Sleight of Hand

CHAPTER Fifty-Three

Charles Benedict woke up with a smile on his face. The nubile young blonde who had shared his bed last night had been expertly trained by one of Nikolai’s whoremasters, and her performance had left him drained and satisfied, but not as satisfied as he was with the way the case was proceeding.

If there was an afterlife, Tiffany Starr and Gregor Karpinski were residing in very hot accommodations in its low-rent region. He had no idea where Ernest Brodsky was, and he didn’t care. What mattered was that none of them could testify against him.

Better still, Horace was falling apart. His arrogance would alienate the jurors and he would make a terrible witness. Meanwhile, Benedict would make enough subtle errors to ensure his client’s conviction. With Horace behind bars for Carrie’s murder, the case would die and he would be safe.

Benedict stretched and got out of bed. He was on his way to take a shower when his cell phone rang. Caller ID told him that Jack Pratt was on the line. He debated not answering, because he couldn’t stand the supercilious prick, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Hey, Jack, what’s up?”

“Horace would like to see you at the jail as soon as possible.”

“Oh, about what?”

“He’ll tell you. When can you be there?”

Pratt’s tone was not friendly and alarm bells began to go off.

“I should be able to make it by nine-thirty.”

“Good,” Pratt said before ending the call abruptly.



Benedict showered and shaved and arrived at the jail an hour and twenty minutes later. When he told the jailer at reception why he was there he was shown to a contact visiting room. When the door opened he saw Horace Blair, Jack Pratt, and Bobby Schatz.

“Hey, Charlie, come on in,” said Schatz, who had met Benedict at several Bar Association functions.

Benedict didn’t move from the doorway. He looked back and forth between his client and the two attorneys.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“I’ve decided to hire Mr. Schatz to defend me at my trial,” Blair said. His voice was firm and Benedict knew immediately that there would be no way to change his mind, especially with Pratt and Schatz in the room. He faked a smile.

“Bobby is a terrific lawyer. I have no problem being second chair to someone of his caliber.”

“I haven’t made myself clear,” Blair said. “Your services will no longer be required. Mr. Schatz will take over all aspects of my defense.”

“What’s the story here, Horace? Is this about the plea offer or the bail hearing? I told you I have a duty as an officer of the court to tell you any plea offer the prosecutor makes, and you heard the evidence at the bail hearing. If you think Schatz could have done better, you’re mistaken.”

“The problem is experience,” Pratt said. “You’re an expert in certain types of cases. If this were a drug case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But you’re not experienced when it comes to homicides, and Mr. Schatz is.”

An image of the three men sprawled in pools of blood flashed through Benedict’s brain but he realized very quickly that his best move was to bow out gracefully. He ignored Pratt and addressed Blair, forcing himself to sound magnanimous.

“I’m sorry you feel this way, Horace, but you’re in excellent hands. I want you to know that there are no hard feelings on my part. I wish you the best.”

“Thank you, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” Horace said.

Benedict could tell that he didn’t mean a word of what he’d said. What had happened to make Blair decide to fire him?

Benedict rang for the guard and all four men felt uncomfortable in the ensuing silence. As soon as the heavy metal door closed behind Benedict his fists curled into a knot and he had to restrain himself from smashing them into the concrete walls as he walked toward the exit. It was that motherf*cker Pratt. Benedict was certain of it. He toyed with the idea of waiting for him in his parking garage or breaking into his house and blowing his brains out but passed on those ideas quickly because there was no benefit to them. What he needed to do was remain calm and assess the situation.

The evidence was still in place and the evidence pointed unerringly toward guilt. Schatz was good, but Benedict didn’t think he was good enough to convince a jury that Horace Blair did not kill his wife. So maybe he had no reason to be concerned. Sure, he would lose the money he would have made defending Blair at trial, but he could go on with his life without having to worry about being arrested for Carrie Blair’s murder. Even if Schatz got Blair off, the cops and the prosecutors would still think Blair killed his wife. And if Blair was convicted with Schatz handling the trial, no one would think that he’d thrown the case. By the time Benedict parked in the lot behind his office he had concluded that getting fired wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Benedict entered the building through the side door. He settled behind his desk and read through his mail. Then he buzzed his secretary and asked for messages.

“Robert Curry called about the Hernandez case, Martin Schechter wanted you to call about the deposition in Raines, and a woman named Myra Blankenship called from Seattle.”

“Blankenship? What did she want?”

“An appointment.”

“Did she say what it’s about?”

“No, and she didn’t leave a phone number.”

Benedict frowned. The name rang no bells. Oh, well. If Myra Blankenship showed up, he would find out what she wanted.