He tugged at his collar. “I…am familiar with her, yes…”
“And can you tell the jury why you’re familiar with Miss Harlow?”
“I…uh…was Jean Harlow.”
“I’m sorry.” Ben pivoted toward the jury box. “I’m not certain the jury got that. What did you say?”
“I said I was Jean Harlow. In a past life.”
In the corner of his eye, Ben saw Anglin slump down into his chair.
“A past life. You know, Doctor, some members of the jury may not be familiar with that concept. Could you please explain exactly how that works?”
The doctor turned to face the jury. “In 1937,” he explained, “Jean Harlow developed a painful inflamed gallbladder, probably exacerbated by kidney damage she sustained during a beating her ex-husband gave her years before on their honeymoon. Unfortunately, my—er, her mother was a devout Christian Scientist who refused to permit Jean to seek medical treatment. Jean lay helplessly in her bedroom, in great pain, becoming sicker by the hour. Eventually, her fiancé, William Powell, broke into the house with some friends, scooped Jean into his arms, and carried her to the hospital.” He sighed. “William Powell. What a man he was.”
After a long moment, Lindstrom broke out of his reverie. “Bill did the best he could, but he was too late. Jean Harlow died.”
Ben nodded. “And then what happened?”
Lindstrom leaned forward in the witness box. “You see, it wasn’t her time to die. She was only twenty-six. She was just getting started. She was engaged to be married. She hadn’t had a chance to live, to love—” He made a choking noise, then covered his face with his hand. “She was so young.”
Lindstrom didn’t continue until he had fully recovered. “So she was reincarnated. As me.”
Ben allowed a respectful silence. “And how do you know all this?”
“I recalled it under hypnosis.”
“Do you have yourself hypnotized often?”
His left eye twitched. “From time to time.”
“Before you testify in court?”
“It…does help calm my nerves…sharpen my memory—”
“Are you testifying today under hypnotic influence?”
“I’m fully awake and able to—”
“Please answer my question.”
He pursed his lips. “Yes.”
Bingo. “Now Doctor, getting back to your story—as the jury can see from the poster, you were quite a sexy gal.”
“It was Hollywood. They insisted on photographing me in that objectified manner.”
“No doubt. I understand you were often seen in the company of Clark Gable.”
“Ugh. Horrid man. Had false teeth—was a dreadful kisser.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Let me ask you about your relationship with William Powell—”
“Your honor, I object!” It was Anglin again, giving it the old college try. “Mr. Kincaid is turning this trial into a circus!”
“Perhaps so,” Judge Hart said. “But he’s not the one who put the clown in the center ring. Proceed.”
Ben eyed the jury. They were eating it up—barely suppressing their laughter. It wouldn’t matter now if this guy had a degree from God. His credibility was shot.
“Dr. Lindstrom,” he continued. “Isn’t it true that Jean Harlow loved little furry animals?”
After the jury retired, Ben and Christina began packing their files and exhibits. “Well, congratulations, Ace,” Christina said. “Your performance was sans pareil. You saved a lot of endangered prairie dogs today.”
“The jury is still deliberating,” Ben replied. “Let’s not jinx it.”
“Aw, the gas company hasn’t got a chance. You were sensational on cross.”
“Well, thanks for the show-and-tell. I would’ve been up a creek without you.”
She batted her eyelashes. “My pleasure. I always enjoy pulling your fat out of the fire.”
“How sweet.” Ben closed his briefcase, leaving the plastic spider on top. He grabbed a document box and headed for the door.
“Excuse me. Mr. Kincaid?”
Ben saw an unfamiliar man in a gray business suit standing in the doorway.
“Look,” Ben said, “if it’s about the photocopier, I promise I’ll pay you as soon as I can—”
“Oh, no. You misunderstand.” He waved his hands rapidly in the air. “I’m not here to hit you up for money. On the contrary, Mr. Kincaid, I’m here to make you a wealthy man.”
2
“YOU’RE HERE TO DO what?”
The man smiled pleasantly. “I want to set you up for life, Mr. Kincaid. If you’ll let me.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The man gestured toward the front row of the courtroom. “Let’s sit, shall we? You can come too, Ms. McCall. This offer involves you as well.”
Ben and Christina exchanged puzzled looks. “Offer?”
“Perhaps I should start at the beginning.” He reached into his suit pocket and withdrew a business card. “My name is Howard Hamel.” A confident demeanor accented Hamel’s clean-cut, well-scrubbed features. “I’m a member of the legal staff for the Apollo Consortium, an amalgamation of interrelated corporate entities. Have you heard of us?”
Ben nodded. Of course he had. The Apollo parent corporation was probably the largest business entity in Tulsa, possibly in the entire state of Oklahoma. It had started as a small oil exploration company, but during the boom years of the Seventies expanded into natural gas, manufacturing, transportation, and even entertainment. The diversification helped them survive the bust years of the Eighties—survive them quite well, in fact. Apollo was a Fortune 500 corporation—one of the few in the Southwest.
“Then you probably also know,” Hamel continued, “that we have an in-house legal staff of over fifty lawyers. Heck, if we were a law firm, we’d be one of the largest in the state. And we’d like you to join our team. We can discuss the details at your leisure—salary, bonuses, pension plan, benefits—but I think you’ll be pleased with the offer. If you don’t mind my saying so, it’ll be a step up for you.”
And how. But then, Ben thought, almost anything would. “What kind of legal work would this involve?”
“That’s one of the advantages to working at a place like Apollo,” Hamel answered. “We have so much going on, you can do almost anything you want. Your background is in litigation, and rightfully so, I might add. You were magnificent in the courtroom today.”
“Well…thanks…”
“I see you joining the litigation team and taking charge of some of the multimillion dollar cases that pass through our office on a daily basis. We like to keep these cases in-house whenever possible; outside counsel fees are exorbitant, as I’m sure you know. There’s a new product liability case recently filed against Apollo that you would be perfect for.”
The words rang in Ben’s ears. In-house counsel. Products liability. Multimillion dollar cases. That would certainly be a step up from the Three Ds: divorce, deeds, and dog bites. “It’s an interesting offer. How long will the position be open?”
“Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear. There is no position. This isn’t some slot we need to fill with a body. We want you—Ben Kincaid—on our legal staff.”
Ben was flabbergasted. “But—why me?”
“We believe you have a real future in the law, and we want it to be with us.”
Ben shook his head, trying to verify that he was hearing clearly. Kudos like this didn’t come that often to the solo practitioner. “I’m not sure I’d be happy working for the same client day in, day out.”
“Really? Most people prefer it—the satisfaction of being a team player trying to accomplish a worthwhile, common goal, rather than being a prostitute for whoever walks into the office that day.”