The Defendants: Crime Fiction & Legal Thriller (Thaddeus Murfee Legal Thriller Series Book 1)

by John Ellsworth

  24

  “Hold it up,” Thaddeus said to Chris. “C’mon, humor me!”

  Chris extended her upright hand across the lawyer’s desk. He placed his right hand to hers. He was correct: her fingers extended beyond his at the tips. “I’m right!” he cried, “Your hands are bigger than mine!”

  A tinge of red colored her cheeks. “I work out. You don’t.”

  “Wanna bet on an arm wrestle?” he invited. “Just for giggles?”

  She placed the elbow of that same arm in the center of the desk and stood. He followed suit—putting his weight on the good leg—and also stood. They interlocked hands and it was on. He strained, he gripped, he pushed, and he tried bending her hand backwards and down— nothing worked. It was like wrestling a four foot wrench, steel and fixed. She yawned and looked at her watch. “What time do I get to end your misery?” she asked without breathing hard. Just as he was about to make a smart-ass reply she suddenly leveraged her full bicep and slammed the back of his hand down on the desk. “Wanna go two out of three?” she calmly asked.

  “Damn,” he said. He rubbed his shoulder. “Damn.”

  “Hey, I lift. I do tricep dips. You read. I’m strong here,” she indicated her body, “and you’re strong here,” she touched her head. “What gets used gets stronger. You were never in the military were you?”

  He flashed on his one feeble attempt at interviewing for the Navy JAG corps the day following law school graduation. They had told him he certainly could expect to be stationed in Hawaii, after he had done two years on either an aircraft carrier or the southernmost island in the Aleutian chain, he had his pick. He had backed fearfully away from the recruiting table and looked over what remained of a very poor job fair. That was the moment he had decided he would have to go it on his own. Nobody worth a damn was hiring and he didn’t want to freeze his balls off in Alaska for two years or spend it in the sick bay of some aircraft carrier when it became clear he never would adjust to the fall and rise of a ship at sea. “No,” he told her. “I never served my country.”

  “Army strong. Be all you can be. I went for it. And it worked. I can out-arm-wrestle all the farmers in my family. I can kick most of the athletes’ asses.”

  He looked at her broad shoulders beneath the gray sweater she had received for Christmas from Buddy. She was such an athlete—plus a great wife and mother.

  “How’s Jaime been getting along at your place?”

  “He’s fine. He already knows the kids. It’s a holiday to him. Only thing sad was he cries with I kiss him goodnight. He misses his mommy.”

  “That is really hard. I know Ermeline must be dying away from him. We’ve got to make this bail hearing work. I’ve drafted a pleading entitled ‘Motion to Set Conditions of Release.’”

  It was his first full day back at work, nine days after the shooting. He had trouble driving himself uptown, and had a terrible time on the office stairs, but he had finally made it. The coffee klatch was skipped; just not enough time to meet with his group and still get to work at a decent start time. “So I’m going to go for bail. We’re set for hearing in the morning.”

  He slowly read it to her.

  When he was done, she asked, “So any person accused of committing a crime is presumed innocent until proven guilty in a court of law—we’ve all seen that movie. So they should always be able to bail out?”

  “Unless there’s a good reason not to.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Well, if it looks like the defendant might flee, no bail. Or commit other crimes, no bail. Or interfere with witnesses, no bail.”

  “Ermeline is none of those. So she gets bail?”

  “This is the part that’s killing us. She can’t get bail where the proof is evident or the presumption strong.”

  “The presumption that she did it, you mean.”

  “Exactly. So let’s look at our facts.”

  She began making notes. “One, we’ve got a dead guy.”

  “Two, we’ve got Ermeline with a motive to kill the guy. For the job he did on her breasts. Motive isn’t an element of murder, but it’s like icing on the State’s case.”

  “Three, she’s got the murder weapon and the knife in her house.”

  “Four, and worst of all, her prints are all over the weapons. That’s enough to not only convict her but to send her to the death chamber.”

  “She gets the needle.”

  “Unless we come up with a defense.”

  “So she’s not getting out on bail tomorrow morning?”

  “Her fingerprints closed that door.”

  “Damn it, Thad! She didn’t do it! You know it, she knows it, and I know it.”

  “Probably Judge Prelate, Killen Erwin, Jr., and Sheriff Altiman know it too. But the evidence says otherwise. The evidence sends her to the death chamber.”

  “Damn! I hate this. It makes me want to walk across the street and beat the crap out of that lady lawyer.”

  “The SAAG? You could take her, Christine. I have no doubt.”

  “I’m just waiting for her to look cross-eyed at me. Can’t stand that bitch.”

  “Hey, let’s try not to personalize, all right?” he said, but on the inside he felt the exact same way. For a nickel he would shove Rulanda Barre out of the law library second story window. She flaunted it, used her position of extreme power as the senior prosecuting Special Assistant Attorney General in all of Illinois. And she lorded it over him, but at the same time, she was so cagey. She spoke softly and played so demure. But lurking just under that ingénue exterior there was a raging lioness, ready to devour even her own young if they crossed her. She was a killer and Thaddeus knew it and she knew he knew it. He found himself starting to shake with rage while at the same time growing increasingly queasy toward the hearing to set bail. He was going to get blown out of the water and he knew it. The bitch had him. He felt powerless in the face of the full strength of the State piled up against him. The State had the money, had the cops, had the crime lab, had an unlimited budget—everything they needed to bury Ermeline. Now they had a huge office complex in his courthouse. It occupied an entire third of the floor.

  What did he have? He had a cheesy walk-up office in Nowheresville, eighteen months of wholly unrelated experience, and a client who had no money to defend herself with. Plus a bum leg. Luckily it was the left leg and he could still drive just fine with his right. For that he was infinitely grateful. For just an instant it crossed his mind to withdraw from the case and allow Ermeline to get a court-appointed lawyer so there might be some county funds for a second opinion on the fingerprint analysis and other crime lab workup. But he quickly nixed the idea. Ermeline had chosen him and he felt honored. Most of all, felt a professional obligation as big as the courthouse. It loomed inside of him, filled his dreams, and occupied his every waking thought. When he read, he thought about Ermeline’s plight. When he drove he played it all in front of his eyes, sometimes nearly swerving off the road in his preoccupation. It was eating him alive and he knew it. Now he knew what it meant to be obsessed. He was that: totally, 100% obsessed with one case. Would he ever get over it if he lost? How could he ever face another client and assure them he could help if he lost Ermeline to the execution chamber? His career would be over, flat out, kaput. He would be done. He would go back to school and train as a…maybe a welder. Something that didn’t require him to stand up for people because he would have failed that responsibility in the worst way and deep down he knew the worst secret about himself of all: he would never have the courage to try it again. He would be finished.

  Christine leaned back and took a long drink of the tea—Earl Gray—on her side of the desk. “How is it looking? Terrible.”

  “I’ve got to get to court and file this. Make two copies, please.”

  * * *

  He didn’t want to admit it, but finally it kept pressing against his brain so often and with such ferocity that he had no other choice. The shooting had changed him in a hug
e way. No more did he simply walk to work, carefree. Now he drove. And he watched the rearview mirror every inch of the way. No more did he ride the Lifecycle to start the day. Now he had ordered a bench from Amazon and Ilene had helped him put it together. He was doing bench presses, rows, sit-ups and a dozen other exercises, all to keep the aerobic conditioning going as best he could. No longer did he stop in the mornings for his coffee klatch. Between the crutches and all the doors to navigate, plus in and out of the Buick, it was all just too much. Besides, the Silver Dome was an area where many faces could congregate and in his mind he couldn’t control his surroundings there. Too many people to try to identify and keep track of. The wrong one could sneak in and walk up to him and press a gun against his chest and that would be the end of him. So public places were for the most part avoided. He didn’t like who he was becoming but he didn’t know how else to act. The police were parked out front of his apartment when the sun went down; the police were out in front of his house when the sun came up. Killen Erwin and Charlie Altiman were making sure of that. But he knew their help was limited and finite. The day would come when they would have to take their manpower assets and align them differently with different cases and different needs in the community. What then? he wondered. What kind of protection would he have then? It made him shiver to think of what might happen once the cops went away.

  * * *

  The bail hearing went about as well—or poorly—as he had guessed it would. Rulanda Barre was there, of course, wearing the same outfit as she had worn yesterday, Thaddeus noticed. And of course Ermeline was there; but this time she hadn’t changed and she was wearing the jail-issue orange jumpsuit that said Hickam County Jail in stencils across the back. The Hickam Press was represented by a city news reporter and two reporters had come over from Quincy. A much smaller crowd this time, and in a way Thaddeus was relieved. This wasn’t going to go well.

  “Your Honor,” he began, once Judge Prelate had gotten them started, “Defendant moves to modify the conditions of release. I have prepared and filed a written motion and I believe that about says it all. This is a case of a hometown girl with lots of family and professional contacts to Orbit, she’s well-known and has a son and mother here, and she poses no threat as a flight risk. She has no passport and no need for one. She has no money or assets with which to post a cash or property bond. We ask that bail be modified to allow her to execute a recognizance bond.” A recognizance bond would release her just on her signature. Thaddeus abruptly ran out of things to say and thanked the court for its time and took his seat. Ermeline didn’t seem to notice she was being represented by a lightweight today, at least as he saw it. But he just didn’t have that much to go on, and he knew what was coming.

  “Miss Barre,” the judge said, “what’s the State’s position?”

  The SAAG jumped to her feet. “Bail should remain as is, your honor. I would like to advise the court that I made an AG Special Request with the ISP crime lab and that we have the preliminary fingerprint analysis back from the two weapons seized from the defendant’s home. I’m placing a copy before the court—for the record—and handing one to counsel. As you can see, Judge, the Defendant’s fingerprints are all over both weapons. And preliminary forensic firearm examination indicates the pistol was the one that fired the bullet into Victor Harrow’s head. Thus, the proof is evident and the presumption strong, of guilt. This Defendant needs to remain in lockup. It’s where she belongs, given all the circumstances.”

  “One minute,” Judge Prelate said, as he read through the crime lab report. It has been previously marked as “State’s Exhibit 1” and he was carefully digesting its content.

  Then he said, “Counsel, do you have anything further?” and looked at Thaddeus.

  “Your Honor,” I would ask that the court continue this hearing for one week to allow us more time to assess the crime lab report and perhaps obtain an analysis of our own.”

  The Judge shook his head. “Can’t do that, Mister Murfee. Your motion to modify conditions of release is denied. Defendant is remanded to the custody of the Hickam County Sheriff. Mister Murfee, keep in mind you can renew the motion at any time. We’re always willing to reconsider on these cases. But this isn’t even a close call. The presumption here is overwhelming. Your client looks very guilty to me, as of right now this minute. We’re adjourned.”

  His head was swimming. He hadn’t expected the last battering, not from Judge Nathan R. Prelate, who he had always considered a friend. But he knew the Judge was right. It looked terrible for Ermeline right now. It looked hopeless, in fact. She shot him a look of panic as the deputy took her away. He mouthed that he would be over to talk to her.

  Rulanda Barre swept up her papers and left without a word. When she reached the doors she turned. “No deals counselor. You missed the deadline.”

  “Got it,” he said glumly. “And we don’t want a deal. So don’t wait around if you’ve got better things to do with your day.”

  There, he was, in 100% committed to winning this case. Now if he could only figure out some way to do that. He needed some break, some opportunity to create reasonable doubt. But he had no idea where that might come from. He slowly returned to his office.

  * * *

  Once a week—Sunday afternoons—they brought Jaime uptown to see his mother. The deputies would take Ermeline into the attorney conference room and bring Jaime to her. They would talk and laugh and cry for an hour each time, and then would come the inevitable time for him to leave with Christine, and Ermeline would be taken, crying and sobbing, back to her cell. Wednesday evenings they also had an unofficial visit time for them when the Sheriff put a portable TV in the room and let mother and son watch some of the videos Christine brought along. Cookies and milk were provided and at least for an hour mother and child were reunited and forgot about their separation. Ermeline was extremely grateful for these visits and she was a model prisoner. Thaddeus has purchased her a small TV and the jailors kept her loaded with newspapers and magazines from Haines drug store. After two months of eating nothing but Silver Dome fare, the food was tasteless but filling. She was putting on weight, thanks to the lack of activity. From hustling tables eight hours a night to sitting around a jail cell, the fat was accumulating and she hated it. Occasionally Charlie Altiman would bring her some treat or special dish his wife had made; occasionally Thaddeus would swing by with a bag of MacDonald’s burgers and fries, just for a change from the usual routine. Ermeline was grateful for it all, but she still wept for a period each day and cried herself to sleep at night. The tattooing on her breasts wasn’t fading either, and that added to her worry. Try as she might in the shower room to scrub away the carnage, it wouldn’t budge. It looked like she would say VICTOR the rest of her life and that crushed her. She hadn’t ever really liked Victor all that well. She didn’t hate him or anything but he was like most men who had a lot of money, he thought he was entitled, that he could buy just about anything he wanted. Who knew, she thought, maybe she would be that way too, if she suddenly won the lottery. The thought of coming into a pot of money was the furthest thing from her mind, although Thaddeus on several occasions had mentioned he would be filing a lawsuit for her once the criminal case was over. He didn’t say who he would be suing, only that it was coming. Since the original Victor Harrow case was dismissed on Victor’s death, she hadn’t thought much more about being compensated for the damage to her body, much less for the hardship and horror of the incarceration and what she was living with daily, thinking about the death chamber. Even that wasn’t all that frightening: but the thought of leaving Jaime without a mother was horrifying. That thought she couldn’t bear, so she released that tension with tears. It was a gloomy time around the Hickam County Sheriff’s Office and Jail, for everyone.

  25

  It was pre-trial motion day. Rulanda Barre had long ago departed for her well-appointed office in Springfield and she returned to Orbit only to sit smugly by while Thaddeus presented his useless mot
ions and tried to fight his way out of the paper bag he was trapped inside. She had very little to say and even less to offer by way of counter-arguments: Judge Prelate was holding up the State’s side of it very nicely because the bottom line was the Defendant’s motions were baseless and futile. They deserved very little notice and SAAG Barre herself gave very little notice. Her face had the look of one who was very bored with swatting away gnats and only wanted to depart their presence. They spoke only to say “Goodbye” after the court hearings. There was no more talk of plea negotiations or trying to get a better deal for Ermeline. True to her word, Rulanda Barre had withdrawn the plea offer in writing, by a letter to Thaddeus, in which she also advised that she would be seeking the death penalty and that he might like to associate more experienced counsel than he. He seriously considered this, decided she was right, and approached Ermeline with the idea. Ermeline immediately put her foot down. She wanted Thaddeus and only Thaddeus and wouldn’t agree to additional counsel even if the Judge required it. She simply didn’t trust anyone else and wouldn’t work with anyone else. Thaddeus reported this in a telephone status conference the lawyers had with the Court. The Judge, thankfully, didn’t push the issue. He did insist on bringing Ermeline back into court, and making a record of the fact that the court was recommending she consider the appointment of additional counsel, someone with more Capital Murder experience than Thaddeus. She angrily refused and wouldn’t even look at the Judge after that. “I know my rights,” she exclaimed, “and I have the right to a lawyer of my choosing, not of someone else’s choosing.” The deputies returned her to her cell and that was that.

  * * *

  One noon, instead of going home and fixing lunch for the two little kids, Christine came into Thaddeus’ office. She sat down across from him and waited until he looked up from the laptop screen where he was working. “What?” he said, feeling like she had been studying him.