Second Degree (Benjamin Davis Book Series 2)

by A. Turk

  Haber just sat there across from him. She’d given it her best shot, and he wasn’t talking. As she left, her last comment was, “See you in court.”

  “What was that all about?” asked Charlie.

  “She’s just trying to intimidate you. Did it work?”

  “A little.”

  “Look, you don’t talk to anyone. The Hewes County jail is full of snitches. Guys are going to come up to you, and they either want to rat on you or do worse. Keep to yourself. That’s my advice, not necessarily legal.”

  Charlie was taken to a cell, where he remained about two hours. Around four o’clock he was taken before a judge, whose nameplate read Honorable Joe Tanner. Harrelson, Pierce, and Señor Garcia were waiting in the courtroom. An assistant DA was at one table, and Detective Haber was sitting in the audience.

  Judge Tanner took charge. “This is the bond hearing for Dr. Charles Juan Batista Garcia, who is charged with second-degree murder and reckless homicide in connection with the death of Robyn Eden, a human being, a citizen and resident of Hewes County, Tennessee.”

  The court got each of the parties to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court and that the court, in its discretion, could set bond in this case.

  “General, what do you have to say as to the appropriate dollar amount of bond?”

  The young DA, Jill Hoskins, began, “Dr. Garcia has dual citizenship in the United States and Majorca. I’ve not had time to study the extradition procedure from Majorca to Hewes County, but I’ll bet at the very least it would be time consuming and expensive for our small county. For that reason I request a bond of $2 million. Your Honor, that’s not the only reason for a high bond. I predict that Ms. Pierce is going to ask this court to allow Dr. Garcia to travel freely between New York and Nashville because of his employment. Dr. Garcia lost the privilege to practice medicine in Tennessee; he was forced to surrender his license.”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Dr. Garcia voluntarily surrendered his Tennessee license.” Pierce started arguing that the DA was trying to poison the well.

  Judge Tanner refused to let Pierce’s remark go unchallenged. Tanner knew, and he wanted everybody else to know, that he was in charge of his courtroom and these proceedings. “Stop your bickering right now. I expect decorum in my court, and I will not tolerate unprofessional conduct. If you’ve got an objection, stand. I will recognize you, and you can make your objection. I will not have counsel talking over each other. It’s disrespectful to this court, and the court reporter can’t do her job. Anything else, General?”

  The young DA shuffled her papers and started again. “This isn’t Dr. Garcia’s first brush with the law. He was convicted of improperly prescribing drugs to Robyn Eden and recklessly endangering her life in Jefferson County, Kentucky, last year.”

  Pierce stood and was recognized by Judge Tanner. “Your Honor, the DA has just provided the court with inaccurate information. Dr. Garcia was not convicted nor did he plead guilty to anything in Kentucky. He entered into a pretrial diversion with the Jefferson County DA and is on an eighteen-month probation.

  “But it involved the same victim.”

  Loudly the judge pointed out, “Did I recognize you, General?”

  “No, sir.”

  Tanner directed the next question to Pierce. “Did the Kentucky charges involve Ms. Eden, Ms. Pierce?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else, General?”

  By this time the young DA was a little gun-shy. She shook her head and sat down. She looked defeated to Harrelson.

  Pierce went on attack. She was confident, eloquent, and yet humble. Charlie needed a little humility right now. She talked about Dr. Garcia’s busy practice in New York and that his patients needed him. Pierce made Dr. Charles Garcia seem more like Mother Teresa than a man accused of second-degree murder.

  Tanner sat there, taking it all in. When Pierce finished, the judge set bond at $500,000.

  Señor Garcia had certified funds in that exact amount. He also had certified funds in larger amounts. Señor Garcia was taking no chances; his son would be out on bond.

  As they were walking from the courtroom, Charlie whispered to his father, “They got a search warrant for my New York apartment.”

  “Don’t worry, son. My men have gone through your place with a fine-toothed comb. They’ll find nothing worthwhile, except what we want them to find.”

  Charlie decided that he’d let his father handle matters, as usual.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  A PAID FRIEND

  Friday, July 14, 2000

  David Harrelson didn’t think Charlie was stupid, just arrogant. He didn’t accept responsibility for his own actions. Harrelson believed that arrogance was the fault of his parents. They spoiled him and enabled him by solving all of his problems. In reality it was Harrelson who solved all his problems. Charlie never suffered any consequences.

  Harrelson wasn’t close to Charlie; he didn’t even like the kid. But since his arrest, they’d been in constant contact, and that drew them closer—not necessarily a good thing. From their conversations Harrelson knew that the death of Robyn Eden forced Charlie to reexamine his life and the mistakes he’d made. These troubling thoughts made Charlie angry, not remorseful. In the past the consequences of his actions amounted to nothing more than a minor inconvenience. This was different. He was facing real jail time.

  In response to Charlie’s anger, Harrelson reminded him that at least he was out on bond and not in jail until trial. Harrelson knew that Charlie wouldn’t survive in either jail or, heaven forbid, prison. The extremely handsome doctor would wind up some con’s close personal friend. Harrelson smirked at the thought of someone sodomizing Charlie. He couldn’t take what he dished out. The lawyer’s job was to keep him from being incarcerated, by any means necessary. Harrelson played fast and loose. The key was not getting caught.

  Under the law, Charlie was innocent until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. Harrelson knew that was a heavy burden. Despite Charlie’s conduct, that would be a difficult thing for the state to prove.

  Charlie’s parents assured him he wouldn’t serve a day in jail. Harrelson never made such a promise. He explained that the legal system moved at a snail’s pace and that even if he was found guilty, the appeals process lasted years.

  Although he volunteered to do it, Harrelson dreaded his next phone call. He’d promised to call Alan Baxter, Charlie’s Kentucky probation officer. As a condition of his probation, Charlie was required to inform the state of Kentucky about his arrest in the state of Tennessee. The arrest itself wouldn’t revoke Charlie’s probation, but a conviction would. Harrelson was disappointed but not surprised that Charlie couldn’t stay out of trouble for eighteen months. He got close, fourteen months, but those four months would be a real problem.

  Charlie was on good terms with Baxter. At Harrelson’s insistence he followed the terms of his probation to the letter. He was required to call Baxter once a week and meet with him once a quarter.

  Even prior to Robyn Eden’s death, Harrelson had his firm’s investigator check out Baxter. That report and information he gathered from Charlie created a detailed profile of Baxter.

  Alan Baxter, a sixty-five-year-old black man, was over six feet tall, with snowy white short hair. He had a Morgan Freeman quality about him, including the actor’s signature deep voice.

  From his investigator Harrelson learned that Baxter was about to retire because he was mad at the system. He’d worked in the probation department for more than thirty years and hadn’t accumulated anything. Harrelson knew exactly how much money Baxter had in his checking account and 401k. The meager amounts did not reflect a lifetime of work. Over the years, on behalf of his clients, Harrelson bribed many public officials. It was an art, and Harrelson had the talent. He could tell from his investigator’s report that there was an opportunity to get to Baxter.

  Dr. Charles Garcia wasn’t Baxter’s typical parolee. Baxter had dealt with the dregs of soc
iety, rapists and child molesters, as part of his job. It was obvious to Harrelson that even though Baxter didn’t like his job, he didn’t have much choice.

  “Mr. Baxter, David Harrelson here, Charlie Garcia’s attorney.” Harrelson took his watch out of his vest pocket and nervously started twirling the chain.

  “Yes, sir, I spoke to Charlie last week. He’s due to call me today.”

  “Right. He asked that I call you first on his behalf. There’s been a tragedy. Ms. Robyn Eden’s dead. Drug overdose. The woman was on a self-destructive path. Unfortunately, Charlie was with her when it happened. He was there at the request of her sister to try to convince the girl to enter rehab. Hewes City police have charged him with her murder. His only crime was agreeing to try to get her into rehab and failing to convince her.”

  Baxter didn’t say anything. Both men knew there was a purpose to this call. Harrelson took Baxter’s silence as a green light to proceed.

  “He’s out on $500,000 bond.”

  “That sounds pretty serious. I guess murder is always pretty serious. Where’d he get the $500,000? I know he’s a doctor, but that’s a lot of money.”

  “His parents are rich. He was born into the golden sperm club. His parents will bail him out. You know how the system works.” Harrelson let his words float there a minute.

  Baxter spoke next. “Sounds like Charlie could use a friend.”

  Bingo, in every bribe there was the moment when the bribee made it clear that the bribe was possible. Now it was a matter of price. That didn’t need to be determined in this conversation. The dollar amount was a moving target, calculated based on what needed to be done and how much help would be needed.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. Dr. Garcia at some point may need some help from you if his Kentucky probation becomes an issue. He may need a friend.”

  “Well, Dr. Garcia has been a model parolee. I could certainly testify to that.”

  Harrelson had hooked his fish.

  “We’d appreciate that. You could be very helpful in the future.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  There was no point in pressing the point. Charlie Garcia’s criminal case would proceed slowly, and they needed to figure out what type of help their new friend Alan Baxter might provide.

  “We’ll be in touch if we need anything. Can we just count my call as Charlie’s scheduled call for the day?”

  “No problem. You filled me in. Good luck with those charges. If I can be of any help, just let me know.”

  Harrelson hung up, turned, and opened his safe. He took out one hundred non-sequenced hundred-dollar bills and put them in an envelope. He printed Alan Baxter’s home address on the outside, no return address, stamped it, and mailed it later in the day.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  AN UNUSUAL REQUEST

  Friday, July 21, 2000

  Davis decided he’d sleep in. It was out of character because he was usually the first in the office and the last one out.

  He opened his eyes, glanced over, and saw to his surprise that Liza wasn’t in bed. She was usually a late riser, and she was always asleep when he left the house.

  When she entered the bedroom with two cups of coffee, he smiled. He liked being waited on. She handed him his mug, which read World’s Greatest Dad. The mug was more than ten years old, one of a set made many years ago for him by his son, Jake. He kept the other ancient mug made by his son at the office and used it every morning there. It was his go-to cup.

  Bella and Sammie argued that the chipped mug wasn’t very professional looking, but Davis didn’t care. Morty taught him to be his own man and not to care about what others thought, as long as he did the right thing. The mug felt right to Davis, so what others might have thought just didn’t matter.

  Liza walked to his side of the bed, looked down, and gave him a dumbfounded look.

  “What are you still doing here? It’s eight thirty. My lovers are due to arrive starting in forty-five minutes.”

  “Well, we’ve got forty-five minutes then.”

  Davis grabbed his wife’s hand, pulling her toward him and down to the bed. It was an awkward move, causing her to spill her coffee on the floor.

  “I can’t believe what you made me do,” she protested and started to rise from the bed to get something to clean up the mess.

  “Forget about it!” Davis said in a stronger than usual Brooklyn accent, sounding like a Mafia don. “Your freakin’ boyfriend can clean it up when he gets here.”

  Liza blushed, and Davis gave her a hard kiss while fondling her backside. From the back, he began kissing her neck. He bit her right earlobe a little too hard, and she yelled.

  “Easy, fella, I don’t want to be missing any parts after this is over.”

  “Your boyfriend told me you like it rough. I’m just following his instructions.”

  She giggled, and they made love. Fifteen minutes later, Davis was in the shower, and Liza was cleaning up the spilled coffee. The floor was hardwood, no damage done. He dressed quickly and kissed his wife good-bye.

  “Do you think we can do this again later?”

  “Once a day is my limit. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow.”

  “I guess your boyfriend’s just out of luck then?”

  “That’s once a day per customer.”

  “I’ll see you tonight, and we’ll renegotiate. Remember I know where you sleep, and I can wake you up at midnight, which would be technically the next day.”

  “You do, and you’ll be singing soprano.”

  Davis waved and walked out of the bedroom and a minute later out the front door.

  It was a beautiful summer morning, and he drove to the office with the top of his chocolate Bentley down. As usual Davis’s longish hair would be disheveled by the time he arrived. It took less than twenty minutes to get to the office. When he walked into reception, trying to fix his hair, Bella and Sammie were at Bella’s desk talking, and they abruptly stopped when he entered the room.

  “What’s up, ladies?”

  There was no direct response, but finally Bella spoke, “You’ve got several messages.”

  Davis waited for Bella to continue, but she let the words hang in the air.

  “I’ll bite. Who called?”

  “Bill Alexander from the Tennessean, Lester Kahn, and Senator Daniels.”

  He ignored the first two messages. “Did the senator say what she wanted?”

  “An appointment with Morty and you, and she said it was important. I scheduled her for your first available at three o’clock today. Was that okay? I called Morty. He’s upstairs and available.”

  “I guess she wants to talk about Robyn’s trust. I didn’t think there was anything left. Please pull that trust file.”

  At two forty-five, Morty, Sammie, and Davis were in the conference room waiting on their three o’clock. At five to three Bella walked in with Valerie Daniels behind her. Davis got up and gave her a hug, and the others exchanged hellos.

  Morty, as the most senior person in the room, began, “How can we be of service, Senator?”

  “My family needs your help.”

  They all sat there waiting for her to be more specific, but she seemed to be having difficulty finding her words, which was quite unusual for a politician. She finally said, “I want you and Ben to act as special prosecutors and bring Dr. Garcia to justice for the murder of my sister.”

  That wasn’t what Davis or the other two expected to hear.

  Morty responded, “That’s the job of the Hewes County district attorney, not Ben or me. We’re private citizens. That’s the job of the state of Tennessee.”

  “Look, I know how poorly our legal system works. I’m part of the system. I know how talented the two of you are. I’ve seen you in court, and I’ve asked around. I can’t let this bastard get off. I want him convicted of second-degree murder. I don’t want some young DA, who’s well intentioned but doesn’t know what the hell he or she is doing. I also don’t want some plea barg
ain and a slap on the hand.

  “Morty, you’ve known my family for more than fifty years, and you and Ben are what my family and my sister need.”

  Morty looked at Davis, who was stunned by the request. Davis never tried a criminal case, and although over the years he represented many criminal defendants, Morty wasn’t a prosecutor.

  Continuing to speak for the lawyers, Morty replied, “What you’re asking is not feasible for many reasons …”

  Daniels interrupted, “With all due respect, Morty, I know it’s feasible. What about the Nichols case in 1964?”

  Davis knew exactly where this conversation was going. The senator was prepared and wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  “That was personal. I knew the man. We grew up together. It was more than thirty-five years ago. That’s an awfully long time ago. I was a hell of a lot younger.”

  “Are you saying you’re not up to the challenge? You’re Morty Steine, for God’s sake. You’re not going to let this asshole get away with killing my little sister. You knew her also. This should be personal, just like the Nichols case.”

  Davis was concerned that the senator was getting the better of the old man. She was playing on his heartstrings, but it got worse.

  Her next words played on the old man’s ego, and she said them with complete authority and confidence: “Morty, in your career, besides the Nichols prosecution, you’ve defended and tried six manslaughter cases, and you’ve won them all. By my count, you’ve represented more than fifty criminal defendants, and only four of them went to jail. Those four must have been guilty, and you plea-bargained them a good deal. You’ve never lost a criminal trial. I suspect that many of your clients were guilty and that your ability made the difference …”

  It was Morty’s turn to interrupt: “You’re confusing two roles in our legal system. A defense lawyer thinks and acts differently than a prosecutor.”

  “That’s right. You know how the other side thinks. You also know Garcia’s attorney, Amy Pierce. You and Ben beat her in the Plainview cases, and her license was suspended for three months. She’ll be more concerned about you than some assistant DA.”