Silent Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense bk-9

by William Bernhardt

  “It must be the one they used.”

  “And they must think we know that. They’re trying to suggest that the mere presence of drums on the land—to which there are probably witnesses—doesn’t prove contamination. They’re drawing the line at the point they think we can’t prove—that the drums leaked.”

  “And what does that tell you?”

  Ben placed a finger thoughtfully against his lips. “That they probably did.”

  Something about being in the presence of an ungodly attractive woman wearing a bikini put a man at an immediate disadvantage, Mike reflected, as Helen Grace stepped out of the pool, beads of water cascading down the sleek curves of her nearly naked body. Didn’t matter how tough the man was. Didn’t matter how attractive the man was. Didn’t matter who he was or what he was doing. When a woman built like that stood there in as little as the law would allow, exuding sexuality from every exposed pore, she had the upper hand. And anything else she wanted.

  Which made Mike more than a little uncomfortable. When he conducted witness examinations, he was accustomed to running the show. It wasn’t ego; it was necessity. He almost never got to talk to anyone who actually wanted to talk to him. If he wasn’t in a position to put on a little pressure, he would probably come up with a great big goose egg.

  He handed the woman a towel, careful to keep his eyes up where they belonged. “Ms. Grace?”

  “That’s me. Are you the detective?”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  She dabbed the towel against her body, drying herself. “It’s such a nice day, I thought I’d take a little swim while I waited for you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not.” And you wouldn’t mind if I took a few pictures, would you? Just to show the boys back at the office?

  “Did you have any trouble getting in?”

  “Not to speak of.” Which was a bit of an understatement. Southern Hills was one of the most exclusive country clubs in Tulsa. Visits from cops were neither frequent nor welcome. He’d had to bellow and bluster for ten minutes before he got in.

  “I’m glad. Personally, I find all the elitism and exclusivity most annoying.”

  Really. Then why did you ask me to meet you here? “Is there someplace we could talk?”

  “Sure.” She led him to a small cabana near the north end of the pool. It was air-conditioned and, as he soon saw, equipped with a television, stereo system, and a stocked bar. Well, he supposed, it was important to have a nice place to change into your swim trunks.

  She started to close the door, but he stopped her. “Leave it open a crack. If you don’t mind.”

  “I … thought you’d want some privacy.”

  “This is private enough. We’ll talk quietly.” He didn’t want to be paranoid, but with a woman like this, you couldn’t be too careful. If the interview didn’t go well, he didn’t want any wild stories starting up about what went on while the two of them were alone in the cabana. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about Harvey Pendergast.”

  “Oh. Poor Harvey.” A fraction of the strength and confidence washed out of her face. Her grief seemed genuine. “Sad enough to see him go before his time, but to go in such a hideous way …”

  “It was pretty grim. So you can see why we’re investigating every possible avenue. I don’t want his killer to strike again.”

  “Oh, my God. Do you think there’s a chance?” Her hand pressed against her very exposed cleavage. “That’s terrifying.”

  “It is. I have a friend who tells me sales of security systems in Tulsa tripled the day after the World reported that murder.” He paused, contemplating the best approach. “I’d like to ask you about your relationship with Harvey.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well, for starters—what was it?”

  “Lieutenant, let’s not play games. I was Harvey’s mistress, and apparently you know that or you wouldn’t be here. So let’s not beat around the bush.”

  Mike tried not to display his surprise visibly, but it took some doing. He was just interviewing all the people who worked in Harvey’s department; she was the fifth one he’d talked to today. He hadn’t known anything about any affair. “That suits me fine. Since you know how much I already know, I hope you’ll realize there’s no point in lying to me.” Jeez, did he have balls or what?

  “The relationship has been going on for the better part of a year.”

  “How did it start?”

  “I’m not sure I can explain it. No one was more surprised than me. Except maybe Harvey.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Why was it such a surprise?”

  She shrugged, sending provocative ripples up and down her torso. “Harvey was twenty-some years older than me. And not exactly Brad Pitt. But I’d just gone through a particularly nasty divorce. I’d had enough of hunks to last me a lifetime. Harvey wasn’t like that. He wasn’t like any man I’d ever been with before. There was something about him that seemed appealingly …”

  “Safe?”

  “That’s not it exactly. More like … sweet. Comfortable.” She took a deep breath. Mike tried to look elsewhere. “And I suppose I’d be lying if I didn’t admit I felt a little sorry for him.”

  “Sorry? Why?”

  “Don’t you know? His wife was an invalid. Had been for some time. Their current sex life was nil. Zip. Not even a BJ under the covers.”

  This was a subject he definitely did not need to be discussing with an ungodly attractive woman in a bikini. “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against Harvey? A reason to wish he … wasn’t around anymore?”

  “Enough to kill him? No way.”

  “Did he ever act … scared? Like maybe someone was out to get him?”

  “No. Never. He could be secretive at times … but not in that way.”

  “In what way?”

  She paused, reflecting. “There were times when Harvey tried to suggest … I don’t know. That he knew something I didn’t.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know exactly. But he had big plans, and he liked to gas on about them. He’d talk about how we’d leave Blaylock behind. We’d go all around the world, and he’d show me the sights. He’d talk about how someday, when we had seen the world, he and I would buy a villa in France. Or a vineyard. Sit in a deck chair and drink wine all day.”

  “Expensive plans for a midlevel employee.”

  “Which I suggested to him, on more than one occasion. But he’d just get this coy little smile on his face. He wouldn’t explain. He’d say something mysterious, like, "lsquo;You’ll see, Helen. You’ll see.’“

  “Did he think he was coming into an inheritance?”

  “Not that I knew about. And honestly, what kind of inheritance could pay for dreams like that? He’d have to be a Rockefeller. And I don’t think he was.”

  Mike had investigated Harvey’s background thoroughly. He wasn’t.

  “Was there ever any change in his demeanor? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “You know, now that I think of it, there was. It was subtle, but he started being … less carefree. More careful. That’s when he had the dead bolts put on his doors. Iron bars on his windows. A big dog in the backyard. He told me it was because of his wife, because she was at home alone and helpless so often. But … I don’t know. Something about that explanation just didn’t ring true.”

  “As it turned out, he didn’t spend nearly enough.”

  “Yeah. Sad, huh?”

  “Very. Do you recall when this … change came over him?”

  “Well, I think it was maybe six months ago. I remember it was about the time that loony broke into the law school and took hostages.”

  “Can you think of anything else that might be helpful?”

  She thought for a while before answering. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  “Mind if I ask you a question about yourself?”

  Her eyes reflexively glanced down at her own goddesslike body. “I guess that depends o
n what the question is.”

  “You worked at the corporation with Harvey, so, if you’ll forgive me, I know more or less what you make. How can you afford to be a member in this joint?”

  A wicked smile crept across her face. “Two words: divorce lawyer.” She laughed. “I just work for the hell of it. If I didn’t, my mind would turn to pudding and my body would bloat up like a balloon.”

  Unlikely, Mike thought. He handed her a card. “Thanks for talking to me. If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”

  “I will.” She paused, and the expression on her face made a decided change. “You know, Lieutenant … I’m allowed to have guests at the club.”

  “Do tell.”

  “The air is cool, the cabana is private, and the bar is well-stocked.”

  “And?”

  “And”—she twisted around slightly—”there’s a spot on my back I can’t quite reach.” She held out a towel. “Would you care to … be of service?”

  His face widened with an unrestrained grin. “I can’t tell you how tempting that is. But I gotta go with the advice my sainted mother gave me many moons ago.”

  Her lips pursed into a tiny pout. “And what would that be?”

  “If something seems too good to be true—it probably is.”

  Chapter 10

  THE LOBBY OF THE Adam’s Mark Hotel was a little more public than he wanted when he was on a mission of this sort. In his everyday life, sure, he liked people, an audience. He thrived on it. But when he was on this kind of business, he thought of himself as a man of the shadows, a dark figure creeping through alleyways, a silhouette draped in a heavy overcoat, its pockets stuffed with gizmos and gadgets to aid him in his appointed rounds.

  Like with Harvey. That had been a near-perfect operation. In and out, job done, mission accomplished. And no one the wiser.

  Not that the hotel had a bad lobby. His cushioned seat was comfortable, and the bartender kept plying him with ginger ale. (No hard stuff; not while he was working.) The only immediate drawback was the restaurant just off the west end of the lobby, an Italian place called Bravo’s, which unfortunately featured singing waiters. Every time he managed to find his quiet place, some fool in a tuxedo started belting out a tune from Cats. Really, there ought to be a law. If they could revoke a restaurant’s license for health code violations, why not for mental health violations? Like this abomination called singing waiters.

  She still hadn’t shown. He’d been waiting for the best part of an hour. Not that he had any doubts. He’d been trailing her for days. He knew she was staying here, in her little room on the seventh floor, and he knew she would be back. But there was only so long he could sit here pretending to read USA Today over and over again. The damn rag only took ten minutes to read in the first place, and that only assuming you moved your lips and subvocalized every word as you read it. He hadn’t spotted anyone who looked like a hotel detective, but eventually, even a civilian might become suspicious.

  He wasn’t sure why she was staying here, but he suspected she had read about Harvey’s demise and thought she might be safer here than at home. He didn’t know why people thought that way. The truth was just the opposite; compared to most homes, breaking into the rooms in this place was a cinch. Maybe she just thought he wouldn’t be able to trace her here, that it would be a safe hideaway until she had her ducks in a row and could leave town.

  Well, she’d been wrong about that, huh? It was always a mistake to underestimate him. Just ask Harvey.

  He was having such a good time musing to himself that he almost didn’t make her as she glided up the escalator. She was wearing a scarf around her face and had the collar of her coat turned up. Foolish girl. What did she take him for?

  He waited calmly, dropping enough money on the table to cover the tab. He kept his distance as she punched the UP button on the elevator. He stayed put as the bell rang and the doors swung open, only moving when she slipped inside the elevator. She was alone, just as he had hoped. He waited until the last possible moment, then darted between the closing doors.

  She looked up, just as the elevator doors closed behind him. One look, and she pressed herself into the corner, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Relax, Maggie,” he said, his voice calm and congenial. “I just want to talk.”

  “I’ll scream.” Her voice had an edge, but not enough to disguise the tremble. “I will.”

  “There’s no need. This is just a social call. We have some business to work out, don’t you think?”

  “I think you’re a sick maniac, and I wish I’d never met you.”

  “No doubt, but that’s all water under the bridge now, isn’t it? We did meet, long long ago. We were partners. And we have unfinished business.”

  “You’re wasting your time.”

  “Please. It’s never a waste to spend time chatting with a lovely woman like you, Margaret. You’ve always been my favorite. Did you know that?”

  She moved herself as far away from him as possible. “The only person you’ve ever cared about is yourself.” The bell rang; the elevator doors started to open. They were at the seventh floor.

  She took a cautious step. “If you try to follow me, I’ll scream.”

  He spread wide his hands. “Maggie, I assure you I have no intention of molesting you in any way.”

  She took another step forward. As soon as she was in front of him and couldn’t see him, he whipped his arms around her throat. He was holding a roll of duct tape, surreptitiously removed from his ever-bountiful coat, and before she knew what had happened he had wrapped it tightly across her mouth. She tried to scream, but the sound was muffled most effectively by the sticky and impenetrable tape. Half a second later, her hands were taped together and her arms were taped to her sides. She tried to run, but he had an elbow lock around her neck she couldn’t break. She tried to struggle, but he was a dozen, maybe a hundred times stronger. She was helpless.

  The elevator doors began to close; he punched the 7 button, reopening them. He stuck a cautious neck out the doors. The coast was clear.

  He dragged her, struggling, the short distance to her room. He dug through her purse: cosmetics, drivers license, fishing license, Kleenex—and room key.

  Once he had her inside, there was no reason to maintain the remotest pretense of gentility. He grabbed her by the hair and slung her forward. Her knees crashed into the bed and she crumpled forward. He stretched her out flat on the bedspread, then taped her legs together, eliminating her last possible means of escape. He untaped her hands and arms, then retaped them above her head to the bedpost.

  “Well, now, you’re all trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey, aren’t you?”

  Maggie squirmed from side to side, as much as she could, which wasn’t much. Her eyes filled with tears. Try as she might, she could make no noise other than the insistent spasmodic whine that barely escaped from beneath the tape.

  “You know, I hate to say it, Maggie, but Harvey was a hell of a lot braver than you are. And we’re talking about a man so cowardly he let his invalid wife front for him while he hid in the clothes closet.”

  He paused for a moment, watching her desperate writhing, the veins popping out on her neck and the sides of her skull. He was enjoying this, to tell the truth. He didn’t understand killers who just pulled the trigger, no muss, no fuss, and got it over with quick. What was the fun of it if you couldn’t savor the moment? Wring it for every possible bit of pleasure. Moments of joy like this were few and far between.

  “Of course,” he continued, “one possible reason for your heightened reaction is the fact that you already know what happened to Harvey, and you’re afraid it’s about to happen to you. Well let me attempt to put all your fears to rest. First, I have no intention of molesting you. So put those rape fantasies right out of your mind.”

  He watched as her eyes fairly bulged out of her head. He hadn’t had such fun in ages.

  “Really, Maggie, if I never showed any interes
t in you before, why on earth do you think I would now? It’s not as if I hadn’t known it was available, if I’d wanted it. God, everyone knew you were available, Maggie. Everyone. You spread "em for everyone, didn’t you? Probably even Fred.”

  A fresh trickle of sweat dripped down the side of her face. He bent over and licked it off with his tongue.

  “And let me also reassure you on another point. I didn’t bring my hammer tonight. I am not going to do to you what I did to Harvey.”

  He watched as, gradually, her fevered thrashing subsided. Her eyes returned to normal. She was still breathing heavily but her body was more relaxed than at any time since they’d come into the room.

  A brilliant, evil smile crossed his face. “I’m going to do something far worse.”

  Judge Perry’s courtroom in the federal courthouse was an expansive room with high-vaulted ceilings, shimmering white wainscoting, and fluted columns lining the walls. There were no windows (they were in the middle of the fifth floor), which contributed to the claustrophobic, walled-in feeling Ben got whenever he came here. In this cavernous courtroom, every footfall echoed with an ominous resonance. Every sound was underscored by the faint hiss of the ancient air-conditioning system, working double time to keep the room reasonably cool in the midst of an Oklahoma summer. Above the judge’s elevated perch, two bronze eagles were etched in bas-relief. A long, wooden railing separated the spectator’s gallery from the counsel tables, the jury box, the witness stand, and the judge’s bench.

  Ben hated it here. Courtrooms were always nerve-wracking, even to the best of litigators, but there was something particularly intimidating about federal court. Ben hadn’t opposed Colby’s inevitable motion to remove the case here; a redneck state court judge might’ve dismissed this case without blinking twice. But in federal court there was always a sense that the stakes were raised, that everything you did was subject to greater scrutiny. And that wasn’t entirely imaginary, either. Federal judges were notorious for holding those who practiced before them to high standards, and nowhere more so than in the Northern District of Oklahoma.