Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Fifty-One

“Thanks for coming over, Charlie,” Rick Hamada said.

“It’s always a pleasure, Rick,” Benedict answered as he took a seat across the desk from the prosecutor. “So, what’s the reason for this get-together?”

“The Blair case. You have no idea how much shit has been raining down on me since we arrested your client.”

Benedict smiled. “Oh, I think I have a small idea.”

Hamada didn’t return the smile. “Yeah, you probably do. You probably engineered the calls from the governor, the mayor, and every other politician in Virginia and the District of Columbia who gets money from Blair.”

“Not me,” Benedict protested. “I don’t run in those circles.”

“Then it’s probably Jack Pratt doing your dirty work for you.”

Benedict shrugged. “If he is, he’s doing it without my knowledge. And I’m sorry you’re getting annoying calls, but you still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

Hamada’s cheeks puffed up. Then he expelled the air he was holding.

“I’ve been ordered to offer Mr. Blair a deal. This wasn’t my idea. I think I’ve got a pretty good case. If I could get my hands on a copy of the prenuptial agreement I’d have an airtight case, but I can’t. Mancuso is worried that we won’t be able to prove a motive without the prenup, and our only evidence about the contents comes from Barry Lester. Mancuso is nervous about using a scumbag like Lester to convict a person as prominent as your client. Personally, I think Lester will hold up, but I’m not the big boss. I just work here.”

“What’s the offer?”

“Blair pleads to manslaughter and we drop the murder charge. I told Mancuso he’s making a mistake, but I’m not the only person getting nasty calls.”

“Interesting.”

“It’s better than interesting, Charlie. It’s a f*cking fire sale as far as I’m concerned.”

“I’ll take the offer to my client and see what he thinks.”

“Get back to me. All I can give you is two days. Then the deal is off the table.”

The two lawyers talked a little longer, then Benedict left. As soon as the door closed behind Blair’s attorney, Hamada phoned Frank Santoro.

“He just left,” Hamada said.

“How do you think it went?” the detective asked.

“I have no idea.”

“But you got him thinking about the prenup?”

“Yeah, I played it up big. Now we just have to wait to see if your plan works.”



“Absolutely not!” Horace Blair said.

“At least think about the offer. Hamada hasn’t decided whether he’ll ask for the death penalty. Even if he doesn’t, you’re still looking at a possible life sentence as opposed to ten years. And, with your connections, you’d probably be out on parole at the first opportunity.”

Every muscle in Blair’s face tightened. He leaned toward Benedict, his face scarlet with anger.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear. I did not kill my wife. I am innocent and I will not plead guilty to anything, not even if Hamada offers me a jay-walking charge. Do you get that?”

Benedict held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hey, Horace, ease up. I’m on your side. I believe you’re innocent one hundred percent, but I have a duty as your attorney to bring you any offer a prosecutor makes. I’d be disbarred if I didn’t.”

“Then you’ve done your duty and we will have no reason to ever discuss a plea again.”

“I’ll tell Hamada.”

Blair was still angry when the guard escorted him back to his cell. Benedict was just disappointed. He had a pretty good fix on Blair’s personality and he had not expected the millionaire to take the offer, but he had held out hope that he might. If Horace had pled, Benedict’s life would have become much simpler. Oh, well, life was like that. Sometimes it didn’t hand you an easy solution to your problems on a silver platter.