Sleight of Hand: A Novel of Suspense (Dana Cutler) by Phillip Margolin Read Free Book Online Page B

at the litigants and spectators from cream-colored walls, and the bench was elaborately carved oak. All in all, it was a fitting place to hold court if you thought you were royalty, which described the mind-set of the Honorable Preston L. Gardner III.
    Gardner had been the youngest judge in the state when he was appointed three years earlier. He had piercing blue eyes fixed in a perpetual squint, thin lips always set in a disapproving scowl, and plastered-down, jet-black hair. He reminded Charles Benedict of the obnoxious nerds he had loved to torment in junior high.
    Benedict had been in Gardner’s court on a number of occasions and had never seen him dressed in anything but a black, three-piece suit; blue, red, and yellow striped tie; and his Phi Beta Kappa key. Gardner wore the key because he loved to remind people that he was brilliant. The first things one noticed entering his chambers were diplomas attesting to the honors he’d been awarded at Dartmouth and Harvard Law and the certificate proving that he was a member of Mensa. If the Guinness Book of Records kept track of oversized egos, Benedict was certain that Gardner would be listed.
    Sitting next to Benedict was Kyle Ross. The defendant was a twenty-year-old junior at the University of Virginia majoring in prelaw. He had curly blond hair, soft blue eyes, and a deceptively boyish appearance. Kyle was an insufferable whiner, but Benedict could put up with any jerk who paid his outrageous fee.
    Seated behind Benedict was Devon Ross, Kyle’s father, and Devon’s trophy wife, a peroxide blonde who was only slightly older than Kyle. With his heavily veined nose, slightly bloated face, and middle-age spread, Devon Ross was a preview of what Kyle would look like in twenty years. Devon was a senior partner in the Richmond law firm Kyle would join when he graduated from law school. But Kyle would never be able to go to law school if he was convicted of possession and distribution of cocaine.
    It had taken the whole morning to pick a jury, and both sides concluded their opening statements a little after two. As soon as the opening statements had been made, Judge Gardner told the commonwealth to call its first witness.
    “You’re on top of this, right?” Kyle asked Benedict nervously.
    “Relax,” Benedict whispered. “You’re going to be fine.”
    “Because that bitch is lying, and so is that cop.”
    Benedict restrained himself from smashing Ross in the face. The so-called bitch was an innocent thirteen-year-old girl, and two decorated police officers supported her story.
    “The commonwealth calls Anita Lesley, Your Honor,” Mary Maguire said. Benedict had met with Maguire a few times to talk about the case. She was high-strung and very insecure, which was not surprising for a new hire handling her first major felony.
    During pretrial motions the rail-thin redhead had looked stressed out. She had fidgeted at counsel table, moved files around, tapped her left foot incessantly, and shifted on her chair every few seconds. Maguire argued long after it was clear that the judge was not going to rule the way she wanted him to, and her voice grew strident when an adverse witness did not answer a question the way she had anticipated. Even when she prevailed, Maguire had looked more relieved than happy.
    The door to the courtroom opened and a shy, conservatively dressed teenager walked down the aisle to the witness stand. She had wheat-colored hair and pale skin. Benedict noticed that Anita Lesley scrupulously avoided looking at his client and that her hand shook when she took the oath.
    “Please tell the jury your age,” Maguire said.
    The girl’s answer was inaudible and the judge told her to speak up.
    “I’m thirteen.”
    “What grade are you in?”
    “Eighth.”
    “Do you have an older brother?”
    “Yes, Jerry.”
    “Where does he go to school?”
    “The University of Virginia.”
    “Is he a classmate of the defendant?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “On the