Death Row
Page 33
“Bravo,” Ben said quietly.
“And,” she went on, glass still raised, “a toast to that great and powerful legal warrior, Ben Kincaid!”
“Hear, hear!” the others concurred.
“Champion of truth, justice, and the American way. Defender of the poor and oppressed. Slayer of the great and toupéed beast Derek.”
Ben cleared his throat. “I think you should be sharing in this toast, co-counsel.”
She beamed. “If you insist.”
“I can’t get over how well this case turned out,” Loving announced. His huge frame was bobbling—too much bubbly, Ben suspected. “Ben finally won a case in front of Derek. Ray finally wins his get-out-of-jail-free card. And I learned to appreciate sushi.”
The rest of the room stared at him.
“Well, I did. It’s weird, but I really like that squishy stuff. I’ve been back to that joint three times.”
Jones whispered into Christina’s ear. “Soon we’ll be hearing about the squid conspiracy to take over the world.”
“What happened to Mike?” Ben inquired. “He should be sharing in the accolades.”
“Blackwell called,” Jones explained. “Yanked him back to headquarters.”
“Is he in trouble?”
Jones shrugged his shoulders. “Why else would Blackwell call?”
“First of all,” Chief Blackwell said, “I want to extend my congratulations to the two of you on your outstanding detective work.”
Mike, sitting in a chair opposite the man’s desk, stared at him. You do? Was the old man mellowing, or was he in an extended fantasy fugue state? When Mike caught the Kindergarten Killer, Blackwell barely nodded. When he nailed Detective Sergeant McNaughton’s murderer, Blackwell hardly grunted. But now he’s getting effusive congratulations?
“I know this case hasn’t been easy for either of you. But you stuck with it, and you brought it to a successful conclusion. I’m putting strong commendations into both of your files.”
Baxter, sitting in the chair beside Mike, nodded. “That’s much appreciated, sir,” she said. “But that’s not why you called us here, is it?”
Blackwell seemed disconcerted. “No. It isn’t.”
Mike jumped in. “Chief, if it’s about that report I filed on Sergeant Baxter, I withdraw everything I—”
Blackwell waved him away. “No, no. I just—well, I need to know what you two want to do.”
Baxter’s head tilted. “How do you mean?”
“Look, let’s talk turkey. I forced the two of you to work together. Neither of you wanted it. But I thought it was important. I wanted Baxter to get a fair shake—something she didn’t get in Oklahoma City, I’m sorry to say. And I thought the best way to accomplish that was to pair her with the best and most open-minded man in homicide.”
Mike’s eyes widened. Was that a compliment? This was a red-letter day.
“But I know it’s been a tempestuous relationship from the start.”
Baxter squirmed. “It hasn’t been . . . that bad. . . .”
“You’re trying to put a good face on it. And I appreciate that. But I know what’s what. I’ve got eyes and ears. All over the place. I know you two have been at war from the start. I hate to think what was going on in the car when that Knight woman was killed.”
Mike and Baxter exchanged a look.
“So the bottom line is this—if you want to be reassigned, I’ll go along with it. I think this case has given Baxter the cred she needed. There’s no need to Super Glue the two of you together forever, if you don’t want it. Mind you, I think you make a pretty good team.”
Mike nodded. “Do you really?”
“And I think you could learn to work together. But I won’t force the issue. If you want to be assigned to new partners, I’ll do it.”
Baxter’s head slowly turned. Mike’s did the same. But they seemed to be avoiding each other’s eyes.
“So tell me what you want. Will you keep on working together? Or shall I reassign you?”
Slowly, gradually, Mike and Baxter found each other’s eyes. But neither spoke.
“Okay,” Blackwell said, drumming his fingers on his desk, “do we have a verdict?”
Mike and Baxter continued staring. Silently.
“Well,” Blackwell said, his impatience obviously growing. “What’s it going to be?”
The party was winding down. The last bottle had been uncorked, but no one was drinking anymore. Jones and Loving had both fallen asleep on the sofa. Christina was at Jones’s workstation, banging away at his computer keyboard.
“What are you up to?” Ben asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Deleting everything on Jones’s hard drive,” she answered nonchalantly.
Ben’s eyes ballooned. “What! Are you nuts? He’ll—”
“Relax. I backed it all up on Zip disks.” She smiled. “But he won’t know that.”
“Christina, have you lost your mind? When Jones sees what you’ve done, he’ll freak! We’re talking office-manager meltdown!”
“Yes,” she agreed, as she pushed Delete for the final time. “That’ll teach him to send me out to interview Spider-Man.”
Ben poured himself another drink and pulled up a chair beside Ray. Christina had fallen into a chair, and her eyelids were drooping. What an incredible woman she is, Ben thought, not for the first time. How lucky they were to have her. How lucky he was—
Or could be?
“I still can’t believe it,” Ray said. He had probably drunk too much champagne, but after seven years without, Ben thought he was entitled. “It doesn’t seem real.”
“It will,” Ben assured him. “The first night you sleep in your own bed.”
“My own bed? I don’t have a bed. I haven’t had an apartment for years.”
“It’ll take a while to get your life jump-started. But we’ll be here to help.”
“I don’t know where to begin. I haven’t got a penny.”
“I can help there, too,” Ben said. “The State of Oklahoma has a trust fund for persons who have been wrongfully convicted. As often as the state has done it, they just about have to. We’ll submit some papers, maybe file a friendly suit. We’ll take care of it.” He smiled. “You won’t get wealthy beyond measure, but it’ll be enough to get you back on your feet again.”
“Will it be enough to let me shop at Miss Jackson’s?”
Ben sighed. Ray was thinking of Carrie.
“I know it’s crazy,” Ray said quietly. “It’s been so long. But I can’t stop thinking about her. For the last seven years, she’s been the object of my every dream, every fantasy. I mean—it’s not as if I’ve had a chance to meet other women. I have to play this one through.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t know what we’ll talk about. When I see her again. I mean, I don’t know from eye shadow.”
Ben nodded. There was no chance that conversation was going to turn out well. But when it was over, perhaps he could begin to move on.
“It’s such a relief. Not only to be out of prison, but to have all the loose ends tied up. To have everyone know once and for all that I really did not commit that heinous crime. Including Carrie. I know she had her doubts about me before, but now that she knows—now that she absolutely knows—that should make a difference. Shouldn’t it?”
“I hope so.”
“I know you don’t think I have a chance, but so what if I don’t? Better to try and flop than to think about it all the time and never do it. If I learned anything during my seven years behind bars, it’s this—every day is precious. Every day. You can’t waste a single minute.”
“Got big plans?”
“Oh, not in the way you mean. I don’t want to climb Mount Everest or run with the bulls at Pamplona. That stuff doesn’t seem important to me anymore. What really matters—what I missed most—are the little things. Quiet things. Taking a long walk at twilight. Reading a good book. Having fun with someone you love.”
“Sure, why?”
Ben grabbed his coat and headed for the door. “My little girl is about to give birth.”
Chapter
33
Ben and Christina were huddled around a cardboard box in Ben’s clothes closet. Joni stood behind them, beaming like a proud midwife.
Ben was mesmerized by Giselle and the spectacle inside the box. “Seven kittens. That’s . . . amazing.”
Christina grinned. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen a cat have kittens before.”
“Or wanted to. But somehow . . . this is different.” Ben peered down at the seven smoky-gray kittens nuzzling at their mother’s side. “Have I ever mentioned how grateful to you I am for giving me this cat?”
Christina arched an eyebrow. “As I recall, you were pretty grumpy about it at the time.”
“I was stupid.” You’ve made my life better, he wanted to add. You always have. You make everyone’s life better.
“I was so scared,” he said quietly. “When I knew that madman had you. I was terrified.”
“Afraid you’d have to do your own legal research?”
“I was afraid of losing you.”
Christina looked at him, a strange but not altogether unpleasant expression on her face.
Joni cleared her throat. “Well, I don’t think I’m needed here anymore. I’ll call you in the morning, Ben. In a few weeks, we can start trying to find homes for these little guys.” She left the apartment.
“We’re going to give them away?” Ben said.
“Like you were planning to keep all seven kittens?”
“Would that be bad?”
She laughed. “No, Ben. Not if that’s what you want.”
“Christina . . .”
“Yes?”
He swallowed. “Oh, nothing.”
He wanted to kick himself. Why was he always so stupid and backward? What was it Ray had said? If I learned anything, it’s that every day is precious. Every day. You can’t waste a single minute.
“Christina,” he tried again.
“Ye-es?”
He stared down at the carpet. “This is probably a dumb idea, but you know, they’re having a new exhibition of Thomas Moran paintings out at the Gilcrease starting this weekend—”
“I know.”
“—and I wondered if you . . . might want to go.”
“You mean—with you? This would be like, like a . . .” A slow grin spread across her face. “Are you asking me out?”
He took a deep breath. Every day is precious. “Christina, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I—I—”
“Yes?”
He wiped his forehead. “You’re really important to me. Really really . . . important to me. I . . . you’re . . . very . . . important.”
Christina smiled, a smile of mercy. “Be quiet, Ben.” She turned away, returning her gaze to the contents of the cardboard box. “You need to pay more attention to what’s going on around you.”
He knitted his brow. “And that is?”
She scooped up the tiniest of the smoky-gray kittens and held it in her hands. “Life.”
Acknowledgments
Readers interested in learning more about the various food and restaurant topics discussed in this book are directed to Fast Food Nation by Eric Schlosser and Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. Both were invaluable to me in researching this book. Similarly, readers wanting to know more about the world of tournament Scrabble (and who doesn’t?) should check out Word Freak by Stefan Fatsis. Just for the record, my current Scrabble rating is 1353. My wife usually thrashes me, so some nights after the kids are in bed I’ve been known to play at play.games.com. Care to guess my login name?
Special thanks must go to my federal law expert, Arlene Joplin, and my criminal appeals and death row expert, Vicky Hildebrand, for reviewing the manuscript and advising me on many issues. Thanks to Dave Johnson for being my sure source of information on police procedure. I don’t always listen to advice, though, so if you spot anything that looks like a mistake, blame me. Or better yet, assume that like all great artistes, I took dramatic license. Thanks also to Harry for occasionally letting me use my own computer and to Alice for volunteering to help me revise the opening chapters (Maybe when you’re older, Princess). And I must thank my wife, Kirsten, editor in chief of Hawk Publishing, always my first reader and an invaluable partner.
By the way, thanks to Christina, Ben really does have a plaque with his name on it at the Polo Grill. Check it out.
Readers can E-mail me at: wb@williambernhardt.com. My official Web site address is www.williambernhardt.com.
William Bernhardt
By William Bernhardt
Primary Justice
Blind Justice
Deadly Justice
Perfect Justice
Cruel Justice
Naked Justice
Extreme Justice
Dark Justice
Silent Justice
Murder One
Criminal Intent
Death Row
The Code of Buddyhood
Double Jeopardy
Legal Briefs
The Midnight Before Christmas
Natural Suspect
Final Round
Death Row is a work of fiction. Names, places and incidents either
are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2003 by William Bernhardt
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published in the United States by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by
Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bernhardt, William, 1960–
Death row / William Bernhardt.
p. cm.
e-ISBN 0-345-46425-7
I. Title.
PS3552.E73147 D43 2003
813’.54—dc21 2002040876
v1.0