by Dave Daren
“You coming in?” Harmony asked me.
“You go ahead,” I told her. “I have to take care of something.”
My family left me outside as I fished my cell phone out of my pocket. Getting Harmony decent representation was my next priority. From what I remembered of Toby, he would not be a capable option. I’d toyed with the idea of pursuing criminal law back when I was in law school. One of my old professors, Benny Garcia, who’d taken on a particular mentorship of me now practiced criminal defense law out of Phoenix.
I dialed his cell phone. When he answered, I heard the bustle of his effortlessly successful law firm in the background.
“Henry Irving, as I live and breathe,” he answered. “Have you finally grown disillusioned with the LA life? I don’t suppose you’re calling for an interview.”
“Not today, Benny,” I chuckled. “I’m actually calling to hire.”
“Ah,” Benny dropped much of his enthusiasm. “This is about your sister, then?” The background clamor of his law firm died down as if he’d gone into his office and shut the door.
“You heard?” I asked.
“Yep,” he continued once he could hear again. “Is she okay?”
“As well as can be expected.” I shrugged, even though Benny couldn’t see me through the phone.
“I suppose that all one can ask for when accused of murder,” he agreed. “What do you need from me?”
“I want to ask you to defend her, Mr. Garcia,” I requested.
“You don’t have to give me the Mister stuff, Henry,” Benny chuckled. “And since we’re old friends, I’ll give you some advice. You don’t need to write me a $250,000 check. Just get the public defender to accept a plea bargain once it comes your way. A monkey could do it.”
“I’m not looking to accept a plea bargain,” I explained. “I want to fight this thing.”
“That’s very noble of you, Henry…” he began, but I could tell he was teeing up a rejection.
“She didn’t do it, Benny,” I told him again. “You will look like nothing short of a hero when you’re the one who proves it.”
“I don’t mean to disparage your family, Henry. I know they’re probably great, and that they raised you to be the man you are today, but I’m about to be very harsh with you. Are you prepared for that?”
“Benny--”
“I think your sister did it, Henry,” Benny announced without waiting for my response. “At the very least, all the evidence I’ve heard on the news suggests that she did it. I have represented people I didn’t believe in before, but I don’t know any way we could spin the victim’s blood on her at the time of the crime to make it look any other way. I won’t put my firm’s reputation at risk for this.”
“But--”
“I wish I could help you,” he promised. “If I took this case, it would be my professional advice to take the first plea bargain that comes your way. Pleading not guilty is too high a risk and basically is malpractice to recommend to your sister. I wouldn’t be comfortable putting her through that and giving her hope that something could come out of it.”
“What about just doing preliminary discovery and if it still looks stinky we take the plea bargain?” I tried.
“Sadly not,” Benny replied. “Thank you for calling, though, Henry. I hope whatever good that can come out of this, does.”
“Thanks, Benny.” I tried not to sound as angsty and disappointed as I felt.
I hung up the phone and shoved it back into my pocket.
I reentered my childhood home, this time finally taking a moment to look over it. It was relatively unchanged from the last time I saw it. The walls were a stark yellow with pink flowers painted across it, probably Harmony’s doing. None of the furniture really matched as it was probably all purchased from various second-hand stores run by friends and neighbors.
Harmony sat cross-legged on the garish blue couch in the living room. All the rest of the family seemed to have gone to sleep now that she was safe with them, but she must have been too worried to sleep. She had changed into her normal everyday clothes, which were nearly as shapeless as the police jumpsuit she had been wearing earlier. She gravitated toward clothing she wouldn’t mind getting paint on. Her hair was thrown up into her customary messy ponytail, but stray hair she couldn’t be bothered to fix still fell around her face. She scribbled on some copy paper and didn’t seem to notice when I entered.
“What have you got there?” I asked her as I hung up my jacket by the door as if I still came home to this place every day.
She jumped a bit when I spoke, enthralled in what she doing.
“Oh nothing in particular,” she responded. “Just stress-doodling.”
I came closer and looked down at the copy paper. It was mostly formless scribbles that sometimes turned into the lines of a face displaying a fearful expression.
“Worried?” I asked.
“Can you blame me?” she said.
“I’m still working on the new lawyer thing,” I revealed, though it probably didn’t ease her mind any. “We’ll have to use your public defender for now, but I’ll try to convince Toby into letting me help him out with the case.”
“Does whoever you just tried to call think I did it, too?” she asked as she propped her head up on her elbow.
“Well, that’s the life of a defendant.” I shrugged and tried to deflect her concern. “Someone thinks you did something.”
“Yeah, but so do the people who could convince others that I didn’t.”
“Well, it’s not their job to believe you. It’s just their job to do the convincing.”
“But they didn’t want to even try to do that, did they?” she sighed. “They couldn’t even be convinced to do the convincing.”
“It doesn’t mean we’re screwed yet,” I assured her.
“I am feeling thoroughly screwed right now.”
“We can work through the public defender for now,” I stated confidently.
“Even if it’s Toby?” she recalled doubtfully.
“Maybe he’s turned over a new leaf,” I told her. “He’s probably a completely different person now.”
“I still see him around down,” she responded doubtfully. “He’s literally exactly the same asshole we knew in high school.”
“There’s no use in just mulling over how screwed we feel, Harmony,” I said. “It won’t accomplish anything.”
“You’re right,” she agreed, “but I’m not sure what else we can do.”
“Call up Toby,” I requested. “Let’s chat with him, see what he’s got planned for your defense, and show him how completely un-screwed we are.”
Chapter 3
Toby Lithgoe arrived at the house about an hour later, at around ten in the morning. I was sure he wasn’t actually an hour away when he got the call. He probably just took his sweet time reaching us.
“Henry Irving!” he greeted me when I opened the door. He had immaculately gelled and tousled blonde hair and just enough beard stubble to make it seem like he didn’t care. He looked like he could play the jerk ex-boyfriend on any soapy TV show. “I haven’t seen you since you did that high school play! Who’d you play again?”
“Macbeth,” I replied swiftly as I tried to move the pleasantries along.
“Riiight,” he drawled. “That was a swell play. What was it called again?”
“Macbeth.”
“Riiight,” he nodded. “How come you’re back? Why leave behind the cushy LA lifestyle?”
“My sister is accused of murder?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Fair point, good sir, fair point,” he wagged a finger at me. I wasn’t sure why he was speaking to me as if we were old chums, but I decided I didn’t have anything against it. It was far better than him holding anything over me that would affect how well he defended Harmony.
Harmony popped up behind me.
“Come on in!” she chirped.
“Oh, she’s here, too?” Toby deflated.
“
She’s who you’re representing.” I frowned.
“Yeah, yeah, I know that,” Toby dismissed. “I just thought you wanted to talk shop or something, you know. Catch up, lawyer-to-lawyer.”
“’Catch up’ on what?” I asked. “The law?”
“No, not the boring stuff,” he waved the idea away. “I’m talking war stories. For example: I just won this case, something minor, like a hit-and-run or something, and it got me on the front page of the newspaper! Something-something noble hero something-something. This will really help me a lot. I’m thinking of running for count--”
“Toby!” I stopped him. “Let’s go over the details for my sister’s defense.”
“I’ve already gone over all that.” Toby shook his head.
“We need to discuss discovery requests after entering the not guilty plea,” I said as I tried not to scream.
“Not guilty? What! No, I’m not an idiot. I’m waiting to hear from the Prosecutor what plea deal they are going to offer, and then we’re accepting.”
It was exactly what Benny had told me, only he was being practical, and Toby was being lazy.
“Let’s assume the deal they offer is unacceptable.” I tried to remain patient. “If so, we have to be prepared to make a defense and we should go over this more.”
“Henry, I’m not sure why you are being so unrealistic about this.”
“Because my sister is accused of murder.”
“Okay, well, then she shouldn’t have murdered somebody!”
Harmony gasped. She already suspected that Toby believed she was guilty, but she must not have heard the words out loud from anyone before. I impressively refrained from punching Toby directly in the face, but that was certainly my initial instinct.
“I’ll... be back,” she choked out and rushed out of the room, emotionally frazzled.
I watched her retreat into the backyard, then turned back to Toby.
“They pay you for this?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Hey, man,” he raised his hands in a surrender position, “I fight the cases where winning is actually an option. I’m just trying to move on to one that’s actually worth going to jury over.”
“That’s not how you should ethically conduct yourself as a lawyer.”
“Don’t try to explain client responsibility to me, dude,” he scowled. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a lawyer. I’m looking out for her best interests, which is why I want to get her the best plea bargain possible. She’s got the victim’s blood on her clothes, the murder weapon at her workplace, and security footage of her at scene right before the incident. There’s no other way to spin that. If you don’t like how I represent her, represent your murderer sister yourself.”
“I’m not licensed in Arizona. You know I can’t do that. I would be more than happy to be a Pro Bono specialist consultant to you on this. I’ve already made a preliminary list of the evidence we need to examine and witnesses to talk to.”
“Thanks, but no thanks, Henry. Let me do my job the way I want to do it and stay out of my way, or maybe just pass the bar yourself. Either way, back off.”
Toby turned to walk haughtily out the door. He tried to wrench the door open dramatically, but found that I had locked it behind him. He tried to unlock it and do the dramatic yank again, but he fumbled with the door for a few more seconds before it finally popped open far less dramatically than he would’ve liked. He paused for a fraction of a second as if to consider closing to door again to have the satisfaction of theatrically swinging it open. Then he decided against it and left. I turned toward the sliding glass doors that led to the backyard. From where I was standing, I could see Harmony rocking back and forth on one of the wicker chairs while she wiped tears from her face. The sight broke my heart, and I realized that I was glad Toby had left.
If he had stuck around, I probably would have punched him.
I knew Toby wouldn’t win this for her. He wouldn’t even try. Even if he would, he wouldn’t try the way I would. He’d been mocking me when he’d pitched the idea of passing the bar and representing Harmony myself. But maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea.
I had told her that I’d get her the best lawyer in Arizona, and that might just have to be me.
I retrieved my laptop from my luggage and set myself up on the gaudy blue couch to give Harmony her space outside. I glanced outside periodically to make sure she was okay, and I looked through the glass door and saw the sun was high in the sky shining over the red mountains now. It was actually really beautiful here. As I soaked in the morning glow, I browsed the internet for the world’s thoughts on Harmony’s case for a while. Surely someone, somewhere had picked up on something that didn’t quite line up. In a case where the defendant is innocent, something had to not line up.
There was a fair amount of regional buzz around the situation, especially in the arts community since the victim, Bradford Jules, was a fairly well-known art critic, but it wasn’t exactly the material for national news outlets yet. It was mostly niche art communities and local Sedona bloggers speculating over the case.
No one, I noted, seemed all that upset to see Jules go. I wasn’t sure if that would help our case or not, but with all the vitriol and polemic he caused, my sister wasn’t the only person who they could say would have a similar motive for a revenge killing.
There was only one blog that seemed to consider the idea that Harmony might actually be innocent, AJ’s Corner. It offered no proof or special insights, just the observation that it would be ridiculous for a defendant to claim there was red paint on her clothes when it was obviously blood, and there could be more to the story if she was making such a defense. It was comforting to know that the entire world hadn’t voted against her innocence.
Although I still couldn’t practice law in Arizona, there wasn’t anything to stop me from trying to investigate.
I carefully slid the glass sliding door open and peeked out to where Harmony was gathering herself.
“Sorry to bother you,” I asked. “Can I check your gallery out?”
“You’re not going to open it, are you?” she asked as she shook off her emotion. “I don’t want someone who can’t name the primary colors representing my stuff.”
“Red, blue, yellow,” I chuckled. “Can I get the keys, please?”
My parents were still sleeping, so I took the car keys, climbed back into the Volkswagen Eyesore, and drove to Harmony’s gallery. I made a mental note to obtain a rental car soon, both for the rest of my family’s convenience, to ease my own constant humiliation, and so I didn’t have to listen to Enya anymore.
I was surprised I still knew the route to the Sedona art district after all these years. The desert route gave way to tan buildings with carefully cultivated plants. A touch more color came into the environment as I got closer to the collections of art galleries, with buildings showing more creative colors and shapes.
The gallery was a simple, but modern place. The walls of windows and sleek, geometric lines of the architecture almost reminded me of my office in LA. The chili-themed restaurant and pseudo-Bohemian thrift store it was sandwiched between were helpful in dispelling that illusion. It had been rented out by various artists, but Harmony’s pieces had taken up the majority of the display for the last several years, so she’d come to consider it her space.
The crime scene had long since been cleaned up and evidence carted away, so there were no restrictions or police tape sectioning the place off. It was, however, locked up and dark inside because Harmony had been locked away and unable to reopen the place. I doubted that a murder would do very much in the way of publicity for an art gallery, but for all I knew artsy people were into that macabre type of thing and it could help sales.
I unlocked the glass door and eased my way inside. The lights were dark, but the afternoon light streaming through the windows dimly revealed the color and life that Harmony’s paintings brought to the place.
Harmony’s mind was different from mine. I
t always had been. There were nuances and symbolism in these paintings that I wasn’t picking up on that came second nature to her.
But I could tell that her work was beautiful, and that she was talented.
She could tell the same thing about me when I started pursuing law. She saw how I took to it immediately, and while my leaving for law school left the rest of my family dismayed and confused, she’d been thrilled that I’d chosen to pursue something that I seemed spectacularly well-suited for. She’d found the same thing with her art.
The gallery seemed dusty and undisturbed. I knew any useful evidence would have been dragged away by now, but there was still the off-chance that they’d left something worth noticing behind.
I tried lifting up the paintings and looking behind them. That’s where nefarious secret stuff seemed to be in movies. As I scrutinized yet another blank wall behind a painting, I heard a shuffling from the back of the gallery, and I gently placed the painting back against the wall.
“Hello?” I called into the gallery space.
I was met with silence.
“I know you’re there,” I called out again. If I was wrong, it’s not like someone would be there to call me out on it.
“Okay, okay, yes, I’m sorry,” a young woman about Phoenix’s age emerged from the darkness in the back of the gallery. She stood a full head shorter than me and had dark brown-black hair that hung undone past her shoulders and helped her blend in with the dark backdrop. I could step on her if I wasn’t paying attention. She looked about the age of a college student, but just barely, and she was dressed like she was more than a bit angry at her mother, with a black choker wrapped around her neck and oil slick polish on her fingernails.
“How did you get in here?” I questioned.
“The back door was open,” she offered up as an explanation. Harmony did leave it unlocked a lot of the time, but I would have thought that the investigators would have had the presence of mind the lock the place up. It occurred to me, though, that this complete stranger could be lying to me.
“What are you doing here?” I continued to question her.
