No Witness

by Warren C Easley

  “You’ll be arraigned within a day or two. That means you’ll go in front of a judge, they’ll state the charges against you, and you’ll enter a plea.”

  He nodded his head vigorously. “Yes, a plea. Not guilty. That is my plea.”

  “Good.” Bail would be steep for someone charged with murder. I decided to hold that bit of bad news for a future meeting. “Meanwhile, you’ll be held in custody. It’s important for you not to speak to anyone about this. Is that clear? And I hope to God you haven’t left anything else out this time.”

  His expression grew contrite. “I have not.” He fixed his eyes on me. “Do you believe me, that I didn’t kill Plácido?”

  I drew in and exhaled a long breath and paused for a moment. I could’ve told him that a lawyer doesn’t need to believe his client, that his job is to provide the best possible defense against the charges regardless of guilt or innocence. But I knew Carlos wanted an honest answer, and, besides, my gut had already taken a position. “I shouldn’t, because you lied to me or at least left things out of your story. But no, I don’t think you killed him.” I had to smile. “I think your wife is right about you.”

  Carlos nodded once in acknowledgment. “Thank you, Cal. That is important to me.” He sighed and dragged a hand down his cheek. “How bad is this?”

  “It’s a pretty strong case, but it’s early. I’ll be in touch.”

  Timoteo was standing in the waiting room when I came out, his eyes wide and filled with fear and something close to panic at seeing another nightmare for his family unfold.

  “Why did they arrest him?”

  “They think he killed Plácido.”

  “No, that’s crazy. Papi would never kill anyone.” He teared up, and his knees buckled slightly.

  I gave him a bear hug. “We’ll beat this,” I said, glancing at two young men slouched in the corner watching us. “Let’s not discuss this here. I’ll meet you back at your house. Stay strong and don’t worry. Your father’s going to be okay. I promise.”

  He swiped a tear and nodded with a look of profound relief and absolute trust in me.

  I instantly regretted the promise made. It was sincere but ill-advised. The truth was, the investigation into Olivia’s murder and the attempt on Luis already had me scrambling. Adding a murder defense? Out of the question, and besides, there were legal issues involved in my getting involved in Carlos’s case. But the cases were obviously related. Solve one and you solve them all. My gut twisted at the maddening circularity of the problem.

  I needed help. The sooner the better.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Zoe met us at the Fuentes’s front door, and we followed her into the kitchen where Luis and Marlene were waiting. “Elena has calmed down some, but I need to tell her something now that you’ve arrived. What should I say?”

  “Tell her Carlos has been detained by the local police, not ICE, and that we’re going to clear it up. Nothing to worry about.” It was sugarcoated but the best I could come up with.

  She left for the back bedroom, and the rest of us huddled at the kitchen table. I began describing the situation and answering their questions. At the first lull, Timoteo said, “Papi just happens to go find Plácido right around the time he’s murdered. Was that just shitty luck, or what?”

  “I think Carlos’s anger scared Plácido, and he took off,” I said. “My hunch is he made the mistake of telling someone his cover may have been blown, and that resulted in his death. After all, he handed the key to the vineyard directly to El Solitario. That alone put him at significant risk.”

  Timoteo grimaced. “So, it was shitty luck.”

  “It looks that way. But keep in mind that what I’ve just outlined is a strong alternate theory of the crime, and that’s a good thing.” I paused for a moment. “There’s one problem that’s weighing on me.” Three sets of inquiring eyes locked on to me. “I’m too deeply involved in Olivia’s and Luis’s cases to also act as Carlos’s defense attorney. He needs someone who can focus solely on his case. In addition, I could be called as a fact witness, which would jeopardize attorney-client privilege between Carlos and me. We can’t take that chance.” I regarded the shocked faces around the table. “Look, this isn’t about me, it’s about ensuring Carlos gets the best possible defense.”

  Luis rocked back in his chair, and Timoteo said with an incredulous look, “You mean we need another lawyer to defend Papi?”

  “Yes. And I think I have a solution,” I said in a voice that sounded more confident than I felt. “I can’t share the details at the moment. You need to trust me on this.” Luis shot me a skeptical look, but Timoteo and Marlene voiced their assent.

  Zoe came back in the kitchen at that point. “How’s Elena?” I asked, relieved to change the subject.

  Her face registered concern. “She’s worried about Carlos now, but the fact that it wasn’t ICE who arrested him was some consolation. At least she’s talking a little. That’s a good sign.”

  I said, “Let’s focus on next steps.” I looked at Luis. “We now know that Plácido was part of Diego Vargas’s group. I’d like you to work behind the scenes to see if you can find more of their members. Don’t approach his cousins, because they think Carlos killed him. Start with any friends he had. Keep it as quiet as you can.” I looked him in the eye. “The shooter’s still out there, so continue to watch your back.”

  Always the skeptic, Luis eyed me, his forehead and cheek bandaged and his left eye black but no longer swollen shut. “What are you going to do?”

  I looked at Luis, acknowledging the fairness of the question. “First, I’m going to get us some help, and then I’m going to focus my attention on Diego Vargas.” I briefly described the spiderweb I’d drawn and the list of questions arising from it. “There’s a pattern here, I just don’t see it yet,” I told them.

  “What about the surveillance of Harris?” Timoteo asked.

  “Stay on it this week. We’ll see if we learn anything.”

  As our discussion trailed off, Zoe said, “This has been a serious setback for Elena. As you care for her, you need to stress that we have a strong team in place to help Carlos, that he’s going to be okay.” She paused. “She let me hold her hand for a while and asked me to come back. I will, if that’s all right with you.”

  Luis nodded, and Timoteo said, “Of course, Zoe. That’s good news. Come whenever you can. Please.”

  ***

  That night, after I cooked and ate the stir-fry I’d started earlier, Archie gave a couple of sharp barks at the sound of a knock. “Am I disturbing anything?” Zoe said when I opened the front door. She wore the blue scarf but not the pearl earrings, her soft smile was half in shadow, reminding me of another painting, one I couldn’t quite place. I found myself wondering why her face evoked works of art. Not a good sign.

  I invited her in, glancing at the bottle of wine she carried.

  She held the bottle up. “Not a 2012.” The smile again. “My conscience is getting to me. I picked this up at the Red Hills Market the other day.”

  “All the Carabella vintages are excellent,” I said. She followed me into the kitchen, where I put a corkscrew to the bottle, poured two glasses, and joined her at the kitchen table. I raised my glass. “Thanks again for the help today. Sounds like you made some progress with Elena.”

  She shook her head with a pained look. “Not much, really. She’s been traumatized and retraumatized, but she did talk to me for a while. She needs a woman to confide in. Mrs. Angel is wonderful but, you know, she’s the boss’s wife.”

  “What’s the prognosis?”

  “If I can keep her talking, she should come out of it, be functional, at least. But losing a child, her only daughter, so abruptly and violently—it’s, ah, it’s a steep climb.” Zoe inhaled a breath and let it out slowly. “She told me the story of Carlos’s cartel connection. She loves him but is
in no mood to forgive his past actions if they caused her daughter’s death. I hope you can prove that’s not the case, for the sake of their relationship.”

  I winced. “One miracle at a time. I need to get Carlos out from under a murder charge first.”

  She put her lips to her glass and sipped some wine, her deep blues intent on me. “I get why you can’t represent Carlos against the murder charge. What’s the secret plan?”

  “It’s no secret, and it’s not much of a plan, so I didn’t want to get into it with them.” I went on to tell her what I had in mind, and we discussed it while we drank the wine.

  “And if that doesn’t work?” she asked when I finished.

  I shook my head. “There’s no plan B at the moment.”

  A second glass of wine later, Archie and I walked Zoe back across the field. Our friend the owl was silent, but it was crystal clear, and the night sky was on full, awe-striking display. She looked up in a northerly direction and sighed softly. “It’s beautiful tonight. I needed this. Which one’s the North Star? I’m never sure.”

  “See the Big Dipper?” I pointed in the direction of the constellation. She nodded. “The two outer stars in the bowl point directly to it.”

  “Oh, yeah. There it is. Wow, nice and bright.”

  Archie brushed against her leg, and she dropped to one knee and hugged him. I said, “How’s the book coming?”

  “Oh, God, don’t ask,” she said, standing back up. “I’m writing about a woman who needs to overcome obstacles and setbacks to find meaning and purpose in her life.” She paused, looked up at the Big Dipper again and laughed sardonically. “Then I became involved with Elena Fuentes and her family. Suddenly my story seems so, so trivial, you know?”

  “Yeah, I can understand that,” I said, kicking myself for asking a question that broke the mood. She eyed me expectantly and waited. “But a problem doesn’t necessarily have to pose an existential threat to be significant,” I offered. “We stumble on lesser things all the time, and they can be just as devastating.”

  She paused as if turning that over. “True enough. It’s just…well, I think right now I’m too caught up in Elena’s story to think straight about my book.” She laughed. “I’ll say one thing, Cal Claxton—life has certainly been interesting since I met you.”

  I smiled at that. “You know what they say—may you live in interesting times.”

  Her eyes got huge, and she laughed again. “That’s a curse, you know.” Then, smiling, she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “But I’m glad I met you. Good night, Cal.”

  Arch and I walked back across the field under the starlight, the kiss lingering stubbornly on my cheek.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Pro bono? You want me to take a murder case pro bono?” Ned Gillian said as he lowered his coffee cup and looked at me through startled eyes. It was Tuesday morning, and I’d driven to his office in McMinnville to meet with him. When I called to arrange the meeting, I’d been vague about the topic. The proposal I had in mind would require a face-to-face to have any chance at all.

  “You told me you were interested in doing something different, Ned, and this is that, for sure.”

  Tall and lithe with short, gray-flecked hair and a quick smile below probing eyes, he barked a sarcastic laugh. “You can say that again.”

  I opened my hands in a reassuring gesture. “I admit it’s a challenging case, but I’ll back you to the hilt. I just can’t sit at the defendant’s table.”

  “This is a heavy lift, Cal. It could burn a lot of resources.”

  “I know that, but look, if I can crack who killed Olivia and shot at Luis, Carlos’s case may never go to trial. That person killed Plácido Ballesteros, too. No doubt in my mind. You just need to tread water for a while, make sure Carlos has a good discovery process, and respond to whatever the DA’s up to. The trial’s at least nine months off.”

  He paused for a moment and regarded me more carefully. “Why are you going to the mat for this family? This has got to cut into your ability to take on paying clients.”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I didn’t know this case would mushroom the way it did, but no regrets. The Fuentes family… Well, if you join me, you’ll see why I’m committed to helping them.”

  He exhaled and shook his head slowly. “I’ve always told myself my career’s about providing excellent legal representation, and I’ve done that by and large, at least for those who can afford me.”

  “You’ve got a great rep—”

  He waved off the flattery. “But the truth is, it’s been about the money, always the money. ‘Become a lawyer. You’ll be well-off’—that was my father’s mantra.” Gillian focused on something across the room for a few moments before returning his gaze to me. “That’s starting to ring hollow, you know? And I’ve got some personal reasons that play into this, too.”

  The last statement surprised me. “You do?”

  “I’ll let you in on a family secret. My grandfather came here from Mexico illegally, Vera Cruz, right after the Second World War. He was a bracero, you know, a so-called guest worker, although the braceros weren’t treated like guests, more like slaves. Anyway, my grandmother, who grew up in Woodburn, volunteered to teach the local workers English at a makeshift school.” He smiled more fully. “They met in her classroom, and nature took its course. Instead of going back to Mexico as the law at that time required, he went missing and married my grandmother.”

  I chuckled. “Love knows no borders.”

  He laughed. “Exactly. By the time my mother was born, Grandpa had completed pharmacy school and was working as a druggist.” His face clouded over. “But, my dad’s side of the family was leery of the Mexican heritage of my mother, so Grandpa’s past wasn’t talked about much, and I never got to know my Vera Cruz relatives.” He shook his head. “Such utter bullshit.”

  “It happens,” I responded. “Race is a complex subject.”

  He sipped some coffee, and his forehead became a plowed field. “The Fuentes family’s been through hell, I’ll give you that. And I’m no fan of our so-called immigration policy. But, a murder trial? That’s a big fucking commitment.”

  I felt like I almost had him but was wary of pushing too hard. I got up and shook his hand. “Take some time to think it over. You know how to contact me.”

  I exited his office and was nearly to my car when Ned Gillian caught up to me. “Okay, goddamn it,” he said, beaming a smile and pumping my arm with a firm handshake. “I’m in.”

  ***

  A night in jail hadn’t done Carlos Fuentes any favors. His dark eyes seemed to hide in the shadows of their sockets, and his face was gray with a thick stubble and blank as a piece of slate. I introduced Ned Gillian, explained why he was taking over, and we both answered Carlos’s questions. When we finished, Carlos said, “I do not understand the law very well, but I accept what you tell me.” He drew a breath and exhaled. “How will I pay for this?”

  Gillian started to speak, but I jumped in. He was unaware of Timoteo’s warning to me—that Carlos was a proud man who would refuse charity, even if it meant financial ruin. “We’ll work the fees out with Timoteo,” I said. “It’s not something we want you to worry about right now.” Carlos started to respond but apparently thought better of it. Gillian caught on immediately and let the subject lie. At that point, I excused myself and left them alone, a lawyer and a client beginning a journey together where the stakes couldn’t be any higher.

  On my way back to the office, I called Timoteo and briefed him on Ned Gillian agreeing to represent his father. “Don’t worry,” I told him, “you and I will be backing Gillian up, and he’s agreed to take the case pro bono.”

  “Really? Why did he agree to that?”

  I laughed. “It’s an interesting story. Ask him about it sometime.”

  After disconnecting from Timoteo, my th
oughts turned to the briefing I’d given Gillian prior to our meeting with Carlos. The discussion was drawn out owing to the questions my new partner had, all of them insightful. I’d obviously chosen well. I was supplying the information, but when Supervisor Curtis Drake’s name came up during the description of my visit to the ICE holding center, Gillian said, “A guy by that name’s rumored to be a leader in a militant white nationalist group in the valley.”

  “I heard something similar,” I said, recalling Detective Tate’s remark about Drake. I explained my interest in him—his connection to Diego Vargas through Gavin Whittaker and the rugby club. “What can you tell me?”

  “The group’s called Citizens for Immigration Justice, or CIJ. They’re against Oregon’s sanctuary law. Anyway, I had a client who got roughed up by them at a demonstration in Portland. She wanted to sue but changed her mind after she received several death threats. I did some preliminary due diligence on the case, and Drake’s name popped up.”

  “I see. Based on a couple of remarks he made to me that day, it sounds like he’s that Drake. It makes sense that he’s staying below the radar, considering the job he has at the holding center.”

  I mentally filed away Drake’s CIJ involvement as an interesting tidbit but didn’t see how it connected to the case at hand. If anything, Curtis Drake and Diego Vargas were at opposite ends of the immigration spectrum. I wondered what could bring them together?

  ***

  I was nearly back to my office in Dundee when I had to brake hard as a small red car turned in front of me and darted onto SW 7th, in the direction of the Red Hills Market. I caught only a glimpse of the driver, who was wearing a pair of dark glasses. I was pretty sure I knew who it was. I parked behind my office and let myself in, to the delight of Archie, who was waiting patiently for my return. I gave him a couple of treats, which he gobbled down, and said, “I’m hungry, too. Let’s give you a walk and get me some lunch.”

  At the Red Hills Market, I ordered an egg salad and avocado sandwich and a double cappuccino and, owing to the bright sunshine, looked for a seat outside, where Archie could join me. That’s where I found her, sitting alone nibbling a salad and studying her little screen. Every once in a while, fate deals a wildcard. This was one of those times.