C H A P T E R 54
WASHINGTON D.C.—NATIONAL Mall
By one-thirty, Naim and Daniel walked down the National Mall under a bright sun. The sky was cloudless, the Washington Monument rising towards it like a missile being launched. Aside from the tourists and soccer players playing in the afternoon August air, they were just two men walking across the worn Mall grass.
“Daniel,” Naim’s voice was low serene. “Do you think I’m in over my head?” He hoped Daniel understood his question, because he’d hate to have to explain it at length. “I mean this is my first case and death is on the line.”
“Shh,” The fatherly old man clapped his hand on Naim’s back. “You’re a wise attorney. You’re searching legal strategies, and that’s what you have to begin with, before settling on one.” They continued walking, and he said, “Pull yourself together. We’re going to stroll into this courtroom, two strong and smart black men, who will sit in a federal court and defend a white man accused of murdering black politicians for their drug policies. Only in America, my friend.”
Approaching the train station, there was an obese man in shorts and a tank top, reading a Washington Post, sitting on a lawn chair. He had a two-liter Pepsi by his side; an ode to the obvious coronary days from being unearthed.
Before Naim and Daniel passed him, fatty waved the newspaper and aggressively cleared his throat, grabbing their attention.
“Well, if it isn’t the famous lawyer, Naim Butler,” the man said, setting the newspaper on a patch of dirt. “Look at you on your sartorial best. What is the Armani?”
“Excused me,” Naim said defensively, before Daniel put a hand up, preventing him from saying more.
“Here’s a caveat,” the man said, twisting the cap on his Pepsi. Huge hands titled the bottle to his lips, before taking several gulps.
“This ATM video the people claim to have used to target your client needs thorough scrutiny. You should get it. It may undermine their case.”
“And you know this how?” Daniel asked, staring at the man. “This is Washington, sir. Call it a gift and keep it moving,” the man replied, picking up the newspaper. “Ah, look, the DOW is up.”
Daniel looked down at his watch, and said, “Come on, Mr. Butler, we have a hearing to get to.” Before they entered the train station, he sent a text to Christina to begin drafting on a motion to have the government produce a copy of the ATM video.
C H A P T E R 55
D.C. SUPERIOR COURTHOUSE
“Thurman, you’re the man,” David Thurman said, referring to himself in the third person.
The murderer was being escorted from the attorney’s interview room inside of the D.C. Superior Courthouse by Supervisory Detention Enforcement Officer Errol Clarkson. The top cop of the cell block was charged with moving Thurman back to a holding cell, before being transported to the D.C. Jail.
“Thurman mini-rant.”
“Shut your fucking pie-hole,” Officer Clarkson said, pulling Thurman forcefully by his arm restraints.
Thurman continued to shuffle along, slowly, because of the leg restraints. The Government had deemed him a threat to national security and instructed U.S. Marshals to guard him with force.
“I’m probably not going to be silenced,” Thurman said, frowning and tilting his head to the side. “When I get out, and I am, what I am going to do, though, I’m going to put my dick in all three of your wife’s pie holes.”
Using a leg sweep action to demonstrate his disdain for the bloody killer, Officer Clarkson forced Thurman to fall face first and did not break his fall. Thurman let out a vicious howl, noticing blood on the concrete under his face.
“That’s all you got,” Thurman said, spitting out blood and a tooth, “you son-of-a-bitch. You’re a dead man. I promise you that, Officer Clarkson.”
Officer Dancy smelled the backlash, and radioed to control, “We need medical assistance in the cell clock, ASAP.” He then turned to Officer Clarkson and said, “You need to get your story together immediately.”
C H A P T E R 56
E. BARRETT PRETTYMAN United States Courthouse
Naim Butler was a newcomer to the legal scene in Washington, though the firm of Baker & Keefe had an excellent name for itself. Naim and his paralegal assistant were at the E. Barrett Prettyman U.S Courthouse prepared to carve up the prosecution and officially make Naim’s debut with his first court appearance as lead counsel. The change from his usual New York scenery wasn’t apparent, thanks to the uniform decor of a federal district court in anywhere, U.S.A.
Naim was reminded of his first day at the University of Pennsylvania Law School, where he was determined to be himself. The same held true today. He had worn baggy jeans and T-shirts to class, bopped to rap music screaming through earphones while walking through campus. The first of his family to attend college, he was just an ordinary African-American from the ghetto, attending the nation’s number one law school, and refused to lose his identity to fit in with some snobbish classmates.
Honorable Milton Hardiman was a beefy, broad rectangular man, built like a retired NFL offensive lineman beyond his prime. Quite a big man, a little fit for fifty-three, and he didn’t look his age. He had hair growing on his knuckles and out of his ears. Balding, but he had a nice brown combover going, with kind deep brown eyes to match. His brows were thick and kept migrating to the bridge of his slim nose, as he studied the direction and nuance of the government’s argument. He was greedily writing on yellow legal pad, as if the entire affair were an academic exercise of which he wanted an “A”. The softest aspect of his face was his disarming smile, causing deep dimples. Naim knew that the smile was a lie.
AUSA Shai Brown, a career prosecutor, and no man’s fool, was laying out the grounds for his need to have his warrant approved with surgical precision. He was careful not to drop bits and pieces about his actual case against David Thurman, and that was what Naim mentally prepared to capitalize on.
The prosecutor was up in the middle of the well at a lectern, in the closed courtroom, like a miser guarding information in the Information Age, but he had to light at minimum a small fire around the edges of their case to have the warrant approved. He spoke at a glacial pace and Naim presumed he was the kind of man that would pull a fast one if no one paid attention to what he said; a grave mistake that the rookie defense attorney wouldn’t make.
Continuing his presentation, ASUA Brown said, “As part of our investigation into the mass murder of seven people and the brutal assault of two women, perpetrated by David Thurman, the Government learned that Thurman has a Facebook account where he posted long statements about his perspectives on life and would write about those things or people who bothered him. Most postings were depressing and negative in nature and could be described as mini-rants. The application for a search warrant was intended to operate in bifurcated manner. The Government outlined information that it wanted Facebook to disclose and specified the information that it would seize, both of which will be beneficial to the Government and the defense.” And on that note he had a seat as if dropping the mic, because he offered the defense information on an olive branch.
Naim wasn’t convinced and didn’t need the prosecutors’ help.
Judge Hardiman sat his pen down and looked at Naim. He said, “First of all, welcome to the D.C. District Court, Mr. Butler. Hopefully, you’ve been treated well, thus far, despite what you’re here to do. And that is garner an acquittal for a man accused of murdering a U.S. Senator and a U.S. Supreme Court Justice.”
Naim smiled, stood and replied, “Thank you.” Whether the judge had shot at him or genuinely welcomed him, was a question he’d answer as the proceedings continued.
“I’m going to surmise that you disagree with the Government.”
“I do, Your Honor,” Naim said, proceeding to the lectern without notes.
“Proceed.”
“Well, Your Honor, I prepared remarks, but they may not be relevant, considering the Governments request as
ks for material that do not support murder allegations. Here, today, Mr. Brown offered that my client, David Thurman, made so-called mini-rants on his Facebook page. However, the Government didn’t outline any rant leading to the conclusion that Mr. Thurman desired to kill anyone named in the indictment, or otherwise. The prosecutor doesn’t even indicate that any of the deceased names or their positions on government were ever mentioned in a Facebook post, for that matter. I’d be happy to take a look at any specific posts making this warrant necessary.”
“He makes a good point, Mr. Brown. You say what?” The judge asked.
“Your Honor, while the defendant didn’t mention anyone by name, he referenced senators and judges from all levels of our court system.”
“None of them by name?”
“No, Judge Hardiman, but we can assume...”
“We can’t,” Naim blurted.
“Pardon, but I’m talking,” AUSA Brown said, smirking.
“But we can assume that he meant the two deceased as one, the senator, championed the drug laws that led to Thurman’s wife being sentenced to a mandatory sentence. The deceased justice wrote the opinion upholding the constitutionality of said mandatory sentence. No, he didn’t day Judge Elberg, but it’s clear who he ranted about.”
The Judge nodded and looked back at defense counsel.
“It’s not clear. Look...” Naim said, catching himself. Calm down. “Your honor, even if we accept the Government’s alternative fact, as no one here knows who Thurman referenced. Their requested warrant is severely overboard, evades the fundamental requirement that a search warrant particularly describe what items are to be seized, and despite the Government’s statement here, it fails the necessity of showing that the items seized are contraband, instruments of committing a crime, or evidence of a crime’s commission. I mean, they’re asked for things as mundane as pending friend requests, all posts that he used the ‘Like” feature, and all privacy settings, to name some of the twenty. We’re prepared to view all questionable posts and stipulate to the ones that aid the Government’s case. That should be sufficient for the Government to make a bail argument, as their very general search warrant precipitated the enactment of the Fourth Amendment.” Naim retreated to the defense table and sat.
“Way to point out your first point,” Daniel whispered to Naim.
“Here’s where we are,” the judge said, flipping to a clean page on his legal pad. “The Government asks for the defendant’s passwords, but if Facebook hands over the data, I can’t see why that’ll be necessary. They ask for security questions and answers, friend’s list, future and past event posting, pokes, gifts, comments, and the list goes on for some two pages. So much so that I am inclined to reign it in some. I agree with the defense that the warrant is overboard and somethings simply do not get us to intelligence leading to a murder conviction. I’m duty bound to limit Facebook’s disclosure to information about Thurman’s account and the content of messages that he sent and all wall posts. I’ll order Facebook to disclose records of communication, but not the content of communication, between third parties and Thurman’s account. The Government is permitted to seize only the information directly related to its investigation. All records and content that the Government determines are not within the scope of the investigation, must either be returned to Facebook, Inc., or, if copies, physical or electronic, destroyed.
“A memorandum opinion will follow to explain the Court’s reasoning for issuing the modified search and seizure warrant. At bottom, the Government’s request is overbroad under the Fourth Amendment because of the unwarranted invasion into the privacy of third parties. If that is all, we’re adjourned.”
The judge skated from the bench as the attorneys stuffed their briefcases with their papers. Naim stood turned to leave the courtroom, and was accosted by the opposition.
“I gotta say good job.”
Naim nodded. He didn’t need a pat on his back.
“And your client is well trained. He hasn’t said a word.”
“And he won’t.”
“Wanna plead this?”
Naim chuckled.
“Remember you asked for this.”
“No love, just sex.”
C H A P T E R 57
TRUMP INTERNATIONAL Hotel
To the Citizens of these United States of America:
Here’s the bottom line, there are blood sucking vampires in Washington. They swing into town on the veins of their constituents, pilfer gallons of blood from the people’s coffers, and die, leaving behind old money. I am here to get rid of them before they get to phase two of their wickedness. The Chief Justice and senator, the two dead ones, figuratively stabbed in the heart, the only way to kill vamps, were nothing more than warnings. More deaths to come, just so you know there are plenty of vampires in this town, a city which I’ve likened to a bat cave. Yes, D.C., the cave...LOL. No one, not one of them can complain of not being warned, although, they continue to enact laws that the people they’re set to effect have no idea they exist or affect them. Well, I’m the new leader of the kill squad. To all of you blood-thirsty, worthless, SOB’s, know that you’re on notice. I’m coming. Either get a huge dose of holy water and change your ways, or die. I have to protect the American people.
Very yours,
A Killer Citizen
BRANDY PRESSED HER hand against the edge of the hotel bedroom desk, forcing herself away from her laptop. She stood as the chair she sat in flipped over. “Naim, come take a look at this. You think this is real?”
He was packing to head to the prison and back to New York. After reading the e-mail, he said, “Hmm, I can’t be sure. You’re a fine reporter that dropped photos of dead justice online,” he replied and heard a ding from the computer. “Killers trust you.”
“Shut up. I got another e-mail,” she said, and pulled up a second e-mail. “And it’s from the same account.”
P.S. For the real press, know that this is not fake news. Believe me! The MPD will confirm that I carved up, stabbed in the heart, and handcuffed two vampires. Off to hell, they went. There’s a new Secretary of Homeland Security, and all perpetrators of crime against humanity will continue to be blessed with Chanel bracelets and jailed in hell.
Brandy picked up the chair and sat at the desk. “Should I contact the FBI Cyber Unit or detective’s pursuing the killers on this case?” The reporter asked the lawyer.
“No, I’ll do it. Forward the e-mail to me to give me a leg to stand on while I put my other one up Shai Brown’s ass.”
“Whoa, be nice, my friend,” she replied, laughing and forwarding the e-mail.
“Oh, this is me being very nice,” he said, pulling his laptop from his briefcase. “But, you doll, have breaking news to report.”
“You want me to publish this?”
“Of course. There’s a jury pool out there, so get to verifying, or whatever, and break your story.”
C H A P T E R 58
AS SOON AS DETECTIVE McGee got the word on the New York Times breaking story, regarding the threatening e-mails, she consulted with FBI Agent Morgan, who put her in contact with FBI Special Agent Linda Howe at the Bureau’s Cyber Unit. SA Howe and Detectives Bald Eagle and McGee stormed into the Trump International Hotel. Within minutes of flashing badges, they showed up at the door of the presidential suite and were let in by Naim Butler.
“You look upset, but I had and still have a right to publish the article,” Brandy said, as an introduction.
“It’s called the First Amendment,” Naim added.
“Can we take seats?” Detective Bald Eagle asked. “Where’s the laptop you opened and first read the e-mail?” She asked sitting on the sofa with her colleagues.
“Why?” Brandy asked.
The detective waved a well-manicured hand at SA Howe. “Meet FBI Special Agent Howe from the Cyber Unit. She’s going to work with you to determined where the e-mail originated.”
“No, she’s not,” Naim said. “How’d you even know
we were staying here? Our room isn’t in either of our names.”
“Mr. Butler, I’m with the FBI, one. Two you’re in D.C. And, three, we have a dead SC Justice and Senator. Do you really believe that you’ve blown into town to defend their murderer and no one has your temporary address? You’re missing a helluva game, if so.”
After carefully digesting her words, he begrudgingly snatched up the laptop walked into the bathroom and tossed it into the sink. With shower water running, he walked back into the living room.
To the cops, he said “You can’t look through her laptop as her sources, methods, and data are protected. You can chat with her and she can tell you what she wants too, but make it quick, I’ve still got a lot to do today.”
“You know, you’re an ass,” Detective Bald Eagle said.
“Why thank you, ma’am,” he replied, smiling.
“This is a murder investigation. If there is another killer out there we need to know. Perhaps this is a copycat. Or an accomplice.”
“Or the actual perpetrator and my client is innocent.”
“Look, you have your splashy headline, but we need some cooperation on this.”
“No problem,” Brandy said, as if she wanted to welcome their questions without feeling like they were injecting her with cancer. A lot of cops—and federal agents—tended to regard reporters as an obstacle than an ally searching for the truth. They wanted her intelligence and she would oblige to an extent. “Let me state the obvious. I got the emailers address [email protected], which suggests Senator David Boxer sent it. That’s doubtful. Maybe he was hacked by Russians and this is all a farce.” She smirked, tucking hair behind her hair.
That caused a chuckle to come from Naim.
A Butler Summer Page 15
