Ben stared at his wake. "He seems upset."
"Yeah," Loving agreed, "but he's happier that way."
"Think I've heard the last of this?"
"Sure. Till tomorrow."
"Ben," Christina said, tapping him on the shoulder, "Harvey wants to talk to you about the campaign."
"Ugh. Can't I just be a lawyer for a little while?"
"For a very little while, yes. But he has to start making plans."
"Have him do that. And send me a memo."
"Also, there's a client waiting for you in your office."
"More Legal Services referrals?"
"No. This guy has a little money."
"How refreshing. Know what he wants?"
"Nary a clue."
"Well, life is either a great adventure or it is nothing at all. Want to sit in?"
"No, I think the distinguished senator from Oklahoma should meet clients on his own. Besides, I have an appointment to see my personal shopper."
Ben blinked. "You have a personal shopper?"
Christina took his arm and rubbed her nose against his cheek. "Just since I married you, my little sugar daddy."
Loving bristled. "I'm so outta here…"
"Why do you need a personal shopper?" Ben asked.
"Because I'm a busy important lawyer woman. Besides…" She grinned. "You think I could pick out clothes like these on my own?"
Ben peered through the window in his office door, stealing a look at the client before the client saw him. His first impression was favorable; the man was not wearing orange coveralls. In fact, he was well dressed and groomed neatly and seemed like a perfectly normal urban professional, the sort you saw hustling about downtown all around Bartlett Square, even now that they had removed the fountain and allowed traffic to drive through it. Ben got the impression that he was smart and educated, which would be a refreshing change of pace.
Too bad Christina hadn't come in-she was always so good at sizing people up. Then again, he had been practicing law for-how many years now? He was not without intuition. Perhaps he had become too dependent on her. Perhaps it was time he flexed his own muscles…
The man sitting in his office had an air of confidence about him, which suggested that he was not here on a criminal matter. Some sort of business affair. Judging from his dress, his briefcase, and especially his shoes, Ben surmised that he owned his own business. He was wearing glasses and had two pens in his shirt pocket. No pocket protector, but still, he screamed computer industry. A software company, probably. That was the avenue many young go-getters had traveled to recent success. So what was his problem?
If he wasn't in trouble, it must be an employee. Contract dispute? Sexual harassment? No, Ben had it-immigration law. Not long ago, Oklahoma's extremely conservative legislature had passed the strictest immigration laws in the country, much to the dismay of most local businesses. Thanks to 1804, as the law was called familiarly, it was a felony to transport or shelter illegal immigrants. Employers could have their business licenses revoked for hiring illegal immigrants, even if they subsequently became legal to work. They were forced to fire employees, even when they weren't sure if they were legal. Since the law passed, more than twenty-five thousand immigrants had left Tulsa County alone, many of them legal citizens with illegal family members. With a smaller pool of workers, higher prices and wages soon resulted. Some predicted this would spur the greatest economic disaster for the state since the Dust Bowl.
Yes, that had to be it. And that was fine. Ben would be happy to deal with anything as calm and rational as an immigration problem. It would be a welcome change of pace, in fact.
"Good afternoon," Ben said as he entered the office, extending his hand. "I'm Benjamin Kincaid." They exchanged introductions.
"How can I help you?" He grinned a little. "An immigration difficulty, perhaps?"
The client leaned forward. "I was wondering if you could arrange a pardon for me."
Ben stared at the man. "You say you want-a pardon?"
"Yes. Someone killed my wife. And no one is doing anything about it. So I wondered if you could arrange a pardon in the event that… someone does."
Ben fell into his chair. Maybe it would be better to leave the character assessments to Christina, after all.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Thomas, but I don't have the power to grant pardons."
"I thought maybe you could put in a good word with the governor who appointed you. Or the president. You worked with him on that constitutional amendment, didn't you?"
"Well, yes, but I don't think he liked the way it came out."
"The governor would be sufficient."
Ben stared at the man, wondering where to begin. He had been right on one point-Dennis Thomas was smart and was well educated. He taught Victorian literature at the University of Tulsa, which had one of the finest English faculties in the nation. But on this subject, he was clearly not objective. Possibly not even rational. "I hope you're not contemplating doing something… extreme."
"How do you mean?"
"I'm not here to help people get away with crimes of revenge."
"Aren't you a lawyer?"
"Yes…"
"And you handle murder cases?"
Ben felt his heart speed up a beat. "Well, yes…"
"You got that senator off."
"He was innocent."
"Yeah. Look, all I want is a pardon. I don't think I should have to spend the rest of my life in jail because some bastard cop killed my wife."
"Cop?" Ben took a deep breath. "In the first place, Dennis, you won't get life. You kill a cop, you'll almost certainly be executed. In the second place, what are you talking about? I haven't heard about any cops out on murder sprees."
"He refused to investigate. Wouldn't even open a file. I asked him repeatedly. Every day from the moment she disappeared. He wouldn't do it."
"He must've had a reason."
"He had lots of reasons. But he didn't do it because he didn't want to. He's just occupying oxygen, waiting to put his twenty on. My wife wasn't enough to get him off his butt."
"So you blame your wife's death-"
"She didn't just die, Senator. She suffered. She was seriously wounded, trapped in a car for seven days, slowly dying. In excruciating pain. Can you imagine what that felt like, to experience that kind of agony, and dehydration, and starvation? For seven days? Eventually, I got someone else to authorize an investigation. Do you know how long it took them to find her? Three hours! She suffered for seven days because that dirty cop couldn't spare three hours!"
"I can tell you're upset, and I don't blame you. But believe me, revenge is not the right course of action. File a civil suit if you must."
"Civil suits against the police never succeed."
Sadly, Ben knew he was largely correct. "I can't condone crime. And I certainly can't in any way support you in a crime that hasn't even happened yet."
Dennis drew himself up slowly, folded his hands, and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You must've misunderstood me. What did you think I was proposing-murder? Gosh, I guess I didn't explain myself clearly. The truth is, I'm writing a book."
Ben looked at him levelly. "Go on."
"That's life in academia. Publish or perish. And I'm sure you know how important research is for a scholarly book. You've written books yourself, haven't you?"
"Yes. Nonfiction."
"Well, I'm planning a literary novel, something different from my usual critical analyses, and in my totally fictional story, a man commits murder, but then tries to get a pardon to get himself off. Or failing that, takes steps to establish a claim of temporary insanity."
"Do tell."
"So my point in coming here is to find out what would be the best steps to take to support a subsequent claim of temporary insanity. You can help me with that, can't you? Since you are an author as well as a lawyer?"
"But I'm not a total idiot."