Cruel Justice

2

“WHERE’D SHE GO?” Ben screeched.

One of the briefcase brigadiers guarding the front door offered an explanation. “She left. Got in a green convertible and drove away.”

“Drove away? You’re kidding!”

“Why would I kid? Looked like she was going somewhere in a hurry.”

Ben cast his eyes upward. “This is so like Julia. Only she could leave and forget to take her baby. I don’t believe this!”

Jones rose from his desk. “Stay calm, Boss.”

“Stay calm? How can I stay calm? I’m due in court. And my sister disappears and leaves me with this—this—” He looked down at the bundle in his arms.

Joey’s tiny blue eyes suddenly widened. After gazing up at his uncle’s face for a second or two, he began to wail.

“Omigosh.” Ben pulled the baby up to his face. “I didn’t mean anything—I mean—don’t take it personal, but I have this court date, see. …”

“He’s seven months old, Boss. I don’t think he understands about court dates.”

“Oh, jeez.” Ben swung the baby back and forth in a herky-jerky manner. The wailing attained an all-time-high decibel level. Ben awkwardly cradled Joey in his arms and tried to prop him against his chest. The bawling continued, but went into decrescendo.

“Jones, he’s crying!”

“I noticed, Boss. We all did.”

“Did I hurt his feelings somehow?”

“More likely he has a wet diaper.”

Ben held the baby out at arm’s length. “Really?”

“Or maybe he’s hungry. Beats me.”

“Well, you’re the would-be detective. Detect already.”

Jones rummaged through the red diaper bag Julia had left on the floor. “Here’s some toys. Lots, actually. Say, this is nifty stuff.”

“Jones, stop playing with the baby toys!”

“Oh, right.” He continued searching. “Several outfits of clothes.” He frowned. “And diapers. Dozens of diapers. Hmmm.”

“What do you mean, hmmm?”

“What I mean is,” Jones said slowly, “I don’t think Julia left him behind by mistake.”

“What are you saying?”

“Remember? Julia said she wanted to start that graduate program in Connecticut, but there was a problem? The problem was, she had a seven-month-old baby.” Jones clasped Ben on the shoulder. “So she left the baby with Uncle Ben.”

“With me?” Ben’s face flushed. “But—I can’t have a baby. I’m a lawyer!” He looked down at Joey. His cheeks were puffy and red and streaked with tears. “I’m sorry, little guy. If I knew why you were crying, I’d do something about it. But I don’t.” Ben looked up abruptly. “Here, Jones. Take him.”

“Me? I don’t know nothin’ ’bout holdin’ babies.”

“Well, learn. I have to get to court!”

“What am I going to do with him? This is a law office—sort of. Not a day-care center.”

Ben pressed the baby against Jones’s chest. Joey’s sporadic sobs reverted to a full-throttled wail. “You’re a resourceful guy, Jones. You’ll think of something. I’ve got to get to the courthouse before Judge Hart holds me in contempt.”

Jones cautiously took the infant into his arms. “Boy, Boss … if I do this …”

“I know. I’ll owe you.”

“You already owe me. We’re now talking about a debt the magnitude of which most men have never contemplated.”

After a five-minute sprint in the sweltering downtown heat, Ben made it to the Tulsa County Courthouse at Fifth and Denver. The courthouse elevators were the oldest and slowest in all creation, and Ben couldn’t afford to wait around, so he panted up the stairs to the sixth floor. Breathing heavily, he slid through the doors to the Honorable Sarah Hart’s courtroom, hoping he could enter unnoticed.

No such luck. “Mr. Kincaid,” the judge said, the instant he stepped through the door. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence.”

“Sorry, Judge. I was unavoidably delayed.”

Judge Hart nodded. “Creditor problems again?”

“Uh, no.” Well, not entirely, anyway. “Someone brought me a baby.”

“A baby?” Hart lowered the glasses on her nose. “Does this relate to some previously undisclosed episode in your past?”

Ben smiled. Hart could be a tough judge, but at least she had a sense of humor. “No, ma’am. It relates to the dangers of being a member of a family.”

“You’ll forgive me if I fail to follow up on this intriguing dialogue, but the assistant district attorney is anxious to continue the trial. I believe you know Mr. Bullock. So you know how insistent he can be.”

Ben glanced over at Jack Bullock, who was sitting at the prosecution table. He did indeed know Mr. Bullock. Before Ben moved to Tulsa, they both had worked at the district attorney’s office in Oklahoma City. Jack Bullock had been his boss. More than his boss, really. His mentor. His idol. His hero.

Bullock and Ben had spent a long summer working on several incredibly complicated white-collar crime cases, Bullock as lead trial counsel, Ben as lead research grunt. And Ben had loved every minute of it. Not because Bullock was such an excellent attorney, although he was, but because he believed in what he did. When you worked with Jack Bullock, you were on a holy crusade, a battle of right versus wrong. All summer long, they worked shoulder to shoulder, upholding the letter of the law, putting the bad guys behind bars. Their work—indeed, their lives—were imbued with a sense of purposefulness, of optimism, of idealism, that Ben had seldom glimpsed since.

At the time Ben had thought he’d stay at the DA’s office forever. Till unforeseen circumstances proved him wrong. Till unforeseen circumstances turned his life upside down.

Like the man said, chance makes fools of us all.

“If you’ll give me two minutes to confer with my legal assistant and client,” Ben said, “I’ll be ready to proceed, your honor.”

“Another delay, counsel?”

Ben held his thumb and finger barely apart. “Just a teensy-weensy one, Judge.”

She removed her glasses and laid them on the bench. “I really should find you in contempt and toss you in jail, but I’m so anxious to hear your examination of the next witness that I’m going to hold off. At least for the moment. You have two minutes, Mr. Kincaid. Teensy-weensy ones.”

Ben tossed his briefcase on the defendant’s table, nodded politely at Bullock, and exchanged a cursory greeting with his client, a nineteen-year-old bleached blonde named Jessie (short for Jezebel) Johnson. She had run away from home a few months before and somehow ended up in Tulsa, totally broke. According to her, she was wandering the streets a few days after she arrived, aimless and destitute, when the prosecution’s star witness approached her and suggested an interesting way she could make some fast money.

Ben scanned the courtroom for his legal assistant, Christina McCall. She wasn’t hard to find. Her vivid strawberry-blonde hair billowed out, adding several inches to her five-foot, one-inch height. But the glaring clash of unmatched colors below was the real eye-catcher. Today she was decked out in a sleeveless white blouse, a bell-shaped blue skirt with large yellow polka dots, green ankle socks, and black-and-white oxfords.

“What are you wearing?” Ben asked as he approached. This is a courtroom, not a sock hop.”

“It’s part of my new summer wardrobe.” She twirled around in a small pirouette, letting her skirt and hair swirl around her. “I told you I hit some flea markets last weekend, remember?”

“Yes. The prospect of your obtaining a new wardrobe was very exciting. Now I’m having second thoughts.”

“I’m not wearing some stuffy business suit in this heat,” Christina said emphatically. “Take me or leave me.”

While Ben considered, Judge Hart spoke up. “One minute left, Mr. Kincaid.”

“Great. Listen, Christina, have you got any ideas for my cross?”

“Of course. Am I not your faithful aide-de-camp? I stayed up all night rereading the preliminary hearing transcript, and I think I’ve detected a critical discrepancy. A major faux pas. Problem is, it involves some rather, um, outré elements. … It’s … somewhat risqué. …”

Ben’s eyes rolled at the barrage of bad French. “Christina, what are you saying?”

“You won’t be able to get near it without discussing certain delicate matters relating to human sexuality, a subject with which I know you are pitifully uncomfortable.”

“Not true.”

“Is true. I’ll never forget your expression when you were channel-surfing at my place and stumbled across the Playboy Channel. And I thought you were going to die that time we went to the zoo.”

Ben noticed the judge alternating between impatient glances at her watch and hostile glares at Ben. “No time for modesty, Christina. Tell me what you’ve got.”