Read Blind Justice for Free Online

sleazebags in the cells called out to Ben as he passed by; he tried to ignore them. As always, the cells were atrocious, nauseating. They reeked of booze, vomit, and human waste. Ben held his breath and tried not to be sick.
    Lester stopped in front of the last cell on the left and opened the door. “Fifteen minutes.”
    “I know the drill,” Ben replied.
    “Hey, I’m not supposed to do this, but if you want, I could slip your card to those two drunks.”
    “Thanks just the same. I’m kind of busy right now.” Ben stepped into the cell. The iron door clanged shut behind him.
    She was lying on the bottom level of the metal bunk bed in the tiny six-by-eight-foot cell, beside the exposed sink and lidless toilet, the only decorative fixtures. Her eyes were shut; Ben couldn’t tell if she was asleep.
    Gradually, her eyes opened. “Ben?” She sat upright and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “That you?”
    “It’s me,” he said softly.
    “Thank heaven.” She stood slowly, hobbled unevenly to the sink and splashed water onto her face.
    She looked awful. She was still wearing the clothes she had been picked up in. Her yellow leotards had a huge run. Her long red hair was sticking out in every direction at once. Mascara was smeared all over the side of her face.
    Ben sat on the edge of the lower bunk. “So, what have you been up to?”
    Christina sat down on the opposite end of the bed. “Well, I haven’t killed anybody, if that’s what you want to know.”
    “I assumed that much. How did you get into this mess?”
    “It’s hard to explain. I told you I was going to meet Tony Lombardi. He was delayed by a business meeting.”
    “And his business was running drugs.”
    “That’s what they tell me.”
    “Did you ever see anything suspicious?”
    “No. Never. Tony told me he was in the import-export business.”
    “At least he wasn’t a liar. Did you ever see any of his imported goods?”
    “Yeah. Parrots.”
    “Parrots?”
    “Rare South American parrots. Supposed to be very valuable.”
    “South America, huh? That figures.” Ben batted his lips with his pencil. “What happened last night?”
    Christina pressed her fingers against her temples. “To be perfectly honest, Ben, I’m a little fuzzy on last night. I got a message telling me to meet Tony at his place. I did, but he wasn’t home yet. I turned on the TV, poured myself a drink, and waited. I must’ve fallen asleep. When I woke up, it was two o’clock in the morning, and Tony was lying on the floor with a huge chunk of his head missing.”
    “That must’ve been a shock.”
    “It…was.” She laughed softly. “And like the genius I am, I got up to investigate, rubbed my fingerprints all over everything, crouched over the body, and a nanosecond later the FBI showed up.”
    “I don’t suppose you saved the message?”
    “Nope. Tossed it in the trash. It’s long gone by now.”
    “And the message was from Lombardi?”
    “That’s what the receptionist said: But anyone could’ve called in and claimed to be him. She wouldn’t know.”
    “I suppose they remembered to read you your rights.”
    “Alas, yes.” Christina wiped her face with her sleeve. “Thanks for asking.”
    “Were they…rough on you? I mean…”
    Christina nodded. “They were okay. Under the circumstances. These guys were FBI, after all. They weren’t going to let some loose cannon get their case thrown out.” She paused; her eyes seemed to withdraw. “Didn’t care much for the strip search, though. And the delousing spray definitely did not make me feel minty fresh.”
    Ben tried not to wince.
    “So, counselor,” Christina said, “are you going to take my case?”
    “What, me? You don’t want me to represent you.”
    “ Au contraire, mon ami. I do.”
    “Christina, this is really… serious. I’m no criminal trial expert. Get Pat Williams. He’s the best.”
    “I don’t want Pat Williams. I can’t afford Pat Williams. I want you.” Her voice