“Comes with the territory,” Christina replied. “Lawyers never forget anything.” And she would know, of course, having been a lawyer now for—what? A day and a half?
Karen was a petite woman with a dress size that made Christina burn with envy. She was a little taller than Christina, but then, who wasn’t? She wore her auburn hair in a bouncy blunt cut just above her shoulders. “Since you’re the one with the steel-trap brain, why don’t you do this yourself?”
“I can’t. This is a press conference. I’m not a member of the press.” Christina tossed back her strawberry-blond mane. “And there is the tiny matter of the ethical rules regarding pending criminal matters. Besides, it would just seem self-serving, coming from the attorney for the defense. But when you start asking the hard questions, people will listen.”
Karen hesitated. “I don’t know about this.”
“Come on, Karen. You know Ben isn’t a murderer. Hasn’t he always shot straight with you?”
“Yes, he has. But I’m a journalist. I have to be impartial.”
“You can be impartial. You can be impartially hard on everyone. I’m just suggesting one possible way of doing that.”
“Well … I suppose that’s true.” She looked up and pointed a finger. “But you owe me, girlfriend.”
“No way. We’re even. I’m the one who leaked you the goods on the Barrett case, remember?”
“That was years ago.”
Christina tapped the side of her head. “Lawyers never forget anything.”
Christina took an unobtrusive seat on a bench in the back of the courtroom corridor where Nick Dexter was holding his press conference. She wanted to watch, but she didn’t want to be noticed. It was fun to watch other people squirm—not so fun to do the squirming yourself.
In a matter of moments, reporters from all the local networks crowded just beyond the podium, each with two or three crewpersons huddled close behind with their minicams and boom microphones. Several print journalists were there, too, even though there was only one daily newspaper in Tulsa these days. Christina wondered if they were beginning to attract some regional or even national coverage. The newspaper reporters looked decidedly low-tech, scribbling away in their little notepads or holding up tape recorders, while their TV cousins worked in a swirl of electrical cords and blinking lights.
After a fashionable delay, Dexter walked briskly out of the clerk’s office, two files tucked under his arm and a serious expression on his face. He looked the very picture of the determined young man on the move. Christina hoped he would slip and fall on his face.
But of course, he didn’t. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a brief statement. Then I’ll take questions.” He glanced down at his prepared text, never once breaking his solemn expression. “Two days ago, the Tulsa Police Department received reliable information leading them to believe that one Benjamin Jonah Kincaid, a Tulsa attorney, aided Keri Dalcanton not only in her successful evasion of criminal justice but also in the crime itself. Pursuant to a search warrant”—he glanced up here—“legally obtained pursuant to a proper showing of probable cause, a search of Kincaid’s law office was conducted. During the search, a police officer found, hidden in a file cabinet, a bloodstained knife. Preliminary forensic reports indicate that the knife is the murder weapon, or one of them, that was used to kill career police officer Joe McNaughton. We understandably took Kincaid into custody and charged him. At the same time, we filed papers with the Court of Criminal Appeals asking to reopen the Keri Dalcanton prosecution based upon the fraudulent withholding of critical evidence during the first trial.”
He swallowed, then peered out into the sea of faces. “Any questions?”
The petite brunette in the front row beat the others to the punch. “Karen Keith, Channel Two. I have a few questions.”
Dexter nodded. “Fire away.”
“What was the source of the information that led you to Mr. Kincaid?”
“I’m not at liberty to identify the source at this time.”
“Was it an anonymous tip?”
“For present purposes, yes.”
“If the source of the information is unknown, how could the judge issuing the warrant evaluate its reliability?”
Dexter paused a beat. “I never said the source was unknown. Only that I was not at liberty to reveal it.”
Karen glanced down at a piece of paper in her hand. “Then the judge knew the source?”
“The judge was able to evaluate the information’s reliability based upon the past reliability of the source.” He inhaled deeply. “Is there … someone else?”
Another hand shot up in the air. A photogenic brunette with a microphone dangling over her head. “LeAnne Taylor, Channel Six. What charges have you brought against Mr. Kincaid?”
Dexter cleared his throat. “He’s been charged with aiding and abetting, accessory after the fact, concealment of evidence, obstruction of justice, and, um, murder.”
“Murder?” Taylor said. Dexter noticed that she, too, was reading from a sheet of prepared notes. “I thought the D.A.’s office believed Keri Dalcanton committed the murder?”
“We did. And we do,” he added hastily.
“Well, which is it? Kincaid or Dalcanton?”
“We believe the two defendants may have acted … in concert.”
“You’re saying she called her lawyer and asked him to help her kill her boyfriend?”
Dexter coughed. “We’re still gathering evidence at this time, Ms. Taylor. We don’t necessarily know all the details of the crime yet. It’s possible Mr. Kincaid’s involvement was after the fact.”
“Then he wouldn’t actually be a murderer.”
“In that scenario, no. But we’re still—”
“So you’re admitting you’ve charged someone with murder who might not have done it.”
“I said, we’re still exploring—”
“Shouldn’t you do your exploring before you charge a man with murder?”
Dexter adjusted his tie. “I think I’ve said about all I have to say on this issue. Are there any other questions?”
“Yes. I have one.” This time it was a young man, blond, in the traditional dark suit and white shirt. “Jeff Lea, Channel Eight. Other than the knife, do you have any evidence against Kincaid?”
Dexter mopped his brow. “Doesn’t anyone have any questions about Keri Dalcanton?”
In the back, Christina had to force herself not to grin.
Lea shook his head. “We understand the case against her. But we don’t understand why you’re going after her attorney. Isn’t this an infringement of the constitutional right to counsel? “
“If a lawyer commits a crime, he can be charged like anyone else.”
“Yes—if he commits a crime. But representing his client isn’t committing a crime.”
“What is this, cross-ex?” Dexter’s sudden outburst caught everyone by surprise, except the cameras, which were still rolling.
Lea kept plowing ahead. “No, this is a press conference. But as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, Mr. Kincaid has been a professional, respected, even admired member of the legal community.”
Dexter made a sneering sound. “He’s a defense lawyer.”
“Yes, he’s a defense lawyer,” Lea said, reading from the piece of paper in his hand, “but he’s never knowingly helped any client commit a crime or aided them in concealing a crime or their guilt. Why would he start now?”
Even Dexter’s charismatic cheekbones couldn’t help him now; he was beginning to look as if he were under siege. His face was red and he was sweating profusely. “We believe he may have been engaged in a relationship with his client. Beyond the lawyer-client relationship. More intimate.”
“Do you have any evidence to support that accusation?” This from Karen Keith, right in the front row.