by Allen Eskens
When she sat back up, she saw the headlights of a car, a black BMW, pulling up to the curb across the street to park. Lila was about to start her car when the door of the BMW opened enough to flood its interior with light. And there, behind the wheel, sat Ben Pruitt.
Lila slid down in her seat just enough to keep a thin view of Ben Pruitt stepping out of his car. He straightened up, looked around, and then bent back down, reaching into the center of his car. When he stood back up, he had a small black pistol in his hand.
Lila scrunched down even more and held her breath.
Ben Pruitt tucked the gun into the back of his waistband and started toward Professor Sanden’s house.
Chapter 60
Max Rupert had gotten two calls from Frank Dovey that evening, which he let go to voice mail. When he listened to them later, he could hear the desperation in the man’s voice. The first call came just after Max got home from work. The message came across as a command, telling Max that he needed to get to the prosecutor’s office right away—something about only having twenty-four hours to find a smoking gun. Max deleted the message without returning the call.
The second message, left half an hour after the first, was more pleading in tone. Dovey apologized for calling Max at home, explaining that he’d gotten Max’s number from Lieutenant Briggs and that he really needed Max’s help. In the second message, Dovey explained that Kagen had pled the Fifth and that the case had fallen apart. He said that he’d managed to get a delay of one day to fix the holes in the case, and that he needed Max’s help to do that. Dovey ended that call with a plea that rang pathetic in Max’s ear. Max deleted that message as well.
Later that evening, after Max shoveled the snow from his driveway, his phone chimed again. He didn’t recognize the caller and considered letting it go to voice mail, believing it to be Dovey again, using a different phone. Instead, he decided to confront Dovey and let loose the raw opinions that had been swirling through Max’s head as he shoveled snow.
“Max Rupert here.”
“Max, this is Lila Nash.” Her voice, a whisper, came through the phone in quick spurts.
“Lila, how are—”
“Max, I can’t explain, but I need you to come to Professor Sanden’s house. It’s urgent.”
“Look, Lila, if this is some sort of trick to get me to talk to Boady, I’m disappointed.”
“Damn it, Max. This is Lila. You know me. I need you to get over here.”
Something in her voice convinced him that this was no stunt. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure if I am supposed to be calling you. I don’t know what to do. Can you just get here as fast as you can?”
“With lights and sirens, I can be there in ten, maybe twelve minutes.”
“No sirens, at least not when you get close. Something’s going down, and I don’t want to make it any worse.”
“Are you safe, Lila?”
“Yes, but I’m not so sure about Professor Sanden. Please hurry. I’ll explain when you get here.”
“I’m on my way.” Max put his phone into his pocket, grabbed his gun, badge, and a coat, and ran out the door.
Chapter 61
Boady stared at the computer screen, the words of the case he’d been reading no longer in focus. Instead, he saw a vision of Emma’s face. She had her mother’s eyes, sad eyes that held more pain in them than a ten-year-old should have to bear. And what was about to happen, what Boady had in mind, would break that little girl’s heart even more, break it in a way that could never be mended.
How could she ever forgive him for what he was about to do? But it had to be done. Boady could see no other way.
He thought back to the years he spent with Ben Pruitt and searched his memory for signs of the monster he now could see. There were ten years between their ages, but Boady felt a brotherly fondness for his protégé that still tugged at his heart, even now that he knew the truth. Had that monster been lurking inside Ben the whole time? Had the closeness he felt toward Ben blinded him? Boady thought back to all the meetings they had at the jail, the pure emotion on Ben’s face, the tears and other small touches that put his performance over the top. He’d been so convincing.
As Boady tore down and restacked his memories of Ben, he came to realize that Ben’s performance wasn’t simply the creation of a brilliant actor. Acting was part of it, yes, but this was more than just an act. This was the work of a sociopath.
He heard the front door open and assumed that it was Lila returning because she had forgotten something. The sound didn’t pull him from his thoughts. After a few minutes, he sensed a presence in his periphery. He looked up to see Ben Pruitt standing in the doorway to his office. Boady jumped on the inside but suppressed his reaction on the outside.
“Good evening, Ben,” he said.
“Mind if I come in?” Ben asked.
“Be my guest.” Boady gestured to a chair.
“Isn’t this where you say you’re surprised to see me?”
“No. There’s no point in such pretense.” Boady clicked his mouse to bring up the freeze-frame from the tollbooth. He turned the screen to Ben.
“I don’t think that’s my best side, do you?”
“You killed Jennavieve?” No matter how he tried, Boady couldn’t mask the hurt in his voice.
“Are you asking me as a friend, or as my attorney?”
“I think it’s safe to say that we are no longer friends, Ben. Not after this.”
“That’s too bad, because I still like you, Boady. You did a hell of a job for me. Honestly, I’ve been dying to spill the beans for a while now, especially after they found the sheets and the knife. I wanted so bad to let you in on my little secret. And because we have attorney-client privilege, I could have. But then I remembered ol’ Miguel Quinto. I didn’t want you slacking on the job the way you did with him. Things were getting critical, and I needed your head in the game.”
“Why are you here, Ben?”
“Well, Boady, when I saw you downtown, I got a little nervous. I mean, you should have seen the look on your face—like you just watched me stab a puppy or something. That got me to thinking, and, well, I just thought I’d drop by to make sure you aren’t thinking of doing anything foolish.”
“What could I do?” Boady asked. “My hands are tied.”
“That’s what I always liked about you, Boady. Everything by the book.”
“You killed Emma’s mother.”
“I killed a shrew,” Ben shot back coldly. Boady could see in his eyes that Ben had spoken a truth he hadn’t meant to utter out loud. Ben took a small breath to recompose himself and then continued. “Great job, by the way, getting that napkin with Kagen’s DNA on it. I was getting a little concerned that you weren’t going to pull it off. But then you did your magic.”
“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 car
efully 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 ne
cessary.”
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?”