Capitol offence bk-17

by William Bernhardt

  "I doubt if that's how he'll put it in closing argument," the judge said dryly.

  "Probably not," Guillerman barked, "because that would be too honest!"

  The judge put his hand over the microphone. "Counsel…"

  "This is the most offensive defense I've encountered in my entire career!" Guillerman continued. "Who are we kidding? This defendant killed a police officer. A senior detective. He planned it, then he consulted with his attorney on how to construct a good defense, and then he put the plan in action. He killed Detective Sentz in cold blood and faked a blackout so that he would look-" He pointed a finger to his temple and drew circles in the air. "-craaaaaazy!"

  "None of this alleged premeditation has been proven," Ben felt obliged to point out. "I'm simply presenting a textbook, by-the-numbers case of temporary insanity."

  Judge McPartland gave him a long look. "Well now, let's not push it too far, Mr. Kincaid."

  "That's not what he's arguing at all," Guillerman said, "and you know it as well as I do, Judge. What he's asking for is jury nullification."

  "That's not true!" Ben insisted.

  Guillerman continued. "No one believes his client was insane, even temporarily, and he's not really asking them to. What he's saying is, his wife died a horrible death and it was all the police department's fault, so forget about the law and let my man walk."

  "That is not correct. But what's wrong with asking for justice? When the application of the law would produce an unjust result, don't jurors have the right to use their own judgment?"

  "That's jury nullification, and it's unethical and grounds for disbarment."

  Judge McPartland did not respond nearly as quickly as Ben would have liked. "I will admit that this aspect of the defense case troubles me."

  "Your honor," Ben said firmly, "all I'm trying to do is show the jury what could cause a perfectly ordinary and harmless man to contemplate the most extreme actions. He didn't just lose his wife-he lost her in the most horrible way imaginable. It wasn't an unavoidable accident. The police had the power to find her a few hours after she disappeared. They chose not to. I am not in any way saying that made it okay to kill Detective Sentz. But I am saying that such dramatic and catastrophic events can render the most healthy brain temporarily unhinged. And this theory will be reinforced by my psychiatric witness."

  "For the price of six hundred dollars an hour," Guillerman muttered. "That's a lot of money for an opinion of insanity."

  "I'm reminded of something Oscar Wilde said," Ben remarked. "'In all matters of opinion, our adversaries are insane.'"

  "For that much money, our adversaries could be declared insane."

  "That's enough, counsel." McPartland leaned back in his chair, obviously taking a few minutes to collect his thoughts. "I'm not happy about this aspect of this case, as I said. What else is new? This case has been a thorn in my side from the start. But I will see it out."

  He took another deep breath, then glared at the two attorneys. "I will allow Mr. Kincaid to call his psychiatric expert and to tie his testimony in with the other testimony we have heard. For the purpose of establishing a case of temporary insanity. And nothing else. Do you hear me, Mr. Kincaid?"

  "I do, your honor."

  "Mr. Guillerman?"

  "Loud and clear."

  "Good. There will be no arguments for jury nullification or any other inappropriate claims. Got it?"

  "Yes," they both answered.

  "Good." He banged his gavel on the bench. "We're taking fifteen before the next witness, gentlemen. I need my blood pressure medicine."

  The judge left the courtroom, and most of the people in attendance headed toward the back doors. Guillerman stopped Ben before he could go anywhere.

  "I'm filing a complaint with the bar association, Kincaid."

  "What, another one?"

  "You know what that means?"

  "You think I'm winning?"

  He jabbed a finger into Ben's chest. "I've got a lot of friends on the Grievance Committee. You could lose your license over this."

  "That would free up a lot of time."

  "Even if you don't, we can tie you up in so many investigations and proceedings your candidacy will be impossible. I've got friends on the Democratic Party committee, too. No one will support you."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "You heard what I said."

  "What I think I heard was the district attorney making a personal threat for the purpose of gaining an advantage in a criminal trial. And that really is grounds for disbarment."

  "You're in over your head, Kincaid," Guillerman growled, bearing down on him, "and you're going to lose. I will see to that personally. You're going down in flames." He turned on his heel and stomped away. "Both you and your client."

  26

  Perseverance, Al. The key to uncovering the unknown.

  That's what his father used to tell him, Loving mused, daydreaming a little as he stared at the hospital for the third day running. Before he shoved off, Loving's dad used to take him on camping trips down near Tahlequah. Sometimes they'd float the Illinois; other times they'd go on long hikes through the woods. They would pretend to be pioneer scouts, Kit Carson and his men, tracking bad guys through the dense brush. They would look for clues, broken twigs, telltale footprints in the mud. What kind of animal has a foot like that? his dad would ask.

  And of course, his father had been strangely fascinated with the analysis of what he called "scat." You can tell what animal had been there by analyzing the scat. At the time, Loving had doubted his father's credibility on this subject. Turns out it was true, although it took him many years to learn that. A friend at the Nature Conservancy had even given him a pictorial scarf illustrating the various types of scat indigenous to the Oklahoma prairie.

  His father had been a good man before he disappeared. Loving still didn't know why he left. He knew his mother was high-strung and not the easiest to look after. He should know-he'd been doing it on his own for almost thirty years now. But why his father had made such a sudden break, as if he just couldn't stand it another day, that he didn't understand.

  Just as Loving could not comprehend why his father had never wanted to come back since he left. Not even just to stop in and say hello.

  Loving rubbed his eyes and slapped the sides of his face. Funny how your mind wanders when you've been staring at the same urban structure for three days. The point of the reverie was that his father had taught him patience, perseverance, the ability to wait for what you want. That was a lesson that served him well in his current life as a private detective.

  Ever since that strange meeting with Officer Torres in the grove of trees outside Scene of the Crime, Loving had staked out St. Benedict's Hospital. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but this was the only lead he had, so he was not letting it go. If there was something happening here, surely he would eventually see a hint of it. He'd been watching all around the clock. He moved his van to a new position every now and again, to avoid attention. But he always made sure he had a view of the front doors and the loading dock on the side. If something unusual was going down, that would most likely be where he would get a glimpse.

  St. Benedict's filled a midtown niche, closing gaps between St. John's modern urban complex and St. Francis's sprawling pink cinder block. Despite the fact that he was a detective, Loving still didn't know what had motivated the St. Francis powers-that-be to paint a hospital pink. He had heard so many contradictory stories, they had taken on the sheen of urban legends. Pink paint surplus. Comforting to the ill. St. Francis of Assisi's favorite color. As if you would pick your color scheme based upon the preferences of a guy who talked to birds. It was even more strange now that they added the Children's Hospital, which was bright blue with green windows. It looked like a giant Lego construction with a mismatched piece at the end.

  By contrast, St. Benedict's was smaller and lower-key. The entire building was a single story, like a hospital designed by Frank Lloyd Wri
ght. It was not as large as either of the other two major hospitals but was renowned for its research and its willingness to tackle difficult cases. Almost too successful: they had a reputation for dealing with those in the worst, most terminal condition. Telling someone that a mutual friend had "gone to Benedict's" was guaranteed to produce a sorrowful expression; it was tantamount to saying the funeral service would be held next Monday. Loving had only been inside a few times, and none of the visits were experiences he liked to recall or hoped to repeat ever again in his life.

  Well, what could he do next to keep himself awake? He'd played the alphabet game solo, particularly difficult when there were so few signs around, impossible now that it was dark outside. He'd decoded every personalized license plate within view. He'd heard every song on his iPod several times over. It was possible that it was time to chuck it in, try something else. He wasn't a quitter, but he knew Ben needed help, and if this wasn't going to pan out, perhaps it was time to try something different. He hated to go against his dad's advice, but he was in his forties now, after all, and there came a time when a man had-

  Loving sat up straight in his seat. Wait just a minute. Was that who he thought it was?

  He smiled. Daddy had been right. Again.

  It was possible the man was just going to visit a sick friend. But Loving didn't think so.

  Loving slowly eased out of his van, careful not to attract any attention. He crept between the cars, staying well behind Officer Peter Shaw. One of the Benedict's Bunch. The darkness helped, even though the parking lot was illuminated with several high fluorescent lamps.

  He stepped through the sliding front doors and waited, staying out of sight. Shaw would recognize him, and the last time he and Loving had met, he'd threatened to punch his lights out. A big scene in the hospital lobby would not likely generate the information Loving needed.

  Shaw nodded at the front desk receptionist but did not stop or sign in. That in itself was interesting. Told Loving at least two things: he'd been here before, and he didn't want to leave a record of his presence.

  Once Shaw had disappeared down the corridor, Loving started forward. He knew he would not get past the front desk so readily. He would have to be clever.

  Loving started talking before he even reached the desk. "Did Peter Shaw come through here?"

  The woman sitting behind the desk did not immediately answer.

  "You know Pete. Shaved head. Goatee. Cop. He left his pager. He'll get in big trouble if I don't give it to him."

  "You can leave it with me and I'll see-"

  "No, sorry, I can't. Appreciate your offer, but it's police property. I put it into anyone's hands other than his, I'll get drilled by my boss, and I've got enough of that already."

  "Well, he didn't sign in, so I don't know…"

  "I can find him. Do you have any idea which way he went?"

  The woman seemed a bit confused, which was understandable, given the circumstances. Loving's primary goal here was to keep her talking before she had time for thinking.

  "I believe he usually goes to Oncology."

  Oncology. The same department where Joslyn Thomas worked. This case just got a whole lot more interesting.

  "Thanks! You're a lifesaver!"

  Loving brushed past her. She held up her hand, but he was too quick. Her hand fell and he passed without question. He had a suspicion that she was not entirely satisfied with their interaction. But he also suspected that Shaw and his buddies had been visiting the hospital for some time, and she probably wasn't satisfied with that interaction, either. Bottom line, she knew that something out of the ordinary was going on but had decided it didn't behoove her to be curious.

  Loving read the sign dangling over the corridor. The arrow indicated that Oncology was to the left. He veered down the corridor and almost immediately saw Shaw at the other end of the hall.

  Loving opened a door and dove inside. It was a spacious closet, filled with supplies. It would do for now, but he needed to get out of here before he was accused of trying to steal something. He wasn't exactly wearing a clever disguise for undercover work. His white T-shirt and torn jeans would not allow him to blend in with the doctors or the staff. He needed something better…

  Hospital greens would do. They were a common sight here, plus he could just pull them over his clothes. He could pass as an OR intern or some similar no-education-required employee. But where would he find the greens?

  He opened the door just a crack and checked the hallway. Coast was clear. He slipped out and read the signs on the doors as furiously as possible. There had to be a lounge or sitting room where staff waited for their calls…

  He found the locker room quickly, before Shaw reappeared in the corridor. Just inside, a big linen laundry basket on wheels held lots of dirties. Where were the clean clothes?

  He supposed that given his circumstances, he couldn't afford to be choosy. He rooted around in the basket, searching for something that would fit his large frame, preferably not too soaked with blood or flesh or any other surgical remnants. After that, he found a stack of masks on a shelf. Obscuring his face would be a good idea, too.

  A minute later he was back out in the hallway. He didn't kid himself that this getup would prevent Shaw from recognizing him if he got a good look. But it might shield him from a distant casual glance.

  Slowly he made his way down the corridor to where he had last seen Shaw. He had no trouble locating him. He was visible in the window of a closed office door. He was talking to someone else, a man in a white coat. A doctor, unless Loving was mistaken. The conversation seemed uncomfortable. Shaw appeared agitated. His volume was increasing.

  Loving retrieved a mop from the closet where he had hidden a few minutes before. He stood just outside the office door, pretending to wipe up a nonexistent mess, straining his ears to hear what was being said inside.

  Once he was close, the conversation came through with surprising clarity.

  "I'm telling you, the deal is off," Shaw said. "It's too risky."

  "Just one more time. That's all I'm asking," the doctor replied.

  "No way."

  "Chris would've done it."

  "Yeah, and look how he ended up."

  "That's not fair and we both know it. He…" Loving couldn't hear the last part of the sentence. He scooted in closer. People were passing by him in the corridor, but so far no one was taking notice. Still, he knew that condition would not last forever.

  "I'm in charge now, and I say no way."

  "You're being unreasonable," the doctor replied.

  "I'm being smart. You weren't the one up on that witness stand."

  "What are you complaining about? It went fine."

  "Did you hear that chump lawyer quizzing me? He got close, Gary. Dangerous close."

  "He got nothing. And now it's over."

  "It ain't over, not yet. And I think we should lay low till it is."

  "That's not possible. It's all been arranged. I'll have a truck ready at the back loading dock. It will only take a few minutes. I'll take care of everything inside. You take care of everything outside."

  "You're not listening to me. I don't want any part of this."

  "You're already a part of it. And if something happens to me, you're going down, too. So maybe you better show up just to make sure nothing goes wrong."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "You call it what you will. I want you here."

  "I'm not coming."

  "Who should I get, then? Your assistant? Maybe I should call Torres. He usually fills in when you guys screw up, right?"

  "Don't go anywhere near Torres!"

  "Fine. Do this one more job for me, Shaw. Just one. Then you'll be fixed to do anything you want. Give me your cell phone number. I'll text you the details as soon as I know when and where."

  Shaw recited his number. "The money won't help me if I'm not alive."

  "You will be. And then you can quit this crappy police work. Take care of your
sister. Take early retirement. Take it in the Cayman Islands. The world will be at your doorstep."

  "It's too risky!"

  "Nothing good comes easy, my friend. So just ask yourself. Do you want to spend the rest of your life barely scraping by, handing out traffic tickets and chasing drug dealers? Or would you rather be sitting on the beach drinking booze out of a pineapple? Your choice."

  "Excuse me. Can I help you?"

  Loving looked up abruptly. Someone was talking to him.

  "I don't recognize you." It was the floor nurse, who according to her name tag was Ernestine Tubbs. "Are you assigned to this wing?"

  "Uh, no. Not normally." It seemed like the smart answer. "I'm supposed to see the doctor." He pointed through the door. "He's, um, busy."

  "I'll go in and get him."

  "No, no. Don't do that." Loving held her back. "He's, um, havin' a conversation. It's pretty intense."

  Tubbs glanced through the window, saw Shaw, frowned. "I'm not surprised."

  "I'll just wait," Loving said, grinning. "I don't mind. Beats scrubbin' down the operatin' theater."

  "We can't have you just standing around. Who sent you?"

  Loving licked his lips. "Um, who sent me?"

  "Yes. Who sent you to see the doctor?"

  "Um… he did."

  Tubbs blinked. "The doctor sent you to see the doctor?"

  "Uh… yeah. He called for me. I came right down, but as you can see, he's tied up. Doctors. Always think the world revolves around them."

  "Well, I'm not afraid of him. I'll go in-"

  Loving grabbed her. The mop clattered to the floor. "Please don't."

  "I insist."

  "I really don't want you-"

  "What on earth is going on out here?"

  Loving slowly pivoted. The doctor stood in the doorway behind him. The first thing Loving noticed was that he looked extremely irritated.

  The second thing he noticed was the name tag on his white coat identifying him as Dr. Sentz.

  27

  Dennis's therapist, Daniel Estevez, M.D., Ph.D., was not a man Ben would normally choose for his most important expert. He was too young, for one thing. Medical testimony usually went down better when it descended from a lot of gray hair. He also had a disturbing tendency to avoid medical and psychiatric jargon. Usually, Ben had to coach people the other way. He had to get them to simplify what they were saying so a jury could readily understand it. Estevez was largely babble-free. This made him more readily comprehensible, but Ben worried that it might also rob him of that sense of intellectual superiority that made so many medical witnesses almost unassailable.