by Allan Topol
"Yeah, but who elected Jim Slater?"
Hennessey wanted to give Ben a tongue-lashing, yet right now there was a more important matter than that. "I assume that you're ready to file against Gillis on the Winthrop murder," Hennessey said.
Without responding, Ben handed him a copy of the indictment charging Gillis with first-degree murder and seeking the death penalty.
Hennessey sat down at his desk and read it slowly. Hoping that the weakness in their case, the inability to locate Nesbitt, would be obvious from the document, Ben waited until Hennessey was finished to make one more try. "I don't think we should file it," Ben said. "If we can't produce George Nesbitt at trial, Jennifer and the press will tear us apart."
Hennessey tapped his fingers nervously on his desk. He thought once again, as he had repeatedly since Jim Slater had spoken to him during cocktails at David Kelso's house last evening, about the vacancy on the court of appeals. Slater had said that he wanted to put Hennessey's name on a short list for the appointment. "And by the way, I assume that indictment will be filed by four tomorrow afternoon." Hennessey could practically see himself in judge's black robes. He wasn't going to risk losing that prize over the Clyde Gillis case.
"That's not an option," Hennessey said flatly. He gave Ben a hard stare. "This indictment's going to be filed. I hate to put it this way, but if you can't live with that, you'll have to resign from the office. It's that simple."
From Hennessey's cold tone, Ben knew that further discussion was useless. He wasn't willing to give up his job over this issue. Even after the indictment was filed, he told himself, he could manage the case so Gillis wouldn't be railroaded. Annoyed, he watched Hennessey remove a gold-plated pen from the desk holder and add his signature above Ben's with a flourish. Even the way Hennessey signed his name annoyed Ben. Then Hennessey snatched the phone from its cradle and called Malcolm Wyatt, the chief judge on the district court.
"Malcolm," Hennessey said, "we're filing charges against Clyde Gillis for the murder of the secretary of state. In the interest of avoiding a media circus, I think this case justifies a special assignment. You wouldn't want a fiasco like the O.J. trial in your court. Would you?"
There was a long pause. Ben knew what was running through Wyatt's mind. The district court had a lottery system for assigning judges to cases, and the chief was always reluctant to depart from that procedure.
Wyatt said something Ben couldn't hear. Then Hennessey responded, "How about Judge Hogan?"
Astounded, Ben raised his eyebrows. Lucille "Hang 'Em High" Hogan was viewed as a prosecutor's dream. She was the toughest sentencer on the court. "The judge from hell," a defense lawyer had once named her. Ben had tried a score of cases before her, and he'd won all of them. He also knew, however, that in those rare instances that she thought an innocent person was being charged, she could turn into a prosecutor's nightmare.
To Ben's surprise, Hennessey must have gotten his request. The next words out of his boss's mouth were, "Will you ask Judge Hogan if she'll set arraignment at ten tomorrow morning? We want to move this case."
Hennessey coughed nervously. "Well, give it a shot."
He put the phone down, cut across his office, and dropped the indictment on Liz's desk. "File it yourself," he said to her. "Give Burton in the public affairs office a copy. He can release it to the press. Also, schedule a press conference in about an hour. I'll be down then."
He turned back to Ben. "You want to join me at the press conference?"
"That's OK," Ben said, keeping his voice neutral. "You can take full credit for this one."
The judicial express train had left the station. God help Clyde Gillis, Ben thought.
He returned to his office and was still brooding about the case an hour later when the phone rang. It was Ed Fulton.
"Now that you've filed," Fulton said. "I want to apologize for how I've been acting, and turn over a new leaf."
Ben's suspicions were immediately raised. "What prompted this, hotshot?"
"You've got a lot of experience," Fulton said, as pleasant as could be. "I want to learn from you when you get the case ready for trial. I won't get in your way. I promise."
Ben shook his head in disbelief. He couldn't figure this kid out. "And you'll stop behaving like such an asshole?"
Across the phone line, Ben heard Ed muttering with anger. "Yeah, and you'll stop calling me hotshot?"
Ben didn't really want to give that one up, but he said, "It's a deal."
"Good, then how's about coming out to the house with me for dinner tonight? My wife Theo's a great cook."
The offer surprised Ben, and he reluctantly agreed. As long as he had to work with Fulton, maybe they could find a way to be decent to each other.
"I'll swing by and pick you up at seven," Fulton said.
* * *
Ben watched Al Hennessey's press conference on the television set in his office with a sullen expression. Hennessey was smart. He was sticking to the indictment, not giving their case away. Still, he gave the impression that Clyde Gillis was guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt. Hennessey handled the questions well, making a nice appearance in his neatly pressed gray Oxxford suit. Ben had seen enough labels on Hennessey's jackets to know what he wore. None of the reporters asked about George Nesbitt, but that wouldn't last. Before long, Jennifer would be leaking to the press all of the facts about Winthrop's missing visitor. Ben would be left to pick up the pieces. If the case against Clyde Gillis went south, as Ben expected, Hennessey would be holed up in his office while Ben, in his wrinkled suit, would have to take the heat before the television cameras.
At the conclusion of the press conference, Ben called Jennifer.
"We filed," he said glumly.
"I saw the press conference," she said crisply. "Thanks for the advance notice. Were you that worried about a response by me?"
Ben sighed, wishing he could tell her it wasn't his idea. "You know how these things go."
"Only too well when you're involved."
Her dig burned him. In a flat voice he informed her, "Judge Hogan has the case."
"Don't tell me you guys let it go on the wheel and I got an unlucky draw."
Ben didn't say anything. He didn't want to lie to her.
"Thanks at least for that," she said.
"The judge wants to do arraignment tomorrow at ten. Can you be ready?"
"It doesn't take long to prepare for saying 'not guilty.' "
She was being hostile, and he didn't want that. He had called to see if she'd consider a deal. "Look, Jennifer, I think we should talk about the case."
"Why?"
"I want to talk in person. Can you come over here?"
"Nope. Neutral territory only."
"How about the Old Ebbitt Grill in thirty minutes?"
For a moment, the professional voice softened. The restaurant, the scene of their first meal together, had been a favorite meeting place of theirs for drinks after a long day. "You still a regular there?" she asked.
Ben's answer was gentler as well. "I'm not much different from the guy you used to know."
"Yeah, that's the problem. Oh, and I'll buy my own drink." She wasn't being nasty or unpleasant. It was a simple reaffirmation of a message she had delivered to him after they were a couple—we're equals, Ben; don't try to control me.
He laughed. At least that part about her hadn't changed. "Heck, you can buy mine as well."
Ben got to the restaurant before Jennifer, and he was seated in a corner booth sipping a beer when she walked in, swinging a briefcase in her hand. It had been five years since he had last seen her. As he watched her approach, he realized that she was even more strikingly beautiful than he remembered. Her facial features were perfectly sculpted. She had lost none of her grace and elegance.
A waiter rushed over. Jennifer asked him for a club soda. "I'm working tonight," she informed Ben.
"You look good," he said.
He had not intended to make this comment. It just ca
me out. She smiled, knowing it was an instinctive reaction. That pleased her.
As the waiter placed the drink in front of her, she took a sip to cover her momentary confusion. "You wanted to talk about Clyde Gillis?" she said.
To his regret, he saw the gates close. "Yeah. Listen, suppose I could eliminate the death penalty. Would you be willing to plead him to murder one?"
"Sorry, Ben. No way," she said firmly. "Clyde Gillis didn't do it."
He hesitated, thinking of another angle. "I doubt if I could ever get approval, but suppose, just suppose, we were willing to drop down to murder two?"
Jennifer kept her face deadpan, but inside she was tingling with excitement. She knew Ben so well. He was giving a lot away. The self-confident expression was a mask he put on for all meetings with defense counsel, but his words were signaling that he knew his case had serious problems. If it didn't, he would never have made the offer she had just heard. Later, when Gillis came around, they could discuss a possible deal. She was certain that anything Ben offered now would remain on the table.
A good-looking blonde dressed in a short black miniskirt and a scoop-neck blue sweater came into the restaurant and sat down at the bar. Ben followed the sway of her sensual body with his eyes. Subtly, he thought, but not subtly enough.
"You haven't changed at all," Jennifer said, startled at the sudden flash of jealousy she felt.
Ben saw it too, and he seized it as the opening he had been looking for. "You know, you never gave me a chance to explain. Would you like to know what really happened when I went to California?"
"I don't want to talk about it." She couldn't afford to be distracted. Not now. Clyde Gillis's life was on the line. "But I do have a counterproposal."
"What's that?"
She ignored his hopeful face. "We do our best to forget our past, and we behave like two professionals who have difficult jobs. We cut the sarcasm and wise-guy comments. We behave civilly to each other. How's that?"
Maybe he had been too eager to explain about California. "I think that's a great idea, as long as I get to call you Jenny again."
She smiled. "Okay, Ben, if it means that much to you."
That was progress. He could explain about California later. For now, though, he had to return to the business at hand. "Tell me what kind of deal you want."
"A dismissal."
Ben leaned back. "Are you serious?"
"I'm dead serious. I'm convinced you've got the wrong man."
He frowned. She knew he couldn't go that far. "Jenny, that's what defense lawyers always tell me about their clients. Can you give me something more to go on?"
"I think that George Nesbitt killed the secretary of state. You guys can't find Nesbitt. So you grabbed the first likely suspect."
Ben bit his lip. "Since we're now behaving like a couple of professionals, I have to tell you, not for attribution, of course, that I'm worried about everything you just said. The trouble is, I can't explain away the evidence we found in Gillis's truck."
"It could have been a plant. But in any event, you can't rely on that evidence as a trial lawyer. I doubt if you'll even be able to get it in. Fruits of a poisonous tree. You guys violated his rights before the search."
He waggled his hand, palm side down. "You might or might not keep it out. Lucille's not fond of motions like that. However, let's put that aside for now. If you really believe that Gillis didn't kill Winthrop, then who did?"
"From everything I've seen, I think that agents of a foreign government hired Nesbitt to kill him."
Ben recoiled in surprise. "You want to tell me which government?"
She was silent for a moment. "Right now I can't say any more on that subject. But I will tell you one other thing. Winthrop was a slimeball. He went to bed with everything in a skirt."
Ben smiled tightly. "And that'll be your defense? It's okay to kill philanderers?"
"Maybe."
"To me, that sounds like Ann Winthrop's line. That's not going to do you any good. But please, can't you tell me about these agents of a foreign government?"
"I'm glad I've got your interest," she said lightly. "I think I'd better wait for Judge Hogan."
Jennifer felt her old attraction to Ben returning, and she wasn't certain she liked that. It was time to go. "See you in the morning." She finished her drink, placed five dollars on the table, and got up to leave the restaurant.
Ben returned her awkward good-bye and watched Jenny walk away. God, she was much more self-confident than he remembered. As the door closed behind her, he noticed the blonde at the bar was giving him the eye. She was alone. The chair on either side of her was empty. He couldn't even remember the last time he had had sex. Between his job and trying to be a good father to Amy, there never seemed to be time for sexual relationships, not even a one-night stand. Being with Jenny had strongly reminded him of this gaping void.
There was no harm in trying. He stood up and walked toward the bar. Then he suddenly remembered he had promised to come to Fulton's house for dinner. "Theo's a great cook," Fulton had said. The guy's wife was probably slaving away in the kitchen now, to serve her lord and master.
Ben didn't want to disappoint her. Five paces before the bar, he cut a sharp right toward the door.
Gwen swung around on her bar stool and watched him walk away. As she had listened to his approaching footsteps, she knew that the fish had taken the bait. There was no hurry. He wasn't going anywhere. She was now in control. She could reel him in later.
Chapter 16
Ed Fulton was waiting for Ben when he returned to his office. "Where were you?" he asked.
Ben had been thinking about Jenny on his walk back from the restaurant, and Fulton's words hit him like a bucket of ice water.
"I didn't realize that I reported to you."
"When it comes to the Gillis case, I'm supposed to be an equal partner."
"You may not believe it, but the Gillis case isn't the only thing I'm working on." Ben caught himself and eased up. "Besides, I thought you and I were supposed to be turning over a new leaf."
Fulton remained as antagonistic as before. "We were, but you should have told me that you had a relationship with Gillis's lawyer. I shouldn't have had to hear it from Sarah Van Buren."
Ben could feel his anger rising. "I have two answers to that. The first is that it was in the past. And the second is that it's none of your fucking business."
Fulton wasn't going to let it go. "But it is my business. If you've still got a thing for her, then we've got a major problem."
"Yeah, we've got a problem, all right," Ben shot back, "because you interrogated Clyde Gillis at his house in a way that violated his constitutional rights. If the judge throws out the evidence we later got from his truck as the fruit of a poisonous tree, then our whole case goes down the drain." Ben made a sucking noise with his mouth. "Just like that."
At this thought Fulton blanched. "Judge Hogan will never do that."
"What makes you so sure? The many cases you've tried before her?"
When Fulton didn't respond, Ben pressed on. "If you're thinking that one of your buddies in the White House can put the fix in with the judge, forget it. Aides to presidents with more clout than Brewster have tried that before, and the iron lady turned them in to the disciplinary panel of the D.C. bar."
Ben thought for an instant of relating what Jenny had told him about agents of a foreign government being involved, but decided to hold it back. She might just be probing and bluffing. No point sending the hotshot into orbit unless it was absolutely necessary.
"Is she any good?" Fulton asked.
"Who?"
"Your old girlfriend."
"Look, asshole—"
"I mean, as a lawyer."
"She's damn good. Watch her. You'll round out your education. Someday when you grow up and get to court yourself, you can use her as a role model." Ben suddenly stopped and smiled disarmingly. "Look, Ed, I don't mean to be nasty. Somehow you just bring it out in me."<
br />
The ex-marine's face unclenched a notch. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have busted your chops about Jennifer Moore. Let's head out to my house for dinner."
* * *
Jennifer sat in her seat in the last row of the sold-out Dolly Madison Theatre and watched the curtain going up on the premiere of Beauty Queen of Leenane. Yet she wasn't focused on the show. She was mapping out in her mind the motions she wanted to file to strengthen her position in the Gillis case, plus the research that she and Louise, the young associate working with her, had to do. She was going to make sure she looked good in front of Ben in that courtroom tomorrow.
For Jennifer, the play couldn't end soon enough, but she refused to leave early. She had come for Ann, who was standing behind Jennifer with her back to the door, her eyes riveted on the stage. She would stay until her friend was ready to go home. Then she would return to the law firm for several more hours of work.
Mercifully, the play, performed without an intermission, was short. Jennifer jumped to her feet to join the rest of the audience in the standing ovation that was typical in Washington, regardless of how good the performance was.
"They really liked it," Jennifer said to Ann a few minutes later when they stopped at a bar next door for a glass of champagne—their traditional drink when one of Ann's shows opened.
"Linda still isn't playing the part right," Ann said with a snarl.
"She was a lot better than Saturday."
Ann pressed her lips together. "Del knew I was right. He could have shaped her up, but he didn't. He wanted to show me who's the creative boss."
"You really think that?"
"I know it." She ordered a second glass of champagne. "You, too, Jenny?"
"No. I'm okay."
"You going back to work tonight?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Some motions for Clyde Gillis's arraignment tomorrow."
"Of course. I should have remembered." She placed her hand on Jennifer's wrist. "You shouldn't have come tonight."
"I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Besides," she added wryly, "who needs sleep?"