"Capitol offence" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bernhardt William)

1

Ben Kincaid thumbed through the case file, wondering what he had gotten himself into this time. As if he were not busy enough already. Just back from Washington, a much-delayed honeymoon waiting in the wings, a senatorial campaign to plan. And yet here he was, tackling a small-time criminal case. Was this really how he wanted to spend the two months the Senate was in recess? But when Marty from Legal Services called, he found himself unable to say no. As usual. He knew there were people who couldn't afford attorneys who seriously needed them, and he had often spoken of the importance of lawyers finding time in their busy schedules to help others. Time to put your money where your mouth is, right, Senator?

He stared through the acrylic separator at his new client, one Anson Thorpe III. He was a lean man, mid-twenties, scruffy beard and moustache. He did not look great, but the orange coveralls of the Tulsa County Jail rarely improved anyone's appearance.

"So, um, if I understand this correctly," Ben said, "the only things you stole were dolls?"

"Not dolls. Action figures."

"Okay…"

"Do you have any idea how much these action figures are worth?"

"I understand some are collector's items."

"And some are beyond collector's items. This was the classic run of Mego Super-Friends figures. Still the standard-bearer for the entire field."

"So… they're particularly attractive action figures?"

"Actually, they make the entire Justice League look like trolls. But they were the first."

"And they're valuable?"

"If they're in good condition."

Ben tapped his pencil against his lips. "So I'm going to assume the ones you, um, borrowed-"

"Rescued."

"Rescued from the store…" He checked his file. "Starbase 21, right? They must've been in very good condition."

Anson's eyes widened. "They were still in their original packaging. That makes them most desirable. So few understand."

Ben's brow creased. "What's the point of having a doll if you don't take it out of the packaging?"

"It is not a doll!"

"It's not anything if you can't take it out of the box."

"These are not mere toys. These are popular-culture icons. Artifacts of our time."

"Uh-huh."

"I have over two hundred action figures."

"All still wrapped in plastic?"

"Of course."

Ben's eyes rolled skyward. "And they call me a nerd."

"If you take them out and play with them, their value diminishes dramatically. Practically worthless."

Ben glanced at his watch. Marty so owed him one. Possibly three. "You decided to take the action figures for yourself?"

"Those barbarians were going to open the packaging!"

"They deserved to die."

Anson leapt to his feet. "Yes!"

"I was being sarcastic."

"I-" Anson deflated like a leaky balloon. "Oh."

Ben rifled through his papers. "You used a paint can to break the window."

"Had to get in somehow."

"Red paint splattered everywhere."

"But I got in."

"And you took the-action figures."

"Allegedly."

"And you went home."

"I definitely went home."

"Then the police showed up at your door…"

Anson folded his arms across his chest. "Outrageous. Total invasion of privacy."

"… asking for the action figures…"

"I had to go to the door in my pajamas!"

"… because they followed a trail of red footprints to your front door."

Anson looked down at his hands. "Yeah… that wasn't so good."

Ben stared at him. "Did you fall asleep during crime school or what?"

"I had a lot on my mind."

"You've got a lot more now. Burglary, theft, and criminal mischief, to be specific."

"My cellmate says you're a really good lawyer."

"You don't need a good lawyer. You need a change of profession. And some kind of twelve-step program for people addicted to action figures."

"He said you could get me off."

Ben closed the file. "I couldn't get you off if your mother was the judge. The state is offering you six months if you return the figures. Take the offer."

Anson looked at the wall, sulking. "Any more brilliant advice?"

Ben grabbed his coat and headed toward the door. "Yeah. You're really too old to be playing with dolls."

Jones paced a circular path around Christina and Loving. "So, are we all together on this?"

"Comme ci, comme ca," Christina said. "We're together in the sense that I'm perfectly willing to listen to you try to convince Ben." It was not a court day, as evidenced by her attire: a sporty white sailor suit, complete with blue kerchief, short skirt, and blue-brimmed sailor cap.

"Me too," Loving said, with his usual easygoing grin.

"But will you support me, Christina? You're Ben's wife. He listens to you."

"Yes," Christina said wearily. "He listens. And then he goes right on doing whatever it is he wants to do. As far as influence goes-well, I can't allow myself to believe that even for a moment. La grande illusion."

"Oh, come on now," Jones said. "We all know wives have ways of persuading their spouses. Ways of… withholding favors."

"Do you know how long it took that man to propose?" Christina brushed her long strawberry-blond curls behind her shoulders. "I'm not withholding anything."

"Maybe you should!"

"I dunno about that, Jones," Loving said, "but I think this gives me a lotta insight into your relationship with Paula."

"Oh, ha ha."

"I wondered how she managed to score that big rock on her ring finger. Now I think I know."

"I gave that to her because I love her!"

"Or hoped to."

Jones leaned right into Loving's face. The office investigator was twice as wide and almost a foot taller than the office manager, but that didn't intimidate him. "Now you listen to me, you big… galoot!"

"Who's a galoot?"

"You're a galoot!"

"Do you even know what a galoot is?"

"Well… not exactly. But I know you are one!"

Christina eased herself between them. "Would you two stop acting like third graders? You work for an important attorney and U.S. senator, for Pete's sake. Show a little je ne sais quoi." She paused. "Besides, the client might hear."

"I don't care if-" Jones stopped short when he heard the jangling bell that told him someone had opened the front door to the seventh-floor offices of Kincaid amp; McCall. Jones waited a good three seconds until their titular boss reached them.

"No more pro bono cases!" Ben said, flinging his briefcase on Jones's reception desk.

"Ben!" Christina replied. "You've always said it was a lawyer's duty to help those in need."

"I've had a change of heart," Ben groused. "I draw the line at morons who leave the police a map to follow." He did a double take. "What are you wearing?"

She did a little pirouette. "Just a little something I picked up. Do you think I look sexy?"

"I think you look like Donald Duck."

Loving cut in, presumably to prevent an incident requiring medical attention. "So, Skipper, are you sayin' you're too important for cases like that one?"

"I think everyone's too important for cases like that one. I'm going to call Marty and tell him to take me off the referral list."

Christina gently laid a finger on his cheek. "Now, Ben. Isn't that a bit drastic?"

"Do you have any idea how much stuff I have to do right now?"

"Probably better than you, since I look at your calendar occasionally. But you have an obligation to others, don't you?"

"Well, of course, but-"

"Haven't you talked about the importance of reaching out a helping hand?"

"Well, yes, but-"

She ran her fingers through his hair and talked in baby talk. "You don't want to become an old sourpuss, do you?"

He frowned. "All right. I won't call Marty."

"Thank you, snookums."

"And thank you," Jones muttered, "for demonstrating how he never listens and you have no influence over him."

Ben's brow creased. "Why are you three standing around? Don't you have work to do?"

Jones stood at attention. "I have something I want to discuss with you, Ben. We all do, that is."

"I don't like the sound of this already."

"I'll cut straight to the chase. We want you to go back on the billable hour."

"No."

"Ben, everyone does it."

"My mother used to say, if everyone jumped off a cliff-"

"Oh, spare me the homilies and look at it from the standpoint of your office manager. You're a U.S. senator. You've defended cases that received national attention. And we still barely make ends meet!"

"The billable hour is the worst thing that ever happened to the legal profession. All it does is stir up a lot of dissatisfaction and suspicion. And it destroys lawyers' lives. Leaves them no time for pro bono work or mentoring. Drives women out of the profession. Justice Breyer wrote, and I quote, 'The profession's obsession with billable hours is like drinking water from a fire hose. The result is that many lawyers are starting to drown.'"

"Excuse me, did I ask for a Ben rant? I'm just trying to put a little change in the Christmas fund."

"Lawyers got along fine without the billable hour until the nineteen-fifties. They will again. Many corporations are refusing to pay them, demanding flat fees. Consequently, the smart up-and-coming firms are giving them what they want and stealing business from the old guard. Pretty soon-"

"We'll all live in Cloud-Cuckoo-Land and eat bonbons all day! Honestly, Ben, when are you going to get a clue?"

Ben assaulted Jones with his deadliest weapon, the raised eyebrow. "I think the firm is doing just fine. We charge a fair fee without milking clients with billable hour charts. We make ourselves affordable to those who need help."

"Oh, I give up!" Jones said, throwing his arms into the air. He marched back to his desk, the usual exasperated expression on his face.

Ben stared at his wake. "He seems upset."

"Yeah," Loving agreed, "but he's happier that way."

"Think I've heard the last of this?"

"Sure. Till tomorrow."

"Ben," Christina said, tapping him on the shoulder, "Harvey wants to talk to you about the campaign."

"Ugh. Can't I just be a lawyer for a little while?"

"For a very little while, yes. But he has to start making plans."

"Have him do that. And send me a memo."

"Also, there's a client waiting for you in your office."

"More Legal Services referrals?"

"No. This guy has a little money."

"How refreshing. Know what he wants?"

"Nary a clue."

"Well, life is either a great adventure or it is nothing at all. Want to sit in?"

"No, I think the distinguished senator from Oklahoma should meet clients on his own. Besides, I have an appointment to see my personal shopper."

Ben blinked. "You have a personal shopper?"

Christina took his arm and rubbed her nose against his cheek. "Just since I married you, my little sugar daddy."

Loving bristled. "I'm so outta here…"

"Why do you need a personal shopper?" Ben asked.

"Because I'm a busy important lawyer woman. Besides…" She grinned. "You think I could pick out clothes like these on my own?"

Ben peered through the window in his office door, stealing a look at the client before the client saw him. His first impression was favorable; the man was not wearing orange coveralls. In fact, he was well dressed and groomed neatly and seemed like a perfectly normal urban professional, the sort you saw hustling about downtown all around Bartlett Square, even now that they had removed the fountain and allowed traffic to drive through it. Ben got the impression that he was smart and educated, which would be a refreshing change of pace.

Too bad Christina hadn't come in-she was always so good at sizing people up. Then again, he had been practicing law for-how many years now? He was not without intuition. Perhaps he had become too dependent on her. Perhaps it was time he flexed his own muscles…

The man sitting in his office had an air of confidence about him, which suggested that he was not here on a criminal matter. Some sort of business affair. Judging from his dress, his briefcase, and especially his shoes, Ben surmised that he owned his own business. He was wearing glasses and had two pens in his shirt pocket. No pocket protector, but still, he screamed computer industry. A software company, probably. That was the avenue many young go-getters had traveled to recent success. So what was his problem?

If he wasn't in trouble, it must be an employee. Contract dispute? Sexual harassment? No, Ben had it-immigration law. Not long ago, Oklahoma's extremely conservative legislature had passed the strictest immigration laws in the country, much to the dismay of most local businesses. Thanks to 1804, as the law was called familiarly, it was a felony to transport or shelter illegal immigrants. Employers could have their business licenses revoked for hiring illegal immigrants, even if they subsequently became legal to work. They were forced to fire employees, even when they weren't sure if they were legal. Since the law passed, more than twenty-five thousand immigrants had left Tulsa County alone, many of them legal citizens with illegal family members. With a smaller pool of workers, higher prices and wages soon resulted. Some predicted this would spur the greatest economic disaster for the state since the Dust Bowl.

Yes, that had to be it. And that was fine. Ben would be happy to deal with anything as calm and rational as an immigration problem. It would be a welcome change of pace, in fact.

"Good afternoon," Ben said as he entered the office, extending his hand. "I'm Benjamin Kincaid." They exchanged introductions.

"How can I help you?" He grinned a little. "An immigration difficulty, perhaps?"

The client leaned forward. "I was wondering if you could arrange a pardon for me."

Ben stared at the man. "You say you want-a pardon?"

"Yes. Someone killed my wife. And no one is doing anything about it. So I wondered if you could arrange a pardon in the event that… someone does."

Ben fell into his chair. Maybe it would be better to leave the character assessments to Christina, after all.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Thomas, but I don't have the power to grant pardons."

"I thought maybe you could put in a good word with the governor who appointed you. Or the president. You worked with him on that constitutional amendment, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but I don't think he liked the way it came out."

"The governor would be sufficient."

Ben stared at the man, wondering where to begin. He had been right on one point-Dennis Thomas was smart and was well educated. He taught Victorian literature at the University of Tulsa, which had one of the finest English faculties in the nation. But on this subject, he was clearly not objective. Possibly not even rational. "I hope you're not contemplating doing something… extreme."

"How do you mean?"

"I'm not here to help people get away with crimes of revenge."

"Aren't you a lawyer?"

"Yes…"

"And you handle murder cases?"

Ben felt his heart speed up a beat. "Well, yes…"

"You got that senator off."

"He was innocent."

"Yeah. Look, all I want is a pardon. I don't think I should have to spend the rest of my life in jail because some bastard cop killed my wife."

"Cop?" Ben took a deep breath. "In the first place, Dennis, you won't get life. You kill a cop, you'll almost certainly be executed. In the second place, what are you talking about? I haven't heard about any cops out on murder sprees."

"He refused to investigate. Wouldn't even open a file. I asked him repeatedly. Every day from the moment she disappeared. He wouldn't do it."

"He must've had a reason."

"He had lots of reasons. But he didn't do it because he didn't want to. He's just occupying oxygen, waiting to put his twenty on. My wife wasn't enough to get him off his butt."

"So you blame your wife's death-"

"She didn't just die, Senator. She suffered. She was seriously wounded, trapped in a car for seven days, slowly dying. In excruciating pain. Can you imagine what that felt like, to experience that kind of agony, and dehydration, and starvation? For seven days? Eventually, I got someone else to authorize an investigation. Do you know how long it took them to find her? Three hours! She suffered for seven days because that dirty cop couldn't spare three hours!"

"I can tell you're upset, and I don't blame you. But believe me, revenge is not the right course of action. File a civil suit if you must."

"Civil suits against the police never succeed."

Sadly, Ben knew he was largely correct. "I can't condone crime. And I certainly can't in any way support you in a crime that hasn't even happened yet."

Dennis drew himself up slowly, folded his hands, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You must've misunderstood me. What did you think I was proposing-murder? Gosh, I guess I didn't explain myself clearly. The truth is, I'm writing a book."

Ben looked at him levelly. "Go on."

"That's life in academia. Publish or perish. And I'm sure you know how important research is for a scholarly book. You've written books yourself, haven't you?"

"Yes. Nonfiction."

"Well, I'm planning a literary novel, something different from my usual critical analyses, and in my totally fictional story, a man commits murder, but then tries to get a pardon to get himself off. Or failing that, takes steps to establish a claim of temporary insanity."

"Do tell."

"So my point in coming here is to find out what would be the best steps to take to support a subsequent claim of temporary insanity. You can help me with that, can't you? Since you are an author as well as a lawyer?"

"But I'm not a total idiot."

"I understand that you-I mean, the lawyer in my book-would need to be able to show that I was unable to distinguish right from wrong at the time the murder was committed."

"Yeeeeeesss…"

"What if I were on some kind of drug? Would that help? Or maybe if I forgot to put my clothes on? That would certainly show diminished capacity, wouldn't it? If I were standing there starkers wearing nothing but a gun?"

Ben rose to his feet. "Look, I don't know who you think you're dealing with, but this has gone far enough. Despite what you've said, this sounds a whole lot like you're planning a murder and trying to get advice on the best way to do it!"

"What about irresistible impulse? I'm thinking that might be the best way to go."

Ben's brows knitted together. "Exactly what kind of research have you been doing?"

"I think the jury would believe that I was unable to control myself, after all that's happened to me. And that's all you need, right? Just an excuse for jury nullification. Getting the jury to ignore the law and reach a verdict based on sympathy for the defendant."

"Why temporary insanity? Why not just claim you're absolutely totally stark raving insane?"

"Ah, but then I-I mean, my character-would be committed, right? If he succeeds on a claim of temporary insanity, however, he goes free. No jail because he wasn't responsible for his actions, and no commitment because the insanity was only temporary."

"You wouldn't go free. Not after killing a cop, not even on a temporary insanity defense. You'd be committed for observation."

"Yes, but for how long? Until the doctors think I'm well and won't be a threat to society? That shouldn't take long."

"Look. I'm not going to have anything to do with what sounds to me like a very twisted little scheme."

"I'm just doing research!"

"Yeah, and I'm just waiting for my Yankees tryout. I'm a member of the bar, Mr. Thomas-"

"Dr. Thomas, if you don't mind. I'm a Ph.D."

Ben drew in his breath. "-not to mention a U.S. senator. I'm an elected-well, appointed official. I can't assist you in the commission of a crime. In fact, I have a duty to report any plans to commit a criminal act."

"I said nothing about any plan to commit a crime. I told you, I'm just researching a book. Although…"

"Although you might just lose your head and take drugs and go commit a murder with your clothes off? I want you out of my office."

Dennis picked up his briefcase. "Fine. If you say so." He stood, then hesitated a moment. "You know, Mr. Kincaid, I have to say-I'm disappointed. I heard you were different. I heard you didn't just take care of yourself. I heard you cared about other people."

"Way too many people are talking about me these days. Look, I care about other people, but-"

"No, you're covering your own butt, like everyone else. Playing by the rules. The same attitude that got my Joslyn killed in the first place."

"That's not fair."

"It's disappointing. I heard you weren't afraid to bend the rules here and there in the name of justice."

"Bend the rules? You're talking about murder!"

"No. I'm talking about the man who killed my wife. Deliberately." He hunched forward, leaning against Ben's desk. "Did I tell you that my wife's liver failed? Totally shut down. The buildup of toxins in her body was horrifying. Physicians have told me that's the worst kind of pain it's possible to experience. Constant. Inescapable. Imagine enduring that for seven days, helpless to do anything about it."

"My heart goes out to you for your loss, but-"

"Her left leg was gangrenous. Even if she had lived it would've had to be amputated. She was so hungry she tried to eat the vinyl upholstery on the seat she was pinned down against."

Ben felt a dryness in his throat. "You have my sympathy, but-"

"You're a married man, senator. Do you love your wife?"

"Of course I do. More than-"

"Would you want to see her tortured for seven days?"

"Of course not."

"I know you wouldn't. I can see it in your eyes. If you were in my shoes, you would feel exactly the same way I do."

"But I would never contemplate murder," Ben replied, realizing how weak and unconvincing he sounded.

"Did I tell you I didn't get to say goodbye?" He collapsed on the desk, his head falling onto his arms. "I saw her for only a moment, when they pulled her out of the car. Then the… the bastard cop had me arrested for hitting him. What self-respecting husband wouldn't?"

Without even thinking about it, Ben placed his hand on Dennis's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"I was locked up late on a Friday. I couldn't get an attorney, couldn't get released before my arraignment. By the time I was out-" His voice cracked. "They had already cremated Joslyn. That was her wish-but it was implemented before I was released. She was gone. I never got to see her, Mr. Kincaid. I never even said goodbye!"

Ben pressed against his shoulder, hoping to somehow feed the man the comfort that eluded him. "I know how hard dealing with grief can be. But murder is not the answer. It won't help anything. And you won't get away with it. You'll be convicted. Would your wife have wanted that? The best thing you can do is move forward, get on with your life. If you want to bring some action against the police department, I will help you. Sure, the odds are long, but I have personally experienced police misconduct like you wouldn't believe. I know it happens-much more frequently than anyone wants to acknowledge. I will fight to the last to see that your wrong is righted. I promise you."

Ben knelt down beside him. "Will you let me? Will you let me do that for you?"

Dennis slowly rose to his feet. He brushed his wet face, then tugged at the lay of his shirt. "I'm sorry you weren't able to help me, Mr. Kincaid."

"Dennis…"

"Even though you won't be representing me, I assume this conversation is protected by attorney-client privilege. Since I came in as a prospective client."

"Yes, but that doesn't extend to planning criminal-"

"I didn't say anything about any plan. I'm researching a book. So the privilege applies. And we have nothing more to talk about."