“What are you doing at the office?”
“Working, natch. I don’t have a life, remember? So how’s everything in the Great Northwest?”
“Not so great.” Ben leaned back in the rickety wooden chair behind the tiny desk in his office. “I’m in the middle of trying a murder case.”
“So I hear. Let me guess. All the evidence points to your client, the odds are hopelessly stacked against you, but you think he’s innocent and you’re determined to prove it.”
“How did you figure that out?”
There was a knowing chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Just a lucky guess.”
“Look, Mike, I called for a reason.”
“You need my help.”
Ben stared at the receiver. “What are you, the psychic hot line?”
More chuckles. “I just know you’re not one to call to ask about my health.”
“Well, you’re right. I’m having problems. I think there’s a major drug dealer in this town, a big brick wall called Alberto Vincenzo. I think he’s a very likely suspect for the murder my client has been charged with. And I think the prosecutor knows it, so she’s suppressing all the evidence she has about him. Apparently the DEA has the goods on this character, too, but I’ve been calling the regional office in Seattle and I can’t get them to send me anything or give me an appointment. I can’t even get them to return my phone calls.”
“So why are you calling me?”
Ben made a coughing noise. “Well, you are in the law enforcement community. I thought perhaps …”
“Ben, I’m just a cop. A lowly homicide detective in Tulsa, in the faraway state of Oklahoma. And you’re thinking I might have connections in the federal DEA office in Seattle? You’re delusional!”
“Well, I don’t know. I thought maybe you might know someone who knew someone who knew someone else.”
“This is really a stretch, Ben.”
“That’s what I said when you married my sister. But you did it anyway.”
“Don’t remind me.” Ben listened patiently through several seconds of thoughtful silence. “Look. No promises. I’ll do the best I can, okay?”
“That’s all I can ask.”
“And hey-take care of yourself out there. I get worried when you get into these messes and I’m not around to bail you out.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“Yeah, well, just try not to engage in hand-to-hand combat with any serial killers, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
After he finished talking with Mike, Ben pored over his notes for the next day of trial, not to mention an extremely interesting report he’d received from Loving, just back from Oregon. Around nine, Christina poked her head through the door. “Is this the cramped but classy office of Ben Kincaid, a.k.a. Ben the Giant-Slayer?”
Ben rolled his eyes. “Hello, Christina. Where ya been?”
“Procuring a little well-deserved liquid refreshment.” As she stepped across the threshold, Ben saw she was cradling a large bottle of champagne and two flutes. She set down the glasses and began twisting off the wire cap.
“I think this is way premature,” Ben said. “We don’t have anything to celebrate yet.”
“Baloney. You’ve been superb in the courtroom. Granny hasn’t put a single witness of any importance on the stand that you haven’t hurt on cross. And what you did to that sanctimonious dental quack-wowzah!”
“It’s still too soon …”
“I bet Granny’s not sleeping well tonight.” Christina popped the cork and poured the champagne. “I had the pleasure of watching her today while you were crossing Grayson. She was definitely getting sweaty-palmed. You haven’t given her an inch. If the jury voted today, it would be hands down for acquittal.”
“But the jury isn’t voting today. We still have several more witnesses-”
“But she hasn’t done anything that truly tied Zak to the murder.”
“The truth is, she hasn’t tried. She’s intentionally started with the least important witnesses. She’s building slowly, letting the jury anticipate where she’s going. And, I suspect, taking my measure.”
“Well, right now, your measure is pretty damn good.”
“Let’s see what happens tomorrow.” He gazed absently at the bottle of bubbly. It was a French sparkling wine-as if Christina would bring anything else. “So you’ve been out to dinner?”
“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“ ’Course not. It’s none of my business.”
Christina’s eyes crinkled a bit. “I meant I didn’t think you’d mind if I did my trial prep after dinner.”
Ben fidgeted with his pencil. “Oh. Right. That’s what I thought you meant.” His eyes averted. “So how many dinners with Sheriff Allen does this make?”
“Who said I was eating with Doug?”
“Doug?”
“That’s his name.”
“I figured as much.”
“I never said I was eating with Doug.”
Ben tugged at his collar. “I just assumed …”
“Well, you assumed correctly.”
“And how many times have you gone out with him now?”
“I don’t know. How long have you had me in this godforsaken backwater?”
Ben looked away. “Of course, it’s none of my business.”
“Of course.” A mischievous smile played on Christina’s lips. “Do you have a problem with this?”
“Of course not,” Ben said, not looking up. “Like I said-”
“Doug is a wonderful talker. Not at all what you’d expect. Really very charming. Sophisticated.”
“Sophisticated?”
“Oh, yes. You shouldn’t be such a snob, Ben. Just because people live in a small town, it doesn’t mean they’re hicks.”
“I never meant to suggest-”
“He is a bit homespun, to be sure. But that’s just his way. Honestly, he’s very well educated. Smart.”
“Is that right.”
“Oh yeah. And supremely self-confident.”
“That’s good, I guess. If you like that sort of thing.”
“And very masculine.”
“Do tell.”
She mock-trembled, as if shivers were racing up and down her spine. “Something about him just makes me go all aquiver.”
Ben gave her a long look. “You’re putting me on, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am, you dimwit!” She grinned from ear to ear.
“And may I ask why?”
“Because you’re so easy!” She reached forward and ruffled his hair. “Although in a way, that takes all the fun out of it. It’s like torturing a bunny rabbit.”
Ben waited a moment, until her laughter faded and the room grew quiet. “But you do like him, don’t you?”
She waited a long time before answering. “Anything wrong with that?”
“ ’Course not. I was just curious. Since we’re friends and all.”
“Oh. Right.” The tiny office fell silent and, for a protracted moment, strangely awkward.
Christina broke the silence. She turned toward the tall stack of exhibits waiting to be reviewed before the trial reconvened. “What say we start wading through those exhibits and figure out how we’re going to whip Granny’s butt in court tomorrow?”
Ben picked up his champagne flute. “I’ll drink to that.”
Chapter 50
Granny Adams sashayed down the dark corridor listening to the rhythmic sound of her stiletto heels rat-a-tatting on the metal floor. She slowed her pace, preferring to let the man in the far room wait and wonder what lay in store for him.
Deputy Wagner had made all the arrangements as per her instructions. He may not have known what she was planning, but he was a dutiful soldier and he did as he was told. Just the sort of law enforcement officer Granny liked.
In her own good time, she reached the end of the gloomy corridor. There was one sentry posted outside the room, a uniform from the sheriff’s office. She’d seen him before, but she couldn’t possibly remember his name. Why should she? He was just an instrument, an extra ratchet wrench in her toolbox. And she couldn’t be expected to remember every hammer and nail, could she?
“You can go now,” she said to the sentry.
A worry line creased his forehead. “I’m not supposed to leave you alone with-”
“I can handle myself, Officer,” she said briskly. “Scram.”