Blind Justice

8

IT TOOK BEN OVER half an hour to return to his office. Most of Tulsa’s law firms, courthouses, government facilities, and business offices were in the central downtown area. The outer border of downtown was First Street, and north of First Street, there was nothing. Nothing reputable, anyway. Bars, junkyards, strip joints. And Ben’s office. Conveniently wedged between Ernie’s Pool Hall and the B & J Pawn Shop, Ben’s office was still within walking distance of the courthouses. It was just in a neighborhood through which no rational person would ever walk.

When Ben finally made it to his office, he found the front doors and windows splattered with dried egg yolks. Enough is enough, he swore silently. First T.P.’d, now egged. It was like high school all over again. He was going to have to put an end to this.

Jones was sitting at his card table in the small front lobby.

“I see you haven’t gotten rid of the chickens yet,” Ben noted. They seemed to be in constant motion, skittering frenetically from one side of the lobby to the other.

“What did you expect me to do?” Jones asked. “Sell them to the Colonel?”

“Not a bad idea, actually. I thought they were only supposed to run around like this when their heads were cut off.”

Jones smiled. “I can tell you’re a city boy.”

“Yeah. Hey, guess what?”

“You’re representing Christina on that murder rap.”

Spoil sport. “How did you know?”

“My friend Didi called. You know, the court clerk. Must’ve gotten your name and phone number off your entry of appearance. Your client’s preliminary hearing has been set for Friday.”

“Friday? Why not sooner?”

“Didi was a little vague on that. Perhaps the magistrate has other plans.”

“That’s unacceptable. The magistrate has already denied bail. Draft an emergency appeal to the district court, Jones, pending the preliminary hearing. I don’t want Christina spending any longer than necessary with the hookers and drug addicts.”

“Derek won’t like it.”

“All the more reason. Call the U.S. Attorney’s Office and get them to consent to the motion. Christina was arrested without a warrant. Under the Riverside County case, if the preliminary hearing isn’t held within forty-eight hours, the burden shifts to the government to prove the delay wasn’t unreasonable. Moltke won’t want to risk having his case dismissed on a due process violation. Tell him I won’t challenge the preliminary hearing date if he won’t oppose an emergency bail appeal. He’ll play along. Then Derek won’t have any choice.”

Jones searched the file cabinet beneath his table. “Application for emergency appeal,” he repeated. “Do we have a form for that?”

Ben removed the proper file folder. “Just fill in the blanks. I’ll review it later and make any necessary changes or additions. I want me hearing tomorrow morning.”

Jones scribbled a note on his desk calendar. “Got it.”

“While you’re at it, Jones, see if you can work up a motion to dismiss for lack of subject matter jurisdiction. Find out whatever you can about this new death penalty statute. Let’s see if we can get this case transferred somewhere else—state court, tribal court, the moon—just so it’s away from Derek.”

“Boss…do you think this is wise?”

“What? Bringing a motion to dismiss?”

“No. Representing Christina.”

“Why does everyone in town think I’m such an incompetent attorney?”

“It’s not that. It’s just…well, I don’t want to be indiscreet.…”

“She let me stay at her apartment for a short period after I got fired at Raven, till I got back on my feet.” Ben placed one hand on his hip. “There was nothing romantic about it. We’re just good friends. Totally platonic.”

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Boss.”

“Besides, this has nothing to do with personal feelings. This is a murder case, pure and simple. I can be perfectly objective about this.”

“If you say so.”

“You don’t seem convinced.”

Jones pressed his hand against his chest. “Who cares what I think? I am but a secretary, a vassal, a servant. You’re the boss, Boss.”

“Hmmph.”

“By the by, I read the article in the World. The feds think they have her dead to rights.”

Ben nodded. “They’re like a terrier with a bone—once they bite into someone, they never let go. If I’m going to convince anybody that Christina didn’t kill Lombardi, I’m going to have to be able to tell them who did.”

“Good luck.”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” He opened his briefcase and tore off a sheet of legal paper. “I have the names of three people other than Christina who were at Lombardi’s apartment last night.”

“All right!” Jones said, snatching the paper. “Suspects! You want me to investigate these guys?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “No, I definitely do not want you to investigate these guys.”

“Where did you get these names, anyway?”

“From the security guard at the lodge where Lombardi lived.”

“You went to the scene of the crime!”

“So to speak.”

“Without me?”

“Of course I went without you. You’re a secretary, remember? A vassal, a servant. Not Paul Drake. Not Magnum, P.I.”

“I’ve been wanting to expand my horizons,” Jones said, gazing at the list. “Albert DeCarlo! This is the big time.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“You really think one of these guys is the murderer?”

“Assuming the guard is telling the truth, it has to be one of them.”

“And assuming it wasn’t Christina,” Jones added.

Ben looked at him stiffly. “That’s my job. Anyway, if you’ll stop drooling over the list of suspects, I’ll tell you what else I need.”

Properly scolded, Jones put the paper down on his table. “Shoot.”

“I want you to get me appointments to see these three people, sometime in the next day or two. Before the preliminary hearing, if possible.”

“You want an appointment with Albert DeCarlo? Before Friday? How am I going to get you an appointment with the Don Corleone of eastern Oklahoma?”

“You’ll think of something. Try to line up Quinn Reynolds first. There’s no reason why he should deny an appointment to a fellow member of the bar.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Also, I want you to drive over to Christina’s apartment and get her a change of clothes, a toothbrush, and assorted other necessaries.”

“You got a key? From your totally platonic temporary residence there?”

Ben reached inside his jacket pocket and passed Jones the key.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Ben said, scanning the lobby. “Do something with these chickens,” He snapped his briefcase closed and headed out the door.