“City council?”
“Oh, hell, yes. They’re the ones behind this. They’ve been out to get me since day one.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.” He turned toward the cell door.
“But, Ben”—Barrett grabbed his arm—“get back to me as soon as possible, okay?” He peered deeply into Ben’s eyes. “I need you, Ben.”
Ben tugged at his tie, not answering.
“I know what you’re thinking. You don’t want to represent me because you think I’m some rich, fat-cat, ex-jock politician. You like the ones you consider tough cases. A man with no money. A retarded boy. A woman getting railroaded by the FBI. I’ll tell you something, Ben, and I hope you’ll hear what I’m saying. Those are the easy cases. You take those cases, you come out looking like a hero, win or lose. But, Ben, even if I’m not particularly underprivileged, I am a victim in this case. I’m the one who’s had his family taken from him, his career, his liberty. And now the police and the press are going to try to convince everyone that I’m a hideous baby-killing maniac. Well, I’m not! I’m not!” He placed his hands down on the thin mattress. “And I want you to prove it.”
Ben broke away and moved awkwardly to the cell door. “I’ll get back to you.” He motioned for the guard and left, leaving the mayor of the city and a million unanswered questions in his wake.
Chapter 12
WHEN BEN ARRIVED AT the mayor’s mansion, it bore all the unmistakable traces of a crime scene: yellow tape cordoning off the area, uniformed patrolmen posted at all entrances, professionals shuffling through their appointed duties with a somber deliberativeness. Perhaps the most distinctive characteristic, however, was a marked stillness, a stillness in the midst of the hustle-bustle, a stillness that seemed to distinguish the house from all the other houses where life continued without interruption.
Ben nodded at Detective Tomlinson, who was just inside the front door. They knew each other well now, well enough that Tomlinson didn’t question whether his boss would allow Ben onto the crime scene. As he knew, Ben Kincaid and Mike Morelli had been college roommates and had played as a musical combo in college-town niteries—Ben on piano, Mike on guitar. He also knew that Mike had married Ben’s sister, then been divorced by her, a series of events that had put a distinct strain on his and Ben’s friendship.
“Where—?” Ben didn’t have to finish the question. Tomlinson pointed to a hunched figure crawling around on the hardwood floor in the living room.
Ben crossed the room, careful to remain on the protective sheets of butcher paper. Mike was crouched down on all fours, his nose to the floor, his rear end to the ceiling.
“Lose a contact?” Ben asked.
Mike cocked one eye to see who was there. “No.”
“Trick back gave out again?”
“If you must know, I’m applying luminol to a smear of dirt to see if I can raise a footprint.”
“I see. I don’t suppose you’ve found anything?”
Mike rested his weight on one elbow. “For your information, I’ve found dozens of footprints. Unfortunately, they all came from police officers’ boots.”
“Didn’t you put down paper after you cordoned off the scene?”
“Yes, of course, I did, but—” He stopped, then pushed up onto his knees and brushed off his hands. “What are you doing here, anyway, Ben? I chased off all the other thrill-seekers.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not mixed up in this case, are you?”
“No. Not yet, anyway.”
“What on earth does that mean?”
“Mayor Barrett has asked me to represent him.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “He asked you?”
“Is that so incredible?”
“I just thought he would want someone …”
Ben drummed his fingers. “Yes?”
“I mean, I thought he would want someone … someone …”
“I’m waiting.”
“I thought he would want someone … taller. Yeah, that’s it. Taller.”
“Uh-huh, right. Let me clear up your obvious mystification. Someone seems to have given Mayor Barrett the misguided notion that I might have some influence with the judge he anticipates will be assigned to the case.”
“Ah. Now that I can believe.”
“That I have a lot of sway with the judge?”
“No. That Barrett would hire someone he thought did.”
“I don’t follow.”
Mike stood up and shrugged. “Barrett is a politician. You know how they are. Their entire world revolves around politics. For them, it’s more important to know the right people than to do the right thing. They’ll choose influence over talent every time.”
Ben lowered his chin. “Gee, thanks.”
Mike smiled. “My point is that politicians want someone they think has the inside track. And apparently, this time that means you. So, have you accepted the case?”
“Not yet.”
“What are you waiting for?”
“Well, I was hoping you could give me some insight. The … inside track, so to speak. I have to admit I have a few concerns.”
“Like the fact that Barrett is obviously guilty?”
Ben looked away. “Of course, it would be inappropriate to discuss a potential client’s innocence or guilt …”
“Yeah, that’s you, Ben. Always playing by the book.” He smirked. “I gather Barrett isn’t confessing?”
“Far from it.”
“What’s his explanation? Unless that’s privileged.”
Ben shrugged. “I can’t go into the details. But he contends he may have been framed by enemies on the city council.”
Mike brushed the dirt off his unseasonably heavy trenchcoat. “And his much-publicized joyride down the Indian Nation Turnpike?”
“Panicked. Didn’t know what he was doing.”
“Ri-ight.” He laid a hand on Ben’s shoulder. “Have fun in court.”
“I gather you think he’s guilty.”
“I pride myself on not jumping to conclusions about someone’s guilt, even when the evidence against him is overwhelming. Which it is.”
Ben nodded. This was not exactly what he wanted to hear.
“Win or lose, this is going to be a high-profile case. Local reporters have already started swarming, and it’s just a matter of time till the nationals hit the scene. This case has star quality, plus all the lurid details the press loves. City’s first black mayor, inner-city kid who made good, college athlete, accused of murdering his entire family in a gruesome manner.” He whistled. “This is going to be one major media circus.”
“And this business about the city council?”
“Well, Barrett does have enemies on the council. You know, even after the city government was restructured a few years ago, the council is still dominated by well-to-do whites. Some weren’t too keen on taking their lead from a poor kid from the North Side.”
Ben nodded. “Anyway, appreciate your help. If I do take the case, I’ll cut you some slack on cross.”
“Oh, it won’t be me up there.”
“Aren’t you in charge of the crime scene?”
“Now, yes. But the first detective on the scene was Lieutenant Prescott.”
“Prescott!” Ben had heard all about Prescott over beer and pizza. He knew Prescott’s reputation well enough to avoid him. “Why on earth would you assign Prescott to such a big case?”
“I didn’t. I was out of the office on another case.”
“Chief Blackwell? I thought he didn’t like the man any better than you did.”
“Actually, according to Prescott, he was sent to the crime scene by”— Mike stopped short—“by friends on the city council.”