Dark Justice (16 page)

Ben tried not to seem unduly concerned. “This is just a pretrial hearing. Judges love to blow off steam when there’s no jury looking on. The trial will be different.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Sheriff Allen came forward to collect his prisoner and escort him back to his jail cell.

Ben collected his materials, loaded his briefcase, and started out of the courtroom. On his way, he noticed for the first time a man sitting in the back row of the gallery. He was middle-aged, balding, slightly overweight, but immaculately dressed in a well-tailored suit.

And he was smiling. As if the hearing had been everything he’d dreamed it might be.

Ben couldn’t help but wonder who the man was. And there was one way to find out …

He extended his hand. “I’m Ben Kincaid.”

The man in the back row took the hand and squeezed. “I’m Amos Slade,” he replied.

Ben froze.
Slade?
The man he’d heard so much about? The boss man for the infamous Cabal?’

Ben tried to shake a few words out. “I—I think I’ve heard your name mentioned.”

Slade chuckled. “I’ll bet you have.”

“Are you—working for the logging companies?”

Slade’s eyes narrowed slightly, but they remained constantly focused on Ben, never wavering. “I’m … an independent contractor. I run a consulting business.”

“Consulting with logging companies, right?”

Slade shrugged. “At times.”

Ben withdrew his hand before the trembling became too apparent. Maybe it was just the influence of what he’d heard at the Green Rage camp, but somehow this man seemed to radiate evil. “I’d—like to talk to you sometime soon.”

“I’d welcome the opportunity. These days I’m down at the WLE sawmill, just outside of town. Drop by any time.”

“Thank you. I will.” Ben walked out of the courtroom. He knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t get away from that man fast enough. Every second he stood before Slade, he felt as if he was being evaluated, sized up. Like a shark eyeing a guppy.

The Green Ragers had said Slade was devious, corrupt, unprincipled. And now he believed it. Maybe it was just his overactive imagination, but when Ben looked into those eyes, he thought he saw a man who was willing to do anything to eliminate obstacles that obscured his goal.

Or people who stood in his way.

T
HE MEDICAL EXAMINER PULLED
the slab drawer out of the morgue wall, then whipped the pale green sheet off the corpse with a flourish. “Ta-da!”

Ben Kincaid’s face started turning the same color as the sheet. He covered his mouth with his hand, then pinched his nose.

“He’s been in the deep freeze for a good long time now.” The medical examiner was a middle-aged man named Larry Tobias, with a chubby midsection and a perpetual friendly smile. “There shouldn’t be any smell.”

“There is,” Ben said, trying to talk without opening his mouth.

“Huh. Guess I’ve gotten where I don’t notice anymore.” He observed the distressed expression on Ben’s face. “You did say you wanted to see him, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Ben whispered. “I must have been out of my mind.”

Tobias grinned. “First time to see a stiff, huh?”

“No,” Ben answered. “But it’s one of those special pleasures that retains its potency through the years.” Like it or not, Ben realized, he was here, and he had asked to be here, so he’d better make use of the time. He forced his eyes downward to the desiccated remains of Dwayne Gardiner.

His skin was black, charcoal black, where there was skin at all. Most places he had been scorched to the bone—more skeleton than corpse. The body was so grisly and inhuman it hardly seemed real—more like something that should be dangling from a string in a Halloween haunted house.

“What can you tell me about the cause of death?” Ben asked, looking away.

“Three guesses,” Tobias replied, chuckling amiably. “He burned to death. Although it’s possible that cardiac arrest killed him before the flames did.”

“Cardiac arrest?”

“Brought on by fear and panic and pain. I don’t know—maybe I just want to believe it. Anything that brought an early end to his suffering would be a mercy. No one needs to be conscious for every moment of burning alive.”

Ben didn’t doubt it. “The prosecutor told me Gardiner also suffered a gunshot wound.”

“Right. Just below the shoulder. Not that bad, all things considered, although it could’ve been fatal in time if it hadn’t been treated. But the fire killed him before that became an issue.”

“How can you tell?”

“It’s easier than you might think, even with a corpse that’s been as thoroughly destroyed as this one. Live tissue that’s been burned has a whole different look, feel, and consistency than dead tissue. If he was already dead before he burned, for instance, there would be no formation of hard scabs—what we call eschar. But as you can see, the scabs are everywhere—where the skin hasn’t been burned away altogether. So he wasn’t dead when he caught on fire.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“I think the fire followed the shooting very closely in time—maybe as soon as a minute after.”

Ben tried to imagine the scenario in his mind. First, the assailant shoots him at point-blank range. Then, just for good measure, he blows him up. “Seems like overkill.”

“Yeah. Especially since they were out in the heart of the forest. Gardiner may have still been able to move after he was shot, but he certainly couldn’t make it back to town. Without assistance, he would’ve died out there. Setting him on fire was unnecessary.”

“But he wasn’t set on fire,” Ben noted. “Not as such. The tree cutter had been bombed, and he was caught in the explosion. Would Gardiner have been able to start the tree cutter even after he was shot?”

Tobias shrugged. “It’s possible. There are stories of people suffering mortal wounds—even losing limbs—and still driving themselves to the hospital.”

“But why would he want to start a tree cutter? Surely the clear-cutting could wait until after he’d been to the hospital.”

“You’re out of my field of expertise now.”

“Maybe it was self-defense. Maybe he was planning to run over his assailant or snap him like a twig in those huge claw arms. Or maybe he was just going to drive the thing back to town, and that poor unfortunate soul made the mistake of starting the tree cutter and—”

Tobias looked up. “Boom.”

Ben nodded. “I haven’t seen your report yet. Are there any other points of interest? Distinguishing characteristics or oddities?”

“I’m afraid I didn’t find all that much. Fire is the great destroyer. It doesn’t leave many traces behind for forensic detectives to follow.”

“I can imagine,” Ben said, forcing himself to gaze once more at the charred remains. It seemed miraculous that any determinations could be made from a corpse in that horrible condition.

“There was one detail you might want to know about,” Tobias said. “One thing you wouldn’t normally expect to see. Did Granny tell you about the bite?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “No, she certainly did not. Did you find a bite mark?”

“Sure did.” He pulled out the corpse’s right arm and pointed to a shallow, barely noticeable indentation on the right forearm. “Least that’s what I think it is. Missed it the first two times I went over the corpse. Almost missed it the third. After burning, it’s hard to see anything.”

Fighting his instinctive revulsion, Ben crouched down and took a closer look at the blackened limb. He did see a few slight impressions, but he could never have identified them. “Not much there, is there?”

“Maybe not. But Granny was really excited when I told her about it.”

That caught Ben’s attention. “She was, huh?”

“Oh, you better believe it. She started jumping up and down, dancing around the morgue. Kept giving me these great big bear hugs, which as you can probably imagine was not an altogether displeasurable experience.”

Ben didn’t laugh. His mind was already a million miles away. What was Granny so excited about? He couldn’t believe this vague bite mark would be adequate to identify the assailant. “I’d like copies of anything you sent to Granny.”

“Sure, you’re entitled. I couldn’t figure out why the first lawyer on this case didn’t ask for them.”

“Criminal law isn’t his strong suit. That’s why he—” Ben stopped in mid-sentence. His mind suddenly flashed on something he had seen in the file yesterday afternoon. It hadn’t meant anything to him at the time, it seemed like a standard prosecution request for exemplars. Hair exemplars, blood exemplars—

And dental exemplars.

Of course, Ben’s predecessor saw no reason to object. So Zak had bitten down on a soft substance, probably wax, and left an impression of his teeth. Which Granny now had in her files, ready and waiting for trial.

Ben thanked the medical examiner and left the building. As he headed back toward his temporary office, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was way behind, that he was playing catch-up and coming up short. And if he didn’t get up to speed soon, before the trial began …

It would be too late. Especially for Zak.

P
EGGY CARTER WAS SURPRISED
to find the rest of the prosecution team already assembled in the conference room when she arrived. Judging by their posture and the expressions on their faces, they had been waiting for a good long time.

Granny was sitting at the head of the table, as indeed she always did. “Glad you could make it, Peggy.”

“I just found out about the meeting. I was in the library when the memo—”

“Sit down, Peggy.” Granny pointed toward an empty chair at the end of the conference table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Peggy did as she was told. This was the way it always was with Granny. No chance to explain, no hope for redemption. Just a quick fix of guilt and on with business.

Peggy had been at the D.A.’s office for over a year now. And every day she came to like her esteemed boss a little less. When she had first signed on, she had been excited at the prospect of working under a fellow female, a serious-minded career woman who had broken through the glass ceiling against all odds and even gotten herself elected D.A. What had originally seemed like a breakthrough for the cause, though, now only seemed like another day in hell.

She wanted to quit, but at the moment, that just wasn’t an option. She had a twelve-year-old daughter at home, a daughter who depended on her single mom for her support. They were in debt and overextended. They couldn’t afford an interruption in income, even a brief one. And Peggy knew that if she gave up this job, the interim before she got her next would likely be more than brief. In Magic Valley, employment opportunities were none too extensive. Most of the logging corporations had in-house counsel departments, but none of them were hiring. There were no other large businesses or industries in the area. She could go into private practice, but she knew she’d never be able to pay the bills on what she’d make. And moving was too expensive even to contemplate.

So that left the D.A.’s office. Which at the moment meant working under Granville Adams. At least until the next election.

“As you probably already know, the Zakin trial has been set for Monday. Needless to say, I want every one of you giving this case your full-time attention, and then some. Understand?”

Nods all around. In addition to Peggy and Granny, there were two other staff lawyers in the conference room, Kip Farmer and Troy Potter, neither of them superstars. But Granny didn’t really want superstars on her team.
She
was the superstar; what she wanted from others was simply blind obedience and a willingness to perform the grunt labor trials required but that she was much too important to do herself.

“How’s the forensic end of the trial shaping up?”

Kip Farmer coughed into his hand. “Everything seems to be in tiptop shape. We’ve sent the fingerprints to the lab, and they’ve come back with precisely the results we wanted.”

“Funny how that happens so often, innit?” Granny grinned. “What else?”

“Footprints have been checked and double-checked.”

“What about the bite mark? Did you get the expert I wanted?”

“I did. In fact, I had a long chat with him on the phone this morning. He’s perfect—got credentials up the wazoo. Plus he’s white, handsome, and speaks in complete sentences.”

“Yes,” Granny said impatiently, “but is he a good expert or a bad expert?”

Kip stammered. “Uh … I’m … uh, not sure what—”

“A good expert is an expert who understands he has an obligation to say anything we want because we’re paying his vastly inflated fee. A bad expert is one who insists he has an obligation to the truth, whatever he perceives it to be.”

Peggy spoke timidly. “Don’t we have an obligation to the truth, too?”

Granny dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “Of course we do. Is there anyone here who doesn’t think Zakin committed this crime?” She waited a beat, as if someone might dare respond in the affirmative. “That being so, we have an obligation to get a conviction. And we don’t want our work screwed up by some expert who decides to wrestle with his conscience during cross-examination. Got it, Peggy?”

Peggy bit her tongue. Stupid, stupid, stupid …

“What about on the personal side, Troy? Have we got motive sized up?”

Troy leaned forward a bit. “I think so, yes.”

“Don’t think, Troy. Know.”

He corrected himself. “I, uh, know so. I’m certain.”

“You’d better be.”

“I’ve reviewed Grayson’s testimony several times now. I think—er, I know he’ll deliver what you want and more.”

“Good. Very good.” Her face curled up in a smile. “I can’t wait to see Kincaid’s face when he takes the stand.”

Troy seemed disturbed. “But—um—can I ask one question?”

“Just one, Troy.”

“Aren’t you going to have to put his name on your witness list? And when defense counsel sees his name—”

“In the first place, I’m going to delay submitting a list until the last possible moment. Judge Pickens is on our side, so honestly, what’s Kincaid going to do about it? In the second place, I have to list the witnesses’ names, but I don’t have to give a detailed description of what I expect them to talk about. I think I can mislead Kincaid into thinking he’s being called for one reason, then sock it to ’em when he’s on the stand.”