Second Degree (Benjamin Davis Book Series 2)

by A. Turk

  “How much will that cost?”

  “The expert will be paid an hourly fee of $500, and who knows how much the cop will cost. I don’t want to cut corners on that one. If that blows up and the cop turns, I go to jail. I need someone who needs the money, but it won’t be cheap.”

  Despite his paternal instincts, Señor Garcia pointed out, “This trial is costing a fortune, and we need an acquittal. A hung jury just means more expense and more legal fees. My wife can’t take much more of this. She loves Charlie, but he’s been a big disappointment to her. We’ll see it through, but he’d better get his act together after an acquittal. He’s not a kid anymore. He needs to grow up.”

  Harrelson never heard his friend and client talk so realistically about Charlie. “What’s up, Eddie?”

  Señor Garcia handed Harrelson a certified letter from the New York State Medical Licensing Board. It read,

  Dear Dr. Garcia,

  It has come to the attention of the Medical Licensing Board that last year you pled no contest to a charge of improperly prescribing Schedule III narcotics and received an eighteen-month probation as a pretrial diversion.

  It has also come to the board’s attention that this year, you voluntarily surrendered your Tennessee medical license, under pending charges, and are currently under indictment for second-degree murder in Hewes County, Tennessee. For all of these reasons, please be advised that the State of New York Medical Licensing Board hereby summarily suspends your medical license pending a full hearing, in which you will be provided with due process.

  This action is being taken to protect the general public, including your patients. Please cease and desist from the practice of medicine. Any further practice after receipt of this certified letter will constitute a Class C felony, subjecting you to up to ten years in prison and/or a $100,000 fine per occurrence.

  We encourage you to seek legal counsel and suggest that your selected counsel contact Ralph Edwards of the New York State Attorney General’s Office at 212-443-6434.

  Robert O’Conner, MD, President of the New York State Medical Licensing Board

  Harrelson just stared at the letter.

  Señor Garcia opined, “I suspect calling the New York Licensing Board was Steine’s idea. We’ve got to get rid of him before trial no matter what. Do it!”

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  FINDING A LITTLE HELP

  FROM SOME FRIENDS

  Sunday, December 31, 2000

  The reality that the fruits of the searches—the sex video, sex toys, and drugs—would be admissible at his trial was too much for Charlie to bear. He was depressed. His parents canceled their New Year’s Eve plans to be with him. Despite their sacrifice, Charlie wasn’t talking. His father asked, “What’s wrong, son?”

  “How the fuck can you ask me what’s wrong?”

  As a rule, Charlie didn’t curse around his father, He was civilized, and it offended him. His father gave his son a stern look, and with his eyes Charlie apologized.

  “I won’t minimize this setback, but that’s all it is. Harrelson and I are mapping out your defense. You need a good psychiatrist.”

  “I am depressed.”

  Repeating what Harrelson scripted, Señor Garcia lectured his son, “Depressed. You may need a psychiatrist for that reason, but you’ll need at least two psychiatrists who can testify that you’re not a sociopath and also testify about your loving relationship with Robyn. They might be able to turn the failure of the relationship on the girl’s drug use. The first one will be your treating physician, and the second should be an addiction expert. The second doctor can testify about your co-dependency toward Robyn. She was the addict, not you. You were a loving enabler.”

  “Why do we need two of each type of expert?”

  “Corroboration. If one expert from a field says something, a jury might believe him or her, but if two eminent experts’ testimonies support each other, the likelihood of their convincing a jury dramatically increases.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “What doesn’t make sense is you and how you conduct your life. You’re a huge disappointment to your mother and me, and we’ve come to the end of our rope.”

  Charlie looked into his father’s eyes and recognized the intense disappointment. He needed to say something profound in order to avoid his wrath and disdain.

  “Father, I’ve disgraced the family name, but even worse I’ve disappointed you. In the past my poor judgment created manageable problems, and you’ve always shielded me from the consequences of my mistakes, for which I’ve been grateful. This time David Harrelson and your money can’t secure a quick fix. It’s up to me. I’ve got to convince the jury that although I did use poor judgment, I shouldn’t go to prison for my mistakes. I’ll have to testify and persuade them.”

  “You’re a Garcia. You’ll rise to the occasion, and we’ll rise above all this. Harrelson and I are working on your defense. By the time we’re through, any Hewes County jury will acquit.”

  Charlie actually felt better after talking to his father. Señor Garcia was so confident; it came from a lifetime of being able to buy whatever he wanted, when he wanted.

  Over the next week Harrelson spent his days looking at experts’ resumes. He’d agreed to find the necessary experts, and Pierce, despite the fact that she was lead counsel, allowed him to conduct the search and perform the initial interviews. She insisted that the second non-treating physician had to be licensed in Tennessee but conceded that Charlie’s treating psychiatrist had to be from New York because of treatment logistics.

  Dr. Robert Townsend was a board-certified psychiatrist with more than thirty-five years of hands-on experience. He’d been treating the rich and famous of New York City for years. Despite the success of his practice, Townsend was broke, a habitual gambler. He owed $200,000 to high-end loan sharks, who he was barely paying his weekly vig. He was getting desperate.

  Harrelson accompanied Charlie to his first appointment. After cordial introductions, Harrelson told Charlie to excuse himself. Harrelson got down to business and explained the nature of their problem and how Dr. Townsend could help.

  “I can’t promise what my opinions will be, but …”

  Harrelson pushed six photocopied papers across Townsend’s desk. They were his markers for $200,000.

  “I’ve bought these. I own you. Your opinions will be what I tell you those opinions are. What’s your normal hourly rate?”

  “Five hundred a session, but …”

  “You’ll be paid that as we go. You’ll be paid $10,000 to give a deposition and another $10,000 to testify at trial. Upon Charlie’s acquittal, I’ll tear up these markers. If he’s found guilty, these markers will be the last things you have to worry about. I’ll ask Charlie to come back in and leave the two of you to your first session.”

  With that Harrelson left the office, Charlie came in, and Townsend turned to him.

  “Let’s find out a little about you and this Robyn Eden.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  AN INTERESTING FLIGHT

  Monday, January 1, 2001

  He must have been out of his mind. He’d promised Liza he wouldn’t fly with the old man anymore.

  Her argument was simple: “He’s almost eighty years old. He can hardly see, and he’s got a chronic heart condition. What happens if he passes out or dies? Then you’re the only stupid shmuck in the plane. It’s common sense. I hope you have some and just let him fly solo.”

  Davis protested, “He needs the company. It’s an important part of his life. He’s got a valid license.” As soon as the words came out of his mouth, he regretted them.

  “You must think I’m stupid, Ben. I know he bribes an FAA friend to keep passing him despite his age and disability. Your children and niece are forbidden from flying with him. I’ll not risk their lives. Yours is well insured, isn’t it?”

  “The policy is for $2 million with New York Life. I hope you and the second Mr. Davis have a good time with the procee
ds.”

  Davis tried to kiss Liza, but she pulled away. When he walked out the door, he finally realized how angry she really was.

  Davis picked Morty up at Squeeze Bottom, his longtime family farm. His driving was questionable. Davis thought, If I won’t drive with him, why do I fly with him? The reason wasn’t complicated. He loved the old man, and the old man loved to fly. He’d been flying and owned a plane since he was in his teens.

  “How about we go fishing?”

  Morty was far from stupid. He knew what Davis was trying to do, and he wasn’t playing along.

  “We’re going flying. That was my New Year’s wish. You gave your word, and as I’ve told you, your word is your bond, and always do the right thing. I don’t care what Liza’s orders are. You gave me your word. Just close your eyes, and it will be over soon enough.”

  “I only have to work with you. I have to live with her.”

  “I outrank her. You’re following my orders.”

  “Yes, sir, General.”

  Davis drove the fifteen miles to John Tune Airport in silence. He was trying to think of a graceful way to get out of going on the flight. Five minutes later he was climbing into the cockpit behind Morty.

  Davis had flown in Morty’s Cessna 401 at least forty times. In earlier years, so had his children. He’d been flying less and less. Getting back in the air was a big deal.

  They took off without incident. About twenty minutes into the flight, Davis looked over at the pilot, who had a contorted face.

  “What’s wrong? Are you ill?”

  “No, but I don’t feel good.”

  “In what way?”

  “Our oil pressure dropped drastically, and I can’t figure out why.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The engines are going to seize up.”

  Davis was now much more concerned than his old friend. “What the hell does that mean to us?”

  “We’ll have to make an emergency landing in some field if you can find one.”

  For the next ten minutes they looked for that field but had no luck.

  Davis started getting very agitated and said, “Find a field. This is getting serious!”

  With those prophetic words engine #1 cut off. Morty struggled a moment with the plane but regained control.

  “Safest two-engine plane ever made. Lucky for you I know what the hell I’m doing. We’ll be fine.”

  Davis thought, Stop bragging and land this plane.

  On that thought engine #2 conked out.

  They were gliding now. Morty still had the plane under control.

  “If I don’t find a field soon, I’m going to have to land on the highway.”

  “What?”

  “Make sure your seat belt is as tight as possible, and when we hit, make sure your head is in your lap.”

  Davis didn’t argue, but that was a physical impossibility. His belly was in the way.

  Davis actually started praying. He figured it couldn’t hurt: “She-ma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad! Hear O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One….”

  Morty repeated Davis’s prayer. Just then he spotted a county high school, and one side of the football field was open-ended. He focused; he was unafraid, except for the life of his cargo. He hit ground at the fifteen-yard line and slid across the field. The plane stopped outside the other end zone. By now the engines were smoking.

  When the plane came to a complete stop, Morty yelled, “Get the hell out of here as soon as you can. It could blow.”

  Davis was in shock but came to his senses. Davis released his seat belt and, for a man his size and weight, moved quickly. Morty moved a lot slower. Davis, who’d started running, went back to help his friend, and they fell about the five-yard line.

  Morty was gripping his chest. Davis could tell immediately he was in severe pain. Morty pointed to his pocket, and Davis found his nitroglycerin pills. He opened the bottle and placed one under Morty’s tongue.

  Davis sat down and put his head between his knees and threw up. He heard sounds coming from his friend. He moved closer. The son of a bitch wasn’t in pain. The sick bastard was laughing.

  “What the hell are you laughing about? We almost died.”

  “I’ve still got it. We walked away from our landing. During the war, that was an acceptable landing. We’d live to fight another day. The pilots were even more valuable than the planes. We saved the world.”

  The old man was in sort of a trance back in time. Despite his laughter, he was still very shaken up. Davis helped him to his feet.

  “No one would ever accuse you of thinking your glass is half empty. I’ve got to say, it’s an easy call, and you’re a half-glass-full kind of guy.”

  No broken bones or permanent damage, other than to the plane. Davis agreed the glass was half full, except he’d have to explain this to Liza. The water level of the glass just dropped a little.

  “I love you like a father, but your flying days are over,” Davis stated firmly.

  With that remark Morty’s mood changed, as angry as Davis ever heard. He said, “This is bullshit! Something was not right with my plane. My maintenance on that plane is impeccable! There’s a reason both engines lost oil pressure. One would be unlikely, but losing both just doesn’t happen. You can check the logs. Those engines were properly maintained. Something’s not right! Listen to what I’m saying! I’m telling you this is bullshit! This wasn’t my fault.”

  With that Morty’s beloved Cessna burst into flames, and the old man started crying.

  “There goes my proof!”

  Davis could feel the heat of the explosion. It woke him up. They needed a plan.

  Both men’s cell phones were lost in the plane. It took Davis a moment to figure that out. They moved to the opposing thirty-yard line and rested. Still feeling nauseous, Davis concluded that they should stay put because someone would see the smoke.

  Fifteen minutes later a Hewes County Fire Department truck was on the scene. Two minutes later two other trucks and an ambulance were on the scene. A paramedic with the nameplate Mackey approached them and asked them how they were. Davis told him about Morty’s heart condition, and Mackey went to work. He gave Morty oxygen and checked his vitals.

  When the news truck showed up, Davis knew he was in real trouble. Liza would see the local news report, which would include the name of the owner and his passenger. Davis borrowed a phone from a police officer nearby.

  “Hi, honey, I promise this will be my last flight with Morty Steine.”

  Liza was a very direct person. In a firm, stern voice she asked, “What happened?”

  He sheepishly told his wife about their flight and its abrupt end. He promised that not even Morty’s friend at the FAA could save Morty’s pilot license after this fiasco.

  When she slammed down the receiver, Davis knew he was in for his own fiasco, which included hearing, “I told you so!” again and again.

  What Davis didn’t know was that he was being watched through high-powered binoculars as Mackey tended to Morty. The observer’s arms were raised, forcing his sleeves to pull up and reveal a T-rex tattoo with fiery yellow eyes.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  MOTIONS IN LIMINE

  (Preliminary Motions)

  Tuesday, February 6, 2001

  Davis spent eighteen hours a day for the last three weeks getting their case ready for trial. Morty worked a third as much and was still exhausted at the end of each day. Sammie got the education of a lifetime. With the help of Bella she ran the office and tended to the needs of the firm’s other clients. It was like being thrown into a swimming pool to learn how to swim. She did a great job; the clients loved her. Bella was the key. She’d been abandoned for a trial many times. She helped Sammie through this stressful time. When the trial started, with Sammie gone, it would be Bella who ran the office and handled the clients as best she could. Most were understanding, but not all. That was the nature of a small law office, with limited resources and pers
onnel.

  The Garcia case placed a terrible financial burden on the firm of Davis & Davis. On January 2, the day after the plane crash, Davis unveiled the new brass placard that he had commissioned. There was a little ceremony that Liza attended. Everyone was so proud of Sammie, especially the old man. He thought of her as his creation, like Professor Henry Higgins had done with Eliza Doolittle. He suspected she’d be a better lawyer than her uncle someday, and possibly as good as him—but not better.

  Davis was spending much too much time at the DA’s office. He’d go home to change, continuously eat, and sleep. He was tired and feeling the loss of income and accounts receivable. Morty, as Davis’s landlord, agreed to waive Davis’s rent, and Morty was paying Bella’s salary. Morty had done the same thing during the Plainview cases. He had the money, and Davis was his primary beneficiary under his will anyway.

  It was hard on Davis and Sammie, but it was too much for the old man. At eighty, he was physically exhausted, but his mind just kept on working.

  Today would be a long one. Seventeen preliminary motions had to be argued. Morty, Sammie, and Davis were in their small DA office an hour from argument of those motions. Morty cleared his throat. There was an odd feeling in the air.

  “Ben, since your display of grit in the Plainview cases, you’ve been the lawyer I’d hoped you would be. I’m so proud of you I could bust. This is a new chapter in your career, and you’re prepared. You’ve read the Rules of Criminal Procedure and Evidence several times. It’s just like a civil trial. You’ve got this. Just remember there are other lawyers, a judge, and a jury. You know how to deal with the lawyers, and you know how to work with a judge and charm a jury. This is your baby; I’m just here for support.”

  Davis felt his eyes welling up. He was struggling to keep from crying. Sammie was.