Primary Justice

18

BEN ARRIVED AT THE office early, carrying the script for Derek’s opening argument before Old Stone Face. Maggie told him Derek hadn’t come in and hadn’t called, so Ben went to his own office.

He found Mike Morelli sitting in one of the corduroy chairs, puffing his pipe.

“Morning, shamus,” Ben said. “What’s the good word?”

“Shamus?” Mike winced. “You’ve got to stop watching so much television.”

Ben hung his suit coat on the hook behind the door and sat down at his desk. “Give me a break. It’s too early in the morning to take any grief from you. At least I didn’t call you a dick.”

“I’ve got some preliminary reports,” Mike said, ignoring him. “I thought you might be interested.”

“You were right. Shoot.”

“Dr. Koregai thinks he’s determined the cause of death. Adams died from cardiac shock and blood loss induced by rapid-succession knife wounds—”

“No kidding,” Ben interrupted. “How much do you pay this guy?”

“—received by the victim after imbibing a considerable quantity of alcohol.”

“Really?” Ben said. At the Red Parrot? he wondered.

“You’re missing the main point here, Kincaid,” Mike said, fumbling in his coat pocket for a pipe-bowl stamper. “Death was induced by the first two or three knife wounds. This confirms the hypothesis Dr. Koregai made at the autopsy based on the low incidence of bruising. The body was mutilated after death.”

Ben let the words sink in. He suddenly felt weighted, immobile. What were they tracking?

“I haven’t even told you the best part. This is where Dr. Koregai really earns his salary. He found a fingerprint.”

“The coroner found a fingerprint?”

“Yep. Noticed Adams’s wristwatch was smudged. Called Pulaski, my best duster. Sure enough, a beautiful, unsmeared right thumbprint on the watch crystal.” He pulled a police print sheet from his coat pocket. “Based on the unusual position and freshness of the print, our guys think it’s almost certainly the killer. Probably happened during the struggle.”

“That’s great. Have you run the print through the AFIS computer?”

“Of course,” Mike growled. He placed his pipe between his lips and stared at the print sheet for a moment. “We don’t have the killer’s thumb on file. Which tells us that he’s never committed a felony, served in the military, or worked for the government. The other quarter of a million people in Tulsa are still suspects.”

“Rotten luck,” Ben murmured.

“Not really. At least now when we do catch the killer, we’ll have a positive means of ID.”

Ben pulled a legal pad from his desk drawer and made a few notes. “What about hair and fiber analysis?” he asked. “Your guys ever find anything?”

“Not much,” Mike said, relighting his pipe.

“How can you inhale that disgusting crap at seven-thirty in the morning?”

“Breakfast,” Mike mumbled. He puffed several times, then released the smoke. “The hair and fiber guys analyzed everything they could find on Adams. Most of it matches Adams or his clothes or his house or the kid or his wife, but not everything. Two straight black hairs didn’t match up. Definitely human. Definitely male.”

“Might be the assailant.”

“Might not.”

“Right,” Ben said, nodding. He made another note. “Very helpful. What about fibers?”

“A few, all very common. Everything we can positively identify can be traced to Adams’s house or his car or his office.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. We got served a subpoena on the phone company for the MUDs for Adams’s home and office phones. They tell us it will take them a few days to put it all together. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

Mike took another hearty drag on the pipe. “Oh. I almost forgot. We think we’ve got a blood sample. Found some blood on Adams’s left hand that didn’t come from him. Maybe Adams managed to cut his assailant before he got shish-kebabed. It would be nice to think so.” He removed a crumpled lab report from his coat pocket and handed it to Ben.

Ben took the sheet of paper and scanned it, trying to remember what little he had learned at the D.A.’s office about blood analysis.

Adams

Unknown

Rhesus Pos

Rhesus Pos

ABO A

O

AK 2-1 (7.6%)

I (92.3%)

PGM 1+ (40%)

2+, 1-(4.8%)

Ben made a few notes on his legal pad. “Is the unknown a secretor?”

Mike raised his eyebrows. “I’m impressed. Maybe you did learn a thing or two in OKC. Yeah, he’s a secretor, not that that gets us far in this kind of case. We’re not likely to stumble across any sperm samples.”

“Still,” Ben said, “a blood match gives you a second means of positively IDing the killer.”

Mike nodded. “Once we find him. But enough about me. What have you been up to, Ben?”

“Nothing very productive. Why?”

“Funny thing. A burglary occurred two nights ago at the Sanguine offices. Someone got in—we don’t know how. There’s no sign of forced entry. Burglar escaped through a second-story window. Damn near got caught.”

Ben stared intently at his legal pad. “Did they take anything?”

“Why do you say they? I just mentioned a burglar.” Mike smiled. “Nothing taken that we know of. That makes it even stranger. You don’t know anything about this, do you?”

Ben spoke nonchalantly. “Of course not. How could I?”

“I had to ask. Matter of procedure.” He removed the pipe from his lips and stared at it. “Frankly, if it had been you, I wouldn’t want to know, because then I’d have to ask if you found anything, and if you did I’d have to ask what. I’d be exposed to illegally obtained evidence, and some jerk lawyer would make a fruit-of-the-poisonous-tree argument and I’d never get a conviction in this case. True, the police didn’t break into the office building, but some shyster might suggest that I urged my brother-in-law to do this dastardly deed.”

Message received and understood, Ben thought. “Ex-brother-in-law,” he said.

“Right.”

“Anything else?” Ben asked.

“Nope. Just keep me posted, and I’ll do likewise. I’m going to send some more men with Adams’s picture around the neighborhood where we found the body. See if anyone recognizes him.”

“You mean anyone in that neighborhood who will talk to the boys in blue. Lotsa luck.”

“Yeah, exactly. Well, I’ll see you around.” He started out the door. Ben followed him.

“You have a message,” Maggie said as Ben stepped out of his office. “Mr. Derek called in twenty minutes ago. He says he’ll meet you at the courthouse.”

“Twenty minutes ago? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Maggie fluttered her eyelids. “You were in conference.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Great. See you around, Mike.” He dashed back into his office, grabbed his suit coat and script, and ran for the elevator.