Capitol Offense

by William Bernhardt

As they left the courtroom, Dennis said precious little. But the hollow expression in his eyes said it all.

  29

  They all needed sleep. And yet Ben could not make himself call it a day. Or a night, he supposed, since it was well after dark. The normal human diurnal cycles had little meaning during a trial. All the usual daily habits and procedures became meaningless. There was only the trial, omnipresent and all-absorbing. And a client who desperately needed him to succeed.

  He stared out the window of their seventh-floor conference room at the slumbering city. Tulsa was lovely at night. He liked it during the day, too, but the day gave you not only the rolling hills and long lines of trees but also refineries and dirt and far too much pavement. At night all that faded away. The lights winked at you. The traffic moved slowly, oozing down Yale like neon gas in a very long tube.

  A dramatic contrast to the turmoil roiling in his brain. No amount of visual tranquility was going to calm that, much as he might wish it would.

  “We have to make a decision,” Christina said, trying once again to drag them back on topic. “Preferably before we all pass out from exhaustion.”

  “We may have to spend the night at the office,” Ben remarked.

  “I am not wearing this skirt to court again tomorrow.”

  “I doubt anyone would notice.”

  “I would notice.” She paused. “And you should notice.” She flipped a pencil into the air. “I hate trials.”

  Dennis looked back at her with the same sad eyes he’d had all day. “Then why do you do it?”

  “Because we’re making a difference,” Ben answered.

  “Because we’re making a living,” Christina answered.

  Dennis almost smiled. “And you two live together?”

  Christina nodded. “We thrive on conflict.”

  “That explains a great deal.”

  Ben returned to the conference table. He looked at Dennis squarely. “Here’s the main problem with putting you on the witness stand. It’s not that I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m sure you can, probably better than most. But Guillerman is very good. He will score points at your expense. And there will be nothing I can do to stop him.”

  “I get that,” Dennis said earnestly. “But surely the potential benefits outweigh the harms.”

  “Honestly, that’s something we can never gauge until it’s all over. But this is something I know for certain. He’ll ask you what happened in that hotel room. So far as we know, you’re the only person alive who can tell him.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “And that answer is not one that will please the jury.”

  “But it’s true!”

  “I know, Dennis. But the jury really wants to know who pulled that trigger. Do you blame them? I can’t answer that question for them. I can’t even put anyone else in the room other than Sentz himself. And I don’t have anything to support that suicide theory.”

  “It’s grounds for doubt,” Dennis said.

  “Yes, but is it reasonable doubt? I don’t know. I can’t show that he was suicidal, because no one I’ve talked to thinks he was. And I can’t produce a motive for anyone else to kill him, even if they were in the room.”

  “What about Loving’s investigation?”

  “I haven’t heard from him lately. Last I heard he had a lead at the hospital where your wife worked.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “I don’t know. Mike is all tied up, too. Neither of them is going to help us, at least not before tomorrow morning. I have to either call a witness or rest my case. And I don’t like either possibility.”

  Christina slid in beside Dennis. “Don’t you remember anything about what happened at the hotel?”

  He thought for a moment. “I remember driving to the Marriott. I remember going inside, riding up the elevator. I even vaguely remember him letting me in. I think we talked about … something. And then—it’s all a blank.”

  Ben gave Christina a searching look. This just wasn’t good enough. The chances were too great that the jury would think he was hiding something.

  “But what happens if I don’t testify?” Dennis asked. “That DA told everyone that I have this raging temper, like the Incredible Hulk of English professors.”

  “The jury will make their decision based on their own observations.”

  “But if I don’t take the stand, they don’t have much to observe.”

  Ben sighed. Dennis was right, of course.

  “I want to set the record straight. Yes, of course Joslyn and I had problems occasionally. Who doesn’t? But I loved her dearly. And I wasn’t on any anti-cop rampage, either.”

  “I don’t think anybody bought that shot in the dark,” Christina said, “and I was watching the jury closely.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  “But they might think it predisposed you to anger, given what happened later.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No. It isn’t.”

  Dennis drew himself up. “Ben. Christina. Put me on the stand. Let them see me. They’ll realize I’m not violent, not an anger management case.”

  “I don’t even know if that would be a good thing!” Ben said, exasperated. “Our whole case depends on them thinking you were temporarily insane. If you come across too normal, we lose.”

  “But it was just the extreme circumstances of the moment, right? It passed.”

  “Yeah, that’s the argument. But the jury is going to be leery of that now that our witness has explained that temporary insanity is just a device to allow jurors to show mercy to sympathetic defendants. They don’t want to be accused of doing anything inappropriate. Guillerman will hammer them in his closing, reminding them of their oaths and insisting that they apply the law.”

  “Let him do his worst,” Dennis said defiantly. “He still can’t prove I pulled the trigger. And I don’t believe the jury will convict me if they like me and sympathize with me. I don’t care what Guillerman says.”

  “I wish I shared your certainty,” Ben said. “But I don’t.”

  “What do you think, Christina?”

  She contemplated a long time before responding. “I think the jurors do sympathize with you, Dennis. And they always will. But most also think you killed a police officer, and they will be concerned that showing any kind of leniency, regardless of your circumstances, sends the wrong message.”

  “So you think they’ll convict me?”

  She laid her head on the table. “I think that ultimately juries are unfathomable, and none of us will know what the jurors are thinking until the foreman tells us.”

  Dennis fell back in his chair. “So this is why you guys get the big bucks?”

  Christina rolled her eyes. “Show me the big bucks. I’ve been waiting a long time. Instead, Ben keeps bringing home stray cats.”

  “What?”

  She averted her eyes. “Never mind.”

  “Look,” Dennis said, “I researched this whole trial six ways to Sunday. But even I can’t pretend I know the answer to this question. I know this: I do not want to spend the rest of my life in prison. And I don’t want to be executed.”

  Ben shrugged. “I know that, but—”

  Dennis held up a hand to cut him off. “I just don’t see any way I get out of this unless the jury likes me. I mean really genuinely sympathizes with me. And I don’t think that can happen unless I take the stand.”

  Ben pressed his palms against his brow. “I hate to say it—because this is so fraught with risk—but I think you’re right.”

  “So you’re putting me on the stand?”

  He closed his eyes. “Yes.”

  “Do you want me to cry?”

  “No!” Ben shouted, too loudly. “I want no showmanship. No histrionics.”

  “I can do it.”

  “I know you can. But juries are smarter than you think. And as I said before, if they detect any falseness in you—”

  “I�
��m history.”

  “Exactly. So I will put you on the stand, and you will tell them what happened. How hard you tried to find your wife. How hard you tried to get the police to help. And you can tell them as much as you remember about what happened the day Sentz died. But that’s it. No irrelevant digressions. No big emotional plays. No Helen Hayes moments.”

  “Okay. Got it.”

  “Christina, I want you to watch the jury every second. If you think they’re hearing something they don’t like, you signal me immediately.”

  “Got it.”

  “Send me a note. Tell the judge there’s an emergency. Whatever. Better that we stop and regroup than go on with something the jury doesn’t like or believe.”

  “You got it, tiger.”

  “This is a very dodgy business we’re undertaking. We have to be careful.”

  “Understood. We’re skiing the black diamonds.”

  “But I still have one question,” Dennis said. “What do I do during cross? That man will try to rip me to shreds.”

  “Answer every question directly and succinctly. Don’t say any more than you have to say to be responsive. At the same time, don’t let him walk all over you. He will try to suggest that this was a premeditated murder and that you concocted the insanity plea to get yourself off. Don’t let him get away with it.”

  “I—I’ll do my best.”

  “Good.” Ben felt so weary he wasn’t sure he could make it to the parking lot. “Let’s all go home and get a little rest. Because tomorrow is the day when we determine how this thing ends.”

  Tomorrow is the day, Ben thought but did not say, when we determine how Dennis lives the rest of his life. Or whether he lives at all.

  30

  Sentz? Loving took a long look at the doctor’s face, his age. The resemblance was unmistakable.

  This doctor had to be the brother of Christopher Sentz, the police detective who was shot.

  Curiouser and curiouser …

  “Who are you?” Sentz asked, giving Loving a fast look up and down.

  “You don’t know?” Nurse Tubbs said. She turned to Loving. “I thought you said he called for you.”

  Oh, this was just peachy. Loving’s brain raced. He had to defuse this situation and fast. He couldn’t afford to get hauled in by the hospital security. In fact, he couldn’t afford to stand here long at all, because it was only a matter of time before Shaw wandered out of that office to see what was happening. And he was sure to recognize Loving when he did. Not only would it blow his cover, but it would almost certainly mean he and the doctor would cancel whatever it was they had planned.

  “He didn’t call for me by name. He just called for one of the scrub boys.”

  Tubbs placed her fists squarely on her hips. “Well, why didn’t you say so? If that’s all it is—”

  “Wait a minute,” Sentz said. “I’m confused. I haven’t called for anyone.”

  “Are you sure?” Loving replied. “That’s what the boss told me.” He glanced down at Sentz’s name tag. “Oh my gosh. I thought you were Dr. Thomas.”

  Tubbs and Sentz exchanged a look. “You thought I was Dr. Thomas?”

  “Yeah. Did I get that wrong?”

  “You could say that,” Tubbs replied. “Because Dr. Thomas was a woman. And she’s been dead since April.”

  “Oh, gee, maybe I misheard.”

  “And who gave you these instructions?”

  “Who?” Loving took a deep breath. “My boss.”

  “Yes, but who?”

  “That would be, um … Bob.”

  “Bob Finlay?”

  “Yeah. That’s the one.”

  “When did they put him in charge of Intern Dispatch?”

  “Just this morning. I think it’s a temporary thing.”

  “Thank goodness. He’s already off to a flying start.”

  The doctor cut in. “What did you say your name was?”

  Loving coughed. “I don’t think I said.”

  “Well, say it now, Einstein.”

  “My name is … um …”

  “Is this too hard for you?”

  “No, it’s … Kit. Kit Car … lisle.”

  Sentz frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard that name before.”

  “I’m new.”

  “That explains a great deal. Are you sure they said Thomas? Perhaps it was Tomlinson.”

  Loving snapped his fingers. “You know, I think it was.”

  Sentz pointed to the opposite end of the corridor. “You need to be down there.”

  “Oh, wow. I didn’t know. Hope I’m not too late. Thanks.”

  Loving skittered away, dragging his mop with him. Had he covered okay? He hoped so. He sensed more irritation than suspicion. In his experience, doctors were usually very smart, but that intelligence often came with a decided lack of patience. He hoped Sentz would go back to his work without any alarm bells ringing in his head, or anything else that might inspire him to alter his plans.

  He decided to wear the greens out of the hospital. He didn’t want to spend any more time here than necessary. If Shaw spotted him he would be in serious trouble. And he would lose his only lead.

  Loving left the same way he came in, careful not to attract the attention of the woman seated at the front desk, then made his way to his van. He climbed into the back, opened his tool box, and retrieved a small GPS homing device. He slid open the magnetic base and then, making sure no one was watching, attached it to the inside of the metal cover over the rear driver’s-side wheel of Shaw’s car.

  Just in case their plans changed, Loving would be able to follow the man or find him anywhere within a twenty-five-mile range.

  He returned to his van and called Ben. He didn’t answer. Probably in court or prepping. He left a message telling him to reply. Not that Loving really had anything to tell him yet. But he at least had some prospects.

  He drove to a nearby Starbucks. Personally, he thought the coffee was ridiculously overpriced, and he wasn’t sure you could call it coffee after they slathered whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles on it, but he wasn’t really interested in the menu. He wanted the Internet access. He didn’t have time to drive home.

  He logged onto some of the PI websites and did a detailed search on Dr. Sentz. Dr. Gary Sentz, as it turned out, was indeed the brother of the deceased detective. One brother into med school, the other into the police department. That had to make for some interesting family reunions.

  He kept searching. Dr. Sentz had graduated from OU medical school about ten years ago and had been working in Tulsa for most of the time since. He had only come to St. Benedict’s in the last year. He was a specialist in nuclear medicine, whatever that was. Loving assumed it meant he had the unhappy job of administering chemotherapy and similar treatments. He had noticed signs inside the hospital bearing radiation warnings.

  What Loving couldn’t find, no matter how hard he looked, were any criminal connections, any signs of Sentz being involved in nefarious activities. He had a perfectly clean record, other than a few traffic offenses. He didn’t appear to have any friends or family involved with gangs or smuggling. He lived in a nice neighborhood. He had no discernible access to contraband. There was no evidence of a drug habit or dependency problem.

  Loving closed the lid of his laptop and pondered. What the heck was this man orchestrating? Why did he need Shaw and his accomplices?

  He didn’t know. And he suspected he wasn’t going to find out from a laptop.

  He brought out his cell phone, which was no ordinary cell phone. He remembered a time when his investigative work had primarily involved tracking people down and bashing their heads together. Unfortunately, those days were long gone. Like it or not, he had been forced out of his Luddite state into the brave new technological world. If the bad guys were going to be playing with these tools, he had to as well.

  Some months ago he had downloaded a piece of critical (and illegal) firmware off the Internet. It basically turned his phone
into a radio capable of picking up other messages broadcast on the same channel, rather than the usual phone, which was limited to picking up messages addressed to you. It was similar to phone cloning, but for that you needed temporary access to your target’s SIM card. Loving didn’t see how he was going to swipe Shaw’s phone, even for a little while, and he doubted Shaw would give it to him. He would have to content himself with intercepting messages.

  He entered Shaw’s phone number, which he had overheard at the hospital. He also needed to know Shaw’s service network. He didn’t, but there were only so many choices—Verizon, Cingular, T-Mobile, and the rest. Trial and error would get him there in time. He had to stay within range of the same base station, but that shouldn’t be too hard. He knew where Shaw lived and worked and he had a GPS transmitter on the man’s car.

  When the good Dr. Sentz got around to texting the details to Shaw, Loving would get the same message. And he would respond, too, in his own way.

  He just hoped it was in time. He felt bad about not having been any more useful to Ben in this trial. He didn’t like to let the Skipper down. If he could figure out what was going on between Shaw and Dr. Sentz—and quite possibly the late Chris Sentz as well—there was a good chance it might be useful to Ben. Shaw had said something about Ben getting close during his cross-examination. Close to what?

  He checked the transponder screen to make sure the GPS signal was working. It was. Shaw had left the hospital and returned to police headquarters.

  Loving would be watching this signal very carefully over the next few days. When they made their move, he would be ready.

  31

  “Yes, Joslyn and I had our spats, just like I would imagine every couple does. But we still loved each other deeply. We’d been married seven years, and we were together two years before that, and those were the happiest days of my life. I never before had a relationship anything like it. She was my entire life. She was everything to me.”

  Ben watched Dennis carefully as he testified. He had been concerned that, having been so calculating throughout the pretrial period, Dennis would try to put on a show. But he seemed to have taken Ben’s cautions to heart. If anything, he was leaning in the opposite direction. He was coming off a little cold, a little robotic. Even as he talked about how much he loved his wife, Ben was not sure his vocal inflection and body language carried the force of his words.