by Sims, R.
Right to an
Attorney
A Psychological-Legal Thriller
By
R. Sims
Book 1 of the Damn Right Series
© 2017 Thriller Scenarios. And that, my friend, is the only notice you get. Will work for food; will sue for money. Any questions: [email protected] Thank you for your support.
Book 2 in this series will be:
Right to Confront: A Crime Thriller
CHAPTER 1
Sherri Peters was so nervous, it was a challenge to keep her hands still while they were gripping the steering wheel. She didn’t look out the driver’s window until the policeman was standing right there at it.
“How’s it going, ma’am?” the officer asked then glanced past her at the passenger. He thought she was pretty, but the white guy in the passenger’s seat seemed to avoid looking his way.
She saw the onlookers but didn’t really recognize the attentiveness of all the curious customers in the windows and parking lot of McDonald’s. “I’m sorry, officer. Was I speeding?” she asked, knowing damn well she hadn’t been.
“Do you have your license, registration, and insurance card on you?” He hadn’t yet decided what he might cite her for.
“Sure. Kevin, can you get my wallet out of my purse for me?”
Kevin was about to do it a second before she asked him. They made a beautiful couple, both in their early thirties.
Roseboro observed the passenger’s movement then rushed a hand to the butt of his holstered gun. “Hold it, son. Keep your hands where I can see them. Let the lady get the wallet herself.”
Kevin said, “Hey, take it easy. I was just trying to help speed things along.”
Sherri was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She was frozen and did not want to reach for her handbag. She had just gotten a gun from her brother. He’d told her it had been bought from a drug dealer, and now she was worried about how many murders might be linked to the gun.
“Ma’am, can you get your wallet and show me some identification?”
“If…If I refuse will I go to jail?”
Kevin shot her a puzzled look, though he was looking at the back of her head.
Roseboro opened the driver’s door, one hand still resting on the butt of his gun. “Step out of the car, ma’am. And you, sir, I need you to place both hands on top of the dashboard and keep them there.”
Sherri didn’t hesitate getting out of the car, away from that gun. She thought she’d simply be arrested for some minor charge while the cops let Kevin mosey on down the road in her mother’s car. After all, Kevin’s wallet and driver’s license were in his pocket.
Roseboro placed Sherri’s hands behind her back and cuffed them. “Do you have any weapons or contraband on you or in your vehicle?”
“I think I want to talk to my lawyer first.” Sherri had obviously watched too much CSI Miami.
Kevin closed his eyes and decided to rest his forehead on the dashboard as well.
Roseboro called for backup and a K-9 unit. He turned Sherri around to face him. “When the dogs get here and find your drugs, you can bet you won’t get any breaks for lawyering-up.” He hadn’t read her any rights. Sherri hadn’t refused to provide her identification cards, so it was unlawful for him to cuff her at this stage. Perhaps he, too, was a big fan of CSI Miami.
Sherri felt as if she would be sick. She believed the dogs would certainly pick up the scent of drugs from the drug dealer’s gun. “There are no drugs in the car. We have a gun but it’s not ours. We just picked it up from my brother, Steven Peters. We were…”
“Sherri!” Kevin shouted. “You don’t have to talk to him! You haven’t committed any crime.”
“You,” Roseboro pointed at Kevin, “I don’t wanna hear another word out of you.”
A second police car arrived on the scene, one that had been cruising four blocks away.
Sherri began talking again, hopeful that the officer wouldn’t later try to pin any murders on her. She started over — this time from the beginning. She began telling three policemen about Eric Adkins, Dexter Parker, and the $3.3 billion investment scam, or as much as she believed she knew about it.
CHAPTER 2
Eric Adkins, 33, had spotted the billowing smoke several blocks before reaching Chirrone Street. A bad feeling told him the smoke was coming from his friend’s house.
Eric turned onto Chirrone Street and saw a fire truck, two police cars, lots of neighbors, and several firefighters. Sure enough, the house at 1731 was sixty percent crispy. Eric had locked a black guy named Gerald Parker in the basement of the house, and he now wondered whether the man had been burned alive.
There had been nothing in the basement with which a fire could be started, so Eric assumed Gerald had been fucking with an electrical outlet.
Eric and Gerald’s brother had served several years in prison together; one knew computers and technology while the other knew business and finance. Together, after being released from prison, they had tricked 106 investors out of $3.374 billion. And now Gerald’s brother had run off with all the money.
Getting the $3.3 billion back was going to be damn near impossible. Hell, splitting the money fifty-fifty was starting to sound good again. That had been the original plan.
***
The next morning, Dexter Parker rented a Maserati Gran Sport and drove to a small law firm on First Street.
He entered the small firm wearing formal attire and carrying a black leather briefcase and a folded newspaper.
Behind the receptionist’s desk sat Debbie Goldman, a petite white college student who was not all that attractive but was well-mannered and polite. She looked up at the black guy and said, “Good morning, sir. How can I help you?” She thought he was handsome. The low haircut and clean-shaven face made the 35-year-old look seven or eight years younger.
Dexter approached the desk and traded smiles with her. “Good morning. My name is Dexter Parker, and it is urgent that I meet with Ms. Ingram.”
“Well, she’s in the middle of a telephone conference.” She glanced at a wall clock. “Let me check on that for you.” She pressed a single button on her desk phone and, without picking up the handset, said, “Ms. Ingram, there’s a Mr. Dexter Parker here to see you, says it’s urgent.”
“I’ll be right out, Debbie.”
Debbie smiled at the visitor again. “I’d ask you to have a seat but…” She heard a door open down the hall to her right.
Dexter said, “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
A black woman arrived. “Mr. Parker? What can I do for you?”
Without staring, Dexter took in the glamour, physical dimensions, and soft voice of the 34-year-old sexy lawyer. She was dressed in a business suit with conservative slacks, but he could tell that she was as shapely as his ex but just a bit shorter.
He reached out to shake her hand. “I’m here to talk to with you about representation in a criminal matter.” Damn. Her hand was tender and smooth.
“Sure. We’ll talk in my office. Debbie, hold my calls, please.”
“No problem.”
Dexter followed her down the hall, studying her inviting walk, which was damn near a sashay.
She looked back at him and almost caught him sizing-up her ass. “Is anyone in jail?” She entered her office and headed for the oversized, comfortable swivel chair behind the desk. “Please, have a seat.”
Dexter saw three leather armchairs positioned in an arc in front of her large desk. “Thank you. Should I close the door?”
“Oh, please do.”
He closed the door then got another look around the small office. Th
e window behind her desk did not have a great view. Every item of furniture seemed to have been supersized, and this told him something interesting about the woman, according to what he’d learned while studying psychology.
Dexter set his briefcase and newspaper on the first armchair, unbuttoned his blazer, and took a seat in the middle armchair. “Ms. Ingram, no one is in…”
“Call me Janet.”
He nodded. “As you wish, Janet. No one has been charged, but I’d like to hire you to represent me on a double-homicide case.”
Janet leaned back in her chair now.
CHAPTER 3
“My research tells me that you have state and federal licenses and that you also practice in California.”
“Yes. I moved here from California four years ago. Did the crime occur here in Pennsylvania or in California?”
He said, “Here. Harrisburg. I’ll eventually face more unrelated charges in California. I’ve already retained counsel there, though I haven’t met her yet. I’ll need for you to assist with that case as well.”
Janet shut her eyes tightly then quickly opened them. “Let’s start over, this time from the beginning. The two homicides…”
He grabbed the newspaper and opened it up to page 3A. He folded the paper below an article then gave it to her. “Read the story about the missing investment banker and his driver. They’ve only been reported as missing, but pretty soon the cops will eventually investigate it as a double homicide. I believe this because a white guy named Eric Adkins will likely tell the police that I killed them.”
Janet was reading the article but stopped and said, “And why would this Eric guy say such a thing about you? Try to answer that without incriminating yourself.”
“Well, I owe him some money.”
“How much money?”
“That depends,” Dexter smiled, “on how much you think is fair.”
She began reading again but stopped and said, “How much does Eric think is fair?”
“About $3.3 billion.”
She looked up at him. The number caught her attention only because she’d heard it more than once this morning on her way to work. The $3.3 billion investment scam had been all over the radio.
He leaned forward, gently pulled the paper from her delicate hands, and showed her the front page.
THE $3.3 BILLION TRAFFIC STOP.
“You can read about the traffic stop first; it’s more interesting,” he said.
Janet studied him, looking for signs that this guy was just playing games.
He said, “Why the silent treatment?”
“I don’t know if I should take you seriously.” She didn’t mean to say that. Actually, she meant to say it but it came out wrong. This could be her career client. She would have to be careful with her words, careful not to run him off to another lawyer. “I mean, are you kidding me?” She smiled.
“How much for a high-profile double homicide?”
“Why don’t we wait until you’re charged before we talk numbers?”
“How about we do this my way? Give me a price or decline representation.”
She held his stare for a few seconds. “How does a half million sound? That would also cover my investigators, experts, and…”
“I have a better idea.” He opened his briefcase, removed two documents and four stacks of hundred-dollar bills, and dropped the six items on her desk. “That’s $100,000 cash, just to get you to take me seriously.”
She was definitely taking him seriously now.
“That’s yours if you agree to do everything my way. I’ll pay your fee of $ 500,000 as soon as I’m indicted, and you’ll get another 2.4 million if I’m not convicted. All of that includes your assistance with whatever charges I may face in California as well. Any questions?”
Of course she had questions. Are you married? And, more to the point, are you guilty of murder? But those questions could always be answered later, at the appropriate time.
CHAPTER 4
Jimmy Carpenter sat at a table in the city police department’s interview room. Although he was a big fellow, best described as a redneck college dropout and a gritty car mechanic, his nerves had the best of him at the moment.
Detective Jason Bendler entered the interview room carrying two cups of coffee. He was followed by Arson Investigator David Kobak, who was carrying a portfolio and eating a sandwich.
Jimmy sat up straight in his chair, accepted a cup of coffee from the tall, military-looking policeman, and watched as the sandwich-eating cop closed the door.
They exchanged handshakes and introductions with Jimmy then took a seat at the table with him. Detective Bendler sipped at his coffee. “Mr. Carpenter, this interview is being recorded, both audio and video. You are not under arrest at this time, but we would like to ask you some questions about the deliberate burning of your house, which is located at 1731 Chirrone Street.”
“Alright.”
Bendler said, “At approximately nine in the morning of yesterday, were you at home on Chirrone Street?”
“No, sir. I had spent the night at my girlfriend’s place. We were together until I came home around noon yesterday.” The detective removed a small notepad and a pen from his shirt pocket. “What’s your girlfriend’s name, address, and contact...”
“Linda Hill. 513 Carrol Street. 368-1756. That’s here in Harrisburg.”
Investigator Kobak finished the last of his sandwich and said, “Mr. Carpenter, we’ll be honest with you. Since you were at least two months behind in your mortgage payments, and because you’re the owner, we have to look at you. I don’t know yet if you’re guilty but if you are, we will find out soon. Very soon. If you did it, you’re looking at twenty years in prison. If you had someone do it for you, while you were at your girlfriend’s place, you’re still looking at twenty years in prison.”
Before Jimmy could respond, the detective cut in. “Mr. Carpenter, we know that the fire started in your basement, and we know that a Lexus SUV had been seen there the night before and the morning of the fire. We believe it had been parked there overnight. Do you know anyone who drives a black…”
“Okay. Listen,” Jimmy said. He sipped more coffee. “I didn’t have anything to do with setting my house on fire, absolutely nothing. But if you guys can promise to give me immunity, I’ll tell you about a crime that’s much bigger than your arson investigation. My information may even help you figure out who started the fire. But I’m not going to say anything else until I see a lawyer and the district attorney.”
***
Gerald Parker had gotten his wife to lease a 4-bedroom house on Oakley Drive this morning. Not many people knew he had married a white Web developer and programmer named Caroline, which is why everything would be in her name.
Marquise “Que” Dyson had helped Gerald escape from Jimmy’s house then set it ablaze, and now they were unloading furniture from a big U-Haul truck. Dexter sat on a leather sofa in the front yard, talking away on his phone. Caroline was inside unpacking certain items and orchestrating the placement of furniture whenever the guys would bring things inside.
Dexter was on the phone with the woman who had been his English professor in college sixteen years ago, Elizabeth Mackie. He hadn’t communicated with her since she’d stopped visiting him in prison nearly three years ago.
The 62-year-old white lady was easily the smartest person Dexter had ever personally known, even when it came to most other subjects. The lady was a three-time bestselling author — two books on English usage and one on psychology.
Professor Mackie said, “Why don’t you come see me tomorrow? I’ll cook your favorite dinner, and you can tell me how I may be able to help you with your problem. How does seven sound?”
“I’ll be there,” Dexter said.
CHAPTER 5
“…but Eric wanted me to kidnap Gerald Parker, which is Dexter Parker’s brother,” Jimmy Carpenter said. He was sitting at a table in the interview room with District Attorney James Schaefer, I
nvestigator Kobak, and Detective Bendler.
The district attorney said, “Why you? Why couldn’t he do it himself?”
“I’m a pretty big guy, so Eric thought I should be the one to approach Gerald. Plus, Gerald wouldn’t recognize me if he saw me.”
“Did you take Eric up on the kidnapping scheme?” Kobak asked.
“Yeah. I caught Gerald at home in his car, which was parked in the driveway. I kept a .357 aimed at him and never had any problems out of him. He talked a lot of shit but he was all mouth. The gun was Hollywood, but he didn’t know that.”
The D.A. said, “Okay. Back up for a second. Did Eric tell you why Dexter was the one with the $3 billion and not him?”
“No. When he guaranteed me a half million dollars to kidnap Gerald and keep him at my house, he knew I wouldn’t care about any other details. Hell, he gave me ten grand at the start of all of this; what did I have to lose?”
“Something doesn’t make sense here,” the detective said. “You said Eric had you carjack him and Dexter, and Dexter was supposed to think you had killed Eric when he wouldn’t get out of the car.”
“Right.”
“Yeah, well, why would Eric play dead and then come back to life to negotiate Gerald’s freedom for three billion? What was the purpose of playing dead?”
“You see, they were all supposed to go to the Cayman bank together, but if Eric would have gone he wouldn’t have been able to figure out how to get all the money from Dexter once down there. That’s what he told me, ’cause they were supposed to go their separate ways once they split the money or bonds. I think it was part money and part bearer bonds.”
The arson investigator jumped in. “And you believe Eric removed Gerald and sat the house on fire just so he wouldn’t have to pay you the half million he promised you?”
“That’s right. You do the math. He wants me to think Gerald started the fire and got away, but I bet you guys couldn’t find Gerald right now if you put out an APB. That’s ’cause he’s still locked up, probably in somebody else’s basement.”
