by A. Turk
“Let’s have a shot of tequila and bury the hatchet.”
They did four, and the mood mellowed. Pierce served crab cakes and little eggrolls as appetizers to start. The conversation was pretty normal, except Dan began to slur his words after the sixth shot. He said, “I’d like to see Carter every Saturday if that’s all right with him.”
“I’ll agree, but only if you agree to random drug tests.”
Dan exploded, “Go to hell, you crooked bitch. Don’t get high and mighty with me. I know you for what you are. You’re no better than me. You’d do anything to win: lie, steal, and falsify evidence. I’ve got the power over you. If I wanted, you’d be disbarred, and you’d go to jail.”
Pierce bit her tongue and excused herself to get the main course.
When she came back, Dan was still fuming. “And another thing, I want some respect around here. You can’t treat me like dirt. If you’re not careful, I’ll spill the beans and destroy you.”
She set the plates down. She had prepared a stir-fry with chicken, shrimp, pineapple, and a ton of fresh vegetables.
“Let’s eat, and we’ll argue some more after dinner. We might as well eat while it’s hot.”
She started eating with chopsticks, and he followed. She didn’t cook much, but this was one of their favorite homemade dishes when they were a couple living in New York City.
Dan started coughing, which got progressively worse. Pierce suggested that they have dessert out on the patio, and she showed him the hole for the new pool. Even though it was March the weather was warm enough to construct the pool and pour the concrete. After a few minutes, Dan started clearing his throat, a noise their son made when he was having an allergic reaction.
“You shouldn’t threaten me, Dan. It’s a big mistake. I’m smarter than you, and it’s just plain dangerous.”
He cleared his throat again, louder this time. His color changed. His normally pale complexion went bright red. He was having some problems breathing.
Pierce smiled and looked hard at her ex. He’d underestimated her. What a fool!
He tried to talk to her, but a strange noise, not words, came out. His throat was tightening. He and Carter had the same allergy to nuts.
Maybe she shouldn’t have cooked the stir-fry in peanut oil. It wasn’t an honest mistake. Dan was suffocating in front of her, and she intended to do nothing, even though there was an EpiPen in the refrigerator for Carter, and Dan brought one in his inside coat pocket. Either of those pens could have reversed his distress.
Dan tried to stand up, presumably to get to his jacket, but he fell down hard on the patio. Pierce just watched, offering no assistance. His breathing got very shallow, and within fifteen minutes he was dead. Pierce checked his pulse to confirm the threat was terminated.
Dan was a disease that Pierce wouldn’t let back into her life or Carter’s. He’d served his purpose. All he was now was an unnecessary liability.
No one knew about this dinner. Carter wasn’t expected home until the next afternoon. Pierce took a few minutes just staring at Dan’s lifeless body. He’d hurt her, but even worse he’d hurt Carter. She smiled. Dan Smith got what he deserved.
Pierce took another shot of tequila. She dragged his body to the edge of the pool hole and rolled Dan into it. She took off all her clothing, except her bra and panties, and grabbed a shovel that she had strategically placed earlier.
She jumped into the pool bottom. The ground was soft as part of the pool prep. She looked down at Dan, who had a twisted smile on his face, and started digging. After about an hour she had dug a four-foot-deep hole. She pushed the body in the hole and placed the bottle of peanut oil in Dan’s right hand. Pierce had a strange sense of humor. When she was finished, Dan’s body just became part of the landscape. The next day it would be covered by concrete.
The threat was gone. He’d never threaten her again. He’d never bother Carter again. Pierce cleared the dishes and any evidence that Dan Smith had reentered her life. He was a part of her past and represented the sleazy side of her. Carter represented the best part. She planned on focusing on him and her law practice.
She looked in the mirror and thought, I’ve made it. All my hard work and determination has paid off. The end justifies the means.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
JUSTICE IS
KINDA SERVED
Thursday, March 15, 2001
After sentencing, DA Taylor ran into obstacles in extraditing Charlie Garcia. Several days passed, and Garcia was still in his rental house under guard by the Hewes County Sheriff’s Office. The notice of appeal for the reckless homicide conviction had been filed. It would be years before the Tennessee Court of Appeals would either reverse or affirm the conviction. If not for the Kentucky parole violation, Garcia would remain under house arrest for the next few years.
In a meeting in Judge Tanner’s chambers, the judge continued the conditions of bond, except he increased the bond by another million, to $5 million. Visitation was limited to his parents, his lawyers, and his treating psychiatrist, Dr. Townsend. Judge Tanner drafted an order with these conditions of house detention. The order set a term of three months, and then the conditions would be reviewed. Tanner expected Kentucky to take possession of Charlie Garcia long before the order expired.
Charlie Garcia remained in the Hewes County jail for two days while his father raised the additional funds. Davis felt a little satisfaction that Garcia spent two days behind bars.
Davis monitored Charlie Garcia’s home detention through his old friend Hewes County Sheriff Buford Dudley. Davis got informal weekly reports. According to Dudley, Charlie Garcia was despondent and under intense psychiatric care. The logs showed that the doctor came three times a week and stayed at least an hour. The log also showed visits from Pierce, Harrelson, and Señor Garcia.
Davis thought that Garcia got off easy, and he felt no sympathy for him. He still got to read, watch TV, and Davis was sure, look at Internet porn. Davis didn’t forgive and forget. Robyn Eden couldn’t do any of those things.
Since the trial, Davis reflected on what went wrong and what went right. He wanted to learn from the Garcia trial, not simply lick his wounds and move on. The first big mistake was the state trying to satisfy the demands of Valerie Daniels. Because of her power and influence, she forced the state to overreach in its charge of second-degree murder. That wasn’t his team’s fault; they inherited the indictment.
Second, the Hewes City police screwed up the investigation in many ways. Haber gave a false affidavit to obtain the first search warrant. She didn’t do it intentionally, but in the rush of the early morning of July 5th, serious mistakes were made. Haber also lost the three pill bottles, or they magically disappeared from the evidence locker. Then she erased the cell phone pictures.
Haber was lucky the jury didn’t convict her of a crime instead of Garcia. It was just like the OJ trial. Pierce put the police on trial. Again, the police investigation and the faulty search warrants were before Davis’s appointment as special prosecutor. That was baggage he was stuck with.
Third, Robyn Eden was not a sympathetic victim. She was young and beautiful, so women jurors resented her from the start. She wasn’t satisfied with what God gave her, and in return for sex she received free surgical services. She also used powerful drugs when she knew she was pregnant. A jury might excuse an occasional glass of white wine, but IV drug use was criminal. That didn’t play well with any of the jurors. She was a sexual deviant and a drug addict. The jury didn’t identify with her, and she became less than human, something dirty. Davis reminded himself that you don’t get to pick the victim; the murderer does that.
Fourth, the testimony of Nix muddied the water as to the source of the drugs. Davis knew from interviewing jurors after the verdict that they begrudgingly accepted the testimony of the drug dealer because Nix’s DNA placed her with Eden. The consensus, after much debate, was that Charlie Garcia knew what drugs she was using and knew that she was injecting the drug in her
groin. The audio of the videotape proved that.
The fifth and final factor was the burden of proof. Davis as a civil trial lawyer operated under the restriction of having to prove his case by a preponderance of the evidence. All he had to do was tip those scales of justice ever so slightly in his client’s favor. He’d been taught well and knew how to do that. In that setting the lawyer’s skills and effectiveness often made the difference in the outcome of the case. In a criminal trial the state was required to prove its case beyond a reasonable doubt. That was an incredibly difficult threshold to meet.
Davis wondered whether in the Garcia case justice would be served. Garcia lost two medical licenses and a bright future, and he was facing jail time. The trial was complex, so the appeal had meat to it, and a reversal and a new trial were always possibilities. Davis dreaded the possibility of a retrial. If asked, he would do it because it would be the right thing to do, but he wouldn’t like it. That made accepting the responsibility even more important.
Things were getting back to normal at the office, and Bella’s life improved. She finally had other bodies in the office. She’d been running it almost exclusively by herself, with a little help from Sammie. After taking a few days off, Davis was back in the swing of things. He and Sammie were solving other people’s problems. Morty spent most of his day napping in the ninth-floor loft but joined the team for lunch and some of his storytelling.
Davis was enjoying his second cup of coffee and leftover apple strudel brought in by Bella. His piece was twice the size of one a normal person would choose. Everyone had an addiction. At least his was legal.
Bella buzzed in. “I’ve got Sheriff Buford Dudley on the phone.”
“Put him through.” Davis figured his weekly report was a day early.
“Morning, Ben. I’m going to get right to the point. Charles Garcia is dead. Looks like a drug overdose. Looks like he took several pills orally. We’ll know more when we get his complete blood work back. His heart just gave way. Isn’t that the same cause of death as Robyn Eden? Do you find that ironic? We’ve declared it a suspicious death, and there will be an autopsy. I never liked Garcia, so I’m not going to shed any tears. I figure he got what he deserved.”
Stunned, Davis said nothing.
Dudley continued, “I can’t figure out how he got the drugs. He never left the house, and the visitor log over the last two weeks identifies his psychiatrist, Dr. Townsend; his lawyer, David Harrelson; his father; and Amy Pierce. It had to be one of them who supplied the drugs, but which one?”
Davis finally gained focus and answered Dudley, “Buford, who had the most to gain from Charlie Garcia’s death?”
“I think that’s the right question, Ben. I’m glad that someone else will have to figure out the answer. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation has jurisdiction. I’ve turned the matter over to the TBI; let them figure out this mess.”
Davis thought a minute, “If I were a guessing man, I’d speculate that the psychiatrist was prescribing medications for Garcia’s depression and anxiety and, based on his history, a medication for sleep. If you save up enough Prozac, Xanax, and Ambien, you can overdose pretty easily.”
Davis continued, “I don’t think Pierce had anything to do with it. Garcia was her meal ticket. She stood to make close to half a million dollars on the appeal, and who knows what she’d make on a retrial?
“Same argument goes for Harrelson. He made a lot of money off Charlie Garcia over the years. I know for a fact he charged $800 an hour.
“And then there’s Señor Garcia. Charlie had to be a big disappointment for him and his wife.”
He’d dishonored the family name, which Davis knew was important to that aristocratic fool.
“Besides with Garcia’s death, the $5 million bond is returned to the father. Disgrace and money are pretty good motives. But as you say, it’s not our problem.”
Dudley was digesting Davis’s reasoning. He asked, “What will happen to Garcia’s appeal in light of his death?”
“I guess it will be dismissed.”
Two days later, Davis got the answer to the question.
Pierce didn’t file a motion to dismiss the appeal. Instead she filed a motion to dismiss the charges against Garcia, arguing that a dead person couldn’t be convicted of a crime. Therefore all charges should be dropped. The Court of Appeals agreed and directed Judge Tanner to enter an order dismissing all charges against Mr. Charles Juan Batista Garcia, deceased. Judge Tanner reluctantly did so.
Davis, Sammie, Morty, and Valerie Daniels were furious. Justice had not been served.
A week later Davis was sitting at his desk, reading a deposition in a medical malpractice case, when Bella interrupted him.
“I’ve got a messenger here, and he has a large envelope for you. He insists that it must be hand delivered to you and only you. He’s got a release for your signature.”
Annoyed but intrigued, Davis went to reception to sign and accept delivery of the envelope. He scribbled his name, the young man left, and Davis went back to his office.
Davis looked at the return address: Lee, Foster & Dee, a law firm in Salt Lake City. The law firm’s envelope was taped to the outside of the manila one. In big red bold print it said, INSTRUCTIONS; PLEASE READ BEFORE OPENING.
Davis opened the instructions, which read,
Dear Mr. Davis,
We were instructed by our client Dan Smith to deliver this envelope to you if he did not call this office by the 10th of each month. Mr. Smith did not contact our office this March 10th so our delivery has been made. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Yours very truly,
Marc Foster
He tore open the manila envelope, and an audiotape, a sheet of paper, and an eight-by-ten glossy fell onto his desk face up. Davis stared at the photo. It was of Amy Pierce, younger but very recognizable at the beach in an electric blue bikini. He first noticed her figure, but after that startling image, his eyes moved to the man standing next to her. He was in swim trunks, shirtless and athletic. On his right forearm was a tattoo. It was a T-rex with fiery yellow eyes. A shiver went down Davis’s back.
He picked up the sheet of paper, which read,
I am Dan Smith. I was married to Amy Pierce. In 1993 at her direction, I, together with two others, beat you up at your downtown office. You might recall, I told you “life’s a very fragile thing.”
This New Year’s Day, at the direction of Amy Pierce, I sabotaged Mr. Steine’s plane, causing him to make an emergency landing.
These admissions and accusations are proven by the enclosed audiotape. I figure you’ll take it to the DA, and you’ll get my ex disbarred and prosecuted.
If you’ve received this envelope, then I’m dead. I loved her, and that was my weakness and downfall. She’s devious and capable of anything. I learned that the hard way.
I direct your attention to the fact that this handwritten affidavit is notarized and should be considered a dying declaration since it was transmitted only if I believed I was dead.
I’ll meet Amy in hell and deal with her then.
Dan Smith
Davis leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. He thought about the Plainview beating and his near death experience in Morty’s Cessna earlier in the year. He no longer had to wonder who was at the bottom of those life-changing events. He now knew that it was Pierce who tried to scare him into submission in both the Plainview and Eden cases. If he’d been a scared man, who didn’t have Morty Steine in his life to set his moral compass, he might have backed down. But Davis knew that the most important principle a man could strive to achieve was to always try to do the right thing.
Davis sat there deep in thought. He was thinking about the future. He often did that, trying to think five or six steps ahead of his adversaries. He concluded that despite the reliance on false evidence, it was too late to retry Charlie Garcia for the murder of Robyn Eden. Amy Pierce was another story. She was at risk
of going to jail for a very long time. Justice might be served.
EPILOGUE
Wednesday, July 4, 2001
The Davises were preparing for their annual July 4th barbeque. They expected more than two hundred guests. It was a hot, humid day in Middle Tennessee, and the crowd would be hungry and thirsty. Davis was prepared.
It had been almost four months since the suicide of Charlie Garcia. That was the finding of the TBI. According to the report, Garcia accumulated pills provided by his treating psychiatrist, Dr. Townsend, and overdosed. Davis read the actual report and thought the TBI took the easy way out. Davis knew Pierce was capable of murder, and he suspected both Harrelson and Señor Garcia had their motives. The TBI ignored them and simply closed its investigation.
Despite the death of Charlie Garcia, his path of destruction continued. In early June, his mother, Kiki, died of a heart attack. Some say it was from a broken heart. According to sources, Señor Garcia was inconsolable for the loss of his wife and fled to the seclusion of his home in Majorca.
Liza stuck her head in Davis’s home office and announced that Buford Dudley was in the foyer. He would like to have a few minutes. Davis walked to the front door and once inside his office offered Dudley a soft drink and a seat.
“I’ll get right to the point. The TBI called me this morning and informed me that Danny Nix was found stabbed to death in an alley in Rio. They suspect it was a drug deal gone badly. She was one hell of a liar.”
The death of a drug dealer wasn’t that surprising. But what Davis and Dudley didn’t know was that drugs had nothing to do with Nix’s death. Greed killed Nix. About ten days after Charlie’s conviction, Nix called Harrelson and demanded the balance of her money. Harrelson correctly pointed out that the second payment was due only if his client was acquitted, and he was convicted of reckless homicide. She was only entitled to a second payment if the appeal succeeded and the charges were dismissed. After Charlie’s death and the dismissal of the conviction, Harrelson knew he was going to have to deal with Nix, one way or another. He decided that the better use of the $50,000 was to end the threat rather than feed it. Harrelson knew people, and Nix was history.
