Crash Tack

by A. J. Stewart

  “You headed out?” he asked.

  “At a loose end. Any news?”

  “Yeah. The judge has asked Allen to meet with the SA in the judge’s chambers first thing tomorrow, before the arraignment.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “It is, it is.”

  “So Ron could be out tomorrow.”

  Lenny nodded and grinned sheepishly .

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I hated it when Lenny held back the punchline.

  “The SA will have a sheriff’s detective there to present the fruits of the investigation , is what Allen called it. He’s big on fruit metaphors.”

  “He is. Maybe it’s a lawyer thing. But what does that mean?”

  “Allan said the judge might want to hear from the defense investigators.”

  “Meaning us?”

  “Meaning you.”

  “Why me?”

  Lenny winced, and it was most unlike him. He was always so confident in himself, in his opinions, even when he was stone-cold wrong. Now he looked like a choir boy who had been caught sneaking a sip of the altar wine.

  “Lenny?”

  He shrugged. “I have some history with the judge.”

  “History?”

  “You’ve heard the one about the boy from the wrong side of the tracks and the judge’s daughter?”

  “Lenny, Lenny, Lenny.”

  “Yeah. What can I tell ya?” The mischievous smile widened.

  “When was this?”

  “About ten years ago.”

  “I take it you don’t think he’ll have forgotten.”

  “He might have forgotten the first time, but I doubt he’s forgotten the second.”

  I shook my head. “How old was his daughter?”

  “At the time, about thirty.”

  “So a grown woman? What’s the judge’s problem? ”

  “He had many, but I recall the first time his main issue was that it was the night of her engagement party.”

  I stifled a laugh. “And the second time?”

  “It was the night before her wedding.”

  “That’s classy.”

  “Not my finest hour.”

  “What happened to the marriage?”

  “They’re still together, far as I know.”

  “That’s impressive. The groom must have really loved her, to forgive that. Twice.”

  “He doesn’t know. The judge said he’d bury me except under two conditions. Never mention this to anyone, and you’ll take it to your grave, won’t you?”

  “I will.”

  “And secondly, never set foot in his courtroom.”

  “Aha.” The punchline. “So I’m flying solo tomorrow.”

  “You are. You might not get called in to the meeting, but then if it doesn’t go well, you might get called into the arraignment. Or not.”

  “Okay. And if he asks where I work?”

  “Right here. At your firm. LCI.”

  “But it’s not my firm. Isn’t that perjury?”

  “Not really. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but with the move and all. I want to make you a partner.”

  It was a hell of a revelation to get in the stairwell, and my jaw dropped like a busted elevator.

  “Lenny, you can’t do that.”

  “I already did. You just have to sign the papers.”

  I looked at him. He was disheveled at the best of times, a mass of flowing rust-colored hair that had a mind of its own, and an easy manner that belied the eyes of someone who had seen and done things that would keep most folks awake at night for the rest of their lives. He was the kind of guy my mother would have called the wrong sort of friend , but after I lost her and later my father, and then nearly lost myself in the process, he was the best kind of friend a guy could ever have. You don’t count the worth of a man by the cut of his suit, but by whether he’d give you the shirt off his back. Lenny had done that, quite literally. I hadn’t always worn palm tree print shirts.

  I thought about hugging him, then thought against it, then I stopped thinking and wrapped my arms around the big bear of man. He didn’t recoil, he didn’t move. He just reciprocated, and I felt his huge meaty paws land on the middle of my back. We hugged for longer than was necessary, and then we pulled away. Lenny had moisture in his eyes, as did I.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Yeah, you do.” Lenny nodded.

  “Thanks.”

  “There you go.”

  “So,” I said.

  He smiled. “So. Longboard Kelly’s, I think.”

  I couldn’t have agreed more.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THE NEXT MORNING I sat in the corridor outside the courtroom in my wedding suit. I’d never been married myself, never come close, but I had been to a few, and Lenny had recommended getting a decent suit for such occasions, rather than renting some other man’s clothes. I had never worked in an office, so I had never worn such a thing to work. I did have what we called traveling clothes in the major leagues, a blazer and pressed trousers, but Lenny felt the Oakland A’s logo was not really wedding attire. After attending a couple weddings, I had to disagree. The A’s gear often started conversations, which were in short supply at the weddings I had sampled. Of course, those conversations usually ended up at the place where I was on the Oakland roster for twenty-nine days but never played an actual game, and was then sent back to the minors, never to see a major league park again, and that little tidbit usually shut people up quicker than a clam in ice water.

  I never felt comfortable in suits. They were supposed to give one a sense of power—the well-dressed man—but I always found a well-drilled fastball was more of a rush. And in Florida, where I could feel the humidity rise from the collar of my shirt, they were borderline ludicrous. But Allen had donned a pinstripe and the state attorney, Eric Edwards, always seemed to be in a well-tailored suit. That man didn’t seem to sweat. Same went for Detective Ronzoni, who despite having nothing to do with the case, was lingering in the halls in his wrinkled Sears special. Unlike Edwards, Ronzoni literally didn’t sweat. The word out of the station house was that he didn’t have sweat glands or something. He just couldn’t produce the stuff. Which sounded ideal in Florida, where I could go through a selection of shirts just wandering around a golf course, but in reality was like a car with no radiator. He ran the real risk of overheating, so he always seemed to have a bottle of water in his hand.

  I was sitting on my own section of polished wood, avoiding Ronzoni and practicing my lines, when Deputy Danielle Castle wandered by. I wasn’t sure if she was appearing in court or not, but she was in full uniform. She slowed as she passed, looking at me as if she couldn’t quite place me, and then she stopped and smiled.

  “Look at you.”

  I nodded. “Weddings, funerals and court appearances.”

  She looked me over, not bothering to be furtive in the least. Law enforcement types do that. They looked you all over and make no bones about it, as if we’re all carrying weapons or illegal something-or-others. Given their business, they probably found something as often as not, but Deputy Castle’s eyes didn’t seem to be searching for guns or drugs on my person. If I had to guess, and I wished I didn’t, I would have guessed that she was undressing me with her eyes. But that might have been the suit talking.

  “You look uncomfortable,” she said.

  I nodded.

  “You here for Ron? ”

  I nodded again.

  She smiled again. “You’ll do great.”

  I believed her. On the back of that smile, I would have believed anything.

  “See you later,” she said as she marched away down the hall. I watched her go and hoped I hadn’t lost the power of speech.

  As it was, a bailiff came into the hall and called my name, and then asked me to follow him to the judge’s chambers. It was a grandiose title, chambers , because it was really just an office, and not a very neat one at that. And it was surprisingly sm
all. The judge was behind a messy desk, and I stood shoulder to shoulder with Allen, Edwards and Sheriff’s Detective Moscow. Perhaps the judge had a bigger office in the main courthouse.

  “So you are Mr. Jones?” said the judge.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you are the investigator for the defendant?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You licensed in that capacity?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you work for?”

  “I’m a partner at LCI. Our offices are in the court precinct.” Now I was doing it. Our offices . We only had one. But if this room was chambers , then anything was fair game.

  “All right, Mr. Jones. The purpose of this meeting is to ascertain if there are grounds for arraignment of Mr. Bennett.” I noted, belatedly, that Ron was not in the room. “The state attorney here has provided his grounds, which quite frankly, are pretty thin.”

  I glanced sideways at Edwards. He didn’t shift his feet, he didn’t clench his jaw. He was a cool customer .

  “You can focus on me, if you like, Mr. Jones,” said the judge.

  I snapped back to the judge. “Yes, sir.”

  “And for future reference, since I can tell by your suit that you are new here, sir is just fine in my chambers, but in my courtroom, should you appear there later today, I prefer your honor .”

  “Of course, your honor.” Can I get you three bags full with that? I was all for process and fairness in our judicial system, but when these elected officials started acting like Marie Antoinette, I started to lose my form. Perhaps I should refer to him as my servant, since my tax dollars paid his damned salary. I was going off the deep end in my mind, and tried to pull it back. I had to suck it up and take one for the team. Take one for Ron.

  “So, Mr. Jones. Mr. Allen suggests you have evidence of alternate hypotheses for events. Can you elaborate?”

  There was that phrase again. So it wasn’t just Allen. The whole legal profession was wrapped up in pompous phrases about hypotheses and fruit.

  “Yes, your honor. I have interviewed all the crew and found that every single one of them has a motive that matches or exceeds that of Ron Bennett.”

  “Mr. Jones, leave the determination of whose motive exceeds whose to me and the jury, should one be appointed. Just tell me what you found.”

  So I told him. I told him about Felicity and Will, about Amy getting rebuffed by Will or Felicity, about Drew having a deal with Will that had gone south, and about Alec soliciting the attentions of Felicity but losing out to Will. I didn’t have any proof of any of it, but Allen had said to muddy the waters, so that is what I did. Allen told me to leave the best to last. Get the judge thinking that anything could have happened, and then serve up one with some basis to it. So I left Michael Baggio to last. I told the judge that I spoke to the FBI, that embezzlement charges had been laid against Michael’s roommate, Keegan. That Keegan had come to Michael prior to the arrest, and that my firm had advised them to turn themselves into the FBI. As instructed I left Lenny well and truly out of it. When I finished, the judge put on his reading glasses, and then looked at me over the top of them.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones. You could have led with that last part and saved us all five minutes that we’ll never get back.” Score one, Judge . “Nevertheless, Mr. Edwards, I think Mr. Jones has you trumped. Five motives to one, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Your honor, as I mentioned, we now have physical evidence as well.”

  “Mr. Edwards, you and I both know you are fishing. I gave you some line before, but I told you I would require more to arraign the accused. Your physical evidence suggests the possibility, even the probability of foul play, but it does in no way suggest that the accused was responsible. You yourself said there were no fingerprints on the alleged weapon.”

  “Your honor, we believe—”

  “Mr. Edwards, you are better than that. You know I don’t care what you believe. I care about what you can prove. And right now, I am doing you a big favor. If we were to go into my courtroom and you were to present what you have, Mr. Allen would move for dismissal, and although I rarely consider dismissal at arraignment, I would not only be forced to consider it, I would be forced to act on it. And I would do so with prejudice, Mr. Edwards. You do know what that means, Mr. Edwards.”

  “Of course, your honor. ”

  “And it means?”

  “It means we could not bring the same charges against the defendant if we later get further evidence.”

  “See, Mr. Edwards. I knew you were good at this. So this is what I am going to do. I am not going to grant Mr. Allen’s motion for dismissal.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d nailed the case shut like Perry Mason, and the judge wasn’t going to let Ron out? I tensed and looked down the parade line, and it seemed I was the only one who was shocked. Edwards looked duly berated. Detective Moscow looked duly bored. And Allen had the merest hint of a smile on his face.

  “Instead, what you are going to do,” continued the judge, “is drop the charges. You are going to let Mr. Bennett go free. And you are going to continue your investigation as you see fit, but you are not going to come back to me until you have something firmly resembling an open-and-shut case. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, your honor.” Edwards was calm but the color was rising in his cheeks.

  “Mr. Allen, what say you.”

  “Nothing, your honor.”

  “Good answer.” The judge looked at me, but asked me nothing. He banged his hand on the desk like it was a gavel and stood. We were all already standing, so we didn’t move.

  “You’ll take care of Mr. Bennett’s release?” The judge looked over his glasses at Moscow.

  “Immediately, your honor.”

  The judge nodded. “Then we all have work to do.”

  Allen gave me a nod like we were done and it was time to leave, and since no one could get by me to reach the door, I turned and went first. I was opening it when I heard the judge speak.

  “Really, Eric. This is not like you.”

  “Sorry, your honor.”

  “I’ve come to expect watertight cases from you. What’s got you so off your game on this one?”

  “Nothing, your honor. A bad day at the office.”

  “Let’s not have another.”

  “Agreed,” I heard Edwards say, and then I walked out into the hallway and the conversation was lost on me. I got into the hall and stopped. Allen took a deep breath and smiled.

  “Thanks,” I said. “You did it.”

  “No, you did it. And well done on biting your tongue. The judge is well known for baiting newbies into saying stupid things. You did well.”

  “For Ron.”

  Allen looked over my shoulder. “Hmmm.”

  I turned to see Deputy Castle standing there. The coincidences were piling up.

  “How’d it go?” she asked.

  “Ron’s getting out,” I said.

  She smiled. “Great, I’m glad.” She stepped forward and put her hand on my shoulder. “Really great.” Her hand rested there for a moment, and it sucked the speech from me. Then she leaned in. “Can you wait for a moment?” She didn’t stop for a response, spinning on her heel like a Marine on parade and striding over to Detective Moscow, who looked completely nonplussed by events. Then my view was ruined by the string bean suit of State Attorney Edwards.

  “Out does not mean forgotten,” he said to me.

  I stood tall but he was still taller. That doesn’t happen often, so I pulled my shoulders back. I was almost twice as wide as him. “What is your problem? You know Ron didn’t do anything. Michael Baggio has more motive that anyone.”

  “Baggio isn’t a friend of yours.” There was almost a snarl on his lips as he said it, but he stayed serial killer cool.

  I gave him an eyeful of frown. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Edwards looked toward where Detective Mos
cow and Deputy Castle stood talking, and then he refocused on me.

  “What indeed,” he said.

  I had no idea what that meant. I had barely even heard of Edwards, but he sure seemed to have a bee in his bonnet about me. “Look pal, a buck gets you two that this thing was an accident. The guy was drinking.”

  “It was no accident. That we know. And next time you won’t get so lucky.”

  Edwards didn’t wait for a reply. He stormed away, long strides and a bouncy gait making him look like he was on stilts. He may have been marathon runner thin, but he was no runner. I turned to Allen.

  “What was that?”

  “You made a friend,” he said, poker-faced.

  “What did he mean, they know it wasn’t an accident?”

  “Physical evidence.”

  “The FBI guy mentioned something about that. They found something under blue light?”

  Allen nodded. “Blood, on the deck, and on the base of the mast.”

  “Whose blood?”

  “Will Colfax’s.”

  “So couldn’t he have bumped his head and fallen off? ”

  “The blood is in the middle of the boat. The sea wasn’t that rough. They think he couldn’t have fallen overboard from that position.”

  “You ever had a head knock? Concussion?”

  Allen shook his head.

  “I have. It can make you spinny, unstable. Not hard to see a guy get up, maybe using the mast, then stagger and trip.”

  “There’s more.”

  “What more?”

  “Cerebrospinal fluid, it’s the stuff that surrounds your brain and spinal column, acts as a cushion. It was found on a winch handle.”

  “That was the weapon the judge mentioned?”

  Allen nodded.

  “What does that mean?”