Deadly Justice

52

BEN POURED CUPS OF coffee for himself and for Christina. The Apollo legal staff meeting had already ran over an hour long and they weren’t done yet. Mercifully, Chuck had suggested a break.

Ben picked up the two hot Styrofoam cups, then winced. His hands were still raw and tender from his race through the High Course.

“Here’s the Java,” Ben said, passing Christina her cup. Because of the importance of the subject matter of the meeting, legal assistants had been invited for the first (and probably last) time.

“Thanks. How are your hands?”

“Not bad. Sore enough to give me an excuse to retire from the High Course forever.”

“Retire? Just when you were getting the hang of it?”

“Believe me, I was awful.”

“Ben, last week you couldn’t complete the High Course in full regalia. Two days ago, you completed it without any belay support. I’d call that significant progress.”

“Well, my progress was forced somewhat by the circumstances.”

She grinned. “Are these meetings always so gloomy?”

“Only when the main topic of conversation is how one member of the staff murdered another member of the staff and five other people as well.” During the past hour, the staff had been informed of the horrible secret buried inside their department. Mike was the official leader of the meeting, but Ben was filling in most of the details. Ben had tried to explain the whole plot as he now understood it—how Fielder had formed the Kindergarten Club, how he’d enlisted Hamel as secretary, and how together they had raked in the dough.

Ben noted several macho grins and sneers as he talked about teen prostitutes and kinky group orgies, but the snickers faded when he began describing the multiple strangulations and dismemberments. He told them how Fielder panicked and began killing off the girls, one after the other. How that had caused Hamel to download the address list so he could turn state’s evidence. How he’d been caught in the act by Fielder, which had caused Hamel to become Fielder’s next victim.

Christina nudged Ben’s shoulder. “Look at Shelly.” Shelly was solemn and silent, even more so than usual. “She really seems to be taking this hard.”

There may be a good reason for that, Ben thought, but he kept it to himself. “Herb seems a bit upset, too.”

“Yeah, but that’s probably because all these orgies were going on and he never got invited.”

Ben smiled, but again he could think of another possible explanation. He noticed that Herb and Candice were not seated together, and had not spoken to (or shouted at) one another since they entered the room.

Crichton was sitting at one end of the long conference table opposite Mike. Crichton appeared to be taking the news worse than anyone. Understandable, Ben thought. Not only had he lost another member of his staff; he’d been made to look a blundering fool. He was staring down at the black enamel table. His coffee cup was empty, but he hadn’t even called for Janice.

“If you don’t mind,” Mike said loudly, “I’d like to finish this up.” Mike had looked better himself. Despite everyone’s entreaties, he still hadn’t checked into the hospital. He insisted that he wanted to “put this case to bed” before he took any time off.

Everyone resumed their places around the table.

“There’s one detail we omitted,” Mike continued. “When Fielder spotted Ben on the streets searching for Trixie, he went after him. He didn’t find Ben at home, so he tore the place apart, just to send a message. Maybe he thought he might find the picture Ben and I retrieved from Hamel’s attic. I don’t know. He didn’t find anything. But of course, that’s because there wasn’t anything to find.

“As you all know,” Mike continued, “Fielder was killed in his fall. That concludes this investigation. Chief Blackwell has declared this matter closed”—he looked pointedly at Ben—“a fact that will no doubt come as a considerable relief to many of you.”

Amen to that, Ben thought.

“I have a question,” Chuck asked loudly. “I understand everything you’ve said, but what I don’t understand is who cut Mr. Crichton’s belay line? That’s the creep I’d like to take apart.”

Count on Chuck to be the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut, Ben mused. Especially when an opportunity to do some quality sucking-up presented itself. “I’d rather not go into that right now,” Mike replied.

Chuck pounded on the table. “Damn it, I want to know. If someone’s after our mentor, we need to take action.”

Ben scanned the faces around the conference table. He saw a mixed array of reactions. All of them were uncomfortable, just in different ways.

“Well, Chuck,” Ben said, spreading his arms across the table, “if you must know who cut Crichton’s belay line—I did.”

“What?” Mike almost rose out of his chair. “You cut his line?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Chuck bellowed. “You just started here. What beef could you have against Crichton?”

“I was trying to flush out the killer. Everything was too relaxed, too pat. I wanted to stir the batter up, to throw a wrench into the killer’s complacency and get himself to expose himself.”

“So you tried to kill Mr. Crichton?”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him. I was right behind him all along. The distance from the giant’s ladder to Crichton was only about five feet—an easy jump, especially since I knew what was coming. He was never in any danger.”

Mike and Chuck stared at him, mouths gaping. Ben couldn’t tell who appeared more outraged.

“That is the most lame, bullheaded, irresponsible plan I’ve ever heard,” Mike said, incredulous. “What if you had missed?”

“I didn’t.”

“You sorry sack of shit.” Chuck was on his feet now, swaggering toward Ben. “I want this prick out of here, Mr. Crichton. I want him fired.”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Crichton said, staring intently at Ben. “Does anyone else have any questions for Lieutenant Morelli?”

No one spoke. Chuck planted himself, arms folded across his chest like Mr. Clean, and glared at Ben.

“If there’s nothing else,” Crichton said, “then this staff meeting is adjourned. Mr. Kincaid, I would like to see you in my office.”

“I have to meet a friend who’s waiting for me,” Ben said, checking his watch. “I’ll drop by when it’s convenient.”

The other lawyers stared at him. He’d come see Crichton…when it was convenient? For him?

Crichton smoldered without comment. “As you wish, Mr. Kincaid. I’ll be waiting for you.”