Extreme Justice

Chapter 21

ALTHOUGH BEN HAD nothing but admiration for Jones and Loving’s South Side digs, he was reminded of the advantages of his former low-rent downtown office as soon as he got into his van. The old place may have been seedy and cheap and surrounded by pawnshops and bail bondsmen, but it was close to the courthouses, close to the city offices, and close to the central police headquarters. Even valet parking couldn’t make him overlook the twenty minutes along Riverside Drive it took to get downtown.

After he parked in the underground garage, he hopped up the stairs to the plaza level. On his way to police headquarters, he passed by the county courthouse. Once he’d been there on an almost daily basis, but this was the first he’d seen the building in six months. Walking by, he was flooded with a host of memories, some cherished, some not. This was the scene of so many professional triumphs. And disasters.

He recalled his first visit ever, pleading a hopeless adoption suit. What a wreck he’d been that day. He’d never become any kind of courtroom master, but he had at least learned when to stand up, when to sit down, when to speak, and when to shut up.

One memory sparked another. He remembered urging summary judgment for the now-defunct Apollo Consortium, remembered pleading for the life of a mentally challenged defendant. And perhaps his greatest professional triumph, defending Christina when she was charged with murder. The day he got those charges dismissed was a day he was proud to be a lawyer. Even in his darkest moments, when trials degenerated, his personal life crashed, or he was forced to endure an idiotic lawyer joke for the five millionth time, he could flash back to that case and immediately know why he was doing what he was doing.

Until the Wallace Barrett case. After that wrapped up, it was as if everything he knew, or thought he knew, had been erased, invalidated. He learned he couldn’t single-handedly ensure that justice was done; he’d learned that beyond a shadow of a doubt. Suddenly he didn’t know why he was a lawyer. Worse, he didn’t want to be a lawyer. Despite the pleading and cajoling from Christina and Jones and Loving, he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t know what the point was, what he was hoping to accomplish.

Except … here he was again, back on a case. But he still didn’t have answers to the questions that had plagued him for the last six months. He had come back to work because a friend needed help and had few options. He couldn’t let Earl down.

He rode the elevator up to the third floor of the city offices and made his way to police headquarters. The officer at the front desk recognized him. He glowered, but waved Ben through. Guess he doesn’t like my tie, Ben mused.

He wound his way through the partitions until he found a closed wooden door bearing a nameplate: MICHAELANGELO J. MORELLI, HOMICIDE.

Ben cracked open the door and stuck his head through. “Is it soup yet?”

Fortunately, Mike was alone. He looked up, then glanced at the digital clock on his desk. “Yes!”

Ben stepped inside. “Bad time?”

“No, perfect. And with mere seconds to spare.”

Ben looked at his watch. It was two minutes till noon. “I don’t follow.”

“I made a bet with Harry, the guy at the front desk. Twenty bucks that Kincaid would be in my office before noon.”

“That explains his frown. Am I so predictable?”

“In a word, yes. Have a seat.”

Ben took one of the chairs opposite Mike’s desk. “I came to discuss Earl. What do you have?”

Mike stroked his chin. “Excuse me, counselor, but I think we’ve had the conversation where I explain that I work for the prosecutor and you work for the defendant. Which means we don’t work together.”

“I agree.”

Mike’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“I agree we’ve had the conversation before.”

Mike grinned. “I think you know everything we know.”

“I’d like to be sure. Can I see your files?”

“Ben—”

“You know you have an obligation to produce exculpatory evidence.”

“To a defendant, yes. But your client has not been charged. Ergo, he is not a defendant.”

“Don’t play Speedy Trial semantics with me.”

Mike folded his hands. “I repeat: you already know all we know. He committed a murder just like it over twenty-two years ago.”

“He didn’t commit that murder.”

“He sure as hell pled guilty.”

“He didn’t want to play craps with the electric chair.”

“Is that what he told you?” Mike shook his head. “Man, you’ve swallowed some pathetic hard-luck stories before, but this takes the cake. Wise up, Ben. People don’t plead guilty to crimes they didn’t commit. No one’s that scared.”

“When you’re poor, black, undereducated, and probably depressed—”

“Ben, stop already. The man pled guilty!”

“He was told—”

“And I have personally spoken to the detective who handled that case. He’s retired now, but he assured me he had no doubt whatsoever of Earl’s guilt.”

“Even if he did commit a similar crime in the past—”

“Similar in gruesomeness,” Mike interjected. “Similar in a detail that most people couldn’t duplicate even if they wanted to. Plus, the corpse was found in his place of business, in a restricted area to which he had access. Plus, the victim was a woman with whom he had been romantically linked.”

“That’s all circumstantial—”

“I have eye- and ear witnesses, people who were at the club, who tell me Earl was acting strangely all night. Anxious, disturbed.”

“That’s easily explained. He was expecting Lily to show up and she never did.”

“Or he had just killed her. How about that for distress?”

Ben rubbed his hands together. If he didn’t do a better job of rebutting evidence at trial, Earl was sunk. “That still doesn’t prove—”

“And I have several other witnesses—patrons—who will testify that, just before you moved the stage light and brought the body cascading down on top of you, Earl was shouting from the wings for you to leave it alone. True?”

Ben stopped short. He had forgotten about that until now. At the time, it hadn’t meant much. But in retrospect… it didn’t look good.

Mike leaned back. “Thought so.” He folded his arms across his chest. “What d’ya think about my case now?”

“Earl just didn’t want me messing with his stage light.”

“Uh-huh.”

“There was a big crowd. He wanted me to get on with the show.”

“Right.”

“All these things can be explained.”

“Excuses can be contrived. But convincingly explained? Nah. Face it, Ben. He did it.”

“Then why haven’t you charged him?”

“Let’s just say that there’s the tiny matter of Tyrone Jackson to work around. But don’t worry. We will.”

“Are you saying his testimony isn’t credible?”

Mike poked around the myriad half-tumbled stacks on his desk till he found the file he wanted. He tossed it across his desk so Ben could see it. “This is what I’ve found out already about Mr. Jackson. It explains why he was so reluctant to talk to me.”

Ben didn’t have to look. “Two outstanding warrants.”

“Right. One related to that gang shooting of Officer Torres a year and a half ago. The other was a street con.”

“I’ve talked to him about the shooting,” Ben said. “He assured me he wasn’t involved.”

“Which in fact, I believe,” Mike said. “That’s why I haven’t pressed harder on that warrant. We’ve already convicted the main players in that tragedy. And I can’t get too worked up about the scam Jackson ran on one of the most notorious pimps working Eleventh Street, either. But these matters do call into question his credibility.”

“You mean you’re going to use them to question his credibility.”

“I’m not doing anything with them. That’s for you lawyers to work out. I’m not making any underhanded deals, either, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I knew you wouldn’t,” Ben said. “But what about the prosecutor? Bullock will do anything to get a conviction.” An unkind remark to make about one’s mentor, but true, just the same.

“Bullock was suspended after the Barrett case concluded. He hasn’t actually tried a case for six months. I don’t know if he ever will.”

“Still—”

“Ben, your client has a criminal past. That’s going to call into doubt the veracity of anything he says.”

“I saw the rug man, too.”

“I know you did. And we’re reinterviewing all the potential witnesses in an attempt to track that man down. But the fact that someone else was there, even in a disguise, doesn’t automatically make him a murderer. Why would someone come to the club in a disguise just to drop a body off? No, Earl Bonner is a far more likely suspect. And if it wasn’t him, the second most likely suspect would be someone else who worked at the club.”

That got Ben’s attention. “Someone else?”

“Yeah. Someone else who would have a reason to be there. And therefore might have a reason to kill someone there or bring the corpse there. Someone who would have easy access to the stage.”

Ben’s brain started racing. “Like who?”

“How should I know? The crew, the guys in the band. You.”

Ben thought back to the night of the abortive anniversary show. The barmaids would have no reason to go onstage where the body was found, and neither would the bouncer or the cashier. Even with the curtains closed, if any of them had moved toward the stage, someone would surely have noticed. But no one would have thought anything of seeing a member of the band up there. In fact, they could have carried large bundles without inviting the least bit of suspicion.

“Maybe I should get a lawyer myself.”

“Relax, shyster. Uncle Earl did it.”

Ben sighed. “Will you call me before you have Earl arrested so I can avoid some awful traumatic scene?”

Mike looked away. “Notifying defense counsel of a pending arrest would of course violate departmental policy. You might decide to do an Al Cowlings down the Cimarron Turnpike.”

“So will you do it?”

“No.”

Ben turned away.

“But I have been meaning to call you to see if you have any updated snaps of that nephew of yours. I like to keep tabs on that rascal. So I might do that. Capisce?”

Ben understood. When Mike phoned about baby photos, it was time for Earl to pack his toothbrush.

Ben rose to his feet. “I’ll check by later to see if the lab reports are in.”

“As you wish.” Mike returned his attention to the stacks on his desk.

Ben stopped at the door. “You’re a good friend, Mike.”

Mike’s eyes rose up from his desk. “You’re a good lawyer, Ben.”