by Matt Coyle
We made love that night. Silently. Desperately. Like we feared, despite our efforts, that this might be the last night we’d be together under a roof we both considered home.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
I MIGHT AS well have driven to Santa Barbara with Leah the next morning for all the support I managed to show Turk at his arraignment at the Central Division San Diego County Courthouse. I wore my scratched blackout sunglasses inside. They hid my two black eyes, but did nothing to disguise my swollen nose. And they made the use of my cane more of a necessity than in the past week. I’d barely tapped my way down an aisle and into a seat when Turk’s case was called.
I could only make out blocky shapes in the front of the courtroom. A voice belonging to the judge read out the charges against Turk. Murder in the first degree and resisting arrest. The D.A. obviously overcharged in hopes of forcing a plea deal at the felony disposition conference. She had to know that no jury would convict on first-degree murder. Turk was innocent, but even if someone thought he was guilty, the only reasonable charge would be second-degree murder. A crime committed in passion, not premeditated.
My tackle of Turk didn’t keep the D.A. from tacking on the resisting arrest charge. A bargaining chip that I’d paid for with a broken nose. Still, if I’d let him run, or limp in his case, from the police, some adrenalized cop on the takedown squad might have used a bullet to take the case out of the court’s hands.
I did the right thing.
The judge’s voice asked, “How do you plead?” after each charge.
“Not guilty, Your Honor,” was Turk’s answer. His voice strong. Resolute. Twenty-four hours in jail, and he hadn’t been beaten down, yet. Good. Even if it was just a façade. A façade was better than nothing. Especially in jail.
The bail schedule for a murder suspect in California is $1,000,000 and can only be lowered if there were unusual circumstances for the defendant.
Elk Fenton rhapsodized eloquently about Turk’s commitment to the community, being anchored to his landmark La Jolla restaurant, and even his disability incurred while he saved my life. The judge gaveled a million-dollar bail, scheduled an early disposition conference for the following Tuesday, and remanded Turk to the county jail.
I could faintly hear the footstep, thunk, and drag of Turk’s cadence as he was led from the courtroom. At least they’d given him a new cane.
Twenty minutes later, I stood behind Fenton next to Amy Burroughs, Turks, married sister, on top of the steps of the county courthouse as he told the assembled press that Turk was one hundred percent innocent and looked forward to his day in court and the chance to clear his name.
Fenton concluded his comments and the media’s shadows and forms faded away. The lack of clarity made me miss my new, broken, sunglasses. I accepted Amy’s arm to descend the steps.
“Rick?” A familiar voice. “Cathy Cade with Channel Six News.”
Shit.
“We’re not taking questions, Cathy.” Fenton’s voice from the street level below.
“Is it true that Thomas Muldoon assaulted you?”
“That’s a lie!” Turk’s sister shouted as she maneuvered me down to the sidewalk.
Amy was five years younger than Turk, but shared his cornflower blue eyes and fiery burred red hair. But unlike him, she was happily married. I remembered another time Turk gave someone other than me a black eye. When a drunk trust fund punk groped Amy in the bar at Muldoon’s. I wondered if Amy remembered.
Three separate masses emerged from the dark background when I hit the bottom of the steps.
“That’s enough.” Elk, the blob on the left.
“Is it true Mr. Muldoon attempted to evade arrest?” Cade, the smaller mass in the middle. She definitely had an inside source at the Brick House.
I let go of Amy’s arm and snapped open my service cane. The top-heavy shape on the right closed in on me. Cade’s cameraman. I kept my mouth shut. This was Fenton’s game. I was just a silent cheerleader. A symbol.
“If any of these baseless allegations air on the news, I’ll sue your TV station for libel.” Elk, at his offended best. “How dare you sully the name of a good and decent man.”
It sounded like a convincing show. Although, I knew Elk occasionally gave Cade deep background on celebrity court cases. A lot of back scratching, expensed lunches, and switching sides.
“That’s a rap, Stu.” Cade, her outline now a couple feet from me. “Put some ice on that nose, Rick. It looks awful. Ellis, see you at the EDC.” Early disposition conference.
“You’re a horrible woman!” Amy shouted as Cade and her cameraman’s footsteps faded away. She’d never seen how the game was played before.
“Cathy’s just doing her job.” Fenton. His voice had a shrug in it.
“This is my brother’s life.” Annoyed.
“Yes, ma’am.” Fenton, polite. “And I intend to see that he lives the rest of it as a free man.”
“I hope so. That’s why I’m putting a second mortgage on my house.” Amy might not have been a member of Turk’s defense team, but she was obviously paying for at least part of it. “Rick, do you need a ride?”
“Rick’s going to ride with me,” Fenton volunteered without asking me. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Everything is going as expected.”
“Um-hum.” Amy sounded like she didn’t think Elk was giving her her money’s worth. “Thanks for coming down to support Turk, Rick. I know he really appreciates it.”
I doubted he did just yet. Amy’s footsteps disappeared into the traffic noise on Union Street.
“I’m parked on State Street. This way.” He was on my left. “Would it help you to hold my arm?”
“I’ll use the cane. Thanks.”
I took off my sunglasses and hooked them on the neck of my dress shirt under the blazer I wore for the arraignment.
“Wow.” Elk. “He really did a number on your face.”
“The bullet hole was from someone else.”
“I know.” Reflexive. “For a kid growing up in La Jolla, you sure haven’t had an easy life.”
“Tract home section.”
“I guess that explains everything.” He didn’t laugh. Maybe if I’d ever invited him over to my house as a kid he would have. Ellison “Elk” Fenton grew up on a hillside overlooking the Pacific Ocean in La Jolla. My family lived in a cul-de-sac at the bottom of a hill overlooked by other homes.
The sun was out and rectangle shapes trudged by on the street. Morning traffic in downtown San Diego. Pedestrian traffic as well as I tapped my cane alongside Elk and avoided individual outlines. Every shape and form, unrecognizable, but clearer than yesterday.
Those coming the other way got an unshielded look at my face. I hoped someday to be able to see their reactions.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
WE MADE IT to Fenton’s car parked on the outdoor pay lot on State Street.
“Why the ride?” I asked after we both got into his BMW.
“I thought we could chat about next steps while I give you a ride home.”
“We can chat, but can you give me a ride somewhere else?”
“Of course. Where do you need to go?” A hint of the goofy kid from my childhood leaked out in Elk’s voice. I guess it was his default persona. Where he went when the mask slipped and he didn’t have to be a ball-busting lawyer or a calm consigliere.
“Sunglass Hut on Prospect Street in La Jolla.”
“Okay, but we’ll probably pass near four or five of their stores before we hit La Jolla.”
“I know. I want to go to this one, if you don’t mind.” I had a reason other than sunglasses to go to that area.
“Sure.”
“What did you want to chat about?”
“I’d like you to accompany me to the EDC on Tuesday. From what Cathy Cade said, it sounds like the press is going to cover every hearing up to and through the trial and it’s important to continue to show support for Turk. Especially, since he’s been arrested.”
> “Sure, but you heard her question about Turk assaulting me.” A low-slung car sped by on the right. I could see that it was a convertible. More progress. “She’s obviously got an in at the Brick House and my presence is more likely to remind her to ask the tough questions no one else knows about yet.”
“I’ll worry about Cathy. I need you by my side.” Confident lawyer.
“You think the D.A. will offer to drop the resisting arrest charge and dangle murder two at the EDC?”
“Yes, the D.A. must want a plea agreement. That’s why she overcharged the case. That tells me their case isn’t locked down. But I’m sure her prosecutor, Dana Hess, wants to go to trial. This has the potential to be a career-making case. The networks are already covering it. A murdered beautiful young blond woman is catnip to the press. A ratings bonanza.”
“What about you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Is this a career-making case for you?”
Fenton had been nothing but professional in all the cases I’d worked for him, as well as in Turk’s so far. But I always sensed a longing in him for a bigger stage. High-profile cases always went to other defense attorneys in town. Ones with higher name recognition. This case might be the one to put Ellis Fenton on the big stage.
Everyone was allowed higher aspirations. Especially someone who only got to see his two daughters every other weekend. But a man who had saved my life and, once, been like a brother to me was about to stand trial for murder. I couldn’t take anything for granted.
“Yes, it would be.” Sour. I’d hurt his feelings. The tagalong kid from my childhood. “But Mr. Muldoon’s future is my primary concern. I thought you understood that.”
“I do, but Turk’s family to me. Glad we’re on the same page.” I was done apologizing for being who I was. I apologized to Leah, because she’d deserved it. Everyone else could take or leave me.
Elk was quiet the next few minutes as he maneuvered the Beemer through downtown San Diego. I hoped he wasn’t waiting for an apology or a qualifier. The car negotiated a turn and smoothly accelerated. We were on I-5 heading toward La Jolla.
“Do you think Turk would agree to manslaughter if I could get his sentence to be under ten years? He could be out in five or six years.”
A sniper shot from a thousand yards.
“No. He’d be admitting to something he didn’t do. He’s never going to do that. He’s innocent. Guilty people plead down to manslaughter. Do you think he’s guilty?”
“I don’t think in terms of guilty and innocence. My job is to protect Turk’s rights and get him the best possible result.”
At least he was proving to me that Turk was his top priority. You grab headlines with a four-month pyrotechnic murder trial in court, not a five-minute plea deal.
“I thought you said the D.A. must not have a strong case. Turk pleading now doesn’t make sense.”
“I said she probably doesn’t have a locked-down case, not that it wasn’t strong.” No-nonsense lawyer. “They’ve got Turk arguing with Shay at the murder scene near the time of death window. They have him admitting to putting his hands on her. They have the murder weapon, which belongs to him and will have both his and Shay’s DNA on it. And they have Turk not being completely truthful in at least one of his interviews with them.”
“At least one of his interviews? You’re implying that he probably was less than truthful in the other one, too?”
“I’m looking at all possibilities.” Calm, in charge. “And one of them is that the evidence will be strong enough for Turk to consider pleading to manslaughter if I can get it for him.”
“Is one of those possibilities looking for evidence of other suspects?”
“Of course. And we may even get lucky if the DNA comes back and points to someone else.” He didn’t sound optimistic for that outcome.
“Why don’t we get a jump on the investigation and get a list of convicted sex offenders in the area?”
“Because that’s a waste of time and resources.” A hint of annoyance. “Shay Sommers was not raped. There hasn’t been any evidence that her home was burglarized. There was no sign of a break-in. Someone was probably let into her apartment or had a key and that person killed her. He beat her up and strangled her with a tie and then left. No sign of sexual assault. Shay was discovered naked, but Turk said she slept that way. No staging of the body. This wasn’t a serial killer or a rapist. More than likely, the person who murdered Shay knew her.”
I didn’t say anything. The hum of the luxury car rolling over the cement highway might have soothed my nerves if Turk’s lawyer hadn’t just laid out the facts pointing to Turk as Shay Sommers’ killer.
“He didn’t do it,” I finally said in a voice that didn’t even sound convincing to me.
“That’s what I have to somehow find a way to prove.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ELK DROPPED ME in front of the Sunglass Hut on the corner of Prospect and Herschel in La Jolla and went to find a place to park. La Jolla’s version of winter clamped down on the morning. Chilly enough for a sweater and a marine layer of fog that I could sense even with my limited eyesight. I went into the store and bought the same style sunglasses I’d bought last week and was done in less than five minutes. Frames that still blocked my scar, but with lenses that let in more light than my blackouts. I went outside, gave my phone a series of voice commands, then waited for Elk Fenton to arrive on foot.
I spotted him approaching a couple minutes later. I guessed that it was Elk just by watching his outline approaching me. Something loose and childlike about his gait.
“Hello, Elk.” I caught him before he reached me.
“Whoa.” His outline halted three feet in front of me. “How did you know it was me?”
“Your cologne.” He wore Calvin Klein, but I’d spotted the gait before I smelled the cologne.
“Wow, you’re good. Maybe I should scale back on the amount of cologne I wear.” He chuckled. “Do you want to wait while I go pick up the car? I had to park all the way over on Silverado.”
“No. How about you buy me a late breakfast or an early lunch at La Sala in La Valencia, instead?”
“I think they call that brunch, but I’m afraid I don’t have time today. I have to go to the office and start prepping my associates for Turk’s defense. I’m taking Sophie and Karissa to Cabo on Friday.” His daughters and Cabo San Lucas in Baja, Mexico. “I’ll be incommunicado for a few days, but will be back on Monday in time for Turk’s EDC on Tuesday, but I want my team up-to-date in case there are travel issues. This will be my only chance to take the girls on a mini vacation until the trial is over.”
“This brunch pertains to Turk’s defense. I’ll pay my own way if that will make it easier.”
“No, that’s okay.” Flustered. “But let’s make it as quick as possible. I really have to get to the office.”
I was stealing valuable prep time in Elk’s defense of my friend. Hopefully, the time would be well spent and give him another avenue to counter the prosecution.
“Roger.”
We crossed to the other side of Prospect Street and headed north to La Valencia, the Grand Dame of La Jolla resort hotels. I tapped along with my cane, but might have been able to make the walk without it. Curbs and uneven sidewalks were still a concern. Today, I could even make out the outline of the domed tower on top of the Classic Mediterranean hotel.
We got a table right away in La Sala, the bar in the Grand Lobby. I folded up my cane and set it on the table, then made sure to sit with my back to the bar entrance. Something I never did when I had 20/20 vision. Back then, I wanted to meet all potential threats head-on. But today, I wanted Elk to see what I couldn’t.
I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and slid it across the table to Elk.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Keenan Powell.” I leaned in and kept my voice low. “The man I told you about who Shay Sommers met here at La Valencia the night before she w
as murdered. Keep an eye out for him. Coming or going from the elevator. He may still be staying in the hotel.”
While I waited for Elk at the Sun Glass Hut, I’d commanded my phone to pull up Powell’s bio page from the Clean Slate Capital’s website and took a screen shot, then saved it to my photos. I knew his picture was on the page.
“The man Ms. Sommers was having an affair with?”
A waiter interrupted and dropped menus. We both ordered turkey burgers. Neither of us ordered a drink. This wasn’t a lazy mimosa-type meeting. This was Turk’s freedom.
“We couldn’t confirm he and Shay were having an affair.” I continued to lean toward Fenton. “The body language between them on the two occasions they were seen together wasn’t romantic. The manager at Muldoon’s saw them having dinner at Nine-Ten just down the street a couple weeks before Turk followed Shay to La Valencia the first time. She thought Shay was confrontational with Powell.”
I told him about Shay’s angry discussion with Powell and her story to Kris that Powell was a friend of her father’s even though her father had abandoned her when she was only three years old.
“The page you showed me on your phone says that Keenan Powell is Chief Operating Officer and General Counsel for Blank Slate Capital.” Animation in Elk’s voice. Not goofy kid animation, but the lawyer kind when he found something he could run with. “What is Blank Slate Capital?”
“They manage a hedge fund and have a very limited electronic paper trail online. Only three listings on Google.”
Fenton’s arm moved toward me on the table. I could hear the shhh sound of my phone sliding along the tabletop. I picked it up and put it in my coat pocket.
“Okay, I’ll have Dan Coyote look into this Keenan Powell character and talk to the manager at Muldoon’s and her boyfriend soon. Right now, he’s interviewing Shay’s and Turk’s neighbors, trying to nail down Turk’s timeline and alibi for the night of the murder. But this is definitely worth looking into.” Slightly upbeat. “Good job, Rick.”
A pat on the head for the blind guy who you didn’t hire as your investigator.
