Blind Justice

22

BEN SAT IN THE conference room with Mike, Roger Stanford, and Myra. They were waiting for Abshire to appear so they could begin the discovery process.

Most people probably thought of criminal cases as being more glamorous and exciting than civil suits. Ben did not agree, and days like this reminded him why. Discovery was rarely as extensive and never as revealing in criminal cases. Of course, that heightened the drama, leaving the possibility of surprises at trial. But Ben wasn’t interested in surprises. He wanted information that would get Christina off the hook. And so far, the government had been about as cooperative as an eight-year-old at the dentist’s office.

Mike sat at the far end of the table, staring at the wall. He hadn’t said a word to Ben.

At last, Abshire rushed into the room carrying a large stack of files. “Busy, busy, busy,” he said, thunking his load onto the conference table. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you all had a nice chat.”

No one replied.

“Ready to throw in the towel yet, Kincaid?”

Ben tried not to curl his lip. “Let’s just get on with it.”

“Oooh, we’re verrrrry touchy today.” He opened the top file folder. “Let’s see…the defendant has moved for the production of all exculpatory evidence in the possession of the government, both state and federal levels. Unfortunately, I don’t believe we have any exculpatory evidence, do we, gentlemen?”

Stanford seemed embarrassed. Mike didn’t even grunt.

Ben, however, exploded. “Goddamn it, Abshire, I’m sick and tired of your withholding evidence. I’m calling the judge.”

“Feel free.”

Stanford pushed his half glasses up his nose. “Perhaps we could be more helpful if you would ask specific questions, Mr. Kincaid.”

“All right. I’ll give it a try.” Ben tried to read the notes he had scrawled that morning at breakfast. Unfortunately, there was a large chocolate-milk stain obscuring the top of the page. “What were the results of the blood test you performed on Christina?”

“We didn’t do a blood test,” Abshire said calmly.

Ben’s eyes expanded to saucer-size. “You didn’t—I specifically requested a blood test. In your presence.”

“I don’t feel obligated to do the opposition’s work for them. You should have done it yourself.”

“She was in custody!”

“You could have tested her when she was released.”

“I did. It was too late. The results were inconclusive.”

“Did it ever occur to you that might be because your client is guilty?”

Ben sprang out of his chair. “You son of a—” He gripped the edge of the table. “I’ll take this up with the judge.”

Abshire appeared indifferent. “Cards-on-the-table time? I don’t care what you take up with the judge. He hasn’t ruled in your favor yet, and he’s hardly likely to start doing so now.”

True enough, Ben thought, but he’d be damned if that would stop him from trying. “What about the time of death?”

“What about it?”

“When last I was permitted to discuss these matters, I was told Koregai was having trouble establishing the time of death. Koregai’s too smart to have trouble with a fundamental like that, unless there’s some unusual factor involved.”

“The coroner has had trouble establishing a definite time of death. He says there’s conflicting evidence. But none of it is exculpatory.”

“Says you. Can I talk with Koregai? Alone?”

“Can I talk to your client? Alone?”

“Only if you can get the Fifth Amendment repealed.”

Abshire folded his arms. “Then you’ll see Dr. Koregai in my presence. If he isn’t busy.”

Ben had to keep reminding himself that an assault charge against Christina’s attorney would not help her case. “Did you conduct a paraffin test?”

“Uh…yeah, we may have done that.”

“And the results?”

“Were not necessarily exculpatory.”

Stanford looked at his protégé sternly. “Tell him.”

Abshire’s face tightened. “But it’s not exculpatory,” he hissed.

“I believe I am still your supervisor, Agent Abshire,” Stanford said. “Tell him.”

“We did the test,” he said bitterly, like a child forced to share his candy. “She was clean.” He withdrew a file folder from his stack, then tossed it across the table to Ben.

Ben scanned the report. He knew from his days at the D.A.’s office that the discharge of a firearm automatically released gas and powder residue, including suspended nitrate particles, and that the particles would adhere to any skin touching the gun when fired. As best he could tell, the test had been performed properly—swabs moistened with dilute nitric acid, followed by neutron activation analysis. And they found no nitrate particles on Christina’s hands.

“This is great.” Ben shot Abshire a pointed look. “And you were of the opinion that this wasn’t exculpatory?”

“We’re required to produce exculpatory evidence. The absence of evidence is by definition not evidence.”

“So you weren’t going to produce this? Even though it proves Christina isn’t the killer?”

“I hardly agree,” Abshire said, snatching back the report. “Have you never heard of gloves?”

“I’ve heard of them. Did you find any?”

“Yes. We found three pair.”

“Where?”

“In Lombardi’s bedroom closet.”

“In his closet? What are you saying? That she killed him, then folded the gloves neatly and put them away in the closet?”

“That’s what I’d do,” Abshire replied.

Ben’s teeth ached from the pressure. Abshire obviously didn’t give a damn about evidence. He had a thirst for conviction that was unquenchable. Ben glanced at Mike, but he was still staring at the wall.

“Talked to any witnesses?” Ben asked.

“Scads.”

“Did you learn anything exculpatory?”

“Not by my definition. On the contrary, I think everyone I’ve spoken to is convinced your client offed Lombard.”

“Then what else have you got for me?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Ben put his notes back in his briefcase. “This is just as well, Abshire. It removes some confusion I was having. For a second, I thought I saw a glimmer of decency in you. Now I realize it must have been a trick of the light.”

Stanford turned away and covered his mouth. Even Myra appeared to be suppressing a smile. And Mike—did he look up? Ben couldn’t be sure.

“I’m moving to suppress your testimony at trial, Abshire,” Ben added. “You’re a hopelessly biased witness.”

“You certainly are planning a lot of motions. I guess that’s based on your record of success with the judge.”

Bastard. “If you come up with anything new, I expect to be informed.”

“Of course,” Abshire said, grinning. “If it’s exculpatory.”

Ben hesitated beside his chair. He wanted to give Mike one last chance to say he wasn’t in on this railroad, that he was appalled by Abshire and the way he and Moltke were handling this case.

Or just one last chance to acknowledge that he was listening.

But Mike didn’t move a muscle.