Justice in June

by Barbara Levenson

  JUSTICE IN JUNE

  Also by Barbara Levenson

  Fatal February

  Justice in June

  A Novel

  Barbara Levenson

  Copyright © 2010 by Barbara Levenson

  first edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-1-933515-71-7

  Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing,

  Ipswich, Massachusetts

  www.oceanviewpub.com

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  printed in the united states of america

  To Brad and Tony

  for their constant encouragement and belief that

  Mary Magruder Katz had a future in books and movies

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  While the characters and their adventures are totally fictional, many of the Miami locations are actual places. Two locations mentioned in the book that are outside of Miami deserve special attention.

  Wolf Haven as described by Catherine is an actual nonprofit shelter for wolves who have been abandoned as pets or who have been injured in the wild. Wolf Haven is located in Tenino, Washington, south of Olympia. The wolves are housed in open areas in habitats made to look and feel like the dens where wolves live in natural surroundings. My husband and I have visited this very interesting facility. Because of our interest in German shepherds, who are descendants of wolves, we were fascinated to be able to view these beautiful animals. Wolf Haven relies on contributions and grants for their work, not only as a shelter, but also for its breeding program of the red wolf.

  The Pontificia Universidad Católica Argentina is a well-respected private university located in Buenos Aires, with branches throughout the country. To learn more about this facility, visit its Web site or that of the Argentine government.

  One person named in the book is an actual person. Max Mayfield was the voice that has guided the citizens of South Florida through hurricane warnings and actual hurricanes. He is the retired director of the Hurricane Center located in Miami-Dade County, Florida. Mr. Mayfield’s calm, reassuring directions on radio and television were relied on by the citizenry for many years as we prepared for and lived through the storms that are part of life in the area.

  Justice in June

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Miami Herald, June 1, 2005

  INFORMANT SHOT IN COLD BLOOD ON CITY STREET

  A Miami-Dade Police informant was shot this morning while being escorted to the office of the state attorney in the Civic Center.

  Rolando Malaga, a Colombian national, had been working as an informant in the Jack Carillo drug-trafficking case. His identity and whereabouts were kept secret by the police and prosecution following the arrest of Carillo. Malaga was on his way to a deposition when he was fatally shot

  Judge Elizabeth Maxwell granted Carillo’s motion to depose the informant prior to trial. At the conclusion of a two-day hearing, Judge Maxwell ruled that the informant was the most material witness in the case. She ordered that the deposition be held in a secure location known only to the attorneys and the court reporter. The deposition was to be kept under seal until the time of trial, along with the informant’s name.

  When Malaga and several police officers approached the building on N.W. Twelfth Street, shots were fired from an unidentified vehicle. The informant died immediately. At least one shot grazed one of the officers.

  “There was a lot of confusion,” Officer Michael Noonan said. “No one got a good look at the car or the shooter. They approached us from behind.”

  Police are asking for the public’s help as they continue to search the area.

  “This investigation will continue until we find the shooter who endangered the lives of innocent bystanders on the street. Anyone who witnessed the shooting or has any information that will assist us in the investigation is asked to call Miami-Dade Police, the Office of the State Attorney, or Crime Stoppers,” police spokesperson Adam Foster stated.

  Jack Carillo, a Miami Beach resident, and son of a prominent physician, was indicted on numerous drug and money laundering charges. He posted a one million dollar bond and is awaiting trial, which was set to begin June 30.

  The Miami Herald, June 2, 2005

  ARGENTINE FOUND MURDERED IN DOWNTOWN HOTEL

  Links to terrorists suspected

  A maid at the Floridian Inn on Brickell Avenue discovered the body of a male who had been shot. The room was registered to Roberto Gomez of Buenos Aires, Argentina.

  No identification was found in the room, so police are uncertain if the registered name is actually that of the murder victim. A large amount of money was recovered from a safe in the room along with correspondence from the group called “The Army of Allah,” a known terrorist cell operating out of several countries in South America and the Middle East.

  The CIA and FBI have both expressed interest in assisting local police in the investigation.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It was a Monday morning in early June. The rain that pelted South Florida for the entire weekend had not abated. June is the rainiest month in Miami. Most of the storms occur during the morning and evening rush hours. The morning rain comes off the ocean in intermittent showers. The evening deluges form over the Everglades brought on by the heat and humidity that build throughout the day. It doesn’t matter if the storms come from the east or the west. The end result is clogged roads and traffic nightmares. That’s how Monday began.

  My name is Mary Magruder Katz. I’m a criminal defense attorney in Miami. I live in a 1950’s house in Coral Gables with my mostly German Shepherd dog, Sam. (Short for Uncle Sam since I found him on the Fourth of July.)

  I have a sexy boyfriend, Carlos Martin. He develops all kinds of buildings and homes, and sometimes I act as his lawyer and not just his girlfriend.

  Life is good since I got rid of my old fiancé, Franklin Field-stone, and left his snooty law firm. Now I have my own law office in Coconut Grove, and, if I do say so myself, I’m doing pretty well. Lots of new clients have come my way after I won the Lillian Yarmouth murder case last February.

  If you’re wondering about my name, Magruder was my mother’s maiden name. Her family of Southern Baptists settled in Miami when she was a teenager. She met my dad, Abe Katz, on the beach one weekend. His family owned the famous Katz’s Kosher Market on Miami Beach. Hence my Magruder Katz name. My background isn’t at all unusual in Miami, where the melting pot often takes place in the wedding chapel.

  Carlos is a mixed migration story too. His mother’s family came from Cuba before Castro. His grandfather was a revered professor at the University of Miami. His father came from Argentina to attend the university. Carlos has some German blood somewhere on his dad’s side, but no one is sure whether his relatives ran to Argentina to escape the Nazi’s or whether they were the Nazi’s. Either way, it doesn’t matter. We all share the urban dream that is Miami, and the urban nightmare that it sometimes becomes.

  Like two front-page murders in two days.

  I was sitting in my law office that Monday morning when two telephone calls changed my life. I wasn’t really working. Just staring out the window at the rain.

  Carlos and I spent the weekend at his parents’ beach house on Marco Island. It rained the whole weekend. Ther
e isn’t much to do on the island when it rains. Somehow, Carlos and I found much to occupy us, which is why I was sleepy, but content, as I stared out the window.

  Files were piled on the desk, but I hadn’t touched them. Thank God I’m not due in court today, I thought.

  I came directly to the office from the island, so Sam was with me. Sam did not enjoy the weekend; no stick chasing on the beach. He was a little stir crazy. I was contemplating getting into my rain jacket and taking him for a walk when the intercom buzzed and Catherine’s excited voice came on. Catherine Aynsworth is my A-1 paralegal and guardian angel.

  “Mary, it’s Judge Maxwell’s chambers. They said she needs to speak to you right away.”

  I grabbed my calendar. I couldn’t remember any cases pending in Maxwell’s division. Had I forgotten a court date? Not possible. The last time I saw Judge Maxwell was at the hearing where I won the case Franklin Fieldstone filed against me after our breakup.

  I grabbed the phone. “Mary Katz here. How can I help you?” I said in a congenial voice.

  “Mary, it’s Liz Maxwell. This isn’t about any official case. I need to come and see you. I have a problem I’d like to discuss.”

  “Of course, Your Honor. I’ll fit my schedule to yours, and I’ll come over to your chambers.”

  “No, Mary, it’d be better if I came to your office. Can I come after five o’clock? I’d rather not run into anyone else there. This is very confidential.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The second earthshaking call came right before the lunch hour. It seemed innocuous. Catherine had taken an early lunch, and I was holding down the fort. I was contemplating half a leftover peanut butter sandwich lurking in the fridge, or the rest of the chocolate chip cookies that had been left on my desk by one of my nephews. I opted for the cookies.

  The phone rang and I grabbed it. “Mary Katz here.”

  “Mary, why are you answering the phone?” It was Carlos.

  “You must miss me a lot. Didn’t I just leave you at your house three hours ago?” I asked.

  “I do miss you mucho, mi amor, but that’s not why I’m calling. Remember when I told you about my cousin?”

  “Which cousin? You seem to have dozens.”

  “My cousin, Luis Corona, from Argentina.”

  “What has he done?” People only mention their relatives to criminal defense attorneys when the relatives are facing criminal charges.

  “I don’t know, but it couldn’t be too bad. He’s a really nice kid. His father called my father and I said I’d call you. He’s at the Dade County Jail. Can you go see him?”

  “Okay, Carlos, I’ll go this afternoon, but I’ve got an important client conference late this afternoon, so I have to be back by five. I wish you’d give me a heads-up about what his problem is.”

  “I don’t know, but you should know, he really isn’t my cousin exactly. He’s the son of a friend of my father’s brother, my uncle, but we think of him as a cousin.”

  As soon as Catherine returned, I left for the jail. I was lucky. I only had to circle the block three times before finding a parking place. I walked the two blocks from the car to the jail in the continuing rain. I was accosted only once by a recently released inmate begging for bus fare, which I readily handed him. It’s always good to have a couple of dollars handy in my suit pocket. The alternative to a “no” answer may be a purse snatch.

  The lobby of the jail was filled with bail bondsmen filling out paperwork, family visitors waiting for visiting hours, and a few other attorneys. I filled out the appropriate forms and inched up to the front desk. The sergeant behind the desk was an old friend. I smiled and handed in my purse and cell phone. The sergeant looked at my paper work. I held out my hand for my visitor’s badge.

  “Luis Corona?” he asked. “Sorry, Mary, you can’t visit Luis Corona. He’s in a special cell. No one’s allowed up there. He’s being picked up for transfer by the feds anytime now.”

  “Well, I’m his lawyer, and he has a right to see his lawyer.”

  “Not if he’s accused of trying to blow up an airplane on his way into the U.S. I got my orders from the Homeland Security boys. He’s probably on his way to Guantanamo.”

  “There must be some mistake,” I said. “Look, I’ll just stay five minutes. You won’t get in trouble. Just sit here and think how much fun you’re going to have at the Marlins game Sunday.” I fished in my briefcase and handed him my two tickets to the baseball game. Well, actually, Carlos’s two tickets.

  Soon I was in the elevator on my way to visit Luis. I was buzzed into the isolation section. A young guy sat on the cot with his head in his hands.

  “Hi, Luis, I’m Carlos Martin’s friend. I’m a lawyer. Carlos said you needed help.”

  It only took a second to realize that Luis spoke little English. He turned my card over in his hand, looked at me blankly, and began to sob. Between the sobs and the rapid Spanish, I couldn’t understand him at all.

  I managed to tell him in my hesitant Spanish that I was a lawyer and could I help him.

  After that, the only thing I made out was that he didn’t do it, and if he did, he didn’t mean to. He was only helping his family.

  “What about the airplane?” I shouted at him.

  Just then, three burly Secret Service agents appeared at the cell. I think they were Secret Service because they were wearing those earpieces and talking into little microphones attached to their jacket lapels.

  “Get out of here, Miss,” one of them said, as he not so politely moved me out of the cell. “No one was supposed to be seeing this prisoner. We need to remove the prisoner now.”

  I watched them attach leg irons and handcuffs to Luis, who was now totally hysterical. I tried to tell him that I’d find out where he was being taken. Then I split before the agents decided to chain me up too.

  I picked up my purse and phone and sprinted out of the jail. As I emerged, I was blinded by bright flashing lights. I knew it wasn’t the sun, because the rain was still falling. Rows of TV and newspaper reporters swarmed toward me.

  “Are you the terrorist’s lawyer? Is he involved in the killing of the Argentine?”

  “Will you be going to Guantanamo with him?” They threw questions at me while video cameras whirred.

  One of the TV reporters yelled that the agents were coming out of the back entrance. The whole pack ran to the south entrance. I ran north to my car and hightailed it out of there. I kept to the back streets and when I was sure I wasn’t being followed, I raced back to my office.

  On my way, I called Carlos on both of his cell phones but only got his voice mail. I reamed him out on both voice mails. “Couldn’t you have told me your cousin was an accused terrorist? Couldn’t you have given me some preparation that the media from around the world would be outside the jail? Don’t you understand that my other clients might fire me? Even other criminals don’t like terrorists,” I screamed. Finally, I hung up. It’s hard to have a good argument with voice mail

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Catherine was on the phone when I raced into my office. The second line was ringing. I glanced at her computer screen and saw e-mails popping out like kernels of popcorn in a microwave.

  The first e-mail I opened said, “You lawyers are all alike. You take money from anyone. Don’t you care about the safety of our country?” The second one was worse. “I hope they hang your terrorist client and you with him.” The third one was unprintable.

  I reached over and turned off the computer. “Catherine, don’t answer anymore calls. Don’t even put the answer machine on.”

  Catherine hung up and looked at me with a dazed expression. “What in God’s name happened? The phone has been ringing for the last half hour with the worst people I’ve ever talked to, which is saying something. My dad was an army sergeant, and I was married to a race car driver.”

  “Carlos’s so-called cousin is being held as a terrorist. He allegedly tried to blow up an airplane, and the media accosted me when I
left the jail. I guess they mentioned my name.”

  “Not only your name. Your picture is all over CNN and Fox News.” She pointed to the little TV I had put in the corner of the waiting room. There I was in living color, and rain bedraggled clothes.

  Catherine thrust some phone messages into my hand. “Your mother called. I think she was crying. She said something about how she had failed to give you an adequate religious faith.”

  “Oh, shit. It always comes back to a guilt trip with her. I thought only Jewish mothers took their kids on guilt trips. I think my dad’s mother rubbed off on her,” I said as I rummaged through the messages.

  “Oh, she also mentioned that I should get you to do something about your hair.” Catherine suppressed a giggle.

  “I’m not in the mood for jokes,” I said. “What’s this message from Carlos? It just says, ‘He will bring you dinner.’ What does that mean?”

  “Just what it says. He said he would be bringing you dinner at your house. I told him that you had a late appointment and probably wouldn’t be home before seven or later, but he said it didn’t matter. He’d wait. He said he’d feed Sam and walk him, but I reminded him that you had Sam here all day.”

  “Oh, God, I forgot. Poor Sam. Where is he?”

  “In your office sleeping under your desk. I walked him about two hours ago.”

  “Well, he’ll just have to stay put. I’ve got to pull myself together before Judge Maxwell gets here. My suit is rain soaked and so are my shoes, and for once, my mother is right about my hair.” I plopped down in the chair next to Catherine’s desk and covered my face.

  “Come on, Mary. We can get you fixed up. You’ve still got your suitcase in the car from the weekend. What’s in there?”

  “Hey, I forgot. I’ve got slacks and a blouse that I was wearing in the office on Friday and some sandals. And my hair dryer. And Sam’s bowl and his food bag. Catherine, you’re a genius.”