Capitol Offense

by William Bernhardt

  “Was anyone else involved in this decision?”

  “I never saw anyone out of the ordinary in the station. But it did seem weird. And I heard Thomas say he thought someone else was pulling Sentz’s strings.”

  “Dennis said he saw another man in the police station once when you were there. He didn’t see the guy’s face, but Dennis thought he was tellin’ Sentz to lay off. Did you see anyone there?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who that might’ve been?”

  “No. But I wouldn’t be—I mean—” Torres stopped, started again. “I know Sentz said he was going by the book. And it’s true. Technically there were no grounds for action. But we all know that those rules are written mostly to give officers the ability to allocate manpower as necessary and to get rid of crackpots. Cases that aren’t really cases. Thomas wasn’t a crackpot. He was intelligent, resourceful, and obviously very worried about his wife.”

  “Still, if the rules are on the books …”

  “Sentz had discretion. I’ve seen him use it before. If he wanted to start an investigation, he’d start an investigation. He’d find a way to make it good.”

  “But he never did that for Dennis Thomas.”

  “Exactly. Not even after seven days, when it was pretty obvious something had happened to her. That part was … unusual.”

  “Why did you think he was stonewallin’ Thomas?”

  “I don’t know. But I can’t help but think there was a reason. That’s why I finally got something going myself.”

  “You did?”

  Torres nodded. “I got one of the other detectives to sign off on it. Someone who didn’t know the whole story. Sentz was furious when he found out. But we did find Joslyn Thomas.”

  “Not in time.”

  “Yeah.” Torres’s head lowered. “Not in time.”

  “And Dennis Thomas attacked Sentz.”

  Torres frowned. “He wasn’t the only one who wanted to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Sentz came in angry, furious. He was out for my blood. He was hurling abuse and outrage. But the fact is, Joslyn Thomas was in danger and we found her. It would’ve been a good time for him to be contrite and admit his mistake. Instead he came in like he didn’t care about the woman who had just died. All he cared about was that someone went over his head. It was just twisted. Didn’t make any sense.”

  Loving pondered that a long moment. “And Thomas attacked him?”

  “Yeah. But Sentz went after him beforehand. Threw him down, scraped up his face. He was the first one to get physical.”

  “What about all those ugly things Thomas supposedly said? The threats.”

  “He said them. But put it in context. The man’s stalling caused his wife enormous pain. He acted angry that we found her. He physically manhandled him. He had him arrested!” Torres shook his head. “I think I would’ve said a lot more than that if it had been me.”

  “Why do you think Sentz was so determined not to investigate? And so angry when you did?”

  “I don’t know. It was weird. No one will say anything now, because they don’t want to get crosswise with Guillerman. But it was really bizarre.”

  “What about that deal at the hotel? The stakeout. There had to be somethin’ goin’ on there.”

  “I don’t know much about that. It was very secret. Certainly nothing they’d share with a desk clerk.”

  “How did they pick the men who would be involved?”

  Torres moved in closer, dropping his voice another notch, as if what he was about to say was particularly sensitive. “It was all the Benedict’s Bunch. Sentz. Shaw. Conway. A couple of others.”

  “The what?” Loving had been investigating this case a long time, but this was a new bit of terminology. “What did you call them?”

  “It’s a reference to St. Benedict’s. The hospital.”

  The hospital where Joslyn Thomas worked. “What did those cops have to do with the hospital?”

  “They were moonlighting there.”

  “As what?”

  “The word was, they were security.”

  Off-duty cops working as hospital security? He supposed it was possible.

  “But I think there was more to it than that.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know exactly. I could just tell they were up to something. The whispers. Furtive looks. Sudden disappearances. Covering for one another.”

  “Cops always stick up for one another.”

  “This went way beyond that.” Torres wrung his hands together. “Look, it’s true I’m new on the force and I don’t know all there is to know.”

  “Sounds like you know a heck of a lot.”

  “I worked hard to become a cop. I’m proud of where I am. I’m the first guy in my whole family to go to college. First to wear a uniform, you know? It means something to me. And I don’t like it when—when someone else tarnishes what I worked so hard to get.”

  “So what are you tellin’ me about these men, Joe?”

  “I don’t have any proof.”

  “But …?”

  Torres inhaled deeply. “I thought they were dirty. I think they were involved in something dirty. Maybe that’s why they were at the hotel. I wouldn’t be surprised if it explains this whole mess.”

  “How long had this been going on?”

  “I don’t know. Long enough.”

  “And you think it has something to do with Joslyn Thomas?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. Especially after Sentz repeatedly refused to look for her. That was not something any normal red-blooded person would do. Unless he were covering something up.”

  “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?” Loving moved in tighter. Despite the darkness, he managed to look the man straight in the eye. “First Joslyn Thomas disappears. Now the husband is on track to disappear. And every time, the same guys are involved.”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  No wonder he hadn’t come up with anything. He was totally barking up the wrong tree. And so was Ben.

  “Who did they report to at the hospital?”

  “Sorry. I don’t know.”

  “What department?”

  “I still don’t know.”

  “Any hints? Clues? Anything that might tell me where to look?”

  “I’m sorry.” He glanced nervously over his shoulder. “I think I should go now.”

  “Wait.” Loving pulled a card out of his back pocket. “Before you leave. Take this. I want you to see Ben Kincaid.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “He’ll take care of you.”

  Torres began backing away. “I told you, I can’t do that.”

  “It’s important. He needs to hear this.”

  “I can’t testify.”

  “Then he’ll have you swear out an affidavit.”

  “No!”

  “We can protect you.”

  “You can’t. Not enough.”

  “At least talk to him. Or talk to Thomas.”

  “No!” Torres moved backward, fast.

  “It’s important, Joe. A man’s life is on the line.”

  “I won’t testify.”

  “He can subpoena you.”

  “No!” Torres turned and began to run.

  “What are you afraid of? Losing your job?”

  “I’m afraid of losing my life!” Torres shouted back. And then he disappeared into the night.

  Loving didn’t bother chasing him. What would be the point? Even if he caught him, he couldn’t make him talk. And the truth was, Torres was right to be concerned for his life. Smart, even. Cops did not like being ratted on, especially by one of their own. Other people came after cops, they circled the wagons. But when it was one of their own mounting the challenge …

  Well, he had a right to be concerned.

  Loving checked his watch. Hell with the bar. He wasn’t likely to get more than he already had. He’d drive crosstown to St. Benedict
’s. He had no idea what he was looking for. But he needed to find something. Something Ben could use in court.

  Time was running out fast. If he didn’t come up with something useful soon, it would be too late.

  22

  “A mistrial?” Dennis looked back at Ben, perplexed. “Why would I want that? We’ve been in trial more than a week!”

  “There are a million possible reasons. You’re the defendant. And you’re not currently in jail. Time is on your side.”

  “Do you think we’re losing? Is that why you want to start over?”

  “No. I have no idea what the jury is thinking. But we have taken some hits. This could be our chance to start from scratch.”

  Ben had asked Dennis to come to the courthouse conference room early so they could discuss this all-important issue before he saw the judge. Mistrial was a delicate subject. A corporate defendant will always go for it; given the time value of money, the longer they can delay paying a judgment, the better. But with human beings, there were many more emotional issues. Humans wanted closure, resolution. Even if the trial process was nerve-wracking, even if they were uncertain about the result, there was always a strong desire to get it over with.

  “Guillerman made a critical error when he spoke to the reporters. Judge McPartland issued a no-exceptions gag order. No comments to the press. Ironically, it was Guillerman who first raised the issue, because he was tired of our press conferences. Of course, Guillerman will claim he wasn’t commenting on the case as such—only on the breaking news story. But McPartland isn’t an idiot. He won’t be happy.”

  “And the judge will give us a mistrial over that?”

  “He might. We’ll have to impanel the jury, ask questions. If any of them watched the news report, they’re off the jury. If more than six of them saw the news report, then we don’t have enough alternates. We have to start over. And if one of the jurors mentioned it to the others, the entire jury pool is tainted. Automatic mistrial.”

  “How long before a new trial would begin?”

  “Depends on the judge’s schedule. I’m thinking it would be a good long while. Assuming the case remains with Judge McPartland.”

  “It could go to another judge?”

  “It could go to another county. Or another state.” Ben leaned across the conference table. “We could ask for a change of venue, arguing that the media coverage has irredeemably tainted the local jury pool.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “No. But it does happen, usually in high-profile cases. This is why Timothy McVeigh was tried in Colorado, not Oklahoma.”

  “Do we have any idea what kind of judge we might get somewhere else?”

  “No. Potluck.”

  “Would it be an improvement?”

  “Depends on how you think McPartland is leaning. And I have no idea. He’s kept his cards pretty close to his vest so far.”

  “So basically, asking for a mistrial is a big crapshoot.”

  “Basically, yes.”

  Dennis rubbed his fingers against his forehead. For once, the trial strategist who held all the answers seemed uncertain. “What do you think we should do?”

  Ben took a deep breath. “I think I have to ask for a mistrial. I think it would be malpractice not to ask for a mistrial.”

  “I’m not going to sue you for malpractice.”

  “Thanks. But what if we have to appeal, you know? If we … we …”

  “Lose?”

  “Yeah. That. If the appellate court finds my representation incompetent, it would destroy me as a lawyer. And it could interfere with our appeal.”

  Dennis ran his hands through his precisely coiffed hair. “I don’t know, Ben. I really just want to get this over with.”

  “I know you do. But we have to be smart about this.”

  “I suppose.”

  This was where the conversation was going to get sticky. If Ben had his way, he wouldn’t go here at all. But he had no choice.

  “Dennis … there’s one more possibility I have to raise. If I ask for a mistrial, it’s possible we could get even more than a delay of the game. We could conceivably win the whole shooting match.”

  “What? How?”

  “A tainted jury pool is one thing. Definitely grounds for a mistrial. But if the judge finds deliberate misconduct on the part of the prosecution …”

  “Is that possible?”

  Ben shrugged. “Guillerman obviously knew something. He planted the seed with Officer Conway. He didn’t have to appear on that news broadcast—but he did.”

  “Okay, so he’s guilty of misconduct. What does that get us?”

  “A mistrial, for sure. But in this scenario, there might be a little more. Here, the mistrial is the result of deliberate acts by the state. That being the case, the court could find that double jeopardy has attached.”

  “And if double jeopardy has attached …?”

  “You can’t be tried again for the same offense. Not even in a capital murder case. In other words, you go free.”

  Dennis’s lips parted. “No.”

  “It’s a long shot. A remote chance. Judge McPartland obviously will not be eager to dismiss a high-profile case involving the death of a police officer. But it is possible.”

  “And I would be acquitted.”

  “In effect.”

  Dennis’s eyes seemed to draw inward. “But without a finding of innocence. Without ever really being tried.”

  “True.”

  Dennis sat up, squared his shoulders. “I don’t know if I like that idea.”

  “I understand. But you can’t expect to be exonerated by a court. Even if you were found not guilty, some people will never believe it. Especially not if you get off on a charge of temporary insanity.”

  Dennis remained strangely quiet. “Ben,” he said at last, “I don’t know if I’ve even said this to you before, but … I didn’t kill Detective Sentz.”

  “I thought you didn’t remember what happened.”

  “I don’t. But I still … I can’t believe I would do that. Even under the circumstances.”

  “I understand,” Ben said. Though, he thought silently, your subsequent belief proves nothing about what happened.

  “You know … this trial has been very hard.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Are you? Sometimes I think you believe—and I know Christina does—that my willingness to plan and scheme and orchestrate the trial means I’m a cold, rotten person who wants to kill and get away with it.”

  “Oh, no—”

  “You don’t have to bother denying it. I know the score.”

  “Maybe you were a little more … present than most defendants.”

  “But I needed that. You know?” He looked at Ben with pleading eyes, and it occurred to Ben that this might have been the most vulnerable he had seen this man since the whole drama began. “That gave me an edge. When I lost Joslyn, my world was shattered. Into pieces, tiny little shards of glass where a life had once been. I didn’t know what to do. I had to distract myself. First with talk of revenge. Then with plans to escape punishment.”

  He looked away. Ben could see his eyes were watering. “I’m starting to lose it, Ben. I really am. I can feel the heat, the fire, the … the anger, ebbing away. And if I lose that, I don’t know what I’ll have left. I can’t get through another trial. And I can’t live in a world filled with people who think I’m a murderer. I—I—” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can live at all.”

  “Hey now.” Ben placed his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Let’s not talk like that.”

  “I’m just telling you how I feel.”

  “Let me make the motion, Dennis. Then we’ll take it from there. Okay?”

  “I guess. I—” He looked up at Ben with sorrowful eyes. “I trust you.”

  Ben nodded, took his briefcase, and headed for the judge’s chambers.

  Why had Dennis said that? Ben would have rather heard “I hate y
ou.”

  What Dennis had said instead was the worst curse a client could possibly lay on his lawyer’s shoulders. Especially in a capital murder case.

  23

  Ben had not been inside Judge McPartland’s chambers before, so he was surprised at what he found. Judges were free to decorate in any way they wanted, but most kept it on the conservative side. Members of the judiciary must be distinguished, it seemed, even away from prying eyes. Decorating tended toward Western art, macho Remingtons and such, with the occasional cowboy or OU football paraphernalia.

  McPartland liked dogs. Ben hadn’t known it before, but the evidence was all around him. He had at least four, judging from the photographs, and apparently took them to shows on a regular basis. There was Judge McPartland, motioning to his Pomeranian to sit up on cue. There was the mighty Doberman strutting down the walkway. Even a fluffy white poodle, and if Ben wasn’t mistaken, it had painted toenails. They all appeared groomed and brushed, and in one case even clothed. Their pedigrees hung on the walls, as did their graduation certificates from obedience school.

  Ben found himself liking the judge a lot more than he had before, even though, technically, Ben was a cat person. Still, it was good to see the judge had outside interests. After a week of criminal trials, a dog show must seem very relaxing.

  They only had to wait a few minutes before the judge arrived. McPartland did not appear surprised to see Ben and District Attorney Guillerman waiting in his chambers. Not surprised, but not pleased, either.

  “Let me guess,” he said, leaning back expansively in his padded recliner. “Senator Kincaid has a motion.”

  “Darn tootin’,” Ben said curtly.

  “And the state opposes?”

  The DA shrugged. “I don’t know what we’re talking about yet.”

  “Mr. Guillerman, I’ve been a judge a long time. Don’t play games with me.”

  “Honest, Judge, I don’t—”

  “Well then, let me inform you.” The judge leaned forward, his brow sharply creased. Ben got the impression that Guillerman might have made a major tactical blunder. “Do you recall a while back when we were selecting a jury?”