Loving at the base, apparently waiting for him. He didn’t stop walking.
Loving held out his hands to stop him. “I know. You don’t have any time because your trial starts today.”
Ben banged his forehead. “Is that today? Holy cow!”
Loving frowned. Ben was never quite sure if sarcasm eluded him or just irritated him. “I found out somethin’ last night. I think there may be some nastiness going on in the police department.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t know yet. I may have to step on some toes. Some big, important toes.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“Nope. Just thought you should know.”
“Appreciate it. But I really—”
“There’s one more thing, Ben.”
He stopped, obviously impatient.
“I think the cops—and maybe your client—might’ve been involved in something bad.”
That got Ben’s attention. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. But those cops were at the hotel on a stakeout. Must be some kind of illegal trade. Smuggling.”
“You mean drugs? Narcotics?”
“That would be the obvious. But I don’t know yet. My sources didn’t spill any specifics.”
“Illegal golf clubs smuggled into Southern Hills?”
“I dunno. But it occurred to me … your guy was on the premises. It might not help your case.”
Ben nodded thoughtfully. He wished he had more time to consider the ramifications. But he didn’t. “Find out what you can. I’ll deal with my client.”
“Got it.”
Ben rode the escalator up. By this time, he expected Christina would have all their materials assembled in the courtroom and ready for use. Her background as a legal assistant still proved useful.
He poked his head into the conference room beside the judge’s office and was not surprised to find both Christina and Dennis waiting for him.
“Is it soup yet?”
“The prosecutor thinks so,” Christina said. “He dropped by to repeat the same offer. We turned him down again.”
“Sorry I missed that.” He gave Dennis a quick once-over. “You look good.”
“I did okay?” He was referring to the suit, which was brand-new. Christina had taken him on a shopping expedition to Utica Square and found him a trial wardrobe courtesy of Sak’s. It was more than Dennis would normally spend on clothing, but Ben told him to think of it as another legal fee.
He had chosen a blue suit and red tie for the first day, very similar to what Ben was wearing himself. “You did very well.”
“Yes,” Dennis said, “but do I look sincere?”
Ben’s lips thinned. “I hope so.”
“I’ve been practicing sincere expressions in the mirror. Want to see them?”
“No. No expressions in the courtroom.”
“Should I cry? I can, you know.”
“No expressions whatsoever. Remember the cardinal rule: the jury mus
t never think you’re trying to pull the wool over their eyes. They will discount any scornful reactions or protestations. They will not be impressed by emotional outcries. The best course is to maintain an even keel. Be cool. Unfazed. They already know you dispute the prosecutor’s evidence. Show them you’re not a hotheaded killer. Show them you don’t have a violent bone in your body.”
“Show them you’re not insane.” Christina said, adding quietly, “Anymore.”
“Insanity is in the eyes of the beholder,” Dennis remarked.
“I’ll handle the defense,” Ben said. “You just keep a straight face. Were you able to get your neighbor to come to trial?”
“Yes, she’ll be there. In the front row. Right behind me.”
“Good.” Normally Ben tried to plant an adoring spouse just behind the defendant, but in this case, obviously, that wasn’t possible. Furthermore, Dennis had no living family in the area or, apparently, any close friends. But he did have an attractive neighbor who was the right age to be his mother—even if she wasn’t. Ben wanted her right behind him throughout the trial. She could do the facial expressions of scorn and disapproval that Dennis could not. Most importantly, she could look at Dennis with loving eyes. It was important that the jury see that the people around him, all the people who actually knew him, liked him.
“I just hope that helps,” Dennis said softly. “I—I’ve been reading the press coverage of the case. The press acts as if I’ve already been convicted. Like the trial is just a formality.”
“It isn’t,” Ben said firmly. “The media know that implications of guilt, like close elections and celebrity tittle-tattle, increase their ratings. You should ignore it. Focus on the trial. I think we’ve got a good jury.”
“We’ll see,” Dennis said, pushing himself to his feet.
“Yes,” Christina said, doing likewise. “We will.”
Dennis took Ben’s arm. “I want to thank you for doing this. I know how much work a trial is. And I know you had … reservations about taking my case. I appreciate it. More than you can possibly know.”
Ben nodded. He peered deeply into Dennis’s eyes and saw … what? Hard to know.
He patted Dennis on the back. “Let’s go win this thing.”
14
This was simply excruciating, Ben thought, waiting for the trial to begin. It was already ten past nine. What could be taking the judge so long?
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